Page 73 of In Frame
Leo had understood. Of course.
He let himself dream it all, just for a moment, in bed with Leo on a sunny California afternoon.
Time drifted, unhurried. Sam breathed in, tasted a golden flutter of Leo’s hair, breathed out. Shut his own eyes for a while.
Leo’s phone made a sound, from his jeans pocket, because Sam had peeled those jeans off Leo’s legs without paying much attention to anything else. On the floor, it tossed a reminder upward: life existed, and obligations demanded a return to reality.
Right now, this second, he didn’t want to move. Anyway, he couldn’t disturb Leo.
He held onto Leo, and his heart, while the afternoon stretched out and deepened into lazy amber.
Leo stirred, eventually. With some astonishment,announced into Sam’s bare chest, “I fell asleep.”
“You can stay asleep if you want.”
“No, I’m awake.” Leo yawned. “I didn’t think I would.”
“I know.” He traced a small lopsided spiral over Leo’s back, memorizing lean muscle, honed by fencing and choreography and gym sessions and whatever else movie stars did to stay in shape. “Happy I could help.”
“You do.” Leo yawned again, comfortable and contented in Sam’s arms. “I’ve been mostly awake for a few minutes, I think. More or less.”
“Have you?”
“Well…more less than more. But still. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“I know I said I was learning to speak Leo,” Sam told him, “but I think that one’s an advanced degree. Thinking about what?”
“Coming out?”
Sam’s head went fuzzy with static.
“Er.” Leo peeked up at him. “We did say we’d talk about it? And I realize it’s perhaps not the best timing, but I was having thoughts, and yes I know me and thoughts don’t always go in the same sentence, but it’s what was floating about in my head, just now.”
The static got louder. Somehow, in all the golden-hued future daydreams, Sam’s brain had skipped over the part in which Leo’s entire life changed.
He’d known it would. They’d mentioned as much. He just hadn’t remembered to dwell on it.
“I imagine everyone’ll be expecting some grand declaration,” Leo contemplated, naked and draped atop him. “Possibly with balloons. Or glitter. And cake. Not that I’m opposed to cake. I think thereshouldbe cake. Ideservecake. Some sort of raspberry sponge, perhaps. But I think…I do thinkI’ll need an announcement, something public, but I think I’d really rather something quieter, first. Something that’s ours, that we choose to share. What do you think?”
“I think…you deserve cake,” Sam managed, around clamoring white noise. “And what the hell was that, about you and not being thoughtful—”
“Don’t get sidetracked.” Leo actually poked him in the ribs. “I asked you a question.”
Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. Some part of his head was also fizzing with confusedly turned-on neurons, which had woken up at Leo being bossy and poking him.
“Um. I think. I think it’s your decision. It should be what you want.” He caught Leo’s gaze, held it. He meant every word. “Whatever you’re ready for. You’re the only one who gets to decide that.”
“Thank you, but you and I both know that isn’t true, or not exactly.” Leo swept a hand through the air, an exaggerated aristocrat’s gesture, then set it back on Sam’s chest. “I don’t want to hide, particularly not when I’m happy, and I am. Ilikewho I am. And I’ve already told my parents. So that’s that. Andthatmeans it’ll be a story. One of them, as much as I love them, will accidentally tell a friend. And the media will pick it up and run in some sort of direction with it. Inevitable.”
Sam flinched, and hoped Leo hadn’t noticed.
Leo had. “I don’t mean you’re a problem. I want to do thiswithyou.” He tapped fingers over Sam’s chest, a rhythm, though not anything recognizable. “That is—if you want to. It’ll change your life as well.”
“I know,” Sam said. “I’m not going anywhere, I said. I’m here.”
And he was. Here, on a drowsy afternoon, in a hotel bed and in a fairy tale, he knew it was true.
It was just that simple. Whatever happened next, he’dmade his choice. Ogres and wicked paparazzi might exist. But so did he, and he wanted to stand at Leo’s side.
