Page 28 of Resilience on Canvas

Robert’s stomach fluttered, excited and nervous energy flying through his veins. It was like Henry had knocked over the hornet’s nest inside of him and now every inch of his body was buzzing some more. He looked away.

After a breath, Robert reached for a pancake, still not lifting his eyes to see Henry’s face. Henry took one, too, and they ate together in silence, both of them taking turns with the marmalade. WhileRobert continued to eat, the same two words kept repeating in his head.Good interesting.Son of a bitch. What had Henry meant by that? It seemed like there was something between them. And Robert wasn’t sure if he was ready for that yet. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’deverbe ready for it. But, oh, he wanted to be.

Gathering his courage, Robert forced himself to look up.

Robert’s breath caught. Henry was munching on a pancake, and there was marmalade smeared on his cheek. Just one swipe of it, stemming from the corner of his lip. He looked so Goddamn cute.

“Hen, you, uh, there’s some...” Robert tapped his own cheek with his index finger.

“Oh.” Henry wiped some of it off with his wrist, but there was still a little sticky spot near his cheekbone. How in the world had he even managed to smear it up that high? “Gone?”

Robert snorted. “No.”

It would be so easy for Robert to just... wipe it away.

Heart hammering, Robert rubbed his hand on his pant leg and then reached toward Henry’s face. When Robert’s fingers neared Henry’s cheek, the world around them seemed to warp and change, the edges of reality fading as time slowed. With a shaky hand, Robert touched his thumb to Henry’s cheek, each beat of his heart so loud, he couldn’t hear nothing else except thethump-thump-thumpof it in his ears. And then, he wiped Henry’s skin clean. All the while, Henry’s eyes were boring into him, though the poor puppy never moved a muscle otherwise.

Robert brought his thumb to his lips. Running his tongue over the sticky marmalade, he let out a soft sigh.

Never before had he tasted something so sweet.

Henry let out a little sound, something between a moan and a whine.

“Robert . . .” he said, his voice small.

Robert’s heart continued to pound wildly, though everything else in the room stayed hazy and unfocused.

And then the bell hanging above the entryway rang.

Robert froze.

“G-good evenin’, Mr. Thompson,” Henry choked out, somehow managing to step away from Robert. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Thompson replied. “I need to buy me some flour.”

Robert stayed rigid. Over the next few minutes, Henry helped Mr. Thompson purchase what he needed. Meanwhile, Robert couldn’t even make himself move. He couldn’t stop imagining what might happen if he and Henry were to ever start something with each other only for them to be found out. Maybe people wouldn’t buy carrots from the Davis family no more. Maybe Robert would never have the chance to work in the store. Worse, what if Robert’s sorry excuse for a father ever found out? Robert would be out on his rear end. And he couldn’t never protect the children then. Couldn’t take care of them. Couldn’t feed them. Couldn’t shield them from the wrath of Raymond Davis.

No. Robert couldn’t never let that happen. Even if Henry liked men the way that Robert liked men. Even if Henry likedhimthat way. Him and Henry, they could only ever be friends.

Dammit, what had he done?

Henry came back to the counter as the entry bell rang, signaling that Mr. Thompson had left. He rested his forearms on the counter and said, “Hey, Robert, I’m sorry for the, uhm, the interruption. I hope yer not upset or nothing. I mean—”

Robert cut him off with a clearing of his throat. “I’m fine, Hen.” He forced a crooked smile. “But it’s late. I need to take my car back now.”

Furrowing his brow, Henry tilted his head as though he was befuddled by this.

Or, more likely, by the change in Robert’s behavior.

“Look, we’re friends,” Robert said. “And that’s... it.”

“Oh.” Henry’s mouth became a hard line, though his eyes went as wide as saucers. “Right. I—I know. I never thought there was nothin’... more.”

“Good.” Robert pounded his fist on the counter. “Enjoy the rest of them pancakes.”

After refitting himself with the mask, Robert left to find his car, hating himself more with every step he took. Because each one of them was bringing him farther from where he really wanted to be.

Chapter Eight

---