Bayani doesn’t know how to properly segue into the next bit, so he simply says, “I can sleep on the couch tonight.”
John frowns, heavy eyebrows drawing together in displeasure. “No.”
The brevity of the statement has Bayani at a loss. He’s used to Emile’s way of communicating, which was to charm and flatter or else wheedle and make impossible demands and then find ways to punish Bayani for not meeting them. Emile was never direct. Unsure of how to proceed, Bayani says, “You might be more comfortable in your own bed.”
“No,” John replies, simple as that. “I want you in there.”
Bayani nods and attempts a cautious smile. The movement tugs on his tender, still-healing skin. “Thank you.”
This, at least, brings a soft smile to the man’s lips. “You’re welcome.”
After dinner, Bayani stands to clear the table, desperately wanting to start doing his part around the apartment. John tries to stop him, but Bayani holds firm. “I want to help,”he insists, so they compromise. John sets up a bar stool in the kitchen so that Bayani can sit while drying the dishes after John washes them. Gripping the towel loosely with his casted hand while his good one holds the dish, Bayani completes the task with diligence, and though he’s sure he misses some spots, it feels good to be useful.
John hums while he works, which Bayani finds endearing. If he knew the song, he might even hum along. He likes watching John in profile—strong nose, square jaw, rounded pecs, and biceps that are thicker than Bayani’s thighs. They ripple and flex while John scours the pots. Bayani knows how gentle those hands can be and how dexterous those fingers are. He imagines John’s fingers curled around his smooth cock or else gently exploring his bottom, seeking the pleasure point inside him while preparing his hole to be fucked.
Bayani feels a little guilty in lusting after his caretaker, but he’s young and horny. And he’s thankful that of all the things Emile stole from him, he didn’t take away his desire.
Emile did rob him of his beauty. His reflection in the mirror that morning was a sobering reminder. If he’s ever able to go out in the world again, he’ll be gawked at and judged. For the rest of his life, people will know what was done to him and wonder what he did to deserve it. They’ll see the worst moments of his life carved on his mutilated face, and Bayani won’t even be able to speak the words to defend himself against their judgment.
Bayani sighs miserably and focuses on the plate in front of him. John nudges his shoulder and gives him a sweet smile. He always seems to know when Bayani’s mood is crashing.
Afterward, Bayani’s knee is bothering him again, but he doesn’t wish to go back to bed right away, so John sets him up on the couch with a pillow propping up his knee. Bayani pats the spot next to him for John to join, and when he does, Bayani scoots backward so that he may lie with his head pillowed against John’s thick thigh. He just wants to be close to the big man. He feels safer when John is nearby. John makes him feel appreciated and cared for, and if it weren’t too scary to contemplate, Bayani might even admit he has feelings for John. But Bayani doesn’t trust himself to make that determination, not with the possibility that John might be hiding his true nature the way Emile did.
Still, he can hope.
Soon enough Miss Priss jumps up on the couch and curls up on Bayani’s full belly. They watch a documentary about whales, and the sounds of their mournful underwater cries, along with the narrator’s soothing voice, soon lulls him to sleep. The last thing Bayani remembers is John’s gentle fingers combing through his hair.
5
JOHN
They fallinto a sort of routine. John wakes up early in the morning and puts on the coffee, scrambles up some eggs, and makes toast to go along with it. Bayani likes a lot of butter, so John is generous in his application. The boy shuffles out of the bedroom when the coffee starts to percolate, and they eat breakfast together at the kitchen table. John talks about what shipments will be arriving that day, orders for meat that may have come in, as well as what they’ll be having for dinner. Bayani listens and nods along with John’s morning report.
Then John goes downstairs to open the shop while Bayani tidies up the kitchen. John returns for lunch and stays for a few hours in the afternoon while César watches the storefront. John used to spend that time in his back office balancing the books and responding to emails, but he’s rearranged his schedule to be with Bayani in the afternoons. The boy goes to bed early, which leaves John with several hours to fill and besides, he’s never been a good sleeper.
The boy is on the mend, and the light is back in his eyes. Often, John will return home to find him playing with Miss Priss or snuggled up on the couch with the cat in his arms while watching television. Lately, he’s been doing more around the apartment. John told him it’s not necessary, but Bayani insists. He now changes Miss Priss’s kitty litter and feeds her—cat food as well as the scraps he saves from their meals. She’s going to get fat with all the treats she’s been getting, but John can’t find it in him to curb Bayani’s enthusiasm in the slightest.
One day, John comes up for lunch to find Bayani in the kitchen cooking up something on the stove. John makes a lot of noise when he enters so as not to alarm him—the boy startles easily.
“Whatcha got cooking?” John asks, inhaling the aroma of spices and garlic.
“Adobo chicken,”Bayani says through his tablet. “My grandmother’s recipe.”
“Smells good,” John says and rubs his belly.
Bayani gives him a shy smile.“It’s for dinner. Has to simmer.”
“I look forward to it. Anything I can do to help?”
“No. Lunch is in the fridge.”
John opens the refrigerator to find a sandwich already made for him, plated with apple slices and chips. “Thank you.” He lays his hand lightly on Bayani’s shoulder. “Join me?”
Bayani sets aside the wooden spoon and walks with some difficulty over to the table with a sandwich of his own. They eat in silence for a while, and John decides to broach a topic that’s been on his mind lately. “Would you like to learn sign language?”
Bayani shrugs, looking uncomfortable, so John continues, “I was thinking you could take some classes online, then teach it to me? We could learn together.”
Bayani nods and clears his throat, seems to remember that he can’t speak, and reaches for his tablet instead. “Does that mean I can stay here? Even after I’ve healed?”
