I see what Declan wants—the ease of a friendship with all the benefits of a lover.
But why argue? Because it’s true. I would be any of those things for him. If he wants me for a day, he can have me for a day. If he wants me for a hundred years, I’m his until I die.
So what’s the point of arguing for more? I’ll just give in anyway.
“It’s easy with you too,” I say.
When he turns to look into my eyes, his gaze stays locked on mine for a moment.
Maybe neither of us are good at this. We don’t know how to navigate relationships well because we were never taught them.
But he’s right about one thing: I am his. And that’s all that matters anyway.
“Now, where was I?” he asks, turning back toward me and snatching the blanket from my lap.
* * *
On Declan’s last night in LA, we take a drive. This week has been such a dream, and I can’t help but feel like it’s never going to be this good again. He’s going to go home to Scotland, and I’m going to focus on my career, and even if we do meet up after this, it won’t be the same.
I take him to a pull-off on the top of some mountain I don’t know the name of, and I park the car so we can admire the lights of the city and the Hollywood sign.
He holds my hand as I drive, and it just makes everything worse.
I think I’ve come to accept that whether or not I’m more than a friend to Declan doesn’t really matter, because he won’t be able to express it anyway. And maybe this is just the role I’m meant to play for him.
He’ll love me more like this than like a boyfriend.
It’s depressing, but it’s true.
After putting the car in park, I rest my head on his shoulder. He presses his lips to my hair, and we sit in silence for a while. I don’t bother fighting the tears. He won’t tease me for it. He knows I’m crying because I hate goodbyes, but I hate this one even more than most because this week was more special than all the rest.
So I just let them fall, wiping them away as they slide down my cheeks.
“I wish I could see how the painting turns out,” I say with a sniffle.
“You will,” he replies. “I’ll post it online for the world to admire you naked as a wee babe, stretched out on that chaise.”
“Oh God,” I reply, laughing through my tears. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course,” he says. “You know I don’t like to share my art. Besides, that one is for my private collection.”
“I’d prefer that, thanks.”
He kisses the top of my head again.
Friends don’t do this. They don’t cuddle and kiss and fuck and say things like Declan and I say to each other.
But maybe we’re more like passing stars in the night sky. Never intersecting at the right time. Never landing in the same place.
If I could, I’d tell him right now that I love him. I’d do anything to hear him say it back. But it’s not a risk I’m willing to take, so he’ll say it in my imagination instead.
“You’re not a virgin anymore, Shakespeare,” he says, and I clench my eyes shut because I hate where this is going.
“I don’t care about that.”
“I’m glad I could make your first time so good, and that’s always what this was about. I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I say through a sob.
