25
Kenneth pulled Seb out onto the street. It was raining, not enough to get wet, but definitely enough to be cold within thirty seconds. Seb flipped up the collar of his jacket.
“See? I told you this was a good idea.” Kenneth grinned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one pocket.
It had been a not bad idea. After several more unsuccessful attempts to get Seb to enjoy himself in the club scene, or possibly for Kenneth to “conveniently” show up at the same places Anton frequented, Kenneth suggested a weekend in Asheville might be their best bet.
Kenneth splurged on a hotel, although Seb had suggested an Airbnb would have been the more economical choice. He’d expected Kenneth to set them up for another night of clubbing, but his friend surprised him with a dinner reservation and last-minute theater tickets. He’d done something similar back when he’d booked Seb his first show. A city dinner and a show hadn’t been in the cards for either of them at the time, but Kenneth went all out on a two-for-one special at a diner, followed by a community theater production ofRent. It hadn’t been fancy, but the sentiment had been there.
Seb’s phone vibrated. Oliver had been texting a few times a day.Persistent bastard.Seb checked the phone long enough to see it wasn’t Oliver. It was Martin. That was almost worse. He could give Oliver the cold shoulder, but the longer Seb stayed away, the more he regretted how he’d left things with Martin. He missed his quiet warmth beside him in bed and his gentle care when Seb’s mood turned too dark.
He didn’t bother to read the message. Next to him, Kenneth took a drag on his cigarette.
“So after this,” he exhaled a long stream of smoke, “I’m thinking drinks at a rooftop bar. We can flirt with whoever stops by, but we’re sleeping alone. Deal?”
Seb groaned. “You talk a good game now, but we both know the first pair of dark eyes and a designer watch that looks at you the right way will have you on your knees in the bathroom.”
Kenneth made an indignant noise. “I said I wasn’t going to bring them back to the hotel. What happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom.” He put the cigarette to his lips again and inhaled.
Seb watched the end glow red, flaring and consuming the paper and tobacco. Kenneth continued to lay on the terrible jokes and innuendo, but Seb responded mechanically, watching the cigarette burn and shrink. His books had done the same, abandoned and dancing as the fire took them away.
Martin’s frightened face appeared in his thoughts, the afternoon in the apartment when Seb found him with that first piece in his hand. He’d said Seb was corrupting someone else’s work.
The cigarette glowed.
Seb’s pulse picked up.
“You ever heard of anyone doing an exhibit with fire?” he asked.
“They do it at the circus all the time. I could get you some chainsaws too.”
“No, I’m serious!” His mind creaked slowly to life. Sluggish at first after a week of spiraling sadness, but gaining momentum. He thought of the way Martin had pulled his life back from the abyss and how he spoke so passionately about his dead poet whose work had nearly disappeared.
There was an idea. Inspiration. It hovered at the edge of conscious thought.
And then that one warm ember vanished as his phone buzzed again.
He scowled at the screen and whoever had dared to interrupt him.
“Who is it?” Kenneth asked.
“It’s my brother.” Or else someone had hacked Oliver’s phone because the message was a link to a crowdfunding page, captioned withPlease take a look.Seb rolled his eyes. If Oliver was asking him for money to kick off his granola and weed brownies business, he had bigger balls than Seb would have given him credit for.
“What does he want?”
Seb shrugged and put the phone away again. “Doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go find you a date.”
* * *
In the morning, Seb was hungover. He hadn’t had so much to drink that the night had gotten out of hand, but once he’d started to feel warm and loose, the soft abandon had been a relief.
Kenneth was in significantly rougher shape, moaning from the other double bed in their hotel room. “Did you learn to play the castanets overnight, or is that just my headache talking?”
“It’s your headache.”
Kenneth groaned and pulled the blankets up over his head.
Seb had dreamed of fire, but unlike the nights before, it hadn’t carried away all the things he cared about. Instead, it danced over the pages, leaving curving lines in its wake, scarring without destroying. Changing what was there while the root of the work stayed the same.
