Dion’s eyes narrow.
“Fuck, not that that’s what that was.” I rush to sit next to him. “Not at all. That was…pretty fucking awesome.”
He smiles and it has almost the exact same visceral reaction in me as when he came in my arms earlier. I light up from the inside out. “Yeah, it was awesome,” he says in a quiet voice, but one that I’ll play on repeat until the next time I see him.
“And you’re cool, about what really happened that night? At the Leavers’ Ball?” I take a seat next to him, close enough to touch or reach for him, but I don’t actually do it.
He nods slowly. “I think so. Of course, I can’t remember word for word what was said but it makes more sense that you were talking to Miles about Raquelle than me. I mean, I’m assuming you didn’t tell Miles that you had a crush on me back then?”
That familiar heat returns to my cheeks. “No,” I admit. “But I wish I had. I wish I’d told everyone. I wish I’d told you.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asks me slowly and carefully, like maybe he’s afraid of the answer.
“Because I knew you didn’t like me, like that. I wasn’t even sure if you liked me in any kind of way. And then I sent you the Valentine’s card and you laughed at me.”
“I didn’t laugh at you. I laughed at what I thought the card was.”
“A French-speaking stalker?” I offer and I can’t help my own chuckles bubbling out of my mouth.
“Exactly!”
We make music by laughing together.
“I can’t believe I got my mum to write it.” I cover my face with my hands, rubbing as if to clean off the embarrassment. But still, we’re both laughing.
“You know,” he says and his unexpectedly serious tone has me dropping my hand and looking at him. “I kept the card.”
My hands drop, and so does my jaw. “You kept it?”
Dion’s cheeks darken, a deep shade of umber. “It’s the only Valentine’s card I’ve ever received.”
I could be wrong but I have an inkling that’s the most vulnerable thing Dion has ever shared with somebody. At least, I imagine, this side of his transition.
“God, I don’t know whether to be mortified or thrilled to tiny fucking pieces that you kept it.”
“Not that I could tell you where it is, but when I was thinking about moving out of my parents’ place last year, I did a big clear out and I found it. I distinctly remember deciding not to throw it away.”
“Maybe you knew,” I venture playfully. “Maybe on some level you knew that I would reappear in your life and get trapped with you in your place of work and force us both down memory lane to face up to the skeletons in our closet.”
Dion’s forehead creases. “What are your skeletons?”
I plonk myself back on the couch next to him and take his hand in mine. “Miles Richards. Being in the closet at school. Not admitting to you or anyone just how much I liked you back then.” I stare at our laced fingers, too shy to meet his eyes. “Do you think things would have been different, if I had told you the truth? Or would you have laughed at me like I imagined?”
When I finally look up at Dion, his big brown eyes are soft but still intense on mine. “I can’t honestly say it wouldhave ended up like this.” He nods at our state of undress, and I realise this is the longest I’ve ever been topless since my colostomy surgery. Even when I’m home alone, I don’t like to walk around topless with it — seeing it out of the corner of my eye is jarring — but sitting here like this with Dion, I’ve almost started to forget about it. Or rather, forget that it’s a big deal. “I wasn’t as…at peace with who I am back then. I didn’t really do relationships. I still don’t…”
“Oh,” I say, sounding normal even though it feels like all my organs have plummeted through my ass, which is a feeling I’m very familiar with.
“I mean…” Dion jumps in but then trails off again. “I just…I’ve never really wanted to be in a relationship before. It’s just never been a priority until…”
I grab hold of that until with both hands and all my teeth. “Until?”
“Until now. Until you,” he says, and my heart stops dead in my chest. It only starts to pump again when Dion lifts my hand up to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, those globe-like eyes fixed on me.
I shiver. Literally shiver, and have to bite back the moan that’s on the tip of my tongue. As much as I want to sink to my knees for Dion again, I want this conversation much, much more.
“I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” I say. “I meant what I said. I just want coffee.”
“And a possible future?”
