by Quin Perin
And it hurt so much.
Tony
Dima beamed during the shoot. I was sure his face hurt from how much he smiled and laughed. His happiness was infectious, and I couldn’t help but grin along. Click, click, click. I wasn’t the best photographer, but it would have to do. Dima was in his element, posing on a rock near the ocean with the wind whipping through his hair, bare legs and feet. He’d insisted on “doing this right,” and given the pictures that I could now call mine, I hadn’t dared to argue. I lowered my camera and declared the shoot over. I had enough wonderful pictures to last me a lifetime. I would have kept going, but I worried about him getting sick. I helped him off the rock, the camera hanging off my shoulder. He wore a long sweater Zoe had brought. She’d draped his clothes on a blanket on the beach. I bent to brush the sand off his legs and feet. They were cold as ice.
Dima balled up his fingers and curled his toes, a shiver rushing through him.
“You’re freezing.” I reached out my hand so Zoe could give me the towel. I placed the towel at his feet, quickly wiped off his legs, and helped him into his clothes. He shuffled in his spot, humming softly as I pulled on his socks. Slowly, I drove my hand up his calf, biting the side of my lip. I kissed his knee before I rose and pulled his jeans up. He wiggled against me until I did up the zipper and closed my arms around him.
“I’m gonna take you home and warm you up.” As I said those words, I realized that if this right here made him radiate and grin brighter than the sun, then…well, could I ever make him truly happy?
“Thank you,” he said softly.
God, he had become a vital part of me. His emotions led mine. And yet, his happiness made my heart crack. Although he was shivering, he still grinned like a fool against my chest. I’d never made him smile like that. Perhaps I never would again.
While I helped Dima back into his coat, Zoe packed up her makeup, shuffling away from us. I cupped Dima’s face once I’d buttoned up his coat and fixed his scarf around his neck. All done. I leaned in to kiss him but then changed course and kissed his forehead instead, afraid he might taste my sorrow.
The way Zoe looked at me and Dima said more than a thousand words; a wordless conversation. I’d reminded him of what he could never have. He was flying so high he was meant to fall soon. I helped her with the bags she’d brought until we had to part ways, heading into different directions. The sun was setting now, the remaining warmth gone, evaporating into the sky as we walked back to the apartment. I could feel the mood tilt. His grasp lessened on me, and his smile faded. He mirrored the sun, which he couldn’t even see. Sinking. I let him slip away.
Physically, emotionally.
Back at the apartment, I helped him undress until he slid past me and stumbled into the bathroom. His smile was gone; he looked pale, and he still shook from the cold. I watched him reach out his hands, fingers grazing along the door frame to find his way. With a sigh, I carefully put Zoe’s camera on the coffee table and stripped off my shoes and socks. Closing my eyes, I stood in the middle of the living room, my heart aching with regret. I should have never reminded him of what he couldn’t have.
A sharp, loud sound snapped me out of my thoughts. I raced to the bathroom. The door was ajar, and the shower was running. It was a small room, white tiles on the walls and floor with a bathtub that also functioned as a shower.
“Dima.” My heart sunk when I saw him. He stood in front of the mirror, fingers clutching around the edge of the sink, head bowed. A pool of clothes by his feet, leaving only his briefs on. A bunch of cotton wipes were scattered across the floor; I guessed the package had dropped when he tried to take one out. A pink bottle rolled around in the sink, clinking from side to side against the porcelain, liquid pouring from it. I launched forward and folded my arms around him, sealing his back to my front. His fingers gripped my forearms in an attempt to pull them off, but I wouldn’t have it.
When I looked up, I saw him in the mirror. He’d tried to remove his makeup before any tears fell. Now they were rolling freely, like little rivulets of black mascara through the foundation Zoe had put on. “Shhh, baby.” I kissed his ear, still looking at our reflection. Him, so fragile and yet so beautiful and me, with my beard and tattooed arms and hands. The opposite of him. He trashed against me, squirming and twisting, but I held him so tightly he couldn’t move. “I’m sorry,” I said, which made him laugh and cry some more.
