“I love the Muppets.”
“Yeah?” David grabbed the remote and scrolled through movies until he foundThe Muppet Movie. The original one. “Want to watch?”
Farzan flopped back onto the couch.
“Sure.”
David fell asleep midway through the movie, his soup bowl flopping sideways onto his lap. Thankfully it was empty. Farzan collected it as quietly as he could and tucked the blanket in around him more tightly. David looked so peaceful as he dozed, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he breathed through his stuffy nose.
Tonight had been… perfect. Weirdly perfect. Farzan couldn’t explain it to himself if he tried. But this—cooking and watching a movie, just being together—was maybe the most fun he’d ever had. Taking care of David. Making him soup. Laughing and joking and talking as the evening waned.
Scenarios spun out in his imagination, of more nights spent like this:coming home to David holding a glass of wine, cozying up together to watch a movie. Or David coming home to him, with dinner on the stove, but it would go cold because they’d kiss hello and end up in the bedroom, or on the couch, or anywhere really, because every time they touched it was electric.
Farzan could get used to this. Even ifthiswas just making soup for David when he was sick and watching the Muppets. His heart squeezed.Thishad a time limit. What was he supposed to do when David moved away?
The doorbell interrupted Farzan’s spiral before it could get properly started. He shook himself and tried to get up without disturbing David, who muttered and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“I’ll get it,” Farzan said. “You relax.”
“Probably UPS or something,” David said into the couch.
But when Farzan opened the door, it wasn’t a UPS driver. It was an older Black woman, with David’s beautiful nose and upturned eyes, and an enormous soup pot gripped tightly to her chest.
“Hello,” she said, eyeing Farzan up and down, and he felt the weight of her judgment on his skin. But then she smiled, and it was easy to see where David got his smile from. “You must be the boyfriend.”
“Farzan,” he said, stepping back. “Can I take that?”
While he carried the pot—it smelled rich and hearty, probably chicken noodle—David’s mom (she had to be) went to say hello to her son, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
“You feeling any better, baby?”
“Hey, Momma,” he said, voice sandy with sleep. Farzan shivered, remembering the only time they’d actually gotten to sleep together, curled up in Farzan’s bed their first night together. David had sounded just like that when he woke up the next morning. “You didn’t have to come.”
“Apparently I didn’t. Looks like your man already took good care of you.”
“Oh, shit.” David looked past his mom and met Farzan’s eyes. He gestured back toward Farzan. “Momma, this is Farzan. My boyfriend. Farzan, my mom, Kathleen.”
“We’ve met,” Kathleen teased, but she shot Farzan another soft smile that had Farzan’s ears burning. He retreated to the kitchen to let David and his mom have a moment, but Kathleen followed him, looking into the pot of ash and giving an approving nod.
“If I’d known you were here I would’ve let you two alone,” she said. “He didn’t tell me you were such a good cook.”
“Ah, well…”
“It’s sweet of you to take care of him.” She leaned in and kissed Farzan on the cheek. The burning in his ears was spreading across his face.
“He didn’t tell me how handsome you were, either.” She winked. “So what’s in this soup?”
Farzan explained to her, while they divvied up both pots of soup into David’s collection of storage containers and stacked them in the fridge. Farzan made for the sink to get started on the dishes, but Kathleen shooed him off with a hand towel.
“You go relax. I got this.”
“I really don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t,” she said. “David’s always been a good judge of character.”
Farzan didn’t know what to say to that. So he slipped back into the living room. David was dozing again, snuggled up in his blanket, and Farzan wanted to wrap himself around David, nestle in and smell the sweet mixture his cologne and moisturizer made at the crook of his neck.
But instead, he lowered himself onto the couch. David peered at him, blinking slowly, with a soft grin.
