Be Mine

“Yeah. Come sit down. Actually wait a second.” Kit needed a hug so bad he could taste it. “Don’t squeeze too hard.” He went for it. As always, Val felt perfect in his arms. Solid, warm, cuddly. He felt Val’s arms close tentatively around him, gently holding him. “Oh, God, that’s perfect.” They stood there for a few minutes. Both of them seemed to be having a little trouble breathing. Val let his arms slide away the moment Kit eased back. “Thanks. Actually, there’s a lot I want to tell you, but it’s going to be kind of upsetting, so maybe later? Or tomorrow?”

“Whenever. I’m here for whatever you need. Are you hungry?”

“Starving. Mom brought some stuff over on Tuesday and again last night, but I forgot to top up the supplies on my way back from the counselor, and then I went surfing.”

“You huh?”

Kit stifled a laugh, more because he didn’t want to show the gap in his teeth than because it hurt. “I needed to work off some angst. Or more like rage. There was a rage geyser, which I didn’t want to spew all over you. Left it out on the break, I’m better now.”

“But you’re starving.” Val focused on the immediate need, which thank God was something he could address. “What would you like?”

“I’ve been living on chicken soup and smoothies. I’m dying for some pasta.”

“Bossa Nova? We could call now, pick it up. Or eat there if you’d rather.”

“Let’s pick it up. Do you have wine?”

“Kit, I know it’s been a week, and you’ve had a lot on your mind.” It felt daring to say that. Val wasn’t at all sure they were in up-for-regular-teasing mode. But apparently they were, because Kit smiled. And apparently that was all it took to make Val cry now. A second later, Kit was holding him again.

“Ssh. I’m okay. They say by next week the bruises will be gone. I’m putting arnica on them. I’m okay.”

Val sniffled, swallowed, coughed. “I don’t know why I’m crying when you’re the one who got hurt.” He blew out a breath as they separated again. “Maybe because it’s such a relief to see you. To see that you’re mostly okay, that you’re willing to see me after I was such a dick.”

“You were a dick,” Kit agreed. “But what happened was not because of that.”

“You might not have gone to the bar with him.”

“On the other hand, I might. He was a money guy, and we all got the memo about playing nice with the money guys. Either way, you didn’t make him put that shit in my drink. Let it go. Get us some food.”

Val nodded, did that thing with thumb and middle finger pinching in below his eyes, sniffed again. He knew what Kit liked, and the number was in his phone. Ten minutes later the order was in and he was hauling Kit’s bag to the car. He’d been thinking of asking Kit to move in with him. Sure, the parents were close, but this was a shitty apartment. He knew Kit felt awkward about it. It was those damned student loans that kept him here. His parents had good jobs, but when they might have been helping with Kit’s college expenses they were busy trying to keep his sister alive. Six figures later, she died anyway. Fucking cancer.

The building used to be a motel, and looked it. The units opened directly to the parking lot. Studios with tiny kitchenettes, the only amenity being the swimming pool. The best thing about the apartment was the bathroom. The owners had renovated those, turning them into wet rooms with a door out the back to a tiny patio overlooking the pool. With both doors open, the unit got a good breeze, and being within a mile from the coast it was (Kit said) cool even during a heat wave. Of course, it was also cold as fuck when the marine layer rolled in. And who wanted to leave their doors open all the time? Ugh. He finished stashing the suitcase in the trunk, tried not to obviously watch as Kit slid into the car – he was not moving right, that was for sure, he was a madman to go surfing – and got in the driver’s seat. He asked if Kit wanted some music, or if he wanted to hear about work. The answer was ‘work,’ so Val talked about school stuff all the way to West L.A. He told Kit to stay in the car while he picked up their dinner. “You look like it hurts to move. Would your doctor approve of surfing?”

“No, and I’m not going to tell her. I didn’t have any broken bones.” That was a slight exaggeration, but he’d surfed with cracked ribs before. “It’s fine. Go get the food.”

Val second-guessed himself for a nanosecond, but Kit wasn’t showing any anxiety about being left alone. He’d been alone since Tuesday, had been out and about today, he was fine. Well, not fine – no matter what he said – but okay. Val went in to pick up the take-out order. Twenty minutes later they were safely shut into the garage at Val’s townhouse. Kit insisted on carrying the Bossa Nova bag and his laptop bag so they didn’t have to make more than one trip from the car. Val lugged the suitcase through the door, through the kitchen, and up the stairs to the bedroom. When he joined Kit in the kitchen, all the containers were out on the island. “I owe you a bottle of wine.”

“At least.” Kit did not want to admit that he’d already stiffened up to the point that pulling a cork out of a bottle felt beyond him. He got a couple of plates off the shelf, flatware out of the drawer, and took down two glasses from the rack under the shelf. Val opened a bottle of Casillero del Diablo and filled the glasses. They ate there at the island, perched on barstools, the way they had more than a dozen times before. Val did not let Kit help with tidying up. Instead he sent him upstairs to get ready for bed. There were things he would have liked to say tonight, but by the time he reached the bedroom, Kit was asleep.