I chuckle, though I’m not entirely sure what he means. I’ve never lived in France. “Sure, I’ll come with you. Tomorrow I just need to finish marking a few papers, do some shopping, and run a load of laundry. Once that’s done, I’m all yours.”
His face lights up instantly, and his excitement rubs off on me before I can even stop it.
“What do you want to see?” I ask,actually intrigued now.
I expect him to say something classic. Or maybe a big West End musical.
Instead, he surprises me again.
“I was thinking aboutA Little Life. It’s based on one of my favourite novels. Do you know it?”
“Erm… not really,” I admit, a little sheepishly.
“I’ve heard of it, but I never had the nerve to read it. Isn’t it, like, two thousand pages long?”
I let out an awkward laugh, but he’s too caught up in the moment to notice. And then, suddenly, he grabs my hand.
“You’ll love it! Apparently, the play’s nearly four hours long, but I swear, it’ll fly by. You trust me, don’t you?”
Then, just to seal the deal, he flashes that dimple again,
and I know I’m doomed. There’s no way I can say no now.
I squeeze his hand and nod, trying not to think too hard about sitting through four hours of emotionally intense theatre.
What have I gotten myself into?
When we finally reach the flat, we’re faced once more with that cursed spiral staircase, but not even that dampens Sebastian’s enthusiasm.
“Perfect! You won’t regret it, Remi. I’ll book the tickets first thing tomorrow. Actually, no, I’ll do it now!”
“Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me. Go ahead and book it, just let me know how much I owe you. Now, can we please get upstairs…”
But he’s already bounding ahead of me, gliding up the stairs with that same effortless grace. By the time I make it to the landing, he’s waiting, grinning, breathless, giggling quietly. Probably at me. Not that he says a word.
As soon as we step into the flat, Sebastian disappears into his room to get changed, still buzzing with excitement over the whole theatre idea. And again, that strange warmth blooms quietly in my chest. His happiness is contagious; it keeps catching me off guard.
There’s just something about being around him. You can’t help but feel better. And for someone like me… that’s not a feeling I’m used to.
Later, after I’ve showered and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water,
only to find him fast asleep on the sofa, curled up with his laptop pressed to his chest. The theatre homepage is still glowing softly on the screen.
The room is dark, lit only by the faint spill of light from the window and the pale glow of a full moon.
I walk over, meaning to wake him up and tell him to go to bed, but something holds me back.
Instead, I lean down carefully and ease the laptop out of his arms, closing it and setting it on the coffee table. Then I return to him, and, moving slowly, I slide one arm behind his back and the other under his knees.
Lifting him is effortless. He’s so light it almost surprises me.
I nearly laugh when I notice what he’s wearing, light shorts and a long-sleeved shirt covered in ice cream cones. Honestly… the surprises never end with him.
Barefoot and quiet, I carry him toward the guest room, wondering what else that pink suitcase of his might be hiding.
He’s warm against me, small and delicate in a way that feels impossibly human. That familiar scent, vanilla, laced with a fainttrace of sweat, brushes past my face, and something in it makes my skin tingle. I don’t know what the feeling is. Only that I don’t want it to stop.
I open the door with my foot, step inside, and move towards the bed. For a moment, I hesitate, still holding him, unwilling to let go of this strange, quiet comfort that’s settled over me.
