by Vivica Dorn
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Sam stammered before he could stop himself. He hadn’t meant to say it, especially after what he had said immediately before, but he couldn’t help it. The TA looked like a fucking angel.
Michel met his eyes then, the sorrow in his gaze slowly being shut down and replaced by determined stoicism.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s not just you. Clearly I can’t control myself around you, either. But I can’t afford to lose my job or my scholarship here. I’ve worked too hard for this. I can’t lose my way. Not now.”
Sam didn’t like the idea that he had made Michel lose his way. When he was with Michel, when Michel looked at him, he felt so fucking found. But he had to acknowledge Michel’s worries. He would wind up hating himself if he put Michel’s hard-won education at risk.
“Ok, then, so... how do we do this?”
Michel sighed raggedly, looking up to the ceiling.
“I think we need to stop seeing each other. Completely. It’s too hard...”
If Sam didn’t feel like his heart were breaking, he would have made some kind of joke about that last sentence. But he couldn’t. That wasn’t what he had wanted to hear. He had wanted to be able to still see Michel, to speak to Michel, whenever he wanted, even if they weren’t being physical. But maybe that was the problem. Maintaining their relationship without the sexual aspect wouldn’t change the underlying feelings, and therein lay the crux. Sam shook his head slowly, wishing he could come up with a better solution, but nothing came to his desperately circling mind.
“Ok, that’s fair.” But it doesn’t feel fair. It doesn’t feel fair at all.
Michel stared down at the floor, eyes wet-looking and shiny.
Sam let out a huge breath, feeling half-destroyed. He wouldn’t see Michel for a month and a half. He wouldn’t get to speak to him like this, wouldn’t get to touch him, wouldn’t get to watch his face in fascination as he came, trembling under his touch. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, trying to steady himself. He was strong. He could make this work. He had to. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light illuminated a gorgeous young man with a soft red mouth and fierce green eyes. After exams, he would pursue this properly. After exams, he would find out what he meant to Michel. He would hear Michel say the words that had been pulsing through his own body since last night. He glanced around the classroom, ensuring that everyone had left, before bending down and gently brushing his lips against Michel’s. He felt the other boy tense and he groaned, quickly pulling back before he went too far. Even that small touch, that tiny taste, was enough to send his body and mind into total, chaotic overdrive. Clutching the strap of his bag to keep himself from absolutely falling into Michel, he murmured, his accent broken and stiff, “à la prochaine.” He pulled the apartment key out of his pocket and pressed it into Michel’s soft hand.
Until next time. Only next time would be a month and a half away. Sam walked out of the classroom, feeling the aching heat of Michel’s gaze on his back as he did so.
CHAPTER 14
It was almost too easy not to see Michel. After that lecture, Dr Adams returned to class, and Michel did not come back, busy, Sam was sure, with his own courseload. Of course, being in different years of different programs, they had no lectures together; most of their classes weren’t even in the same areas of campus. Michel didn’t live close to Sam’s dorm, and he didn’t make a habit of visiting the various on-campus cafeterias or food courts like Sam did. Whenever Sam walked the busy halls or the lonely streets, he found himself searching the face of each person who passed by, wondering if (and hoping) it was Michel. It felt like Michel had disappeared off the face of the earth, that he had dreamt everything up in some feverish haze. It felt like Sam was trapped alone in the void, trying to claw himself back to something that had never existed at all.
To distract himself, Sam threw himself into his sports and academics. He studied furiously, paying special attention to his French and Politics and Governance courses. And he swam like a demon, cutting through the water faster than he ever had, breaking his personal records, then breaking them again. It was good timing; Kingston College was hosting a swim meet in a couple of weeks and Sam felt like his body had been perfectly primed for the competition, carved by pain, forged into a brutal machine. When the day of the meet arrived, Sam felt hard and fast and ruthless and ready to race. For the first time, he began to understand Lance Gallagher’s swimming style. Lance swam with a technical precision that made most coaches swoon, but there was something underneath that flawless surface, something powerful and dangerous, something dark, that propelled him faster than technique ever could. Maybe we’re not so different after all.
