Love the Boys

Chapter Ten

Roses, blooming everywhere, nourished by blood. Pulsing with life from the beat of the heart that fueled them. A dead guy on the street with brilliant blue eyes and a scar on his face, covered in the red flowers. They grew out of his body—bleeding, dripping blood.

Pretty, fragile roses, blooming in the face of death. Flourishing—like me.

I opened my eyes to the sun-brightened walls of my apartment, to an image at least more pleasant than the one behind my eyelids.

Simon had fallen asleep on the couch beside me. His glasses were crooked and his hair was a mess. We'd talked for a long time last night, about everything; about nothing. I think I'd drifted off first, but I'd been hugging him, needing him there, hoping he wouldn't leave me. He hadn't, and I was glad.

I don't know how many hours of sleep I'd gotten, but it wasn't near enough. I didn't really care somehow, because when I opened my eyes, he was there looking back at me, and it was perfect. In spite of everything, we weren't over.

"You're here," I said, squeezing his shoulder.

"I fell asleep," he said. "I should have made myself leave. I'm sorry."

He was always apologizing.

"No," I interrupted. "I'm glad you're here."

We sat there for a few moments, just looking at each other, still half asleep. He had a cowlick on the side of his head and I smoothed it down.

"I like this," he said, and I thought that was the most honest, base thing I had heard him say yet. Maybe he was more vulnerable in the morning.

"Me too." I wasn't ashamed to say it. Maybe this was moving too fast—how many times had I thought that?—but I always wanted to be with him like this. I couldn't imagine life any other way now that I'd experienced it.

"I have class today," he said finally.

"I have work."

Even so, we just sat there, gazing at each other.

"I should probably go home and change," he said. "I don't want to be in the same clothes as yesterday."

"Right," I agreed.

Still, he made no effort to tear himself away from me. This was the way I wanted it to be. Just like this.

"I have some time before work. If you have a little while, I can make breakfast," I offered, and he smiled.

"You know I like breakfast."

Feeling energized, I hopped up from the couch to head into my kitchen—which was only a few steps away. I didn't rely on cooking for myself very often, especially breakfast, but I knew I could prepare eggs, toast, a bit of fruit. Maybe I had some ham in the fridge. I opened the door and stuck my head in the cool, lit space that smelled mildly of jam.

Simon pulled himself off the couch and went off to the bathroom. He didn't even have a toothbrush or anything here, but he could manage, I was sure. I needed to get in there myself, but I could get things started here first.

"You said you like to paint, but I don't see any artwork around here," Simon said when he emerged from the short hall. "I guess I was expecting a full studio."

"I don't like clutter," I said, grabbing the egg carton from the fridge. "And I guess I'm a little shy about my work."

"That's alright. I doubt my apartment was what you expected either."

"I'm not sure what I expected really," I said, cracking the eggs into a bowl as I let the skillet heat up. "But I felt that it was very much you."