Lockdown | Conor Mason

Anonymous Brothers

His face glowed. After so many weeks with a tense mother and a pair of children - who I nevertheless adored -- wreaking havoc on my psyche, it was such a thrill to see a person smile, just for me, sat across the table as we ate. 

"Yes, I happen to love this place, with its longest pleasure pier in the world, and I'm going to remain sullen if you don't share my love." He glared at me, mocking. 

"If you're asking me whether I love Southend, that's hearty yes all day long. If you're asking me whether I love the longest pleasure pier in the world -- well, that's another matter." I giggled over my drink, sipping as I gazed at him.

"Are you nuts? My fondest memories from childhood are racking up hundreds in skee ball, and I'll have you know I was in the top 5 all time scorers of that game -- fucking Simon, hated that eight-year-old for stealing my crown." 

My mind was a haze of happiness, gazing over at his beautiful, teasing face. 

During the whole meal - seitan curry with lime rice and mango -- we'd sat across from each other at his table. He'd put out a tablecloth and a small bunch of wildflowers in a lovely little vase. 

I'd wanted desperately to be closer to him, his face and hands seemingly so far across the large tabletop as he talked and laughed. 

But with each laugh, each smile I felt his leg moving closer to mine beneath the table. Now his foot brushed mine, and I felt like a bumbling teenager when, as he joked, he rubbed his toe teasingly up my ankle. 

He waved his fork at my plate, nearly clean as I scooped more rice and swept it through the brown sauce. 

"Am I premature in assuming you liked it?"

"Eh, I'd give it a 6 of 10,"  I teased, and he pouted. "Oh please - it was absolutely fantastic. I must have the recipe."

"Ah, but then how will I get you to come over? I must guard at least some of my secrets."

He smiled, and again that soft, nearly imperceptible swipe of his foot against mine. 

I couldn't think with his eyes on mine, burning into me, while his toes rubbed softly against my ankle. I swallowed and said the first thing that came to mind. 

"It's weird, isn't it - having me here? Having someone in your flat? I know it feels completely bizarre for me after lockdown has pretty much become the new normal."

Conor smiled, and looked down at his fork. He chewed thoughtfully on his rice. 

"Yeah, I felt that a little when you arrived. But to be honest...I'm just glad you're here."

My stomach really needed to stop doing that silly flip-flop, or I wouldn't get another word out tonight. 

I lowered my eyes with a smile. "I literally haven't had a meal with anyone except family in months. This is...really nice."

"I feel very privileged, then. More wine?"

Conor held up the bottle and on my nod he emptied it into my glass. 

We finished the last of our food and as I followed him into the kitchen with my plate, I couldn't help but stare at him, his little lithe hands and expressive mouth as he talked up a storm about their recent music - they were working on more songs, he said, but weren't sure what to  do with them yet.

"I'm sure no one will ever get sick of your voice, and this pandemic has turned everyone into insane people who need music therapy," I scoffed. "So, why don't you just release them?"

"Well, it's not quite that simple," he said, as he stacked the dishes and the pots in the sink, then turned and leaned back on the counter, facing me. 

"We have to finish promo for the upcoming album. Which...who knows when that will be over. They still haven't told us. So I continue to sing for the internet."

"Selfishly, I hope you never stop doing that."

He grinned. "I'm hopeful you'll hear us on an actual stage sometime. Much better that way."

"But then I don't get you to all to myself." 

Fuck. I felt my eyes widen -- I hadn't meant for that to slip out. Conor's eyes grew dark at my words. 

He didn't speak, but stepped away from the counter, toward me. 

In the dim kitchen light he seemed to tower over me, and the heat of his proximity, his body close to mine as he gazed down at me, his face bright and intense, shot a pang of desire through my midsection. 

His tongue ran across his lower lip, and his head cocked slightly, that smoldering look practically burning through my skull. His reached out and his thumb grazed over my wrist, rubbing softly. 

He took a small step closer, and a wry smile rose to his lips. 

And I panicked. 

I cleared my throat, stepped back and sidled around him to the sink. "I'll take care of the dishes," I stammered, busying myself by turning on the water, grabbing a sponge and covering it with dish soap.

I could feel him hesitate behind me, confused. He stood there a long moment. Then I nearly jumped out of my skin at the feeling of his hands, soft and reassuring, touching me lightly on my hips and moving me aside.

"Get out of here, you're a guest. Go sit down. I'll be just a minute." 

He pushed me gently away from the counter, and I nodded awkwardly and made for the living room, grabbing my wine glass on the way. 

I stood in the middle of the living room, my head racing as I listened to the water running and the clanking of dishes, mixed with the lilting noise of Ray LaMontagne rising softly through Conor's speakers. 

I still just needed to know. 

The Conor of tonight -- open, affectionate, even perhaps full of desire -- was at complete odds  with the man who had, after I'd been in Cardiff only five days, ghosted me completely. 

Our daily texts had really been getting me through those first hard days. His silly memes  had brightened each day, and I looked forward to just telling him a few things about my day, hearing about his, and saying a good morning or a good night. 

And then, out of the blue, they'd stopped. 

I'd sent a few unanswered messages over a few days, but then had stopped trying, realizing he wasn't going to answer. It had hurt me much more than I cared to admit. 

I'd wondered if it had to do with a particularly long message he'd sent the day before they'd stopped. But that couldn't be it..could it? Would he really let a really good friendship go over a thing like that?

To busy my hands I pulled a book from his shelf. I was leafing through it as Conor spoke behind me and I jumped -- I'd been so engrossed in thought, I hadn't heard the water turn off, or him slip into the room.

His face was clearly confused at my behavior, but remained open and curious just the same. 

"That's a great one - have you read it?" 

"Yes, it's one of my favorites." I gazed at the cover: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. 

Somehow it seemed so perfectly appropriate for the state of the world. 

Before I could stop myself, I slapped the book shut, looked up at Conor and spoke. 

"Why did you disappear?"

At my words, his face crumbled into despair.  

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