‘What?’
‘Did you see Enzo when you were in France?’
He looks back at Loris who raises an indignant eyebrow. Charleshas no right to ask that. Oops.
He slumps onto the bed. His hip hurts. Why does his hip hurt? Must be Enzo’s fault.
‘I hated his guts.’ Charles groans and throws the sock he just took off all the way to the coffee table. ‘I didn’t get it, but I was very jealous of the guy.’
Loris comes closer, with the same smile he tried to conceal earlier. ‘I think you might regret some things you said tonight, so you should stop and—’
‘Freedom of speech! Aren’t you from the country of human rights?Liberté, Égalité, Frappuccinoand all that? Hey, you know what?’ Charles yawns and stretches out. ‘I’m a bit drunk. And tired.’
‘This is my side.’
‘I’m sleeping on it, then.’
‘Not on my pillow, no. You don’t want to use the bathroom?’
‘Another day.’ Charles shifts on his back and raises his hips to make it easier for Loris to pull the duvet. ‘We don’t need that.’
‘I do.’
He rolls again to tug at Loris’ sweatpants. ‘You don’t need that.’
‘I make the rules in my own bed.’ Loris swats his hand and sits on the mattress. ‘Can you move a bit?’
Charles would rather stay where he is and taste the roll of skin that has swallowed the V-line above Loris’ waistband. But that’s probably not part of the rules, so he obeys.
‘You’re in charge of the light switch.’
That’s nice of Loris to entrust Charles with such a responsibility. Lights are important. There are so many piercing the ceiling, like stars in Kitzbühel.
Charles squints and swings his head to merge the halos.
‘So… can you switch off?’
‘I’m reorganising the sky. I’m repainting it. It’s just like paint, look! I can mix it or…’ He turns on his side, waving his forefinger between them, where the spots of light follow. ‘Or smear it all over your face.’
‘Please. It’s late.’
‘Yes. I said I was tired.’
Charles closes his eyes. The lights keep dancing.
Loris sighs and twists himself above him to reach the switch. Charles squeezes his eyelids and his fists, the way Loris did earlier to refrain from touching him. It truly requires great effort. They will have to amend this ridiculous rule.
He relaxes when Loris lies back next to him. The luminous specks are fading, but the bed is now floating among stardust.
‘Your mattress is comfy. I’m sure you’re comfier, but your mattress will do.’
Charles lodges his ankle between Loris’ legs. Is it against the rules? Loris doesn’t protest. He’s staying completely still, so Charles reopens his eyes. The curtains aren’t opaque enough, they let the foggy glow of the street lamps through and allow him to discern Loris’ concerned expression.
‘Why so serious?’
‘You okay?’
Charles hums. He’s okay, he’s here. He’s not home. He will hate it if he goes home. Oh, he will hate everything there, he can feel it in his gut. But he’s not home right now. There’s nothing to hate in the flat. He hums again and caresses Loris’ nose.