The benches surrounding the pool, usually empty during practice, were now filled with loud, jabbering crowds as everyone waited for the meet to begin. Teachers, students, and friends and family members of the competitors sat, staring at the swimmers and the water, chattering excitedly, the noise echoing in the giant space. The Kingston College supporters wore royal blue and gold; the supporters from the opposing Glenville College team donned forest green and white. Sam largely ignored the observers. It made no difference if people watched or not. He looked at the water as if it were something to bend to his will, something to break with the weapon of his body. He felt no nerves and no real excitement, either. Just the cold desire to destroy.
He was to be competing in the 200 metre butterfly. It was a difficult stroke, but one that he had always been naturally good at and had worked hard during his time at Kingston College to perfect. Before that happened, though, he would watch the relay. It was about to start.
Coach Smith said a few words into a loudspeaker, quieting the crowd.
“Thank you everyone for coming and supporting our swimmers today at their first meet of the year!” Raucous applause broke out, rippling sharply outward, and audience members from both schools waved banners and signs of support. “And a big thank you and welcome to Glenville College for joining us today. The boys have been looking forward to this for a long time, and we’re excited to compete with a team as strong as you. Everybody, swim well!”
The crowd cheered again, louder this time, filling the space with their enthusiasm. Sam wished he could feel that excited about the event. But his heart just wasn’t in it. In fact, his heart wasn’t with him at all, but rather somewhere out there on campus, deep in the pocket of a certain European TA.
His teammates lined up for the final relay after easily winning their heat: Greg, Michael, Finn, then Lance stood ready to swim in order. Sam chose not to sit, remaining standing, bouncing on his toes and swinging his arms to keep his muscles warm, watching as their relay began. Greg and Michael both swam well, but by the time Finn dove into the water, a small gap had opened up between them and the other team. Finn was a strong swimmer, Sam knew that, but his counterpart in the other lane was a total beast, piercing through the pool like an arrow. Sam felt bad thinking this about his friend, but he really didn’t have much hope that Finn would be able to turn things around.
It turned out he was wrong. Finn fought hard, and began to close that gap, pulling up and matching his opponent’s ferocious pace. Despite the happy reversal, Sam found himself frowning as he watched. Something seemed different about Finn’s style today. It seemed less joyous, more reserved. Either way, he thought, shaking his head, whatever Finn was doing was working, as he and his opponent finished their laps and slapped their hands against the wall at almost precisely the same time. Lance could easily win this for them now.
Except Lance didn’t move. He remained crouched, totally still, staring at Finn in the pool below him as his counterpart dove and started swimming. Finn looked up at Lance, eyes wide, and Sam heard him exclaim, “go!” As if awoken from a dream, Lance leapt powerfully forward and barely, just barely, closed the gap that had reopened to win the relay. Sam tried to catch Finn’s eye as he left the pool to go sit on a bench, but Finn either didn’t notice or ignor
ed him. Curious, but needing to prepare for his own race, he put the strange Lance/Finn interaction out of his mind and took his position at his lane.
Four swimmers lined up, ready to compete against him in the 200 metre butterfly. One of them was his own teammate Jason; the rest were from Glenville. He nodded politely at them as he crouched, waiting for his signal to jump. At the last moment, without really knowing why, he looked up at the hundreds of audience members, searching the faces thoroughly. Until he saw the one he had most hoped to see. The one he had least expected.
Michel sat in the highest row, wearing a royal blue Kingston College sweater with the school’s gold crown logo embossed on the front. Even from that distance Sam could see his cheeks flush as their eyes met. Michel half-nodded and gave a small wave before flashing Sam a shy thumbs up. And suddenly, all the excitement, all the joy, that had been missing from the day roared into Sam, a tsunami that shocked and overwhelmed him. His chest expanded, taking in more oxygen than ever before, and every nerve and tendon and muscle sang with electric energy. He grinned at Michel, then turned back to the pool, just as the whistle blew.
