Lessons On Kissing Guys (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 11

Waking up in another bedroom still feels strange, even though it's been a week since I've slept anywhere other than here. I kind of freak out a bit, before realising that I’m in Blair’s guest bedroom (it still hasn't sunk in). I agreed to move in with him last night. I invited him to sleep in the same bed as me. 

I get out of bed, realising that Blair isn’t in here, and must’ve gone for a shower or something.

For a moment I'm not sure what to do, and then I decide to go and try to find a bathroom, hoping I won't stumble upon a half naked Blair in the process. I walk out into the hallway and try a few doors, before stumbling across a room that is slightly different to the others. Something pulls at me to walk inside.

My eyes sweep around the room, taking in everything. It’s unlike the other rooms of the house. It’s dull, the bed black, blocked off from the rest of the room by dark grey curtains that can either be down or pulled up to the ceiling. Right now, they’re pulled up to the ceiling, which I’m thankful for. I don’t think I’d like to be so blocked off, to not be able to see anything else going on in the room.

The rest of the room is just as dull. The wardrobe’s doors are painted grey, a couple of them holding mirrors. Everything else in the room seems to match this theme – a grey desk, with a simple grey laptop to one side, and a grey bedside table. Extremely light grey walls don’t do much to add any light to the room. Honestly, it doesn’t remind me of Blair at all.

I guess I never really had the chance to notice it, amongst all the brightly coloured rooms of the house. Every guest bedroom is a different colour and every other room also seems to hold its own, bright, colour scheme. This opposes every detail of this house. It’s just so plain. The Blair I know is anything but plain.

Standing clad in boxers, I decide to snoop around a bit, realising this has got to be Blair's room. I know, I know it isn’t necessarily the right thing to do, but someone like Blair wouldn’t have anything to hide. And so I go ahead.

The first thing I see is a picture frame. It’s the only thing that stands upon the bedside table, other than a lamp. The lamp is black, matching the apparent colour scheme. The picture frame is black, too, and looking at the picture inside it, my curiosity grows.

Picking it up, I peer at the faces. There are four of them. One being Blair at a much younger age. I can tell which is him in an instant. Everything about the five or six year old boy resembles the twenty-four year old man I know now. Everything. Apart from the fact that he’s obviously nineteen years younger in the picture.

Besides him, crouching down are two older people, who I can only assume to be his parents. In the photo, they appear in their young thirties or so. They both look so young and fresh as the male’s hand rests upon Blair’s head. The mother is crouching besides them, the smile on her face matching Blair’s and his fathers. And then, next to them all is another boy. His body is slightly turned away from the camera as he looks on into the distance, a frown on his face. I can’t help but wonder if this is a brother Blair had forgotten to mention.

Not wanting to go any further into the details of the picture, I place it back down on the bedside table, despite my mind still being curious as to who the other boy is and what the story behind the picture itself is.

“Lucas.” My head snaps up instantly, and I turn around to see Blair leaning casually against the door frame, though there’s some sort of pain in his eyes that captures my attention, before he masks it with some sort of magic power he must have hidden up his sleeve.

“Morning.” I greet him, trying to sound friendly, although I really want to know why he looks so downtrodden.

“I think you should go get dressed.” His voice is curt; his words spoken in a way that makes me feel obliged to follow his ‘suggestion’.  Noticing his eyes briefly flicker to the picture behind me, I feel intrusive all of a sudden. And I feel shit. I shouldn’t have invaded his personal things. And now that he so obviously knows I have, I feel even fucking worse.