The voice in my head I kept hoping would fade wondered if behind a whirlwind romance was a shoe waiting to drop.
Armand’s Misspent Youth
September 2
17 days sober
“Bloodypens!”I tossed one straight at the wall and watched it bounce unsatisfyingly onto the linoleum.
Lucas glanced up from his phone.“Are we experiencing technical difficulties?”
I was on the kitchen floor, drawing.For the past two weeks (he’d been here a full two weeks and allegedly not got sick of me yet), I’d tried staying in the workroom, but could only manage it when Lucas was out of the flat.We’d fallen into a frighteningly comfortable routine.Some days, he’d go out exploring while I worked under my drafting table.Other days, like today, he did whatever he did on the computer, or cleaned, and I worked on my lap desk on the kitchen floor.
“It’s these pens.”I held another up and glared at it.“They’re trying to kill me.”
Between worn out nubs and clogged reservoirs, I’d lost two fully penciled pages.Hours of work down the drain, and the desire to keep going all but extinguished.Redrawing at this point in the process was thoroughly demoralizing.
“Let me see.”Lucas walked over.
For some truly unfathomable reason, I allowed him to photograph the mess I’d made and post it online with some sort of witty caption about chaos and art and birth.The ruined pages were partially blurred to avoid spoilers, but he checked with Lakshmi just in case.Less than an hour later, Lucas pulled me out of my re-penciling mope and excitedly showed me that the photo and myself were now featured on an extremely popular site, in a “list-icle” about the benefits of analog vs.digital art.It had already been viewed by thousands of, one assumes, utter prats.
“Look, they linked your FotoBom, Flutter handle,andyour profile on Drake House!Can you believe a couple weeks ago, the onlySurrogate Goosewebsites were fan-made?I mean, honestly, where have I been all your life?”
It was a good question.And this all sounded wonderful—ifwonderfulmeantterrifying—but it didn’t change the fact that I’d botched two full pages.
Lucas looked sympathetic.“Anything I can do?”
“No, just sit there.Allow me to yell abuse at inanimate objects.”
“Fair.Keep up the good fight.”He smiled, which made me consider abandoning work altogether.After all, I’d turned in next issue’s pages, so the fires under my arse were a simmer at best.I’d likely feel better about re-penciling if I didn’t immediately get back to it...It took Lucas raising his eyebrows for me to realize I was staring.
Heat climbed my face, and I cleared my throat.“Right.Later.”
“Presumptuous, Mr.Demetrio.”
“Hopeful, Mr.Barclay.”
“Okay.Yes, but actually we should both do work.Don’t talk to me.”He slumped on the couch, having gone a bit pink in the cheeks, hiding behind the open screen of his laptop.I could barely stand it; Lucas becoming so sweetly flustered when I flirted, while teasingly reciprocating, caused a pooling warmth that was so complete and depthless I nearly groaned.The way he vacillated between confidence and shyness, blossoming and curling inwards, made me want to hold him and study him and explore every part—
“Work,” Lucas insisted, pointing at my lap desk.He’d gone even pinker and was biting his lip.I gave a performative sigh and shifted a bit so he wasn’t in my direct eyeline.Fine.I’d pencil.
We worked in companionable tension for a short time, until he said, “Armand...”
I looked up with a suggestive joke halfway to my lips when Lucas’s expression stopped me dead in my tracks.The coquettish blush was gone, and there was a concerned pinch to his brow.“Um.Can I show you something?”He patted the couch cushion next to him.
I made my way over on suddenly watery legs.I expected the screen to show an overwhelming mess of windows, all open to different websites, but instead a sunshiny horse greeted me serenely from Lucas’s desktop background.
He’d minimized everything.Oh no.Whatever it was, it wasbad.
“Well”—I tried to ignore the distant thundering in my ears—“I’m properly bricking it.”
“It’s okay; if itisa problem, I know what to do.It’s just ...”Lucas bit his lip.“There’s a video someone tagged you in, and I think it’s fine, but—”
“Let me see.”
He pulled it up, and all I needed to see was the grainy, ill-lit thumbnail and the title of the video.
My chest imploded, cold trickled along my limbs, and my vision went fuzzy.It was a moment before I could remember how to breathe, let alone speak.
