“You’ve missed two of his classes already,” she said and pulled off her woolly hat, releasing a flurry of curly brown hair.
Griffith chewed on his lip and dug into the gelato. “I’ll just have to attend all the remaining ones.”
“Rechtsstaat?” asked George, and it took Griffith a whole three seconds to realise the question was directed at him. He stilled, with the sweet vanilla flavor melting in his mouth as he stared back at the bouquet of eyes that expected him to study as regularly as they did.
He tried. He really tried, but then there was Mark, and dancing, and going shopping with Nisha, and… Mark.
Griffith’s phone ringing loudly saved him the indignity of having to admit that he had no idea what they were talking about. “Sorry, I need to take this,” he said and rushed off toward the fountain in front of the city hall.
It was his mother.
Griffith exhaled, silently praying to the unicorn statues on the red brick building and picked up the call.
“Hi, Mum! Are you alright?”
“I’m good, Griffith. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Griffith looked back at his friends, who sat on the blanket with their noses in notebooks. He gave a mental exhale. “No, I was just heading for lunch,” he said and continued to eat the gelato after he put the phone between his cheek and shoulder.
“Good, good. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Griff. It’s been brought to my attention that… I mean, Charlotte has told me she lives with Chris now. I can’t really say I’m too fond of that idea, because I don’t want you to be on your own in such a big city.”
Griffith stilled, squeezing his hand on the gelato cup a bit too hard. “I—oh, no, Mum, don’t worry. I have a flatmate.”
“That’s… new. Who is he? Do we know him? You know how worked up your father can get about some people.”
Griffith shut his eyes, panic-stricken as he tried to come up with a decent argument in his favor. There was a possibility his parents wouldn’t be happy with Nisha living with him, since they knew her parents and surely didn’t want any bad blood in case of a falling out. Then again, he was positive Mum and Dad knew and liked her.
“Oh, Nisha moved in with me. She wasn’t getting on well with the girls she originally lived with.”
The long silence made Griff lose his appetite, no matter how nice his pistachio gelato was.
“Nisha. Hmm.”
He put down the dessert. “We’re good friends, so it’s nice to live with her instead of a stranger.”
“Griffith, I’m really not sure this is the optimal solution. You two are so young. What I’m trying to say, in the most polite way possible, is that I’d rather not be having this conversation, but I would hate to have a different one in nine months. Do you understand me?”
Griffith squeezed his hand on the phone. “I’m not like Charlotte. Besides, Nisha is like a sister. It’s not like that between us at all!”
“You don’t need to raise your voice, Griffith. Since that’s out of the way, how’s university going?”
It seemed she was just as eager to leave the topic of reproduction as Griff was.
He glanced toward his classmates, who laughed—probably over some law-related pun. Boredom was sucking him in every time he stepped into the building of his college. “It’s great! I attended a study group just before you called.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. Can’t wait to see you for Christmas and hear all about your new friends. Just don’t give into peer pressure on anything stupid, okay?”
Griffith sighed. In his case, peer pressure was about studying in the library. “Of course not, Mum. You know me.”
But as much as he disliked many of his classes, they could be beneficial in his future life. He didn’t have any other life plans—none that were guaranteed to give him a decent income—and he didn’t want to disappoint his mother either. He talked to her some more, solemnly promising himself he would try harder and catch up on the study material before the holiday break.
Once they said their goodbyes, Griffith returned to his classmates, but they weren’t talking about law anymore.
“I thought he was messing with me, but he’s wearing that eyepatch now too,” Chiara whispered.
“Maybe it’s his thing, you know, like James Bay had the hat, or Lady Gaga and those outrageous costumes.”
The word eyepatch rattled in Griffith’s brain as he frantically searched for the familiar brown curls, tall form, eyepatch. When he found what he was looking for, his heart might have done a backflip. On the cobbled road in front of the Great Gatehouse, Mark sank to his knees and leaned down, searching for the right angle to photograph the gothic facade. He then rose and stepped back, adjusting the lens of his camera, completely deaf to the hustle and bustle around him.
