Makai poured some of the paint into a tray and gave it to Emil. Then he cranked up the radio and grinned. “We could try your playlist, but let’s see what the radio has to offer first.”
“Works for me!” Emil smiled and went to the wall. “I’ll start here and work my way to the right.”
“Sure. I’ll paint this wall first and then come after you for the bits you can’t reach.” Makai’s expression was fond.
They started to paint, and Emil found himself having fun. He did get paint on his forearm pretty much instantly—a brush mishap: shut up—and by the time they broke for lunch, his ratty Disney T-shirt and old chopped-off sweats were patterned with random spots of various sizes.
Since there was a whole box of gloves, he took the ones he’d worn off and tossed them into the trash.
They’d made some sandwiches beforehand so that they wouldn’t have to stop to make anything to eat.
“Oh, this is yours,” Makai said and handed him one with green bell pepper inside. The mildly disgusted expression on his face made Emil chuckle as he took the sandwich.
“Thanks.” They sat on the low steps of the cottage, and Emil realized he was leaning to Makai’s side. “I like this,” he said quietly. “Being close to you.”
Makai hummed but said nothing else. By now, Emil had come to understand that Makai didn’t speak if he didn’t have something to say. There weren’t platitudes and empty words with him, and Emil found it comforting.
“It’s….” And because he couldn’t really find the correct words, he took a page from Makai’s book, acted instead of speaking, and pressed a kiss on Makai’s shoulder, where his tank top showed his skin. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Makai’s voice sounded rough.
“For being you, I guess.”
They ate in silence and listened to the music drifting from the radio.
“I like this one,” Makai said when the song changed.
“Oh yeah, I love his voice.” Emil recognized “Skin” by Rag’n’Bone Man.
“That other song is good too.”
Emil nodded. His fingers twitched at the instinctual need to play the guitar that was somewhere in his parents’ garage.
“I also seem to have a thing for Ed Sheeran’s stuff,” Makai said in a thoughtful tone. “He has such great songs.”
Emil swallowed hard. If there was an artist he had wanted to be when he grew up…. “When his first album came out, I adored it. It was everything I wanted to be and do, musically,” he spoke quietly. “Then after….” He lifted a shaky hand, his gnarled, scarred fingers trembling. “I couldn’t. I’ve been too scared to try again.”
Makai nodded, and his warmth became more intense when he pressed himself against Emil’s side for comfort. “You know that if you want to try again, I’ll be there, right?”
Emil swallowed slowly, feeling a bit choked up. “I’d have to learn it all again.”
“I think it’s like riding a bike. Sure your hands are different, andyouare different, but….” Makai shrugged in the way that Emil knew meant “but what do I know.”
Emil decided to shelf the conversation for now. He needed to figure out how he felt about all of it first.
“All right, let’s get back to work,” he said after downing a bottle of water. “Remember to drink enough.”
Makai gave him a beautiful smile and toasted with his own bottle. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
BY THEend of the afternoon, the house had a fresh coat of yellow paint, and so did a lot of Emil. Makai laughed his gorgeous butt off at him, and Emil couldn’t do anything but laugh with him when he took a look in the mirror.
He’d just cleaned his face and hands, mostly, when his mom called.
“Hey, Mom,” Emil answered and leaned his tired body into the bathroom doorframe. Makai was scrubbing his arms in the sink, and the way he used the nail brush on his skin made Emil wince.
“Hello, sweetheart. How’s the painting?” Mom’s voice belied her smile.
“We just got done. Everything is cleared out, and I’m watching Makai butcher his arms to get the paint off them.”
