Nero applied a dubious layer of nail polish to Lenny’s toe. “Bollocks. We talk every day.”
“Not about anything that matters. First thing you said to me this morning was about bloody fish.”
“What did you want me to say?” Nero painted the next nail. “You’re gonna have to help me here. I ain’t much of a talker at the best of times. Let alone when I got someone jumping in my face about shit.”
“That’s what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, or what you want from me. I just know I can’t handle you being so pissed off.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I like your smile,” Nero said almost absently.
“Fuck’s sake!” Lenny wrenched his foot away with a groan. “This is why I bloody hate you. How can you say stuff like that when you won’t let me see a fraction of what’s really going on?”
“I haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re on about.”
“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Lenny stood and hobbled to the door on his heels. “You kiss me, you let me sleep in your bed, you pry my darkest secrets from me, but you won’t talk to me. What the actual fuck, Nero? Don’t you think I’m crazy enough without you screwing with me?”
“Screwing with you?” Nero stood too, though the slightly crazed glint in Lenny’s eyes warned him to stay still. “It ain’t me stalking you, mate.”
“This isn’t about that! I’m not about that, goddamn it.” Lenny’s shout rang out in the quiet flat.
His anger reverberated through Nero’s bones, but he welcomed it, though it was slowly dawning on him what Lenny was asking him for. “I know what brought you here doesn’t define you. Apart from wanting to deck the bloke, it don’t mean nothing to me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. You mean something to me. Not the cunt who’s been chasing you around London.”
Lenny shook his head. For a terrifying moment his eyes shone too bright for Nero to bear, then he sucked in a deep breath and seemed to steel himself. “You probably think I’m a fucking lunatic, but can I ask you one thing before I stick my head under a cushion and pretend this day never happened?”
Nero shrugged, knowing Lenny would ask him anyway.
“Do you know who I am?”
“What?”
“Consider it, Nero. Put aside the fact that I haven’t seen daylight for a month, and really think about it. Do you know who I am?”
By Lenny’s expression, Nero reckoned any response would likely be wrong, but he nodded anyway. He had much to learn, but the frighteningly beautiful man in front of him was far from a stranger. He had to be, or Nero’s heart was as crippled as his soul. “I know who you are.”
“Yeah?” Lenny cast a pointed glance to Nero’s left hand. “So why won’t you tell me who you are?”
Apparently certain that no answer was forthcoming, Lenny walked away. After a split second, Nero followed him, his bare feet unnaturally loud in the eerily quiet flat, keeping time with the tattoo in his chest—a slow, London thunder that felt like ominous desperation. Please don’t make me do this.
He found Lenny huddled on the sofa, gazing blankly at the muted TV.
“Forget something?” Lenny said.
“You.”
“Excuse me?”
Nero ventured farther into the room and held out his hand. “Look, I can’t bare my fucking soul to you, but—”
“But what, Nero? You think you can have everything I am while I only get a fraction of you?”
“No.” That wasn’t right, or was it? Lenny had shared his darkest secret, but what had Nero given him in return? An omelette and a plate of hollow bullshit? Defeated, Nero dropped his hand and turned away. “Lenny, mate, this is all I got. I’m sorry it ain’t enough.”