Without wasting another moment, I scooped him up into the bathtub, him in his briefs and me still fully clothed. He didn’t even put up a fight. I set him down and shed him of his briefs. The hot water steamed up the room, the air humid and warm when I tugged off my clothes so I could get under the stream. I adjusted the temperature a little and then pulled him against me. I led us under the water, making him hiss and sigh against my chest. He melted right into me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as the water sluiced between us. I reached for a washcloth and the bar of soap and then carefully removed the makeup from his face. I kissed his soaked hair, steeling myself. All I could do was be there for him. For as long as he let me. His bottom lip quivered as I wiped his cheeks and dabbed at his eyes for the mascara. Only a few weeks ago, I’d seen him on that bench by the sea. Marveled at him from afar, and now he was in my arms. His hair dripping wet, cheeks a shade of red. I’d been lost for words then, and I was lost for words now.
His arms were folded against my chest, head angled back so I could reach his face. Love was a dangerous game to play. And as I saw him like that, so very vulnerable, I knew I would risk playing it.
FORTY
Dima
Tony was sleeping when I slipped out of bed. He had this habit of not quite snoring but almost growling when he was sound asleep. It was a noise I’d come to recognize; it meant he wouldn’t stir when I moved away from him. Sometimes, I even lay there and listened for a while, finding comfort in it.
One of his too-large shirts brushed against my thighs as I crept on bare feet to the kitchen, phone in hand. It wasn’t very late. After our emotional shower, we’d gotten ready for bed and gone straight to it. He’d dried me off, kissing along my shoulders the entire time, and dressed me. Nothing sexual. He was fond of doing those little things for me, and I didn’t mind. It never felt as if he did it because he thought I couldn’t. Only because he enjoyed it.
I pretended to sleep once we’d settled down, gathering my thoughts in private while Tony drifted off. I needed to talk. Badly. But not to him.
Settling myself onto the warm floor near the heater, I fiddled with my phone and spoke softly into it so it would dial for me. I called Zoe, listening to her phone ring in my ear. “Hey, Dima,” she murmured, answering quickly like she’d expected my call.
“Hey, Zoe, didn’t wake you, did I?” She sounded wide awake, but it was still polite to ask.
“Nah. I’m not working until tomorrow afternoon, so I’ve been watching bad movies,” she said. “And I thought you might call. How’re you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess.” I brought my knees up under the shirt and tucked them against my chest. “I feel weird.”
She hummed and rustled around. “Did you have fun today?”
Nodding, even though she couldn’t see me, I responded with a quiet, sighed, “Yes.”
“Sad now?”
“Yes.”
Her turn to sigh. “Dima, I’m sorry. I should have realized the shoot was a bad idea and let Tony know.” She sounded guilty, and that made me feel guilty. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Neither had Tony.
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” I assured her. “Just...made me realize how much I missed it. More than I thought.”
It was bittersweet. My passion had always been photography, and in a way, it was easier to give that up. I wasn’t physically capable of doing it. Modeling though...I could do it. I still looked the same and moved, mostly, the same. It seemed so far away to me. Something I couldn’t quite grasp any longer.
“You did great,” she offer
ed softly. “I think you’d really like the pictures. And the way Tony looked at you, man, he’s got it bad for you.”
A melancholy smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Modeling for him was so weird.”
“Why?” she asked.
“He was so sweet. Nice.” I shrugged. “Eugene…”
“Was an ass,” Zoe finished dryly.
“He was a professional,” I reasoned.
“A professional ass.”
She wasn’t exactly wrong. Eugene liked to bark orders, and he wanted you to do what he said, the moment he said it. At the time I’d found it attractive. He knew what he wanted and got it. The pictures always turned out amazing. I had no clue what Tony’s pictures were going to look like, but I’d had a good time making them. The way he’d touched me and guided me into position was tender. He’d never raised his voice, and he’d taken every moment to kiss me that he could. It hadn’t been so much work as it had been a proper date for us.
