The mention of Reg seemed to sober Charlie. He made his way upstairs and slipped into his bedroom without another sound. Leo followed him and shut the door behind them. The room was dark and cold. He flicked the light on, and Charlie turned towards him and smiled, and suddenly, the room felt like a summer’s day.
Damn, that bloody smile.
Leo sat on the floor. Charlie appeared to be coming down from whatever crap he’d swallowed, but Leo was under no illusions that either of them would be sleeping anytime soon. He watched with heavy eyes as Charlie rummaged around under his bed, digging out piles of sketchbooks and pens. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“I figured that. What are you looking for?”
Charlie didn’t answer, apparently distracted by a battered shoe box Leo had never seen before. He untied the string around it and took the lid off with more care than his jittery limbs should’ve allowed.
“Who’s in the pictures?” Leo leaned forward, curious, in spite of the very real urge to curl up and sleep for a week.
Charlie held up a yellowed Polaroid. “Dunno. It could be my mum, or an aunt, maybe. What do you think?”
Leo squinted at the photograph. The young woman had long dark hair and deep brown eyes—Charlie’seyes. Mother or not, they shared blood. “You look like her. Where did you get these from?”
“The orphanage closed down a few years ago. One of the missionary workers sent a box of stuff to Kate. Not sure any of it’s really mine, though. Could be anyone’s.”
“She doesn’t look like just anyone.”
“Whatever.” Charlie shrugged in a way that made Leo feel like he was staring at his own reflection, until Charlie’s pensive frown cleared as though it had never been there at all. He rummaged in the box again, and then grinned manically as he retrieved two colourful beaded bracelets. “Oh, hey. I’d forgotten about these.”
Leo snagged a bracelet and turned it over in his hands. “Nice.”
“Yeah?” Charlie jammed the lid on the shoe box and shoved it under his bed. “Have it, then. Make up for me chewing your face off earlier.”
Charlie left the room before Leo found a coherent response. He clattered around in the bathroom before returning in a pair of pyjama bottoms that looked suspiciously like he’d fished them out of the washing basket, no T-shirt, and the remaining bracelet around his left wrist. He didn’t glance Leo’s way as he drifted to his bed and sat down. Leo wondered what he was thinking. Wished he’d tell him, and then felt horrified that he might.
What are you so scared of?
Leo honestly didn’t know. “Do you think you can sleep?”
“Hmm?” Charlie tore his gaze from the wall. “Um, maybe, if the wall stops dancing. What about you? You’ve still got your jeans on.”
“So?”
“Why do you wear so many clothes in bed?”
In case I have to get up and run.“‘Because it’s winter and this house is fucking freezing.”
“No, it’s not. Mum leaves the heating on twenty-four hours a day ’cause she hates the thought of any of us feeling cold.”
“Whatever.” Yearning for his own bed, Leo cast a longing glance at the open door, then crawled across the room and took Charlie’s wrist. “You don’t seem as trashed now.”
Charlie sniggered. “Must be the magic bananas.”
“Magic something.” Leo released Charlie’s wrist, satisfied his pulse had slowed enough for Leo to leave him—
“Are you going to move out?”
Leo jumped. He hadn’t noticed Charlie casually invading his personal space. “What?”
“You know, to escape the gay boy.”
“Gay boy?” Leo laughed, couldn’t help it. “What good would that do?”
Charlie flinched. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. I said I was sorry.”
