The So-called Boyfie | MewGulf ✔

Part 29 💖

^PC to the rightful owner... that's soo cuteee!!

Why did Alexander leave?" Perth wanted to know, worried about his stepbrother.

"Probably because he thinks that Mew is conflicted about Gulf, and he's not Gulf to put up with that," Saint said, glancing over at Gulf.

"He left because of me?" Gulf wanted to clarify.

"In a sense. It kind of makes sense. You remember yesterday when Mew left to go get ready and Alexander asked you how many boyfriends Mew had before him? And you said just Gulf?" Saint asked Perth.

"Whoa, I knew I was his first kiss, but I was his first relationship, too?" Gulf asked.

"Mew's had sex before," Perth said, "Did he tell you that you were his first kiss?"

"Are you sure he's had sex? He didn't seem to know how to respond to a kiss..." Gulf looked at Perth critically.

"I'm not entirely sure it was consensual," Perth mused out loud. "He just told me that he had sex before with another man, I assumed that it was when he was in college but now, I'm not so sure..."

"So, you think Alexander left because he thinks that Mew is conflicted about Gulf?" Perth asked Saint again.

"It's the only thing that makes sense, but I do know this," Saint said, "If Mew thinks that he messed something up between him and Alexander, he won't be able to stop blaming himself for being conflicted. We need to find where Alexander went to so that he can reassure Mew that he isn't the cause for their separation, even if it's a lie."

"I'm not comfortable getting anyone to lie to Mew," Gulf said. "I don't want him hurt ever again."

Saint looked at Gulf, knowing how much he had hurt during his and Mew's separation. "Fine, you need to come up with a different plan, because I know that Mew is blaming himself right now. We need for him to get over that because I know he's been hurt, and I don't want to see that poor man destroy himself over something that isn't his fault."

Gulf nodded. It was time to start thinking.

--

Mew wandered out to the back porch, intrigued by the glimpses he kept getting of Gulf through the windows, moving about doing something. Mew only wanted to make sure that he was not preparing to blow something up on his back porch, he had no ulterior motives and he wasn't curious about what the man could be doing at all.

At least, that was what he was telling himself. After all, he had not cared what Gulf had been doing in the past three days, why should he start caring now?

He almost slipped on the plastic drop cloth that covered the ornamental white stone porch. His arms were held out at almost 180-degree angles as he balanced himself, looking up at a startled and slightly guilty Gulf, holding a paintbrush against a large canvas.

"I didn't know you would be coming outside," Gulf confessed. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Mew said, wishing that his dress shoes were not so slick bottomed. He glanced around himself, and then his eyes landed on the painting that Gulf was in the middle of. He had to get closer, he could not stop himself.

It was a large mushroom with an entire village of mice underneath it. There were houses and gardens and paths, lawn furniture made from thread spools and chairs made out of buttons and sticks and brightly colored threads.

Mice children ran around with kites and balls made out of beads, Mice mothers worked in the gardens, mice fathers sold produce from stores made out of handkerchiefs and pinecones. It was a picture that one could lose hours of their life staring into, and Mew knew that he had spent a good twenty minutes staring before he could tear his eyes away to look up at Gulf, who was simply smiling at him.

"It's good," Mew said roughly. It sucked that he could be pulled into Gulf's mind so quickly again.

Gulf simply started painting Mew's face, dipping his brush into yellows and greens and blacks again, painting below his eye while Mew held still like a wild animal, unsure of the strange human trying to pet it.

"There," Gulf almost whispered his eyes kind and filled with love as they looked at Mew.

"Now you could play with the sprites..."

Mew swallowed and then backed up from the other man quickly, falling on his ass from his slick shoes and then scrambling to stand up again. Gulf moved to help him, but Mew held his hands up so that he could not go near him.

He escaped inside the house, leaning down to take his stupid shoes off before he ran back to his room. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he running from Gulf? He stared at his face in the bathroom mirror, stared at the swirls, and the curlicues that Gulf had decorated his face with. It was a simple thing for Gulf to do and not at all sensual, but Mew's heart was pounding so hard that he wondered if he were not having a heart attack.

He lay on his bed, not wanting to wash the paint off. Did it mean something that he could not take the pigment off his skin? Did it mean that he wanted Gulf's mark on him? Maybe he just liked the memory of Gulf's brush against his skin, maybe he remembered six months ago when that brush took his scars and turned them into something beautiful.

He felt the tears then, felt them hot and salty and he hated them. He never used to cry, he never cried until he met Gulf. He had cried as a child, he corrected himself, remembering the feel of leather parting his skin with a sharp wet sound. He had screamed, but eventually, when he learned that the screams did nothing, he quit screaming. He had quit crying, too. Gulf came along and it felt like he had not stopped crying since then.

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