by Emy Calirel
“All right,” Trevor said, not looking away from the window.
AWKWARDNESS LINGERED between them, and Trevor barely said anything until they made it to the restaurant. Hinata was a small business. Decorated with style, it barely hosted fifteen tables and offered seated service as well as takeout. It was one of Jerome’s favorite places. When he could afford it.
They ordered tea and a plate of sushi to share, and Jerome watched as Trevor carefully unwrapped his chopsticks. Trevor held himself straight, his expression completely neutral. He looked like someone at a business meeting instead of on a date.
Jerome reached across the table to put his hand on Trevor’s. He had tainted the mood, and it was time he fixed it. “I didn’t mean to snap at you in the car. I apologize.”
Trevor looked at him, but he still seemed guarded.
“I appreciate you wanting to invite me to dinner, but I don’t want to feel like I owe you or take advantage.”
“You’re upset because I have more money and wanted to go to a fancier restaurant?”
Jerome almost said yes so he could avoid telling Trevor the real reason. The hurt and confusion in Trevor’s voice changed his mind.
“No,” he admitted. “I’m upset because of the Comics Center.”
“Why?”
Jerome used the waitress arriving with their food to stall. Part of him wished Trevor would tell him to forget it and drop the subject, but when the waitress left, Trevor was still watching him intently, waiting. Trevor had made himself vulnerable that morning by sharing his past with Ronan, and Jerome couldn’t bring himself to brush him off now.
“I told you my mother was a historian, right?” he asked, already feeling the lump in his throat grow.
“You did.”
“She….” Jerome took a deep breath. He should be used to it, but it still hurt every time he had to say it. “She died two years ago. Cancer.”
Trevor’s gaze softened and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry.”
Jerome nodded but didn’t look up. “She always wanted to write a book. Always said she would do it when she retired, but she….” Jerome cleared his throat and blinked back sudden tears. Trevor took his hand, and Jerome clutched onto it. “She never made it to retirement. When she got sick, she kept saying she regretted not taking the time to write that damn story, and I would have done anything to make her feel better. So we started working on a project together. She wanted to write a sort of guide for children and families, centered around Belgium and its history. Something she would sell at visitor centers and such. We decided I would make the illustrations for it. You saw one of the sketches on my wall. I stayed at the hospital with her all day, then went home to draw a new picture. Next day, she would give me feedback on it. When she had the strength.”
“Did you finish the story?” Trevor asked, his thumb rubbing Jerome’s knuckles soothingly.
“We wrote the whole thing. I never finished the illustrations.” Jerome sniffed and cleared his throat again. “I’ve always wanted to be a comic artist. Talked about it since I was a kid. She kept telling me I should follow my dream, not waste years like she did. When it became clear she wouldn’t get better, I quit my job. I didn’t want to live with regrets, and I wanted to make her proud. Show her I could do it. I promised her I would finish her book, then start on my own stories. But I didn’t.” A tear rolled down Jerome’s cheek and he wiped it away angrily. “I failed, Trevor. I’m upset because going to the Comics Center reminds me I failed.”
“It’s never too late.”
Jerome took his hand away from Trevor. “Yes, it is. I can’t look at my mother’s story without crying, even now. And my own stories….” Jerome rubbed his hands on his thighs, hard, the rough fabric of his jeans centering him. “They’re just not good enough. The plan was to work at the store during the day and draw at night, which I do for the postcards and shirts, but everything is so much work. Even if I was good enough to sell my own stories, I wouldn’t have the time. I’m thirty-seven. It’s high time I learn to let go of silly dreams.”
“I think your drawings are good,” Trevor said quietly. “You’re more talented than you give yourself credit for.”
Jerome shrugged but didn’t say anything. He had nothing left to say. His throat hurt from holding back tears, and he couldn’t bring himself to reach for a piece of sushi. He felt exposed, all his doubts and vulnerabilities on display for the world to see.
Trevor ate a couple pieces of sushi in silence before he touched Jerome’s foot with his own. “Do you want to go home? We could ask to get everything packed for takeout.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Jerome admitted guiltily.
“We’ll put it in your fridge and eat it later, then.”
“But you wanted a nice meal at a restaurant. I know I spoiled the mood, but if you give me a minute to get myself together, we can still salvage tonight.”
“I don’t really care about dinner. All I want is to spend time with you and make you feel better if I can. Let me go ask them to pack everything, and we’ll leave. I’ll be right back.”
Trevor squeezed Jerome’s shoulder on his way to the front desk. When he was gone, Jerome dropped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and reached for his composure. He didn’t like talking about his mother because it always felt like reopening a wound that wouldn’t heal.
He looked up and smiled apologetically when the waitress came by their table to pack their food.
“You’re ready to go?” Trevor asked, putting his hand on Jerome’s shoulder.
“Yeah.”
They put their jackets back on, and Jerome followed Trevor to the register. He didn’t have the energy to care or protest when Trevor paid for both of them.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Trevor said when they walked out of the restaurant. The air still smelled of rain, but it had thankfully slowed to a drizzle. “First Ronan this morning, and then the Comics Center. It’s like we’re trying to doom our weekend.”
