My heart aches as I watch Rafael comb his hair back. The towel is wrapped around his waist, and his necklace with the gray stone still hangs against his hairy chest, which I see reflected in the spot Rafael has cleared on the steamy mirror.
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to love him even more, but somehow, I think I do.
Hell, he hasn’t missed a beach clean since we started hooking up.
Soon enough, we’re all packed up for a day at the con. The first time our group of friends went, we were all new to the city, and most everyone got lost on the buses and subways trying to find the convention center. Now it feels like an old routine, one of these little traditions that help us keep our friend group close.
Matty and Stone pick us up, so I get to eavesdrop on the way Rafael and Stone talk about the tattoo shop. It seems like it’s going well. Rafael is just cleaning the place; he’s not learning much of the craft yet. But I can tell he’s excited about it, and the work he puts into his tattoo drawings is impressive.
I’m proud of him.
Still, he’s Rafael, and I can tell he’s hesitant, too. I think maybe he’s scared by how much he wants it to go well. For as long as I’ve known him, drawing has given him a way to work hard all on his own. It’s something he can do on his own terms. Other jobs, work that requires more conformity, those can be challenging for my friend.
Anyway, Stone seems genuinely impressed with how hard Rafael has been working, which makes me proud. I take my friend’s hand and squeeze it. He smiles and squeezes my hand back, and we don’t let go for the rest of the ride.
In the parking lot, we find Milo and Joey first. Joey’s also a tattoo artist, and I’m excited to see that he gravitates right to Rafael, too. Joey and Stone are both taller than Rafael, and both dressed in dark clothes, Joey with a tightly buzzed haircut and colorful tattoos and Stone with shaggy hair and black ink. Next to them, Rafael has a casual, chill smile on his face. He’s wearing a T-shirt with a gray alien head on the front, and he’s got his backpack with him like always, a sketchbook safely inside.
It kind of throws me. He fits in, standing with the guys. I’m not sure I can explain why, but there’s something just right about the way he rocks back on his heels, and how easily he, Joey, and Stone fall into a conversation about their art. It’s almost like I’m catching a new glimpse of Rafael.
Even now, after everything, I’m still seeing new sides to him.
I shake my head. Our friends Ayla and Horatio arrive, and then we all head to meet the rest of the group at the entrance. Rafael falls by my side and bumps his tattoo against mine, and I sway back into him.
“Do you think we’ll meet aStar Trekactor?” I ask him.
“I’m hoping for Wilson Cruz.”
We have this idea that it’s way better to meet an actornotby standing in line to get something signed. It’s preferred to end up in an elevator together or to help a lost actress find her way to the right convention room, although this philosophy means that we’ve never actually met the celebrities we want.
A small group of people dressed asDoctor Whocharacters passes us by. “Wilson Cruz would be a huge win,” I agree.
Rafael smiles at me. “You know me. I’m here for the covers of old sci-fi novels.”
I laugh. “You’re lucky. There won’t be a line at those booths.”
“You’ve found a few things, too,” he points out.
It’s true. I work at the gay and lesbian archive because I have a lifelong interest in queer history, and there’s definitely some of that history shuffled into the old magazines and pulp novels at the con.
Rafael, though, he has an eye for detail that still shocks me. He’ll spot a strange, beautiful illustration from across the room, like it’s glowing for him, then beeline straight there.
“Oh crap,” he sighs. We’re walking in, filing into a line.
“What?”
“I left my wallet in the car.”
“I can cover you, if you want to buy anything.”
“Let’s not,” Rafael says quickly, and there’s a prickle of irritation in his voice. “Sorry.” He clears his throat. “I’d rather run back and get it.”
Matty turns around. He’s just a step away from walking through the gate and disappearing into the convention center. “Here’s the spare car key,” he says, handing it off. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths inside!”
“I’ll come with you,” I tell Rafael. “Keep you company.”
He gives me an apologetic look; then we step out of line and walk back to the car. It’s funny. We’ve done this a million times, walking back together when he’s forgotten something, broken off from the group. But this time, being alone with him feels so different, and I’m immediately thinking of our encounter in the shower again.
“By the way,” he says. “I got an idea that you might appreciate.”
