‘—how you…’
They scoff in unison, and Loris nods to spur him on.
‘No, you should go first,’ Charles says, scratching the sticker on his branded glass. ‘Because I’m sure I confessed a lot more than I would have without whisky. And yes, it was messy and… and—’
‘Awkward. Funny. Challenging to follow, as you were stripping at the same time.’
‘Yes, all that, but it was mostly truthful. Intoxicated-Charles is an honest Charles. So instead of repeating myself, perhaps you could tell me… what it’s been like on your side. I’ve done a lot of assuming, but assumptions are dangerous. I’d like to know if you understand? If you resent me? If you still want to murder me? Or… if… Feel free to jump in.’
Loris puts away the wine glass he was polishing and takes another one out of the dishwasher. ‘I understand why you freaked out. You could have been kinder, it wasn’t nice to see you run out of my flat like I was the personification of all your phobias, but I got it.’
‘I’m sorry I made you feel like a balloon.’
‘That’s your phobia?’
‘Bursting balloons are the worst! Don’t mock me.’
‘Never.’ Loris’ mouth quirks up as he pivots to put more dry glasses onto the shelf. ‘Anyway, your reaction wasn’t pleasant but it was forgivable. Unlike your text the next day pretending nothing happened. Or how you didn’t seem to care about my feelings. I hated that, but I really liked you, so I forced a conversation I was initially never gonna force, and it got me that amazing late-night voice note.’
Charles ducks his head, playingBoléroon his glass. ‘I’ve tried to pick the moment I’m the least proud of, but they’re all joint on the highest step of the podium.’
‘That was so frustrating. You sounded like you were under duress. I almost called to shake you out of it, but you would have called me if you were ready to be shaken. And it doesn’t sit right with me to tell someone that the way they feel is wrong. So I let you do what you thought was best for you. Especially because it kind of matched what was best for me.’
Loris waves goodbye to Jack with a laid-back smile that proves none of it is weighing on his mind. But that doesn’t ease the remorse roiling in Charles’ stomach.
‘What was best for you…?’
‘Moving on, instead of waiting for you to be emotionally ready for me. I’ve been there before and it bit me in the ass.’
‘With Enzo?’
‘Seriously?’
‘I’d like to rationalise why he rubs me up the wrong way,’ Charles says, hardly looking away from the muscles flexing on each side of Loris’ low-neck now that he’s crossed his arms.
‘Honest-Charles mentioned jealousy.’
‘Oh… Yes.’
‘ButEnzo is irrelevant. You wanted to know what it was like for me, and that’s it. Frustration. I was frustrated that there was nothing for me to fix. Frustrated to imagine what you were dealing with at home. Frustrated by my incomplete drawings. And soooo frustrated by that one damn good kiss we shared.’
Loris rubs his lips together, slower than usual, and dark pink takes a short moment to return to the bottom one, like watercolour soaking into paper. Charles gets off his stool, a swarm of butterflies pulverising the remorse. But before he can pick up on that last point, Loris snaps out of his train of thought and rolls his eyes.
‘And so frustrated by your random text aboutKaunas.’
‘That was a baby step towards acknowledging I wanted you in my life.’
‘Too bad you had spoken with Phoebe.’
‘She told you…’
‘Yeah, and you knew she would so, granted, you were in a tricky situation. But what you did was to double down on your stance. “Me? Lorisexual? No way!” And at that stage, being your Olwinski buddy? No thanks.’ Loris leans onto the counter with a penetrating look that blurs the setting again and mutes the background noise of the pub. ‘Making my peace with your straightness stopped being an option when you tongued our friendship out of my mouth.’
‘I see…’ Charles gulps. ‘Have you told Phoebe that I had a change of heart?’
‘I’m not sure what there is to say. I know what drunk-Charles wants. I know what hungover-Charles wants. But sober-Charles? I believe he only came here because of my keys.’
‘I’m being obvious, no? Am I not being— You have to stop looking at me like that.’
