Page 92 of String Boys
After the final flourish, one by one the screens disappeared, leaving Seth smiling shyly into the camera.
“That was my original composition,” he said, as though prompted. “Oh. It’s titledKelly’s Concerto.” Someone off camera said something, and he blinked, looking even more self-conscious. “Number Three,” he added. “Kelly’s Concerto Number Three.”
Kelly clapped his hand over his mouth and ignored the burning in his eyes.
Okay.
There you go.
That’s why he ignored the guys in the gym and put up with Marco, the hands-grabby asshole.
Because who would do that for you? Yeah, sure—it was for school. But that was his third try, and it was gorgeous.
“Pretty music,” Vashti said, closer than Kelly had expected.
He startled and almost dropped the phone. “Goddammit!” He glared at Vashti, his heart hammering in his throat, and Vashti grimaced and took a step back.
“I’m sorry, Kelly. I got sucked into the music and forgot the whole thing we were out here to talk about.”
Kelly jerked back, suddenly wary. “Am I fired?”
“No! God no. Marco’s lucky he isn’t. How long’s he been doing that?”
“How long have I been working here?” Kelly countered.
“Clifton too?”
Kelly shrugged. Clifton was a follower. “Whatever. Some days, I’m just over it.”
Vashti shook his head. “Well, yeah, Kelly. You should be over it all the time. Nobody should have to work with that going on. We wouldn’t ask Julia to do it, or Raven. And we won’t ask you.”
Oh God. Using the system. Kelly needed to remember that sometimes it was the system because it worked. “Yeah. Thanks, Vashti. I’m sorry.”
Vashti sighed and pulled a hand through his own slightly shaggy black hair. His skin was a rich copper color, and he had cheekbones to die for, but Kelly had always been struck by the compassion in his unapologetically kohl-rimmed earth-brown eyes.
He was a pretty boy, and he knew it, but he never abused it.
“Can I ask?” he said after a moment.
“About what? The music?” The video had stopped playing, reverting back to Seth in the original frame, playing in the blue shirt. He’d been hinting at something big for Kelly’s birthday, and Kelly still remembered his sort of romantic idea of taking Kelly away for the big eighteen.
Of course, the more Kelly kept trudging along—work, school, taking care of his family—the more he became painfully aware that a milestone like eighteen didn’t mean much more than another day.
But Seth and his dad had been so kind about celebrating his graduation when the day might have gone completely unnoticed by anybody, even his mother, that Kelly was determined to celebrate it anyway.
Seth wanted to treat him special because he was glad Kelly had been born. Kelly could get on board with that.
“Well, yeah,” Vashti said, laughing. “But also….” He bit his lip. “The way you got mad at Marco, and the way you jumped when I got too close. Kelly, is there something we should know about making you more comfortable here—”
Fuck. This?
“Yes, I’m a sexual assault survivor,” Kelly recited, bored. “No, I’m not made of glass. Yes, I got pissed when Marco grabbed my ass for the thousandth time, and no, I don’t want to talk about it now.”
Vashti grimaced. “Sorry. Just….” And then, suddenly, he looked super embarrassed. “I… you know. Keep asking you out after work, and you always have family stuff. My bad. I shouldn’t assume that’s why you wouldn’t want to date me.” He bit his lip. “Ego.”
Kelly’s jaw actually dropped, and then he started to laugh.
Oh.
