It's Just You And Me

Chapter 3

It's another month before the two speak again. They had both been busy; Gulf dealing with exams that certainly could have gone better but at least they were over with, and Mew's business had been even more chaotic than before. Now they were both shattered, the weekend was certainly needed.

Gulf had slept through most of Saturday morning and had missed Mew's text messages. He had woken up in a daze and as he read the messages to himself, he thought he was still in a dream.

Mew: Hey, I'm around this weekend if you want to do something?

Gulf feels his heart flutter. A smile grows on his face as he swings his legs from under the covers and sits on the edge of his bed.

Mew: If you're not around, that's fine, just thought I'd ask.

He then feels bad. That message was sent early this morning and Gulf had only just read it; half of the day had already gone. He hurries to type a response.

Gulf: Sure, send me your location?

Gulf leaps out of his bed, not bothering to make it as he sprints to the shower and waits for a response.

Soon enough, Gulf's standing outside Mew's house. He lives in a nice neighbourhood. Gulf aspired to live somewhere like this once upon a dream where he would be rich and wasn't living in university debt. Mew's house was grand, a tall front door with large, frosted windows either side and just from its exterior appearance, Gulf could tell Mew's house was in pristine condition - he almost wished he had worn a suit to fit the atmosphere. He takes a deep breath before walking up the concrete steps, taking his time to mentally prepare himself for whatever was about to happen. He raises a careful fist to the door and knocks twice.

He's not left a moment before Mew's opening the door and welcoming Gulf in with a smile. Gulf's taken back by Mew's appearance; he looks gentler, a large hoodie covering the muscles that had been so defined in the suits he would wear. He's in tracksuit bottoms and for once, he looks comfortable. His hair isn't styled as it usually is - it looks fluffy and soft, and Gulf has to resist the urge to just run his fingers through it or tousle it as if they were brothers.

Mew leads him through to the living room with only a few welcoming words. Gulf hadn't realised they'd been so quiet; he was too busy absorbing the surroundings. Everything was so neat, it seemed more of a show-home than a home and Gulf wondered if that bothered Mew. It was of course, nonetheless beautiful, everything was sleek in black and grey tones with a few pops of colour and paintings hung on almost every wall, paintings Gulf believed were to be Mew's.

"Your house is really nice." Gulf manages to say as he takes a seat on Mew's sofa, looking up at the man who smiles, it's a polite smile rather than a proud smile. He responds with a 'thank you' before changing the subject.

"Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, water...?"

"Tea's good, thanks." Gulf leant back into the sofa, he hadn't long been awake and the feeling was surreal; it was dream-like, Mew looking so different and warm, Gulf just wanted to hug him.

Gulf's thoughts are interrupted by the return of Mew who carries two cups of tea and a tin of biscuits beneath his arm.

"So I was hoping you'd be happy to be my model?" Mew places everything on the table before resting his hands on his hips.

"Sure! I mean that's what we agreed on, right?" Gulf replies with an excited smile. Mew nods and busies himself with gathering his materials.

Within minutes, he's set up. Mew had brought a stool from the kitchen which he had placed opposite Gulf who had been making his way through the biscuits in the tin. Mew then grabbed his pencil set, displaying them on the coffee table between them. Gulf watches him all the while, intrigued by the man's process - everything's done with such routine, such precision. Mew then opens his sketchbook - it had been the same one Gulf had flipped through. He sits with it across his lap, then as if he were to begin meditating, he closes his eyes and takes a heavy breath audible for Gulf to hear.

"How do you want me?" Gulf asks, finishing up a biscuit and taking a mouthful of the tea that was still a little too hot to consume.

"Just relax, make yourself comfortable but try and stay still, please," Mew's voice is still polite and gentle. Gulf eases into the sound of it, relaxing back into the sofa and crossing one leg over the over.

It's a while before Mew says anything, Gulf had tried not to stare directly at him, knowing that the pressure would cause Mew some level of distress. Gulf imagined it was the same feeling he experienced before entering a game, the cheering of the crowd, their expectations, people watching only fuelled the fear of failure. The session was going smoothly until Gulf heard the dreaded sound of tearing. His eyes instantly flicked over to Mew. He was curled over himself, the sketchbook in a death grip between his fingers, the page crumpled and torn.

"Mew? Are you okay?" Gulf stays sitting, giving the other distance. Mew doesn't respond and Gulf can't tell if he's crying or if he's just 'shutting down.' "Mew-" Gulf eventually stands, walking over to him and crouching down so he can just about see his face.

"Fuck!" Mew practically yells, the anger clear in his voice and it sends Gulf a step back. He never thought Mew could do that, he didn't think he had it in him - Mew was so grounded, so gentle with his words. Clearly Gulf's face read exactly what he was thinking.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you," He apologises. His face softened once again with concern, he crouched down to sit opposite Gulf, their bodies close.

"It's okay, Mew. It's okay." Gulf rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him gently as a form of comfort.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Mew repeats, his voice becoming nothing more than a whisper as he leans into Gulf's body, his head bowing and pressing against Gulf's chest. His hands slowly travel to his waist, clinging onto the t-shirt Gulf was wearing. His fingers curl into the fabric and Gulf can feel how secure his grip is. It was as if Mew was holding onto him for dear life. Gulf allows him to stay like that. Everyone needed someone to lean on at some point, even Mr Suppasit.

"Mew," Gulf drops his voice, softly speaking to him. He looks down at Mew's head, contemplating what he should do. Before saying anything else, he brings a hand to the back of Mew's head, gliding his fingers through the thick hair. The other hand moves up Mew's arm, finding its place back on his shoulder. He can just about hear Mew's cries, they're quiet as if he can't let go and it causes his back to jitter. "Shhh, it's okay," Gulf says, lowering his head. "You're okay."

Mew stays like that for a while, just holding onto Gulf and crying into his body. Gulf lets him, supporting Mew in the best way he can. He finds rubbing his back and running his fingers through Mew's hair to help. Eventually after what felt like hours, Mew lifts his head. The movement is slow; Gulf expects it's from neck ache and exhaustion. Their faces are now incredibly close, just a breath away. Gulf can see all the details on Mew's face; the tear-stained cheeks that had reddened in the process, the glisten in his eyes and the way he looked back at Gulf. It looked like desperation and Gulf just wanted to help him. "Do you want to talk about it?" Gulf asks, his voice still gentle. Mew hesitates before giving an answer.

"I probably should, shouldn't I?" Mew admits. Talking had never been his thing; he preferred to bottle up and keep it to himself. He didn't want to burden anyone else even if they nagged and nagged for him to talk.

"Yeah, it might help."