Not only did Sam win the race, but he once again beat his personal record. Thrumming with ecstatic pride, he vaulted out of the pool and looked back up at Michel. Except he couldn’t see him now. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the crowds, only to see Michel’s retreating back as he exited the pool area.
The joy that had flooded Sam just a moment ago vanished, replaced by intense, irrational rage. Michel was the one who had finally said that they shouldn’t see each other. So what was he doing, showing up out of the blue like this, then disappearing without another word? Sam had hoped, desperately, that Michel deciding to come to the meet had meant something, that it had been some kind of wordless sign. But what kind of sign could it possibly have been if Michel was going to just walk away like that? Sam didn’t want to acknowledge what scared him most – that Michel’s actions had felt like a goodbye.
Sam sighed and looked up at the clock. He still had one more event, but that wasn’t until close to the end of the meet. With a quick word to his coach, he made his way into the change room, dressing quickly, not even bothering to properly dry off, then jogging out into the athletic centre.
It didn’t take him long to spot Michel. The TA hadn’t exited the building yet, in fact, he was standing completely still, leaning back against a wall, arms crossed. His hair was parted differently today, Sam noticed with a stab, and he looked absolutely lovely.
Michel jerked his head up as Sam stepped into view. Shock coloured his elegant face; clearly, he had not expected Sam to follow him.
“Hey,” he said softly with a small smile. “You swam well. Good job.”
Sam didn’t return the smile, and Michel’s face fell. Sam’s chest clenched, and he steeled himself not to let the beautiful boy’s hurt feelings shatter his resolve. He wasn’t here to comfort Michel (though his hands and mouth ached to). He was here to get some answers.
“I’m surprised you even saw all of it. You seemed like you were in a real rush to get out of there.”
This anger, this need to push, to prod, to try to pull something out of Michel, was so foreign to Sam. He had never been the argumentative type, had never been petty or mean. He had never really even experienced a rage as desperate and painful as this. He couldn’t explain his feelings or actions anymore than he could prevent them.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Michel said, looking down. “I was actually hoping that you wouldn’t see me. I know this isn’t what we agreed. But I just... I don’t know.”
I don’t know. Sam felt a growl rise deep in his chest. I don’t know just wasn’t good enough anymore. He stepped closer, his hands shooting up to Michel’s shoulders, his grip like iron, pinning Michel to the wall. He would get an answer out of Michel one way or another.
He had to.
CHAPTER 15
“Look at me, Michel! What am I to you?” Sam’s voice sounded ragged and hoarse, raw with bitterness.
“You’re, you’re my student,” Michel stammered, looking anywhere but Sam’s eyes. Why was Sam suddenly asking now? They had made their arrangements, they had pulled away from each other, painfully, for now. And maybe Michel had made a mess of things by showing up to the swim meet, but for argument’s sake he could have easily said that he was going to watch his friend Lance instead. Of course, that would have only been a half-truth. He was happy to see Lance compete, but that hadn’t been his main purpose in going there today.
Sam closed his eyes and sighed harshly.
“I’m not asking you to change our agreement. I understand why we can’t be together right now. I don’t want to put you in any danger of losing your position or scholarship. But honestly, I feel like I’m falling apart without you, Michel. And I need something to hold onto. I need you to tell me how you feel about me. I feel like if you do that, I can wait this out. I could wait as long as you needed. If I just had some kind of assurance.”
He opened his eyes, his gaze ferociously blue and dark, his hands digging into Michel’s slim shoulders. Michel gasped, lost in the colour of that gaze, drowning in the lonely, storming depths. He couldn’t speak; he could barely breathe. Overwhelming fear coursed through him – fear of commitment, fear of rejection, fear of saying the wrong thing, of being misunderstood, of having his pride wounded. He could tell Sam that he’d thought of nothing else since that night they’d shared together in his room. That he’d tried to come up with any excuse he could to bump into Sam, to run across his path, and when that had failed had turned up at the meet out of desperation. He could tell Sam that America had begun to feel like home know that they had met.
