Page 20 of This Thing With Charlie

I showed him around the shell left of a house that was once somebody’s home. I showed him the peeling wallpaper and the patches of dirt. I introduced him to my rat-infested toilet, and he promised to give the rodents names if we decided to keep them as pets. We laughed at the drips from the ceilings in the freezing rooms upstairs. I made him climb into the loft, where we stood and looked at the stars because there was a hole in the roof here too, just large enough to see them through. I took his hand again because I wanted to, and it was just there fitting nicely in mine. I steadied him with my other hand because the floorboards were just random planks, and I wouldn’t want him to fall. So, we were standing there, hand in hand, with my other hand awkwardly resting on his shoulder.

“I assume you are fixing the roof?”

“Proper loft conversion, Big Derek said. One day, this will be our bedroom, and it will have this big, massive roof window just here, over where the bed will be. There will be another one over on this side here, where the en-suite bathroom will go. Then, there will be a smaller window just there by the staircase that will open up into a very tiny little balcony. It will be tiny, not even enough for that Big Derek to stand on, but he said it will be good enough and add value to the house. People love little balconies and random stuff like that, he said.”

He smiled. I could feel it in my bones despite the darkness, because his hand was in mine and we were staring at the stars, and I suddenly didn’t care if I’d be debt-ridden for the rest of my life as long as I could give him the stars and the moon to calm him at night.

“Did you think you would… do this? Together with me?”

“Fix up the house?”

“Yeah?” he said quietly.

“The plans can still be changed, and Geoff needs you to sort out the units and worktops and all that. I don’t know what you need in a good kitchen. You’re the chef. I don’t even know the difference between a gas hob or an electric oven… thingy.”

“It’s your kitchen.”

“Ours,” I said. “I’m going to be bossy here because I can. This, here, now? This is my wreck, but when we are done with it? It will be our home. I want you to come stay here like you live here. I’ll give you a key, and you can come as you please. I want you to have a say in what we do with it and choose things like, you know, colours of the walls? Then one day, maybe you’ll move some things in here and then… One day you’ll just, stay.”

“We haven’t even had sex,” he muttered as I pulled him back into my arms.

“We haven’t even kissed,” I replied, letting my hand tangle in his hair. My fingers tracing the piercings through his skin and the pearls on their strings as I kissed his cheek. There was stubble against my lips. Softness and warmth. I kissed again, let my lips stroke against his nose. His eyelids. Little pecks on his temples as I tried to remember how to breathe.

“Don’t have a big gay panic,” he whispered.

“Not having a big gay panic,” I whispered back.

I kissed him, just pressing my lips against his mouth. He returned it with a fervour that made me a little dizzy because he was suddenly everywhere, his hands in my hair and his tongue in my mouth, and it was like everything and nothing all at once. He was with me and in me, and I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t know what to do.

So, I pulled back and clumsily cupped his face in my hands. I couldn’t see him, but he breathed into my mouth as I kissed him again, then I stopped and whispered, “Charlie.” Because… what else could I say?

“So, our first kiss was in the town square.” His arms were around my neck and mine around his back.

“We’re not going to count that one.”

“Yes, we are. It’s important to the story of how we met.”

“It’s nobody’s fucking business how we met.”

“It is. It’s the true, thrilling story of how I ended up turning you gay.”

“Charlie,” I whined.

“No, hang on, scrap that. It will be a thrilling X-rated Christmas story of how I turned you into a totally bisexual-slutty-sex-machine in just one night because you know what?”

“What?”

He laughed. I giggled.

“Our second kiss was in the place where our bed will one day be. Right here. Under the stars.”

“Our bed.” I sighed. “And I am nobody’s slutty sex machine.”

“Oh, Daniel, you will be. You’ll be my little sex-machine. Anyway, we will need loads of pillows and bedside tables. And we could put a kettle up here and a little fridge for milk, so we can make tea in the morning without going downstairs.”

“Charlie, it’s freezing up here, the milk will be fine.”

He said nothing as I took him back down the loft ladder and carefully folded up the hatch, leaving him standing in the hallway with his hands in his pockets.

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