“Time to get up.”
“As in time for work, or time for you to kick me out of your bed?”
“I’d never kick you out of my bed. You make it a nice place to be.”
“Stop being sweet. It’s too early for me to start crying.”
With his face still crinkled from sleep, it was hard to tell if he was joking. All Luis knew was that he was fucking adorable, and as long as Paolo was in his shitty second-hand bed, he never wanted to get up.
Shame Paolo’s alarm had other ideas.
Luis gave Paolo a toothbrush. “It’s from Pound Stretchers. Sorry if it’s shit.”
Paolo rolled his eyes and ambled into the bathroom. He was back in two minutes flat with wet hair and a towel around his waist. “It’s fucking cold in here. Do those heaters work?”
Luis waited for Paolo to hand him the towel before he shrugged and made his escape. He jumped in and out of the shower even quicker than Paolo and shivered as he dried off and found his last set of clean clothes.
Paolo was already dressed and still scowling at the storage heaters. “Thought you said you had gas?”
“I do, but it only runs the water.”
“No central heating?”
“Not from the boiler, no.”
Paolo got up from Luis’s bed and crouched in front of the nearest storage heater. He opened the dial. “It’s not turned on.”
“I know.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t need them on.”
“Luis, it’s freezing in here. I know you haven’t got Italian blood to keep warm, but you’re not a fucking polar bear.”
He rarely said Luis’s name. They were together so often, just the two of them, there was no need. Luis liked the way his gravelly tone wrapped around it, even if he was making bullshit analogies. “They’re expensive to run. And they don’t get hot for hours, so I’m leaving again by the time they start working anyway.”
Paolo fiddled with the dials. “You need to keep the output turned up during the winter.”
“Okay, but I’m going to be out all day, so I don’t want it on now, do I?”
“That’s not how they—never mind.” Paolo flicked the power switch on the wall. “Turn it on at the wall when you’re at home, all right? Being cold all the time isn’t a fucking joke.”
Luis wondered how he knew. They’d shared a childhood without ever speaking to each other, but Luis had no idea when Paolo’s parents had died, if he’d ever lived with them, and if he had, what it had been like. He wanted to know. Probably. Maybe. But then knowing for sure that Paolo had suffered wasn’t something he wanted to live with.
Yeah, cos it’s all about you.
They left the bedsit. Luis almost made himself leave Paolo’s hoodie behind, but even with Paolo walking beside him, he was still addicted to its scent. He zipped it up to his nose and breathed deep while Paolo picked up stray cans and bottles and dumped them in the bins they passed.
It was a longer walk to the cafe from Luis’s place. They arrived fifteen minutes later than usual, with no time for tea and a chat before they opened.
“You can cook,” Paolo said.
“Okay.”
“You don’t have to.”
Luis shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