But he didn’t say any of those things. The words got caught in his throat, dying before they reached his mouth. Why couldn’t he just be honest, honest the way Sam was? There was no denying the sincerity of Sam’s expression. Sam’s honesty spilled out of him like blood, thick as sorrow, thick as smoke. You’re a coward, Michel thought to himself as he tore his eyes from Sam’s penetrating gaze, looking down silently at his shoes, jaw tight and throat aching.
And just like that, Sam released his shoulders and stepped back. His voice was biting and cold when he spoke next.
“See, this is what I was afraid of. That my feelings are stronger than yours. That they have been from the beginning. And it probably isn’t fair of me to push you, I get that. Maybe I’m a selfish asshole. But I... I’m in love you, Michel. And seeing you so unsure is fucking with my mind. If we’re going to keep our distances then let’s really do it. Don’t come watch my meets, don’t talk to me, don’t text me. If you see me in the hall or on the street just pass me by. Please. I need to get my fucking head around this.”
Michel’s chest hitched painfully and he was shocked to see that his shirt wasn’t stained with wet crimson, so pierced was he by Sam’s words. They burned him all the way down to his core, scorching with with frigid fire, leaving him heaving and cold. By the time he felt strong enough to look up at Sam’s face, the tall boy was already gone. Michel collapsed to the floor of the athletic centre, pulling his knees into his chest, feeling like he had made a huge mistake, like he had taken the wrong turn and had ended up a million miles from home. And he wasn’t sure that he would be able to find his way back.
~
“Have you ever been in love?” Michel slurred, staring down into his half-empty wineglass.
Lance raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“Why do you ask,” he said carefully, sipping from his own drink.
Michel sighed, tracing the circular glass rim with a slow finger. He knew he shouldn’t be prodding Lance. Lance hadn’t invited him over, after all, and he was lucky the copper-haired swimmer had let him in when he had pounded, somewhat rudely, on the door. But he hadn’t known where else to turn after the meet. A true introvert at heart, he still hadn’t made any other good friends at Kingston College. So he had no one else to ask about his problems. To ask about love. Though
, as he studied his companion’s suspicious, serious face, he got the impression that Lance Gallagher was the last person one should turn to for romantic advice.
“It doesn’t matter why, just tell me – have you ever been in love?”
The wine was making him bold, fortifying his veins with burgundy and steel. He was thankful for it. He needed to ask these questions, to get some kind of outside perspective. He had no context, no experience, nothing to compare this to. Lance remained quiet for a moment, staring into the crackling fireplace, before answering with one low and thoughtful word.
“Yes.”
Michel sucked in a breath, leaning forward, taking a large sip from his glass.
“What did it feel like?” Michel asked, brows furrowed. Absurdly, he felt like he should be taking notes, as if preparing for an exam.
Lance sighed then shrugged, the firelight making his copper-coloured hair shine.
“I’m not sure I can explain it well. I’ve never been in love before.”
Michel frowned, confused.
“But you just said...” Then his mouth dropped open.
“So you mean you’re in love now? For the first time?”
Lance half smiled, half grimaced.
“It would certainly appear that way.”
“Wow,” Michel said, noticing the guarded, unhappy turn of Lance’s mouth. It looked like Michel wasn’t the only one with problems.
“And have you told that person how you feel?”
Lance clenched his jaw.
“Not in so many words,” he said stiffly.
Michel nodded vigorously. He felt fiercely relieved, as if he had been vindicated. If someone as collected and strong as Lance hadn’t even confessed to the person whom he loved, then who the hell was Sam to question Michel? He had never been in a real relationship before, damnit, and he needed some time find the courage express himself. He needed to find the right words, and the right moment to say them.