“I do want you here.” Roland crawled up onto the couch and leaned over the back of it so he was eye level with Donny. “I do,” he repeated.
Donny searched Roland’s face and believed he meant what he was saying, but Donny didn’t feel right about it. He looked down at his feet. This felt like a pivotal moment. Part of him was worried if he walked away, things with Roland wouldn’t ever be the same again. And the other part of him didn’t think that was a bad thing because he didn’t want to turn into Roland’s doormat. He thought about the nights he’d stayed in spite of Roland’s coldness toward him, and he remembered how useful he felt being able to hold Roland through his darkness and wake up with him in the light of a better day.
That wasn’t such a bad thing to have.
“Please stay,” Roland whispered.
Donny licked his lips and nodded his head in acquiescence.
“I’ll be your boyfriend, if that’s what you want.” Roland grabbed Donny’s hand and kissed his knuckles.
Donny sniffed and looked at their connected hands. “I want it to be what you want. I want it to be important for you, and it’s not. And,” he stopped talking.
“You’re important to me,” Roland filled in, “can that be enough for now?”
This wasn’t what he wanted, but it was a half-win. Roland admitted that Donny mattered, and that should count for more than a stupid title. Donny nodded.
“It’s enough.”
Chapter 23
How Do You Know Our Sweet Birthday Boy?
Roland hadn’t seen muchof Donny the past couple weeks— he’d been working and Roland had been painting. Donny would come over after work every couple nights, and they would eat, and fuck, and fall asleep covered in each other’s sweat, wrapped in each other’s arms. Donny was quickly becoming an integral part of Roland’s new normal.
Neither of them brought up the topic of relationship titles since the night he’d broken his two-drink rule. Donny wasn’t acting any different than he had before the conversation, so Roland let it be. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have feelings for Donny. He did. And they grew exponentially every time Roland stepped in front of a canvas.
The night before, Roland had received a phone call from a gallery owner in Venice. They were having an event the week after Donny’s birthday, and the artist they’d commissioned was unable to make the deadline. Someone had mentioned Roland’s name to the owner and he’d called to see if he had any pieces to show. It would be mutually beneficial, he’d been told— publicity for Roland, and for the gallery since they’d be hosting his first show in nearly ten years.
He did have pieces to show. In the past two weeks, he’d painted a series of sunrises to complement the sunsets from a decade prior. The memory of what the sun looked like as it crested over the horizon in the spring was emblazoned in his mind. Vibrant and beautiful hues of gold and pink breaking through the dark violet of night. Painting the four canvases had come easily to him.
Roland was struggling now, though, on his current piece. It was meant to be a gift for Donny on his birthday, and Roland needed it to bejustright. Donny had made a joke about Roland getting him flowers once, and Roland had scoffed at the idea of getting someone as steady as Donny something as fleeting as flowers. But he’d had a dream one night and realized hewouldget Donny flowers for his birthday, but he would paint them so they’d last forever. This way, Donny would always know that no matter what happened, in this moment, he was worth it. He was worth everything— Roland’s time and patience, his sobriety, his fidelity. Donny fucking deserved everything Roland was giving him and far more he ever could.
He stepped back and glared at the canvas. The flowers were lovely, but something was missing. The orange and yellow blossoms were engulfed by the vibrant blue background color Roland had chosen. They were getting lost. Roland turned to face the window, the sun was setting, but it was still light outside. He braced himself against the windowsill and closed his eyes. Flashes of bright white danced behind his eyelids, and he snapped his eyes open immediately. That was what was missing. White. Pure, and perfect, and simple white.
Roland found a new brush and painted nearly a dozen daisies in the front of the bouquet then stepped back, dropping the brush to the ground. He smiled, finally satisfied with his gift for Donny. His heart thumped loud and strong in his chest when he thought of the way Donny would smile and kiss him after he gave him the canvas.
He’d been lying to himself. Thisrelationshipwith Donny was far more serious than Roland had admitted to either of them. He needed to make it right. He would make it right.
“Roland?” He heard his name called from the front door. He glanced down at his watch—time had gotten away from him. He’d taken too long with the flowers, and Donny was here and ready to leave for his birthday party. Roland would have to give him the canvas later tonight. Hopefully, it would be dry by then.
He walked out of the studio, closing the door behind him to keep Pete and Donny out. He smiled when he saw Donny standing in his living room wearing tight, black slacks with a white button-down and skinny black tie. His hair swooped across his forehead and the inky black color made his eyes appear electrified when he looked up at Roland.
“Sorry, I lost track of time.” Roland leaned down to give Donny a kiss. Donny hummed against his lips.
“S’okay. I was a little early anyway. Excited to show you this.” Donny handed over a piece of paper, which Roland unfolded and scanned over quickly.
“Mmmn. Negative, negative, negative. Happy Birthday, indeed.” He pulled back and licked his lips, pulling in the lingering minty taste of Donny’s mouth.
“My birthday’s not until tomorrow.” Donny grinned.
“But I have a passable bill of health too, isn’t that worth celebrating tonight? Your present, though, you won’t get until tomorrow.” Roland tugged Donny into the bedroom, handing him the test results he’d set on the nightstand, then stripping his pants off so he could change. Donny sat on the edge of the bed and chewed on his lip while he read the results, then he watched Roland strip down to nothing more than a pair of black briefs.
“Are you trying to tell me that I get a present that’s better than taking you bare?” Donny made a show of adjusting his cock through the fabric of his pants.
Roland rolled his eyes and tugged on a pair of dark-wash jeans. “You deserve more than I could ever give you.”
“Be that as it may,” Donny said lightly, quoting Roland from earlier, “you are all I want.”
