Untouchable (boyxboy)

Chapter 2

Everyone is gathered in the living room. Dylan occupies the loveseat with his fiancé at his side, and he shoots me a disapproving glare as I enter the room. 

I ignore him. 

If I'd come down dressed in a three-piece suit, he'd give me the same look. The woman at his side looks up and smiles, and I don't have to fake the smile I give her in return.

Isabelle Mason is a genuinely lovely person, which is why, even after months of contemplation, I still can't understand why she'd want to marry my brother.

"Hey Felix," she says, waving at me but making no attempt to greet me physically.

"Hey, 'Belle" I reply, earning another glare from Dylan. I don't know, maybe if I pretended to have lost the ability to speak, he'd like me better.

I glance around the room and find that every other seat is occupied except for one spot on the couch. My dad is in his favorite chair, and Isabelle's mom sits in the other. Her dad and brother occupy either end of the larger couch, leaving only the middle cushion empty. I'd rather get a chair from the dining room and sit in that, but I can feel Dylan's eyes on me, so I cross the room and take the spot on the couch.

Dylan clears his throat. Trying to hide my reluctance, I turn to Isabelle's dad and extend my hand. "Hi Mr. Mason, I'm Felix. Dylan's brother."

"Call me Paul," says he, engulfing my fingers in a meaty grasp. He looks to be in his late fifties, a little on the heavy side, balding and tan. "Pleasure to meet you." He nods across the room to his wife. "That's Maria, and my son Isaac over there."

I turn to my left and find myself face to face with real danger. I hadn't really looked at Isaac when I entered the room, being distracted by the prospect of having to sit on the couch between two other people, but now that I do, I'm instantly struck by how attractive he is. This is doubly strange, because I'm so rarely attracted to anyone, and there isn't anything very remarkable about his appearance.

He has very short hair, like Dylan's but better, green-gray eyes, and tan skin. He's handsome, but not strikingly so, and he looks fit and athletic—but not like he spends an unusual amount of time at the gym. It's his eyes, I decide. There's something arresting about them, something bright and daring, and his lashes are thick and dark.

Dylan clears his throat again, and I realize I've been staring. "Uh, hey." I say. "I'm F-F-Felix."

"I know," Isaac replies, eyes scintillating with humor. 

I don't get the sense he's laughing at me in a mean way, but reacting to social awkwardness with heart-stopping mortification is what I'm good at, so my face immediately heats to a temperature near the surface of the sun. 

"Looks like we're gonna be bros, huh?" Isaac grins. "Getting two big brothers in one fell swoop? Lucky me."

"Yeah...Um, me too," I say, and try really hard not to wince. I hold out my hand to him, but he bypasses it, pulling me into a tight embrace.

I never know what to do when this happens, so I just do what I usually do, which is hold my breath and go really stiff. Isaac releases me with a slight frown.

"Not a hugger, huh? That's cool. I'm a touchy guy though—no boundaries. Just tell me to back off if it's too much. Oh wow! You've got amazing hair," he exclaims, and as if to prove what he'd just said, he pulls the band loose, lets my mass of black coils fall free, and starts to play with them. "You ever model?"

"Isaac," his father—Paul—says, a bit sharply, "enough." To me, he says, "Sorry. Isaac's a barber. He gets carried away."

"I'm a stylist Dad, not a barber. There's a difference," Isaac replies, still with his fingers in my hair. "I'm a photographer too. I do magazine shoots and everything," he adds proudly.

"You assisted on one magazine shoot," Isabelle puts in, and Isaac sticks his tongue out at her.

"I'm doing the photography for your wedding, remember?" he says. "You better be nice to me or I'll make you look ugly."

"You wouldn't dare," Isabelle says confidently. "And stop that—Felix doesn't like to be touched."

I hold my breath again and risk a glance at Dylan, who gives me another warning glare. 

"Oh, really?" Isaac says, withdrawing his hand. "Sorry. You shoulda said."

"N-no," I stammer, "It's fine."

Isaac narrows his eyes at me, an easy smile on his lips. "You sure?" he asks, "'Cause I know I'm annoying as Hell."

"N-no, really. I d-don't mind."

 I swear I didn't have a stutter five minutes ago. Also, I do mind, but I'd gladly endure another hug if it meant everyone would just stop looking at me. Thankfully, Isabelle's mom, Maria, comes to my rescue. 

"Belle, what were you saying about flowers? Lilacs might not be available in July, you know."

The conversation returns to the wedding, which is why we're all here after all. Isabelle's uncle owns a house up around Lake Tahoe, and will host the event. This meeting is to make sure both families are on the same page and to work out who will pay for what.

Everyone seems excited and happy, and only my dad and I don't contribute much. He can't talk a lot anyway, with his lungs, and I don't have much to say. I like Isabelle, and her family all seem pretty nice, but I just can't seem to feel happy that she's marrying Dylan. 

Maybe I'm a bad person, but I feel like she deserves better. The best I can manage is to hope that she never sees the side of himself that Dylan shows me.

It turns out there's way more to planning a wedding than I ever thought, and it quickly becomes clear that it's going to take a while. In the meantime, I can't relax, and Isaac has draped his arm across the back of the couch and partly across my shoulders. I'm trying to come up with an excuse that will let me leave without getting killed later, when I hear Maria speak my name.

"Felix? Is that okay with you?"

"Uh...sure," I say. I wasn't listening, and have no idea what she just said, but admitting as much seems like a bad idea.

"Great!" Isaac grins, punching me playfully in the upper arm. "Sounds like we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other, brother! Hey, that rhymes!" He giggles. I cringe.

Later, when it's safe, I ask Isabelle what I'd gotten myself into. Turns out, Isaac and I are responsible for getting the venue ready, arranging the catering, the music, and, of course, the photography. Somehow, I'd agreed to commit a lot of time and energy to my brother's wedding. 

I might not have minded, either, if I thought he'd appreciate it, and if it didn't mean I'd have to spend so much time with Isaac. It's not that I don't like him or anything; it's that I'm in danger of liking him a lot, and I know that Dylan wouldn't like that at all.

When the Mason's leave, I stand and endure four hugs with what I hope is a believable smile. Isaac hugs me last and gives me a little extra squeeze.

"Man, you're tight—you need to relax!" he says, feeling the stiffness in my back.

He lets me go and reaches to touch my hair again. He's maybe an inch shorter than me, and his eyes catch the light as he looks up, sparkling like green agate.

"This is gonna be so much fun!" he goes on. "I'll use you as the test model for the pictures. You'll make a great stand-in for Isabelle—you have almost the same coloring and height. Plus, it'll be great for my portfolio. Ugh, I can't wait to get my hands on you!"

I know he's talking about photography, but my face heats up anyway.

"S-Sure," I reply.

He laughs and ruffles my hair, and despite my discomfort, I return his smile.

Over his shoulder, I catch Dylan watching me with a look of disapproval and disgust, and I feel my smile fade. If weddings are supposed to be happy events, then why do I feel like I've just been condemned to Hell?