𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐫. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

la petite mort.

I liked the way he said my name, I decided. He said it even when he didn't have to, like when we were the only two people around, and it was entirely apparent that every word was directed at me. I uncorked a bottle of wine and filled a glass for him, which he accepted gracefully.

'Trying to loosen me up?'

'Oh, sure, because you were stiff as a board the first time.'

'I was?' He stalled momentarily, setting the glass down on my kitchen counter with a quiet clink.

'No,' I grinned. 'Although it would be fun to find props. We'll think of something.'

Matty wore white jeans under his thick winter coat, a shirt patterned with diamond shapes peeking from beneath the layers; on anyone else these clothes would look slightly try-hard, but on Matty, they had the air of being designed especially for him. His hair coiled in every direction, framing his face with a deceptive innocence. I was still trying to calculate whether being an erudite musician and a decent person were mutually exclusive traits. Not that it mattered much to our collaboration, and bedsides, I was far from saintly; if anything, my own morals could be flexible depending on the context. And yet, somehow, it still mattered.

'This place is wild,' he said, staring up towards the slanted roof above the living space and across to the kitchen. 'You own it?'

'Yeah. I'm a dirty yuppie.'

'Surely not. You've earned this.'

'Yeah, well, I've also been very lucky.'

'Cheers to luck, then,' Matty knocked his glass against mine gently, taking a deep swig of the wine. 'This is good stuff.'

'You know your wine?'

'I know shit wine. Which this certifiably is not.'

I hid the smile on my face as he followed me down the steps to the studio, flicked on the main light in the room and stood back with my arms crossed as Matty wandered in. He blinked in the cool light reflecting off the pristine walls.

'Fuck, this is enormous. I wish I had a workspace this big. Imagine the reverb!'

'I think the previous owners used it as a garage.' I pointed towards the double doors at the end. 'You can exit straight out to the road from there. I want to make it a bit cosier though, maybe put another armchair in and use some of this wall space.'

'I think it's lovely.' He dithered near the sofa, shrugging his coat off and dropping it over the arm.

'There's no need to rush. We can go back upstairs for a bit, I'll just grab this...' I pulled a case towards me and lifted a small Leica out.

Upstairs, he wandered towards the long sliding door, tentatively pulling the handle back. It was starting to rain outside, the concrete patio slabs spotting and darkening. 'You want some?' He held up a joint. 'I probably smoke too much, and I know you said you were trying to quit.'

'Oh fuck it, I'll have one.' I pulled a lighter from a drawer and held it out to him, watching him spark up and stick his head out the door just enough to exhale outside. 'Don't worry about that - look.' I stood on my tiptoes and reached for the handle on the Velux window, set into the slanted roof. It dropped open, letting the air at the top of the kitchen filter out. Matty gave a low whistle and let the back door slide closed again.

'I feel a bit embarrassed at the thought you've seen my place now. It doesn't compare to all this. You might have to come house shopping with me.'

'Matty, just because I have nice windows doesn't mean I'm the expert.'