Even in the darkness, I saw him bite his pinkie nail. “It is kind of unusual, though. Isn’t it?”
“No! You’re only nineteen.”
“I’m almost twenty.”
“Twenty is still young,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment. “I guess that’s why I seem like a prude: I’m inexperienced. And…I want you to know that when you talk about sex stuff, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Actually,” he took a breath, “I admire you.”
“Me? Why?”
“You have to be brave to have sex with someone.”
“I’ve never really thought about it that way.”
“That’s the way I see it,” Leo said.
He didn’t say anything else, so I didn’t either.
At some point, I fell asleep. I had several strange dreams that morphed and blended into each other, but I couldn’t recall any of them when I woke up. I cracked my eyes open, and Leo’s ceiling came into focus. He must’ve lowered the blind at some point last night, but morning light cracked around the edges, making the blind look like it emitted a silvery glow.
I carefully turned to see Leo lying with his back to me. His blond hair was trimmed neatly at the nape of his neck, his shoulders were relaxed, and he was wearing a lilac shirt. I lifted the blanket to see his pyjama bottoms were a darker shade of purple and covered in drawings of slices of passionfruit.
Then I looked at my own sun-patterned pants and my case of morning wood. I forced myself to stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, waiting for it to go down, then crept out of bed. Leo had tidied up last night; his desk was empty except for the model, and all the scraps were in the bin. Next to his sink was a collection of mugs, washed and dried.
I found the clothes I’d worn yesterday, quickly changed, grabbed my stuff and left the room.
As I waited for the elevator, I sent Leo a text message because it would’ve been rude to leave without saying anything.
Edwin: Hey Leo, I didn’t want to wake you this morning. Just letting you know that I’ve gone home. I hope you get a good rest after last night. I’ll see you tonight :)
8
Part of me wondered whether I’d overreacted the first time I met Atticus, but when I saw him again at the entrance to Chinatown, I knew I hadn’t. He was just as good-looking as I remembered, wearing the same tan coat, a red jumper and black jeans.
He stood next to a woman I assumed to be Elena. She was caucasian, with defined cheekbones, arched brows and auburn hair tied in a bun. She was taller than Atticus — taller than me, actually — and I wondered whether she was also a secret runway model.
I’d felt optimistic about the day, but standing before the pair of them, who looked like a fashion magazine cover, I felt intimidated all over again.
Atticus smiled. It wasn’t a full smile like Leo’s — it looked more polite rather than real — but he was making an effort. “Hi Edwin,” he said. “This is my friend Elena. Elena, Edwin.”
Elena offered her hand, and I shook it.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Your friend’s coming too, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes, Leo. Hopefully, you two get along.”
“Atticus forced me to come,” Elena said.
“Elena,” Atticus hissed.
“What? It’s true.”
“When Leo arrives, at least pretend you’re here of your own free will.”
We spent the next few minutes discussing the restaurant we’d be going to. Atticus and Elena had booked a reservationat their favourite hot pot place called ‘The Spice Empire’, and I felt bad they’d gone through all the trouble when the date was supposed to be my idea.