Jerome laced his fingers with Trevor. The fresh air felt good, made it easier to breathe. “You’re still here. And there’s always tomorrow.”
Chapter 11—Trevor
“WE’LL GO to the airport directly from the store,” Jerome said.
He sat cross-legged on the unmade bed as Trevor packed his suitcase.
It was pouring rain again, and they had decided to just stay in until they had to go and meet Quentin. Trevor didn’t often laze around on Sunday mornings, but he could get used to spending hours lying in bed, simply watching TV with his head on Jerome’s shoulder.
“I can take a cab if it’s easier for you.” Trevor finished folding his last shirt before he turned around, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall.
Jerome shook his head. “I want to drive you.”
The melancholy from the previous day still lingered between them, but there was no awkwardness left, just the knowledge of displayed vulnerabilities.
Jerome fiddled with the Leo Belgicus pendant he wore around his neck, a sign Trevor was starting to understand meant Jerome was nervous. His mouth twisted and his brows drew closer. He was clearly debating something, so Trevor waited for him to speak again.
“It’s too bad you’re leaving so early,” he finally said. “I still have sushi in the fridge.”
“I wish I could stay longer, but I have a meeting early in the morning. Last time I came home last minute, I forgot my phone here. If I don’t regret it for a second, I can’t afford to do it again either.”
Jerome uncrossed his legs and slid down the bed to sit on the floor with Trevor. “I have to admit, I’m kind of glad you did.”
“Me too.”
The space between the wall and the bed was small, so Jerome straddled Trevor’s legs. He was only wearing his pajama bottoms, the skin of his bare back hot and smooth under Trevor’s hands.
“Will you come back?” Jerome asked, his words so quiet Trevor only heard them because they
were so close.
“If you want me to.” Trevor’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he licked his lips. “I ruined our weekend. I want the chance to do better next time.”
Jerome smiled a little, the intensity in his eyes warming Trevor to his core. He brushed his thumb over Trevor’s lips before he cupped his cheeks, never looking away from his eyes. Trevor felt like an open book. Like Jerome could see everything he had and was, and not for a moment did he think about hiding or looking away.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Jerome breathed before he kissed him, slow and sweet.
His lips were soft, his tongue gentle, and Trevor melted. It was nothing like their usual kisses. It wasn’t passion, it was care, and Trevor completely surrendered to it.
When Jerome pulled away, Trevor was covered in goose bumps. He felt like his heart had been ripped open, his soul on display for Jerome to take.
TREVOR STILL felt unsettled, like a part of him had shifted, when they made it to the store. They hadn’t had sex again, but Jerome had kissed him until his phone rang, bursting their bubble and breaking the magic.
They ran from Jerome’s car to the store, their coats over their heads to protect themselves from the rain. A blond, very thin man, almost as tall as Trevor, met them at the door. He had a barbell in his right eyebrow, a small golden hoop in his nose, and eyes so blue Trevor did a double take. The full beard made him look intimidating, but as soon as he smiled, Trevor felt at ease.
“Quentin, this is Trevor,” Jerome said, motioning between them as he took his coat off. “Trevor, Quentin, the friend who convinced me putting all my savings into a souvenir shop was a good idea.”
“Hey! You were into it as well,” Quentin said, his accent a lot more pronounced than Jerome’s. He held his hand out. “Nice to meet you. Jerome said you could help with our supplier problem?”
He looked so hopeful, Trevor had to smile. “I can’t promise they’ll pay you back, but I at least know what you can do to defend yourselves. If you don’t mind showing me the contract, I can talk you through the letter you need to write and see if there’s something else you can attempt.”
“No problem. Everything is in the office.” Quentin unhooked the rope separating the store from the basement before he turned to Jerome. “I know it’s your day off, but do you mind….”
Jerome waved him off. “I’ve got the store. Just go do your thing.”
Quentin started down the stairs, but Trevor pulled Jerome to him for a quick kiss before he followed.
“I won’t take long, so we can have some time left together,” he said.
“Okay. Go have fun with your paperwork and numbers.” Jerome pushed him toward the stairs.
Quentin scoffed from below. “Fun. I’ll show you fun,” he mumbled.
“Paperwork can be fun.” Trevor couldn’t help but laugh at the look of horror Quentin sent him.
TREVOR LOVED doing paperwork, the focus it required soothing his mind. He quickly lost himself in it, and one thing leading to another, he spent a long time showing and explaining things to Quentin. Quentin was full of good intentions, and he didn’t make any mistakes, but his way of keeping track of the store’s inventory and accounts wasn’t the most efficient. Trevor didn’t have his company’s name to back him up this time, but he had years of experience to share, and he couldn’t help but treat the store with the same care he gave his own projects.
He and Quentin were bent over the end table used as a desk, sitting on cardboard boxes and surrounded by papers, when Jerome’s knock on the doorframe startled them.
“We need to get going soon if you want to make your flight.”
Trevor’s heart dropped when he looked at the time. He had spent the whole afternoon in the basement with Quentin.
“Merde!” Quentin cursed, standing up. “I’m sorry. We didn’t see the time.”