“He looks more like Captain Hook,” George said, grinning with a plastic spoon between his teeth.
Griffith frowned, outraged to the core. “He is a very nice person, and you shouldn’t laugh at his disability. You don’t know what happened to him,” he said, remembering how upset Mark was when he’d told Griffith the horrendous story of his injury.
George raised his hands. “Okay, okay, I was just saying. I’m not being funny, but the eyepatch does draw attention.”
Chiara leaned to Griff with that concerned expression. “What did really happen to him?” She could have fooled someone else, but Griff knew her well enough to know she was just gossip-hungry.
Griffith shot her down with a cool gaze. “He told me, but if he wanted anyone else to know, he would have told them too instead of coming up with funny stories during the party.”
Chiara rolled her eyes at him and pulled away. “Whatever.”
Tim butted in. “Come on, Griff, it can’t be that crazy of a story.”
He spread his arms and grabbed his messenger bag. “It doesn’t matter. It’s his decision who he wants to tell. He doesn’t owe anyone his story.”
Chiara raised her eyebrows. “Where are you going?”
Griffith’s cheeks tingled, but he’d made his decision. “I need to talk to him before class. See you later,” he said, giving them all his smile number five in hope they wouldn’t hold his protectiveness of Mark against him.
Mark stood with his back to Griff, focused on whatever photography project he was doing, and just his shape, all black, with a well-fitting leather jacket and tight jeans, was making Griff tingle with the urge to touch. He could wrap his scarf around both their necks and just hug Mark forever.
He grinned, happy with the perspective of surprise, and tapped Mark’s shoulder, already getting warmer from being so close to that broad back. Mark turned around weirdly fast, but he smiled as soon as their eyes met.
“Hey there. You stalking me?”
Not today, Griffith thought, but he smiled, stuffing his hands down the pockets of the trench coat. “Maybe. Why else would I be here with all the other students?”
Mark glanced over Griff’s shoulder and lowered his camera. “Between classes?”
“Yes, we were repeating Constitutional Rights. The professor is a maniac,” he said with a playful scowl. He already learned that Mark wasn’t usually impressed by the same things as most people, and he showed little interest in Griffith’s degree, but Griffith still decided it wouldn’t hurt to stress that he knew his stuff—even if he didn’t.
Mark looked back at the sculptures crowding the facade. “I’m doing a project about Bristol for my class. It’s pretty generic really, and it’s supposed to be about places, but I’m not feeling it. I prefer to photograph people.”
Griffith stood a bit closer, feeling secure behind his thick bottle-green scarf. “You never showed me any of your work.”
Mark hesitated and cocked his head. “I don’t know. It’s nothing all that special. I’m still learning.”
“So mysterious. Come on, show me a selection,” Griffith said, and in a moment of absolute bravery, he nudged Mark with his e
lbow.
The little smile he got in return was something else. Almost shy. “Okay, okay.” Mark turned to stand next to Griffith, and even that tiny scrap of closeness was enough to make Griff overheat. He opened the screen on the large camera and flipped through the photos of the city to a close-up of… food. Mark snorted. “Avocado toast. Made it myself. I’ve learned to poach an egg, got some nice bacon, and topped it with sliced tomato and olive oil. My friend would have baked his own bread, but I took the easy way and bought this one.”
“Looks good. Sourdough?” Griffith asked, standing an inch closer. They were bonding! Though, to be fair, all the pictures were good. Griffith was no expert, but they seemed very artistic and well-focused, even the one depicting toast.
Mark made a funny scowl and his nose wrinkled. “Yeah. I love it. I feel like such a snob. Years ago I would have been happy with any old toast bread.”
Griffith snickered. “There are two kinds of people. Those who eat toast with vegetable spread, and those who have sourdough with real butter,” he said and raised his fist to bump it against Mark’s. He was proud of not choking on that joke in the presence of his crush.
