“No, I don’t mean that. I don’t want you to leave here. My reality. I know it hasn’t been long, but it’s been… nice.”
Yeah. If getting your heart ripped out and trampled on hourly could be called ‘nice.’
Yet I have to concede, “It has been.”
“Seems stupid, then, if you’re only here for a while, to just go sit in your bunker…” He glances down at the city. “I mean… I’m not tired. Are you tired?”
“No.” I could easily stay up here with him all night, if we wouldn’t freeze to death sometime around two a.m.
“And did you know…” When he leans in close, all I see are visions of me kissing him, of me pushing him down on the wet grass, us fucking on the top of this hill, right here in the open. The way I’d worship every inch of him until the sun came up over London. I’d do anything he wanted.
But unfortunately for me, he only extends his arm, and points. “That’s our old place, just there.”
“Kentish down? Just there?” It’s nothing but a small conglomeration of yellowy lights where he’s pointing, and I have no chance of making out our old flat in the dark, but it’s nice toknow it’s so close. Some piece of the two of us. Some London history that spans across different realities, that we shared, almost as though we lived there together. A pin drop in time and space that marks ‘us.’
“I had no idea we’re so close to it. But we got the Jubilee Line out. Where even are we?”
He looks at me with an amused frown. “Primrose Hill.”
“What?”
“Yeah, we’re just… Didn’t you ever come up here?”
“Not once.”
“Call yourself a Londoner.”
“Not anymore.”
“Back over there,” he points past my shoulder, “is my place. But down there,” his arm stretches out, “is Camden.” With that last word, he raises an eyebrow and adds a cheeky grin. “You know, I’ve just had the best idea.”
“Oh, have you? Just now? Just this exact second?”
He ignores my insinuation, speaking casually, “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk. Ten if we’re fast.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
“Just a drink or two. Nothing outrageous. We’ll have you back in your basement by midnight.”
Bad idea.
Very bad idea.
“I don’t want to miss the last train.”
“God, no. That would be terrible.” He climbs to his feet. “You’d have to stumble back home to my place, drunk. We might even have to catch the dawn up here in the cold along the way. Sounds awful.”
“Awful,” I mutter, even if my skin’s on fire at the idea he might have had a similar vision to the one that’s just assailed me: him riding my cock, rasping my name, me fisting his dick untilhe comes all over that nice tight shirt of his as the sun dawns on a new day.
He holds his hand out. “Will you come?”
“What?”
“Will you come?”
“What?”
“August, will you come to Camden with me? Right now? Please?”
