“Do you have to leave?”
“Yes.” Jag’s voice was desperately quiet. A single mournful word that made Michael’s stomach lurch.
“Why?”
Jag’s eyes became wider, despairing.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I promised not to ask.”
“You did.”
They held each other’s gazes. Michael longed for Jag to tell him what the hell was going on, but as the silence stretched into seconds, then minutes, he knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“I’ll go make breakfast,” he said at last. “The shower’s through there if you want one.” He pointed to the door to the en-suite bathroom.
“Thanks.”
Michael kissed him and then left for the kitchen. Letting Jag keep his secrets was going to be hard, but he had to leave it alone. Perhaps if he didn’t push, Jag would talk to him when he was ready. Or he’d leave, and it wouldn’t matter anymore.Concentrate on the now, he told himself.Not on the future.It was totally different to how he and Edward had been. They’d had plans and dreams, and then they’d all been dashed when Edward had got sick. At least this time, he’d known he was going to lose the man he wanted in his arms, almost right from the start.
18Jag
Later that night, after the club had closed, they sat on the stage and chatted about all things pole dancing, over a bin lid-sized takeaway pizza. The pizza had been Jag’s attempt at repaying Michael for the picnic, but he knew he’d fallen short.
After that, they seemed to take it in turns to arrange a ‘date’ for each other. Michael set up a wine tasting evening, which gave Jag a moment’s pause because he realised his parents would probably have enjoyed it. But Michael’s conversation and several glasses of wine helped chase away thoughts of his family.
On Sunday, the only day Heaven and Hell was completely closed both day and night, Jag took Michael to the cinema and then out for a meal. It was more than he could really afford, but he decided Michael was worth it. Anyway, he was earning more than he had at any other club. That one evening would mean staying two days longer, but his heart didn’t care.
They had a reading evening, where they both came with a favourite book and snuggled on cushions and blankets and read to each other. Jag only had a couple of books, but he’d carried them with him since he’d run away and had read them several times. The first wasJonathan Livingston Seagull, which was the one he read from that night. Jared had given it to him after one of his first ‘therapy’ sessions as a reminder to always be true to himself rather than one of the flock. He often read it whilst sitting on a train to remind himself why he was running rather than giving in and returning home. The other book wasWatershipDown. The irony of his fondness for a book about creatures seeking a forever home was not lost on him.
One night, Michael brought down a chess set and scrabble board, and they played both games whilst talking about safe topics suggested by Jag. Michael won chess, but Jag thrashed him at scrabble.
Another night, Michael had driven them out of town to a steep hill. They’d walked up it in the predawn light and then watched the sunrise over the city. It had been even more breathtakingly beautiful than watching the sunrise from the bedsit window. He’d leant against Michael, their fingers threaded together. For a while, everything had felt perfect.
The more time Jag spent with Michael, the deeper his feelings became and the more he wanted to stay, even though he knew he couldn’t. Moving on wasn’t a rule he could break. It was too risky. His freedom depended on staying several steps ahead of his parents.
It felt as if they were trying to pack months of dates into a matter of days, both desperately making the most of the time they had. Jag hadn’t set a definite date for leaving; he never did. He’d know when it was time. Either his paranoia would get the better of him, or he’d see a sign that his parents’ PI was getting closer. Although he had to admit he was less on edge than normal, probably because he had something else to think about. He couldn’t remember laughing so much or being so happy, since before he’d come out to his parents and been forced into conversion therapy. He thought about that less, too. Being with Michael made him feel lighter, and he hoped he made Michael happy, too.
“Hey, Mac, can I ask you something?” he asked one night as he was handing in his dance tokens. He’d purposefully made sure he was the last in line so that everyone else would have cleared off to the changing rooms, giving him a chance to talk to Mac alone.
“Sure, kid. What’s up?” Mac leant back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Do you need me to dish the dirt on Michael?”
Jag smiled and shook his head. Mac obviously had tons of dirt on Michael, giving how broadly the man was grinning.
“The cameras in the booths… are they recording all the time?”
Mac’s eyebrows quirked up at Jag’s question. “Nah. The security guard starts recording when the club opens, and stops when it closes. It would be a waste of hard drive space otherwise.”
“Okay, thanks.” He handed his chips over.
Mac counted them out, glancing up at him every so often, a knowing smile plastered on his lips. “You and the boss…” he began once he’d noted down how many tokens Jag had earned that night.
Jag resisted the urge to say it was none of Mac’s business. To be fair, his question had vaguely made it Mac’s business. Besides, Mac had been instrumental in nudging them together in the first place.
“It’s good,” he said. “Great actually,” he added as his cheeks coloured.
“Wondered why he’s been grinning like a loon this past couple of weeks. It’s good to see him smiling like that again.”
Jag dipped his chin. He wasn’t sure why he felt embarrassed. He didn’t even know how much Michael had told Mac about the current status of their relationship.