Mark fist-bumped him with a laugh, and then proceeded to flip through some more photos of food. Griffith flushed with heat when Mark very quickly skimmed through a few mirror selfies of his abs. “It’s just to log progress,” he mumbled.
Griff nodded wordlessly, because he was already salivating. “The light’s good on that one,” he said in the end.
Mark kept going back through the photos, as if looking for something, but his cheeks did darken a bit. If only they were alone, if only he were allowed, Griffith would have put his cheek on Mark’s shoulder and not only watched the flush but also felt it. “There. I really like this one.”
He passed Griffith the camera while still holding the strap attached to it. Cropped to avoid showing faces, the photo was black and white and showed a couple in a dance position specific to the tango in front of a fruit stand with writing in Spanish, and with an empty cobbled street behind them.
Griffith accepted the camera, savoring the brief touch of Mark’s fingers, but before he took a closer look at the photo, he accidentally pressed one of the buttons, and the screen moved to a different photograph. This one depicted two people in a wooden porch swing, and his fingers trembled when he took in more details. Taken from the back, it showed two men—one with thick muscles, the other leaner yet broad-shouldered and with long black hair. They sat close, their arms intimately embracing, hands resting on shoulders and napes while the two strangers glanced at each other in a moment that captured tenderness. With the backlight, their faces were obscured, but it was clear what was happening.
They were about to kiss.
“Um…” Mark pulled the camera out of Griff’s hands abruptly. “That… Hmm…”
Griffith looked up with chaos in his brain, and even his lips pulsed with the hope that maybe this meant something. “Yes?” he asked almost soundlessly.
Mark took unbearable seconds to answer, but in the end, he let Griff have a look at the camera again. “They’re my adoptive dads. Though it’s kind of weird to call them ‘dads’, ‘cause they’re only ten years older than me.”
Griffith sucked in a gulp of air, staring at Mark in awe. He was the most interesting person he’d ever met. Mark had kissed Griffith during the game, he’d danced with him, but that alone couldn’t convince Griffith that the mind-blowing chemistry he felt was mutual. But this? Mark obviously was totally fine with gay people, because he’d already told Griffith that he was close to his dad. Could Griffith possibly be honest with him? Not that he had a crush on him but... that he liked guys?
“That’s unusual.”
“It’s a bit complicated. But the friend I was talking about, the one who cooks, is technically my other dad. We’ve had some disagreements, like any family, but they’re… they really stick up for me.”
Griffith’s throat itched to tell Mark that it was reassuring to hear this kind of thing. Griffith never met any adult gay men. Obviously, there had been the odd event planner or waiter, but no one he’d have a longer conversation with. It left him lost in the murky sea of identity. “That’s amazing. I’m happy for you,” he said, not knowing how to blurt out the personal things he wanted to tell Mark. He gently stroked the muscular shoulder through the leather jacket.
Mark was lost in thought when he looked down at the photo. “They have this… bond, you know? Sometimes it feels like they’re having a whole conversation over my head with just a few looks and gestures. I’d like to have something like that one day. Maybe minus some of the other bullshit they do.”
The frank nature of Mark’s words had Griffith breathlessly staring at him in the shadow of the gate house, with the accusatory eyes of the statues pointed at them.
Mark really was something else.
“I’d like that too.”
Mark turned off the camera. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect for you one day. You’re still a baby,” he teased and poked Griff.
It all became clear then. Mark considered him a kid. No wonder he wasn’t interested. But Griffith fought through the claws of panic squeezing around his chest and spoke, “Not anymore. I’m almost eighteen. You should come to my birthday party.”
“Oh? When is it?”
“Saturday,” Griffith said quickly, happy that he’d finally found the opportunity to mention it to Mark. “It’s gonna be casual, at a club.”
When Mark looked at Griffith it felt like the whole world around them ceased to matter. “Casual. At a club. I bet it’s gonna be big, loud, and you’ve already booked a DJ.”
