“I can let you go. You didn’t need to do that. You didn’t need…” he trailed off.
“I did need.” Remington said it with the same weight and tone he’d used at Callahan over brunch, and Sebastian swallowed back any further protestations. “Now tell me what you need.”
Sebastian closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cool marble countertop. Remington had stopped typing. The only sound coming out of the speaker was the steady rush of his breath.
“Just this,” Sebastian whispered, rolling his forehead until his cheek connected with the counter. “Just for a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me about your morning,” Sebastian asked, hating the way it sounded like a plea.
“Budgeting, mostly,” Remington answered. “Trying to stretch and allocate this generous and anonymous donation we just received.”
“Mmmn.” He smiled. “Tell me more about that.”
“It’s boring.”
“Not to me.” The counter smashed his mouth together and slurred his words. “I probably won’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Remington laughed and launched into a detailed conversation about how the donation would be split and shared. What percent would go to salaries and what percent to new material acquisitions. He talked about books and authors and exhibits and things Sebastian would never understand, but he knew all he needed. He recognized the happiness in Remington’s voice when he talked about his work, and that was enough. That pleasure, that barely restrained joy.
“Does that make sense?” Remington asked when he finished.
“Yes, Remington,” he answered softly.
“I…I really like when you say my name.”
“Remington.”
“I like when you call me Rem, too. No one else does that.”
“My brother is the only person who shortens my name,” he said. “And even then, he only does it when he’s trying to butter me up.”
“I like your name,” Remington said. “Sebastian.”
He shivered, shoving his face away from the counter and rubbing at his jaw. He didn’t quite feel reset to where he was before he’d talked to his brother, but he felt better than he had before.
“Thank you,” he said, “for taking the time.”
“It was nothing.”
“No.” His voice came out louder than he’d intended. “No. It wasn’t nothing. Please don’t try to diminish what it meant.”
“Alright, Sebastian. How are you feeling now? Any better now that I’ve bored you into a state of mindlessness?” Remington laughed.
“I feel better after talking to you,” he said, correcting the wrongs from Remington’s statement.
“Do you think you can eat now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you try?” Remington asked.
Sebastian sighed and stared at his fridge.
“Just some yogurt,” Remington suggested.
“Is that an order?” Sebastian asked, even as he spun around in the stool to stand. His shoes hit the floor with matching clacks of his heels and he pulled open the fridge, staring at the yogurt inside.
