I turn towards him; “I’m not old,” but he’s so close and his smell is so strong that I look the other way.
My fingernails slip against the sink because every single cell in my body is screaming for me to take my own hand and wrap it around his waist, pulling us even closer together than we already are. It’s like standing at the edge of a ravine and contemplating the jump, not if, but when. Because his body is so warm, and tight, and the line of his arm draped over my shoulder is so natural it feels like muscle memory to have him holding me like this. I’m not a weak man. I don’t like people touching me without permission. But right now, I want nothing more than to sayfuck it alland lean into his grip. To let him take my entire weight, just so I can feel—for thirty goddamn seconds—what it’s like to be taken care of.
I’m so lonely it haunts me.
But so is Carey, yet he’s also compassionate. He doesn’t even try to hide his affections for people, which is what makes this worse. The way he’s pressed against my side, I know it’s out of genuine kindness, but that also means it’s not exclusive.
He’s selfless, and I’m greedy.
I’m the snow that’s been falling all week, and he’s the sunshine trying to break through.
And because of that, I’m unable to deny myself one more quick look.
His head is already turned towards me, and he’s right there.
So close we could kiss.
But I don’t do that, even though that tug has wrapped itself around my neck and is trying to pull me in.
For a second, we’re both waiting for the other to break. I need him to say he wants me, that he thinks about me when he’s alone, that he’s into guys, too. But I know full well that all he wants is for me to admit I’m working too hard.
“You’re a fucking mess, Tek,” he says with a shake of his head, then steps away; his hand falling from my shoulder.
He leaves with the mop and bucket and I hear him making small talk with my client as he shuffles things around, readying himself to clean upmymess.
I feel the aftershock of his touch, the radiation of his warmth still lingering on every patch of me where he made contact.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. There is no need for me to be alone with Carey, and this is why. Even though I know I’ll repeat what just happened to myself later when I’m alone, and elaborate on it over and over until the next time he touches me and that becomes my new obsessive thought.
I don’t want this, but also, I want it more than anything.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt the pull of another person. Their weight, their taste; yes, but not this relentless tugging like I’m not sure if I can breathe properly if I don’t know where they are. But I need to keep fighting against it.
After wiping off the excess ink from my jeans and slippers, I return to the shop floor.
Carey has already wiped down the base of my equipment table and moved it to the second station. Now he’s on his hands and knees, cleaning up the majority of the splatters with a paper towel before he mops.
I give my client a nod and move towards Carey, being careful not to step in any of the inky footprints I left when fleeing.
“Thanks for doing this, but it’s already after five.”
“I know, but I don’t mind staying.”
“You’ll leave as soon as you’ve done that, okay?”
He leans back on his haunches and says, “You don’t have to pay me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Iwillpay you, but there’s no need for you to be here past when you need to be.”
“Maybe I wanna stay.”
My head immediately starts picking apart his words to find the meaning it wants, which means I need him gone.
“Carey,” I sigh.
“Yes, Wootek-ie?”
“You don’t get to call me that.”