I’d been so happy with him taking my pictures like that. I felt like...me. Like I used to be. When I was more outgoing and adventurous. When every moment of my day wasn’t planned to make it easy for me to get around. Tony made me feel like that. At the same time, it was temporary. Fleeting. It always was. We could do as many photo shoots as we wanted, but it wouldn’t be the same. They were pictures for Tony to look at. It wasn’t a proper job. I still worked at a café, making baked goods. A pity job given to me by a man who felt sorry for me. I still wasn’t living my passion. It was all going through the motions.
In fact, there was only one thing I felt passionate about on a regular basis. Tony. He made me feel good about myself. Made me feel like I was living. It wasn’t quite the same as following my dreams, but it was as good. Or nearly as good. A feeling I’d thought I’d never have again after Eugene abandoned me. I’d closed myself off. I knew that, and Tony made me feel like maybe it was okay to open back up.
“Zoe?” I started quietly, tightening my arm around my folded legs.
“Yeah, Dima?”
“He means a lot to me,” I whispered. “And it scares me.”
“I know.”
FORTY-ONE
Tony
Exactly as Jan had announced, he’d texted me about the Christmas decorations the first week of December. Zoe was away on her holiday, off to her folks somewhere in the Netherlands, so Sara chipped in now, waiting tables, helping with customers and behind the counter. The very least I could do was help him get those lights up so Christmas could come our way.
It was Sunday evening, the streets were bleary, dark, and cold when I made my way to Jan’s café. I could already see the light from inside as I approached. Dima was at home, baking cookies while talking to a friend online. A friend from overseas. No one to be jealous of, he’d assured me. And yet, it stung to know the guy had known Dima before me. When he could still see. It was weird.
“Jan?” I called out, the wind howling right behind me as I pushed the door closed.
“Yeah! In the back.” I took off the scarf Dima had insisted I’d wear and draped my jacket across a chair. Rubbing my hands together, I slid behind the counter, through the kitchen, following the noise. Jan fought with a box full of lights and red, glittering stuff, heaving it from the top shelf. Before he would stumble over the clutter surrounding him on the floor, I pulled the box from him.
“Where does this go?”
“Behind the counter. Let me get the rest down so we can put the lights up,” Jan said and kicked a few boxes aside.
Once he handed me the next three boxes and I set them down at the counter, Jan sighed out loudly and groaned. He was clearly fed up with sifting through Christmas lights, little stars, and red and green wreaths littering the floor. I couldn’t blame him. I was about to untangle a chain of lights when he came out of the kitchen with his hands on his hips and sweat glistening on his temple.
“You alright?” I chuckled as I carefully lifted the lights out of the box. Jan blew out a breath through puffed cheeks and pulled at his white-and-red sweater to get some circulation going. There were stars and little Christmas trees on it; I bet Sara made him wear it. I grinned and bit my lip.
“Can’t we skip Christmas?” he asked to which I snorted.
“Nah, Sara loves this shit. Gotta stick with it, man.”
Jan gaped at me for a moment before he bobbed his head. “Alright, can you get the ladder from the back? I’ll get the one from across the street. Daniel always lends me his ladder when we put the lights up.”
“Sure, I’ll get it.” When I pulled the rest of the lights out, something glinted at the bottom. It kept my attention long enough, so I bent down. In the very corner of the box was a small golden bell, attached to a red ribbon.
“What’s this?” I wondered when Jan was about to walk outside. He stepped toward me again and leaned across the counter.
“Oh, that’s from Leslie’s teddy bear, I think. She had one last year. My auntie’s dog bit its head off, unfortunately. So that’s all that’s left.”
Oh. I glanced back at him, the silky material gliding against my fingertips.
“Can I have it?”
Jan arched an eyebrow but then shrugged one shoulder. He was learning not to ask questions around me.