Jerome shrugged, but there was no hiding the disappointment in his eyes. “Was me dealing with the customer from hell at least worth it?”
“Oui. We made a lot of progress, and Trevor showed me a bunch of ways to improve things.”
“That’s good. You’ll get us money now, then?”
“I might keep us afloat, and you’ll have to be happy with that. Speaking of money, customer from hell bought something?” Quentin piled up the papers he and Trevor had been working on.
“A fucking magnet. And a postcard, although he spent a good ten minutes telling me how we really should have Halloween designs.”
Quentin’s eyes lit up, and he straightened. “Yes! We need Halloween stuff. And Christmas and Hanukkah stuff. Think you can come up with something?”
“Sure,” Jerome said derisively. “I have so much free time lately.” He sighed and gentled, rubbing his neck. “Sorry. It’s a good idea, but I hate that it comes from that self-important asshat. I’ll think of something. You’re ready?” he asked, his gaze meeting Trevor’s.
Trevor was stuck in the corner of the room, between Quentin and the wall, and witnessing their exchange in amusement.
“Ready when you are,” he said, sidestepping Quentin.
“Thanks for the help and advice. I really appreciate it.” Quentin shook Trevor’s hand firmly.
“No problem.” Trevor took his phone from his pocket to get the business card tucked into the case. “Call me if you need anything else.”
Jerome laced his fingers with Trevor’s and pulled him toward the stairs. “Come on, your plane is gonna leave without you.”
TREVOR SPENT the trip to the airport catching Jerome up on what he and Quentin had done, and he was still talking when Jerome parked in front of the departure terminal.
“What are we doing?” Jerome interrupted.
Trevor paused. He didn’t pretend not to know what Jerome meant. He had spent the trip talking because he didn’t want to think about leaving Jerome behind, but now he needed to face reality. He was going home, and Jerome was staying in Brussels.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “What do you want to do?”
Jerome started playing with his necklace. “I want to see you again. And I want to see where this—” He waved his hand. “—thing between us leads.”
“But?” Trevor asked, because Jerome’s tone made it clear there was one.
“But I don’t share well with others. I’m not asking for I love yous, or daily phone calls. And I would understand you looking for someone in Dublin.” Jerome stared at the rain pelting the windshield.
Trevor itched to reach out to him, but he waited for Jerome to finish.
“I’m an expensive fuck, and I get that, but if it’s just sex to you, if I’m just the rebound fuck buddy and you’re also getting your rocks off with someone else, I need to know now. So I can back off before I get hurt.”
Trevor did reach for his hand then, and Jerome’s gaze shifted to their linked fingers. He looked so vulnerable at that moment, Trevor swore to himself he would never hurt him.
Jerome finally looked up, hope and fear clear in his eyes. “I’ve been cheated on before. And I’ve been the unknowing other man before. I’m not doing that again.”
Trevor tightened his grip on Jerome’s hand, needing Jerome to believe him. “There’s no one else. I don’t know what this thing between us is, and if it’ll lead somewhere or not. But it’s not just sex. I’m in this with you, and I’m not looking anywhere else.”
Jerome searched his face before he finally relaxed, leaning across the console to rest his forehead against Trevor’s.
“Okay.” He sighed. “Next time you come, no heavy talks. And rain or not, we’ll walk around Brussels again.”
“Sex still on the menu, though?” Trevor asked, smiling to make sure Jerome knew he was teasing. It earned him the chuckle he had been hoping for.
“Like I could resist you anyway. We’ll have so much sex, you won’t be able to see straight.”
Trevor closed his eyes, soaking up the moment. He didn’t want to pull away and leave, but he eventually had to.
/>
“You’re gonna be late,” Jerome said, letting go of Trevor’s hand. “You should go.”
“I’ll come back.” Trevor forced himself to get out of the car.
He opened the back door to get his suitcase.
Jerome turned around in his seat so he could see Trevor. “Have a safe flight.”
“I’m coming back as soon as I can,” Trevor promised. “And I’m calling you tonight.”
HIS POSTCARD collection kept growing, and Trevor smiled when Emma, the mail clerk, brought him a new one. Jerome always drew little things on the envelopes as well, which had led to some impressed comments from the mail team. Trevor kept the postcards in the lunch box he had bought that first weekend at the store, not wanting to mix business with his personal life, but he had been proud to report Emma’s comments to Jerome.
TWO DAYS after he came back from Brussels, Valentina’s project went to hell and Trevor got slammed with work. Despite that, Trevor called Jerome every day. Even when it meant waiting until late night, after Jerome was done with his night tours. And even when they just ended up watching a movie over the phone, too tired to do anything more but wanting to be somewhat together anyway.
Jerome’s quiet presence in his daily life was the only thing keeping Trevor sane as he navigated ego issues within his team, a boss only interested in making money, and a leather factory literally going up in flames.
Now, after three long weeks, he was finally about to see Jerome again, and Trevor caught himself singing as he packed his bag. He had wanted to go back the week before, but Jerome had been covering for Quentin at the store, and they had both agreed they preferred to have a weekend together where Jerome didn’t have to leave the bed.