“I thought I might see you here,” he babbles in a voice higher pitched than his usual speaking voice. It’s cute. “You’ve been working too much.”
I shrug, trying to coerce my shoulders back down from where they’ve taken up residence around my ears. “I like my job.” Reaching for a yellow marker, I focus on coloring the fins on my orange fish, poking the tip of my tongue out of the corner of mymouth as I concentrate on staying within the smaller space of the lines.
“Mmm,” Anson doesn’t sound convinced. He grabs a green marker and starts slashing at his page with it chaotically, making me cringe. “But you’ve seemed…um…” Little Anson’s vocabulary is not as extensive as Adult Anson. He tilts his head from side to side, then settles on a garbled sound. “Ggghbbrerrrggh. Y’know?”
“Anxious,” a low, gentle voice supplies from behind us, making me jump in my seat. I look over my shoulder to find Anson’s Daddy, Drake, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But Anson was saying you’ve been on edge. Anxious.”
Big me will feel a bit disconcerted that Anson’s been talking about me with his (hot.Sohot) Daddy, but right now I think it’s sweet that the bear of a man has stepped in to translate for his Little.
I still shrug again. “I’m good.”
“Is this your first time here since the camp?” Anson asks me bluntly, right as I’m pressing the purple marker on the page again. My hand jerks with my surprise, and I stare in dismay at the ugly purple line across the page. “It’s okay,” he says before my lower lip even has a chance to quiver, “you can turn that into coral.” To demonstrate, he grabs a red marker and draws his interpretation of ‘coral’ on his mess of green scribbling. “See?”
I amsonot Little enough for this yet.
Still, the coral thing is a good idea. I start to draw a bumpy mass of purple and then Anson prods, “So, is it?”
I frown at my drawing. “Is it what?”
“Your first time back since camp? ‘Cos you texted about that Daddy and then you came back all…” he looks to his Daddy for assistance.
Drake repeats, “On edge.”
Anson nods, turning big, blue, imploring eyes on me.
This is weird.
This whole situation is weird.
I mean, I know I texted him for advice, but that was weeks ago, and it’s not like he ever followed up on how it went…
I didn’t exactly reach out to him again, either.
Was I supposed to?
Ugh.
I don’t understand how these interactions are supposed to work. We’re not close. I should never have texted him in the first place.
And is he asking me now because he wants closure on the story? Does he want gossip material? Or does he just want to make sure his colleague isn’t going to lose it at work?
It’s not like he really cares, right?
Why is this so confusing?
Shame creeps up my back and paints my cheeks pink as I stare down at my half-colored fishies. “I didn’t talk to Kris.” There’s silence following my declaration, making me squirm in my seat. The rest of the confession bubbles up, if only to make the silence less oppressive. “I ran away. Left camp early.” My throat goes tight. “I didn’t like it. Didn’t feel wanted.”
I never really feel wanted.
“Oh,Benji,” the empathy in Anson’s voice is too much. I hate it. It’s too close to pity. Ihatebeing pitied.
“No. It’s fine.” I practically bark the words at him, scowling. It’s easier to give in to the frustration than to feel sorry for myself. “Iam fine.”
“It’s okay not to be okay,” Drake’s voice is back to that low, lulling Daddy tone. He waits a beat before he asks, “Is this your first time regressing since the camp?”
Why the fuck are my eyes stinging?
I nod.
