‘And you’re a bit mad.’
‘No shit!’
Loris slams the door shut and brings his fingers to his messy hair. The motion highlights more muscles on his bare torso, making it very complicated for Charles to keep his gaze up.
‘Do you hate me?’
‘No. I hate that I was asleep and now I’m standing on the doormat with your freezing ass!’
‘Can we go stand in your flat instead? I need to talk to you. I have a lot to say.’
‘Really, Charles? Now?’
‘Well, you just came back, didn’t you? Merry belated Christmas by the way, and happy New—’
‘I’m gonna belated murder you.’
Loris stomps up the stairs, grumbling in what sounds like Spanish but must be French.
‘Is that aoui?’
‘Hurry up! I’m coaching tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know.’ Charles doesn’t know much after all. But he knows that the way Loris’ sweatpants are hanging on his hips will be at the centre of his novel. ‘I’m writing a novel.’
‘I don’t care.’
Charles frowns, first at the curt answer, then when he realises Loris had left his door blocked ajar with a trainer. Wasn’t it risky? What if Charles had been a psychopath?
‘Weren’t you scared I was a psycho?’
‘I was hoping you were one.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
Charles closes the door and leans against it with a moan of delight as the warmth of the flat melts the blood cubes in his veins.
The easel is unfolded in the middle of the room. Loris has yet to unpack his suitcase, but he’s started reproducing the sketch of the old man from the Eurostar.
‘I approve of your priorities!’
Loris rests his hip against the backrest of the sofa. ‘What do you have to say?’
The ceiling lights are bathing his body, speeding up the melting happening all over Charles.
What does he have to say? That he’s sorry, and a coward, and will try to make amends.
‘I want you.’
Loris averts his eyes with a nervous laugh.
‘Sorry! That’s not what I was thinking! But I’ve been trying so hard not to think that, now I can’t think about anything else and it just bursts out and it’s…’ Charles edges closer, hypnotised by the V-line shadowing Loris’ lower abdomen. It’s hot. It’s insane how hot Loris is. Insane and new. ‘And it’s important. How much I want you.’ He takes Loris’ hand and presses it against his chest. ‘Can’t you tell? Can’t you tell something is malfunctioning?’
Loris shrinks back. ‘Stop it. You don’t get to—’
‘If I don’t kiss you I might explode. And if I kiss you I will explode. But better to explode from kissing you than from being miserable not kissing you. Am I right?’
Loris gapes, but no words escape his lips. They’re insane too. That’s not new.
