When he pulled back, Basil was watching him, a small grin still turning his lips up. He lifted his clean hand to Derek’s face and brushed his hair back, dragging his fingers down his nose, scratching at his stubble. He went lower, to the ink on his shoulder, tracing the old, slightly faded lines of the face on his left shoulder.
Derek gently fell onto his back, Basil following him, propping up on his elbow to watch him. He didn’t stop touching, his finger now tracing the word etched along his forearm. Sinner.
When their eyes locked, Basil raised his hand. ‘Why?’ he signed. ‘Gay?’ He signed the word, thumb and forefinger touching his chin before he spelled it to make sure Derek understood.
Derek shook his head. ‘No.’ He considered it, then spelled, ‘Irony.’ He struggled, but he wanted Basil to understand him. ‘My father,’ he began in painfully slow motions, ‘hated me. Everything about me was bad.’
‘No,’ Basil told him, his face going stony.
Derek shook his head. ‘I know. Now, I know. But when I was a kid, he said I was bad. He hated me. Hated this,’ he tapped his hand over his heart, then at his temple. ‘My mind. Hated where I came from. Hated my mother. Jewish,’ he spelled.
Basil swallowed thickly. ‘Jewish,’ he spelled, then offered the sign and pointed to himself.
‘My father was catholic,’ he told him. ‘Just one more thing to hate me for. He said I was born a sinner. So, I took that identity back.’ He brushed his hand down along the word. It had been a long time since he hated himself for what he was, a long time since he’d let himself believe anything his father had told him. He didn’t love his PTSD, or his sleepless nights, or moments when he was so overwhelmed with his brain that he couldn’t leave the house. But he didn’t hate himself.
‘You’re beautiful,’ Basil told him.
Derek flushed, which felt ridiculous considering what they’d just done. ‘Thank you. I’m sorry my signing is slow.’
Basil shook his head, a fierce look coming over his face. ‘No. I want you to understand how much this meant to me.’
Derek blinked, letting Basil go over the signs again and again until he understood. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re doing this. You don’t want more from me. You don’t want my voice,’ Basil replied.
Derek felt his stomach clench, wanted to find the guy who had made Basil feel this way and beat him until he was unrecognizable. He took a breath, then shrugged. ‘Your voice,’ he signed, then reached out and touched Basil’s hands. ‘I like this voice.’
Basil’s eyes shined, and he didn’t smile, but he leaned in and kissed Derek for far, far more than he was worth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Basil was at the little Mexican restaurant mostly to escape his sister, and because the owner knew some rudimentary ASL from when his aunt had lived there. The one thing he could appreciate was the older shops, those who had been in the community for a while, knew how to talk to him at least a little. It was a reminder that his aunt had made some impact on this place, and maybe if he stuck around, he’d make some difference, too.
It didn’t mean he didn’t miss DC, or his Deaf friends, or knowing where exactly to go to be surrounded by his people and his language. But he was starting to feel less apart, less isolated, and that meant something.
He picked a table far from the window just in case Amaranth came looking for him—and it wasn’t that he was ashamed, but he was still processing and trying to understand exactly what it was he was feeling for Derek without her smug look and constant teasing about him finally getting laid. He understood she meant well, but she didn’t understand what it had cost him to finally cross that line, even if it felt more of a relief than a fear or burden.
As he studied the condensation on his glass of water like maybeit held the secrets of the universe, a hand in his periphery caught his attention. He glanced up and noticed a man standing there—vaguely familiar, though maybe it was just the fact that he was covered in tattoos that made him seem like they’d met before. He was holding a small baby in the crook of his arm, and Basil immediately recognized her as the one Derek and Sage had been taking around town.
‘Hi,’ the man signed. ‘I’m Tony. I work with Derek.’ His signs were slower, but more fluid than Derek’s.
Basil smiled at him. ‘Do you want to sit?’
Tony looked a little hesitant, but he turned his head and said something to the hostess who brought over another menu and a small highchair for the little girl.
‘Are we interrupting?’ Tony asked once Basil had looked up again.
Basil smiled, shaking his head. ‘Lunch break. You?’
‘Off work today. Baby,’ he said, and reached over to tickle his daughter’s cheek. She gave a laugh, her feet kicking, cheeks plump with her grin. ‘My wife and I switch.’
Basil considered him for a minute. ‘Your signing is good.’
‘It’s slow,’ Tony countered, ‘but we’re on level three now. I want to be fluent before she develops more complex language.’
The fact that he was using ASL—properly, the grammar, the flow, even if some of his signs were a little archaic—meant he was dedicated, and it made something happy twist in Basil’s gut. One more child being taught that the way she was born wasn’t wrong, even if it was different from her mom and dad.
‘She’ll thank you,’ Basil told him.