“Yeah, not sure why it was even in there.” Then he backtracked and pushed past the door, leaving me with my newfound treasure. The bell chimed softly as I shook it. The ribbon was long enough to double-wrap around my wrist. With a smile, I put the lights down and walked over to my jacket to slip the ribbon into my pocket. Again, it chimed ever so softly.
About half an hour later, Jan and I were finishing up the Christmas lights around the windows when I heard my sister call: “Oh, don’t you two look pretty?” I turned my head and laughed.
“How come you’re not up here?” I teased, attaching the last set of lights to a hook near the edge of the window.
“Because I am afraid of heights, thank you very much.”
“Of course you are,” I shot back and held on to the ladder before I made my way down.
Jan hopped down before me, greeting her with a kiss. “Hoi, schatje.”
I smiled at how cute they were. They’d been together for years, but it certainly seemed like they were still in their honeymoon phase. Jan stepped back to admire our work when I noticed the bag she was carrying.
“Dinner for my hardworking men,” she answered before I could ask the question, and looked at the lights we’d put up.
“Let me turn them on,” Jan said and walked past me, going inside. I used the opportunity to give Sara a hug.
“Where’s Leslie?” I squeezed her to my side, shielding her from the cold. She rested her head against me as we both waited for the lights to switch on.
“With Jan’s mom. They’re baking cookies.” Just like Dima. I smiled and looked at her.
“You got lucky,” I whispered.
“Didn’t I?” She sighed and beamed up at me. We’d both gotten lucky. Funnily enough, in the same town, in the same country, thousands of miles away from where we grew up. There had to be something magical about this town.
“Thank you for asking me to come.” I’d never actually thanked her for it. Without her, I wouldn’t have met Dima.
She patted my chest with her free hand. “I’m glad you came. Are you coming over for dinner on Christmas Eve?” I chuckled because it was the fifth time she’d asked me this week.
I was about to answer when the lights flicked on, a soft, orange glow shining down on us. Jan came out and clapped his hands in triumph. We still needed to put up two more of these, but I didn’t mind. I got to spend time with my family, Sara and Jan, and when I got home, I’d take Dima in my arms and tie the ribbon around his neck so I could make the little bell chime again.
FORTY-TWO
Dima
Right as I took my last batch of gingerbread stars and bells out of the oven, the door unlocked and opened. Tony’s footsteps scuffed across the floor, he
avy, as he slipped in and let out a long, content sigh.
“Man,” he groaned, door clicking shut, “it smells fucking amazing in here.” I could hear his shoes bang against the baseboard despite the fact that I’d told him a hundred times to be gentle with my apartment.
I wiggled my spatula under the cookies, transferring them from the tray to the cooling rack. My one friend from back in the UK hadn’t been able to stay online very long. Busy with his own holiday celebration. I was glad Tony was home; I’d been starting to get lonely. “My back hurts, my feet ache, and my lungs are ninety percent flour at this point,” I grumbled, shaking my head. “But I’m finally finished.”
Tony came up behind me, accompanied by a jingling that made my brow furrow. I swore to God I would kill him if he’d brought home Christmas decorations. I made holiday cookies in silly shapes because Jan wanted it, but on my own, I had no time for all that tacky holiday shit. Sara liked to laugh and call me a Scrooge every year when Christmas came around. She wasn’t wrong but not quite right either. My family didn’t celebrate the holiday, so it wasn’t a thing when I was growing up. I had no attachment to fake snow and tinsel. I only celebrated because Jan invited me over for dinner and I liked eggnog. Sara made sure they had it every year.
“Why are you pouting, pretty thing?” Tony muttered, sliding up behind me and folding his hands on my stomach. He tugged me closer, face pressing into the back of my neck as he nuzzled himself in.
I scoffed, wiggling and trying to get away from him. He held on tighter. “Are you drunk or something?” I accused him.
“No.” He snorted. His arms trapped me, fingers twisting in my shirt. “I’m high on holiday cheer.”