Page 13 of Ship of Fools

“Do you own any more clothes to wear?” I say, and let a stupid giggle slip. “You could fit another coat on top... it’s Christmas, so perhaps gloves and hat?”

“This is not a hookup.” He says briskly, clearly not appreciating my silliness. He walks up and removes the teabag from the first mug. Then the other. Like he’s trying to help, yet his hands are shaking.

“This is not a hookup.” I say, slowly folding my arms over my chest. “This is a cup of tea and a biscuit in your flat. Nothing more, nothing else.”

I don’t know why I am being so sensible and... dare I even think it... adult, in this conversation, but he just stands there and stares at me, as I stare back.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me, I’m not going to suddenly jump you and rip your clothes off. I can control myself, you know.”

“I’m not…” He starts, then he sighs and looks at the ceiling, and for a second or two, I think he might burst into tears.

I don’t think I can handle that. This tall man, with his stubbly chin and strong lines, the cropped, dark hair and broad chest. He’s so bloody manly, that my twinkly, skinny self suddenly feels grossly inadequate.

“You are shaking.” I say softly. “I promise to behave.”

“I... fuck.”

He’s going to start crying. He doesn’t. Instead he wraps his arms around me and folds me into a hug, burying his chin in my shoulder and breathing heavily into my hair. He’s taller than me, yet I seem to fit into his frame like a piece into a puzzle.

I don’t know what to do with all that. With the feelings I am bombarded with on the inside, and this man on the outside, holding onto me like I am the last man on Earth? I’m not the last man on Earth, but I might as well be, stuck in this godforsaken town with nobody to kiss me under the mistletoe.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Luca.” I say, trying to make my voice soft and soothing. I like saying his name out loud. I like how it feels when I say it. I like how his cheek feels against my skin as well, soft and full of stubble.

He doesn’t reply, so I go back to chattering.

“I have spent most of my life being an idiot, pretending to be all big and manly and tough and all that shit we have drilled into us as kids. I’m not like that. I cry, and I fuck up and I make more mistakes than I do good things, so don’t, please, don’t worry what I’ll think. Because what I think is not important here. You are upset, and I am here and let’s just be fucking useless and sit down and drink tea and talk about why we are both on our own on Christmas Eve, and how fucking pathetic we could be, but then we can laugh about it, because we are not pathetic or lonely, because your ridiculous sister set us up on a date, and she texted me just now and said we have to watch Die Hard. Apparently a Germano tradition. I’ll be up for that. I’ll even talk along to the dialogue. I do a mean Hans Gruber impression.”

He chuckles into my jumper, his chest jumping with a little giggle. That makes me happy. It’s funny how little things like making someone smile, are suddenly making me feel all weirdly tough and manly. I am taking charge of the situation here. I’m bloody good at this adult thing we’ve got going on here.

“If that’s not good enough...” I push him away, so I can see his face. An uncomfortable gesture that is so not like me. I don’t know why he makes me do it, but suddenly I am filled with a weird caring instinct, for someone I hardly cared about a few days ago.

I shouldn’t have looked at him, shouldn’t have gently stroked his arm, because he is more handsome than I remember, especially when his face is all red and his eyes are full of water, and as he refuses to look at me, turning his face away to stare out the kitchen window.

“If that isn’t good enough, I can pretend to try to sell you some ridiculous rust bucket of a car, and then try to convince you that if we just get my performance specialist in with some magic electronic shit that I will make good commission on, and then if we just paint the chassis in an especially revolting shade of pink? His girlfriend will then most probably give him a Christmas blow job, and not raid his Coutts bank card in Dubai over the January sales.”

“Is that how you pitch your clients? Talking about magic car parts, sexual acts and trips to the sales?”

He’s funny and it’s my turn to giggle, as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I usually try to be a bit more professional.”

I smooth down his dressing gown. Tie the belt a little tighter around his waist. Pat his stomach, and fuck, it’s hard. I bet he’s packing some muscles in there, but this is not the time. Not the place.

“Come.” I say softly and lift my tea off the kitchen worktop. “Come sit with me, and don’t worry about anything else.”

Luca

I have somehow morphed into a child. Not that it’s childish to cry, because us Italians cry at the drop of a hat. My dad has made it into an artform, which has rubbed off on my mother, and all of us kids are masters at the instant run of tears and sobbing end-of-the-world expressions.

This was not fake though. I actually burst into tears, because I was just fucking overwhelmed, as anyone would be if you felt as naked and exposed and stupid as I just did. Now? Now I feel ashamed. Embarrassed as I am sitting on my own sofa with my sock-clad feet crossed, my hands still shaking as I am trying to casually drink a nice cup of tea.

“Nice cup of tea.”

That’s me being the master of small talk with the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. He’s prettier close up I decide, because all his delicate features are more rugged, and there is stubble on his chin, and freckles on his cheeks. He’s pretty and wide-eyed, and his hair is still damp from being exposed to the weather outside.

“I shared uni halls with three idiots who couldn’t make a decent cup of tea if their lives depended on it. One even made tea in the microwave, and tried to cook pasta in our kettle. It was a good experience, the uni thing,because I had to figure out how to feed myself a decent amount of food to actually survive, and also, of course, learn to make my own cup of tea, and not spend all my food allowance on lattes.”

“Fair enough.”

---