James walks back into the room, glass of red wine in hand. His handsome face stern. Unreadable.
“Right,” Sam jumps up. “Need a wee. Back in a second,” he says, scuttling out of the room.
No, no, no.
And then, just like that, I’m alone with James.
The silence is immediate and so heavy it’s practically visible. I can hear the clock in the hallway, each tick feeling like someone is flicking my forehead. He sits opposite me, crosses his legs with calm precision, and just… stares.
My brain starts screaming at me to say something. Anything. “Nice… wine?” I manage, gesturing vaguely at his glass like an idiot.
“Yes,” James says evenly. “We have a subscription.”
A subscription. For wine. Of course they do. Probably artisan, ethically sourced, pressed between the thighs of French virgins.
“That’s… efficient,” I say, nodding like he’s just told me he has solar panels.
“Mm.”
I can feel sweat prickling the back of my neck. I glance around desperately for conversation topics like they’re fire exits. “And… lovely house.”
He inclines his head slightly, almost like I’ve complimented him personally. “Thank you. We’ve put a lot of work into it.”
“Yes, you can tell,” I babble. “It’s very… symmetrical. Like if you filmed a murder mystery in here, the detective would definitely find a secret panel behind one of the bookcases.”
He nods. “Well, Pete had a clear vision of how he wanted it when he moved in.”
For a split second, I think I see his mouth twitch — not quite a smile, more like a private joke I’m not invited to.
“You and Pete seem… close,” James says finally, voice smooth as glass.
My laugh comes out too loud. “Yeah, we, um, get on. Really well. I mean, quite well—”
He just looks at me until my words shrivel up and die.
“Pete’s very good at making people feel seen,” James says. “It’s one of the things I always loved about him.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice about an octave too high. “He’s great.”
Another silence stretches, thicker this time. My brain kicks into overdrive: compliment his shoes? Too weird. Ask about his job? Too personal. Pretend to choke and run out of the house? Not practical, though dramatic.
James leans forward just slightly, enough to make my stomach clench. “You should know this isn’t… simple. Being with Pete means being part of this house. This life. It’s not for everyone.”
I try for a casual shrug and probably look like I’m having a small stroke. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”
“It can be intense,” he adds, almost kindly, though there’s a weight behind his words that makes the room feel smaller. “You’d be wise to think about whether you’re prepared for that.”
Prepared. Like this is a storm I need to stockpile tins of beans for.
“Intense, in what way?” I ask before my brain can stop my mouth.
James smiles faintly, which is somehow worse than if he’d scowled. “Living here isn’t quiet. Multiple personalities. Lots of feelings. It’s like gravity. And when people get pulled in, they don’t always stick the landing.”
I nod like this is a perfectly normal sentence. “Right. Love gravity. Big fan. And… landing?” My voice cracks halfway through like I’m re-entering puberty.
He doesn’t bite. “This house has a rhythm. It can feel… consuming. All-encompassing. Not everyone’s built for that.”
I laugh nervously. “Oh, I’m very giving. Too giving, probably. Ask my ex — actually don’t ask my ex —”