Griffith shifted his weight, embarrassed that Mark read him so well. “Casual wear. Just bring yourself, and I’ll be happy,” he said, meeting Mark’s gaze.
“You’re too cute, you know that? I should take some photos of you.”
Griffith gave an awkward laugh, because what did that mean? That he was sexy or cute as a chipmunk? Still, the perspective of spending his time with Mark, of having him capture Griffith in photos held an appeal he couldn’t resist.
“Well, I’m meant to go to class, but...”
Mark shook his head with a cocky smile. “I’m such a bad influence.”
Griffith giggled like a kid and briefly looked back at his friends, who were still busy with cramming and testing each other.
What was the worst that could happen? It was just one more missed class. “Okay. Where do you want to take me?”
“Just come here.” Mark pulled on Griff’s arm, and guided him under the arch of the gate. “Put your hands in the pockets of the trench coat. But we need to open it first,” he said and, without asking if he was allowed to, unbuttoned the coat.
For the briefest moment, Griffith thought Mark was going to hug him. He didn’t resist, just letting himself enjoy the physical contact. On Halloween, Mark’s scent, his warmth, and the kindness he kept buried so deeply, had formed a thorn that was still stuck in Griffith’s chest, making him yearn for more.
“Of course. I don’t want to spoil your work. Are you always this particular, or do you also do spontaneous portraits?”
“I like to do that. And yes, I am very particular. Though it’s hardly a chore with a subject so stupidly handsome. You’re the worst. You don’t even have to try.” Mark laughed and started making featherlight touches to Griff’s hair.
This was so much better than any classes could have been. Especially doctor Glover’s.
Griffith couldn’t even laugh off the compliment anymore, so completely enamored he wished Mark would never be done with those minor adjustments. He looked so serious too—a handsome frown pinching his forehead, lips slightly open, gaze sliding over Griffith’s skin like a warm brown pebble—and in the sleek black clothes, he looked like the image of an artist at work.
Griffith stared, kept warm by the weight of Mark’s compliments. He considered himself attractive, but to be told so in no uncerta
in terms, and by a man he admired at that, was taking his pride to a new level. “Thank you. You should do more self-portraits,” he said, feeling daring.
Mark snorted and shook his head. “There you go, mocking me. I had it coming. Now hold your face like this.” He gently nudged Griff’s jaw to the side and up. His hand was so incredibly warm, despite the cool air, that its touch made Griffith briefly shudder “This way I’m getting a sharp shadow on a section of your face. That’s good.”
Griffith wanted to tell him that it wasn’t a joke, and that Mark had a distinct look that deserved showcasing, but he didn’t want to risk their blooming friendship for the sake of flirting. In this city full of people, Mark was the only person he’d met who felt so unashamedly real, and no matter how much he longed for those plump lips to touch his again, he couldn’t afford to lose Mark’s companionship. Maybe it would be enough if Mark just wanted him around?
“When did you start doing this?”
“Stay still,” Mark said,when he took a few steps back. “A few years ago. Seth, my other dad, he bought me my first camera. I just registered everything around me but then got annoyed that my photos were shit and dug into how to make them better. I experimented with color, with the cameras, and most of all how to crop them so that they told the story I saw.”
He took photos while he talked, moving around Griffith with cat-like grace. His face kept changing like the weather in spring, and a few moments in, the bustling city center around them might have ceased to exist. It was just Mark and Griffith—two people engaged in the most primal of dances.
“The story that you see,” Griffith repeated, wishing to hear more, to see deeper into Mark’s secretive world.
“Everyone’s got a story. You just have to pay attention to detail and listen.”
Suddenly, Griff felt like he’d unwittingly put his soul under a microscope. The single eye of Mark’s camera pointed at him, and he couldn’t help but flinch and avoid direct confrontation, but that only caused the shutter to go off time and time again.
A Breath of Innocence Page 11