With trembling hands, he unfolded it and stared down at the writing, the surprise of it all preventing him from absorbing the words for a long moment.
Basil,
I don’t really know why I’m writing this except to tell you that what you did for me the other night meant everything. Part of me isn’t sure this painting is for you. Hell, maybe you showed your sister and somehow she had a thing for sea creatures, I don’t know. But another part of me thinks maybe this means something.That maybe living through dark moments, you get to have something like this. I don’t know if we’ll be friends—if we’ll be more—if we’ll be less, but I do know that I’ll carry the other night with me probably forever. You’re not the first person to talk me down from the ledge, but please you know are the first person who I walked away from without drowning in guilt and feeling like I’d been a burden. You just let me feel like a person, and I can’t tell you what that meant. So thank you. If you ever get this note, just…thank you.
Always,
Derek
He stared down at the words, his hands shaking so hard he wasn’t able to read them clearly when he went back a second time, but it didn’t matter. He’d memorized it from that single pass. Maybe he was a fool for letting it get to him, maybe he should just burn the damn thing and be done with it. But instead, he folded it up and laid it on his nightstand, and he knew that tomorrow would bring a change.
CHAPTER NINE
Basil headed over to Irons and Works on Wednesday afternoon. His own shop was all-but dead, and Amit said that was the slowest day for most tattoo shops that he knew of. He couldn’t be sure Derek was working, but he was taking the plunge. His feet dragged on the walk, but he finally made it to the door, and his heart stuttered a little in his chest because he could see Derek inside working in his stall at his drawing table.
He swallowed thickly, fighting the flight urge, and forced himself to walk through the door. It must have had a bell or buzzer, because the moment it swung open, Derek’s head lifted, and his mouth parted in surprise. Basil could see his lips form a word, then Derek got to his feet and hurried toward the low swinging door.
‘Hi,’ he signed.
Basil smiled at him. ‘Can we talk?’ He hoped Derek’s lessons and his work with Jasmine had gotten him that far, and by the blush on Derek’s face, Basil thought maybe it had.
Derek gestured for Basil to follow him through, then led him to the seats they’d occupied last time he was there. Nothing looked different, apart from the spread of paper Derek had been working on,and though Basil was curious, wanted to poke and prod and learn Derek from the inside out, he held back. He sat down, then reached into his pocket for the short note he’d carefully crafted before coming over.
I am here for apologize. I didn’t understand what you mean about free tattoo. I was think pity, but Katherine explain. So I say yes. If you want.
Derek read the note, then looked up with bright eyes and the curve of a smile on his lips. He carefully set the paper down, then signed, ‘Yes. I want.’
‘Book,’ Basil signed, then pointed to where Derek had pulled out his sketchbook. ‘With flowers.’
Basil felt a measure of relief when Derek nodded and reached for it. Their communication was half pantomime and nothing more advanced than the infant he was learning for, but it was something. He handed it over, and Basil wasted no time flipping to the back page where the Night-Blooming Cereus had been sketched. He wanted that, and something a little more, something that was all Derek, and a little bit of him—but not something Derek had pre-drawn.
He motioned for a pen and paper, and Derek handed over a blank notebook and a little golf pencil which barely fit between Basil’s fingers. It would do, though, enough to explain what he was looking for. My mother have this flower. I want, but not this, you understand? Want new, but same flower.
Derek read the note, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, and Basil felt a hot surge of want he tried desperately to ignore. Friends, he reminded himself. First, they would try for friends. First, he would see if he really had the ability to trust him and let him in, because he owed it to himself to go slow.
Okay, Derek wrote beneath Basil’s scribbled note. I have an idea, and you let me know if you like it. Some of my clients, ones that trust me a lot, let me do something free hand. I’ll draw it on you with my pen first, but I don’t stencil it. I just see where the worktakes me. Would you want something like that, or do you want me to draw it out first?
That, Basil thought. That’s what I want, what I need. He laid one hand over Derek’s wrist for a second, then signed, ‘Yes. Perfect,’ and, ‘please.’
Derek’s cheeks bloomed a soft pink, but he nodded and carefully put the notepad to the side of the desk. After a long moment he lifted his hands. ‘I’m learning ASL. Beginner’s class. I’m sorry I’m slow, but I’m trying.’
Basil ducked his head a little shyly and he nodded. ‘I’m happy. Jasmine,’ he used the sign name the twins had showed his sister, ‘it will mean a lot to her when she grows up.’ He mouthed along with his words, going slow, slower even when he saw Derek’s eyebrows dip into a frown of confusion. But he didn’t back down, he didn’t dumb it down. ‘I can help you.’
‘Help me,’ Derek repeated. Basil could tell from the way he moved his lips, he said the word aloud and he felt an inexplicable urge to lay his hand to Derek’s throat and feel the vibrations of his voice. His fingers tingled with the barely repressed urge. ‘Sign?’
Basil nodded. ‘Every day. We can meet, drink coffee, practice.’
Derek’s lips lifted into a grin that reached his eyes, making them stand out gorgeous and almost hypnotizing. ‘Thank you. I…’ His finger hovered in the air, pointing to himself like there was so much more he wanted to say but didn’t know how yet. Which was fine. It was okay. Some day he would have the words, and Basil was almost positive he’d be there when Derek could finally give them.
‘You areout of your damn mind,’ Amaranth said, though she was smiling at him. She had her legs up on the arm of the sofa, her head pillowed on a folded afghan, her signs a little sloppy from the half-gone bottle of wine at the floor near the edge of the table. ‘A tattoo. You?’
Basil scowled at her. ‘Since when do you not like tattoos?’
‘I love them.’ She rolled onto her side, lifting her shirt so he could get an eye-full of her songbirds which bore a ribbon with their parents’ names. She dropped her clothes and settled back in. ‘You don’t have any.’
‘Need to start somewhere, right?’ he challenged.
‘You just want to touch dicks with him,’ she said, waving her hand dismissively.
