Page 57 of Open Water

“He’s a good kid. He’s doing well with the tasks we set for him.”

Lukas shouldn't talk about his students off school property. He has no right to discuss Max’s progress with his father. Yet, right now, it seems like a damn fine safe topic away from the terrifying discussion they were attempting to have.

“Good,” Tom stutters. Putting his thumb in his mouth to nervously chew at a fingernail.

“But you had other relationships? Surely?” Lukas should shut his mouth for a while. Yet at least they are talking. Clumsily and awkwardly, but talking nevertheless.

“No. I was a single Dad, with a full-time job. Not quite the right place to meet someone. I really didn't want to either, because looking after Max took everything out of me, and I somehow lost myself along the way. Like there was nothing left of me for anyone else, if you see what I mean? Then every time I met someone, when I thought, well maybe? You know? Then fucking Lukas Myrtengren would pop up in my head like some damn ghost of doom, and I would just think back to how I treated you. I loved you and I hurt you… and it was so damn fucked up… and just the thought of it made me run away kicking and screaming.”

Tom’s arms are flailing through the air. Talking with his hands as he does.

“Cock-blocked by Lukas the Ghost of Doom.” Lukas laughs. “I mean. It’s becoming surreal now. That sounds like some fan-fiction piece my students would write.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tom smiles at least. In between a yawn and what’s probably a tiny giggle. Which of course is infectious, making Lukas stifle a yawn of his own under his hands.

“I should go,” Lukas says. “I should let you sleep.”

“I only need a few hours, I’m off this weekend and I need to somehow sleep tonight.” Tom turns to him and leans forward. Just a little bit. But Lukas still jerks backwards. Like it’s inbuilt. All his defences on full alert.

And Tom looks crushed, because of course, he notices. His face flushing red with embarrassment.

“Please stay, if you want to. You can have a rest on the sofa, and… I mean, we have all the TV channels, and I’ll make you some lunch later. Make your own coffee. Just help yourself and there’s food…”

“Tom. Go to bed.” Lukas smiles. Because the bloke is clearly delirious with tiredness.

“You can sleep in my bed, if you want to rest properly, and I will sleep down here. There are no blackout blinds down here, so it’s a bit shit to sleep on the sofa, even though it’s really comfy. The guest room is full of crap at the moment, we never use it since we don’t have au pairs anymore.”

“Tom, the sofa is fine. Go to bed. You are talking a load of shit.”

Teacher Lukas is back. Work mode on. Safe territory. Minus the swear words. But then, this is Tom, who is probably not even taking in what Lukas is saying right now. His eyes blinking heavily between every sentence.

“Please stay. We can talk properly when I am awake. I just need a few hours. Please.”

“I’ll stay,” Lukas says. He’s not sure if he means it. He’s right here. In Tom’s house, where Tom gets up and takes a few steps towards the hallway.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Then he’s gone.

Lukas doesn't know how long he sits there, staring out the window without actually seeing a thing. His head full of slow moving foam, like a grey matter dulling everything he’s trying to make sense of.

It’s not like this in books and movies. It’s never been like this in Lukas’s experience with people. You kind of kiss. Laugh. Snog and fuck. Then fuck some more. Then fuck it up and it all goes to hell.

But what the hell is he doing here? Sitting on this damn sofa, when he knows full well that Tom is probably lying in his bed wide awake with his head churning with worries, wondering what he just let happen. Because Tom doesn’t half talk a load of shite when he’s tired, and Lukas actually has a little laugh thinking about it all. Maybe he’s not such a mess of an idiot himself, because Tom is far worse on the verbal diarrhoea front. And right now, Tom is probably willing himself to sink through that mattress of his, dying of shame for once again spilling a truckload of emotional twattery all over Lukas. Thinking that he has said too much, or too little.

And right now, Lukas doesn't belong on this oversized sofa, with the coffee table full of stale crumbs and brown circles left by overflowing coffee cups. He doesn’t belong here at all.

In the end, he thinksfuck it. He knows what he should do. He should go home. Leave a polite note for Tom and put things back to the way they should be. Professional. Friendly. Zero drama.

So, he gets up and lets his feet carry him back past the kitchen, the table still half covered in groceries. He walks past the open bathroom door, a towel thrown carelessly on the floor.

He should leave, letting his feet slip back into his trainers by the front door, but instead, he walks up the staircase, one soft footfall at a time, letting his head lean across the door-frame to the right. An office of some sort. Papers and files open on the desk. The blind half open.

The doorway to the left is bathed in darkness, the door left just slightly ajar. There is a faint outline of a body resting on its side, covered with a blanket. Tom has not even bothered getting undressed, the checked pattern of his shirt clearly visible on his arm, where he has just landed his body on top of the bed. Drawn the blanket haphazardly over his shoulder.

Lukas might not belong in this house. But right now, he knows exactly where he wants to be. So, he sits down on the edge of the bed, letting his legs swing carefully up to rest on the mattress. His head landing softly on the pillow, catching a faint whiff of sleep and washing powder that lingers in the air.

He moves in before he loses his bravery. Lines his body up around Tom. Knees behind his legs. Stomach against his back. Arm curling carefully around the waist. Nose right into the soft curls at the nape of Tom’s neck.

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