Arden tried to take the book off him. “I’ll draw you again,” he said. “I’ll do a proper portrait. A better one.”
“These are good enough for me.”
“No, I…” He tried again to take the book, but Beckett wouldn’t let him. He tugged at it. “Give me that. Beckett. I’ll draw a nicer one!”
“I’d be happy if you would,” he said, then lightly smacked Arden’s hand with anah-ah.
Arden snatched his hands to his chest and held them there, wide-eyed with astonishment.
Beckett snorted a laugh.
Arden scowled and went for the book again. Beckett fended him off with insulting ease.
“You can draw me ten thousand times over,” he said. “But these, I need to keep.”
“It’s…just…”
“I know, Arden. I’ve apologised. You’ve accepted it. We’re moving on, you and me. I still need to remember what I did.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Good. I’m glad. You don’t have to.” He shrugged. “I do.”
He set the book down and stood.
Arden’s head fell back and he looked up the long length of Beckett’s body as Beckett loomed.
Beckett smirked, well pleased with whatever he saw on Arden’s face.
Awe, probably. Admiration.
Want.
He held out a hand. Arden unthinkingly took it, and found himself yanked to his feet. Beckett didn’t let go. Instead, he wove his fingers through Arden’s and squeezed.
Curious, Arden squeezed back.
“Come for a walk with me?” Beckett asked gruffly.
“Yes,” Arden said at once.
“Leave your things,” Beckett said when Arden went to gather up the book, his coat, and the small satchel he kept his pencils and sketchbook in. “We’ll come back for them.” He set off.
“Where are we going?” Arden took three quick steps to bring himself alongside Beckett.
“Down to the river. You been?”
“No.”
“Haven’t seen much of the place yet, have you?”
“No.” He’d been trying to stay out of the way.
He’d been trying not to peek at Beckett.
Now, he rather thought that Beckett would enjoy being peeked at. There had been a pleased gleam in his dark eyes when he’d paged through the sketches. Yes, Beckett liked being peeked at. Admired.
Arden was happy to indulge him.
