“We haven’t even known each other for ayear,” Benji burst out. “Are you crazy? I could be anybody!”
“But you’re not.” Noah stepped toward him and then stopped, hands clenching at his sides. Holding himself back, Benji realized. He didn’t want to be too much, even if Benji could see every part of him screaming to grab Benji’s face and kiss him senseless.
“You’re Benjamin,” Noah continued. “You’re mine. You’re sweet, and you’re protective of your brother, and your friends, and your soft heart. I know I ambushed you with it, but?—”
“Oh god,pleasedon’t propose again.” Benji stared up at the ceiling, eyes burning with furious tears. If Noah kept up this romantic speech right now, he would lose it. With tears or with a temper tantrum, he didn’t know. And if Noahtoldhim to say yes, Benji didn’t know if he had the strength to say no.
“I’m not,” Noah said, too fast. “I just… want you to think about it. I think we could have a really beautiful life together.”
“You said you weren’t doing it,” Benji warned.
“I’m not,” Noah repeated.
Benji nodded, eyes still burning. “Good. Because I’m still— I’m not saying no. But I’m not saying yes. Okay? I can’t say anything right now.”
“Got it,” Noah said quietly.
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open onto their floor.
Benji strode out. He wanted so badly to turn around, to reassure Noah that he still loved him, that he was just scared. But the fear was so big, and it felt easier to call it anger than stop and deal with it.
A voice rang down the hallway. “Excuse me! MisterArtiste!”
Benji turned around. An elderly woman was climbing out of the elevator next to them, smiling genially. She looked familiar, but Benji couldn’t figure out why.
“Mrs. Presley,” Noah said. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“In the olden days, we would all just ‘drop around.’ You should try it.” Mrs. Presley slowed, her smile dimming as she took in Benji’s guarded posture. “Is this a bad time?”
“No,” said Benji and Noah as one.
Noah looked pointedly at Benji.
Mister Artiste, she had said. She was here for him.
Noah set them up in the main living room.
Mrs. Presley perched on the couch like she belonged there. She looked like she had walked out of a fashion magazine, all elegance and grace and giant sunglasses that somehow didn’t look stupid.
“I’ll get you something to drink,” Noah said. “Sparkling water?”
“You know what I like.” Mrs. Presley said.
Noah looked over at Benji.
“You know what I like,” said Benji flatly.
Noah nodded, his mouth twitching. Benji liked tap water. Once, Noah had accidentally brought him sparkling water, and he’d spat it all over the table.
Mrs. Presley watched Noah head out of the room and turned to Benji, smiling warmly.
“It’s good to get a proper introduction,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Benji cringed. He hoped she meant Noah and not the gossip sites.
“Is there something wrong?” Benji asked cautiously. “Noah said you were thinking of, uh, buying my… thing.”
“Your painting, yes.” She rocked forward and slapped his knee with such energy that he jumped. That was a lot more enthusiastic than he had expected from a woman so frail. “Stop looking like I’m going to make you drink your paint water! Noah mentioned you weren’t used to the high art life; he didn’t say you were sosquirrely. There’s no trouble! Relax!”
