by A. M. Arthur
“Take your time,” Will said. “I’m here beside you, okay? The whole way back.”
The intuitive way Will understood him sent something warm and arousing through his body, alongside a fierce need to protect this friendship. He’d never met anyone who got him so fast and so well, and Taz didn’t want to lose it. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” Will winked. “Just don’t take too long, or I’ll have to turn around and leave the second we get there so I don’t miss curfew.”
Taz laughed out loud. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“Nope. Lead the way.”
The walk back to his apartment building was both easier and more difficult than the trip to the park. Easier knowing he was heading home, to a safe place he knew and could relax in, and every step drew him closer. More difficult because every once in a while, Will’s elbow brushed his arm or he commented on something in such a way that made Taz want to touch him. To hold his hand or throw an arm across his shoulders, and thinking about doing that on a public sidewalk sent him back. He froze. He had to wake himself up. He had to endure curious looks, sometimes glares, from other pedestrians.
But Will was always there. Always patient. Making the entire journey seem less awful. Making him feel less stupid for turning what should have been a ten-minute walk into thirty. Everything got easier once they took the stairs to his floor. The elevator smelled like cat piss, and he needed the exercise anyway.
Once his door was finally in view, a new kind of anxiety exploded in his stomach.
Peter was the only other person who’d ever been in his apartment, and now Taz was inviting a boy in for the first time. A boy he liked and was attracted to, and even though they’d said they weren’t coming here for sex, the possibility of it loomed in front of Taz like an oasis. Teasing him with something he was starving for—touch, connection, pleasure.
Even something as simple as a nice, long hug.
His father gave him brief, one-armed hugs every time they saw each other, but it wasn’t the same. That affection was different, stemming from the love of a parent for his child. Taz craved romantic affection, but he didn’t want to assume anything about Will or second-guess his clearly stated intentions for this visit.
No sex. Nope. Not today.
Maybe.
“Home sweet home,” Taz said as he turned the key in the dead bolt. He sniffed the air when the door swung open, grateful it was only vaguely stale and not rotting-garbage gross.
Will’s head didn’t stop moving as he came inside, gazing around, taking in the details. The living room was small, taken over by a lumpy couch, a TV, and his work desk and chair, but two big windows gave it a lot of light during the day. The kitchen light was off, so not much to see in there, and the bedroom and attached bathroom were down a short hallway. Taz tried to see the place like a stranger might—tiny, cramped, not much personality. Everything in it had been purchased by Peter. Gifts to make up for all of the years they’d missed together, and to make Taz’s solitary life more comfortable.
All of Taz’s personal stuff was in his bedroom, safely stored away. The only thing that told anyone about him was the one picture he had of him and Peter, taken a few months ago. Taz’s right profile, his dad mugging for the camera, both of them smeared with birthday cake from Taz’s twenty-fourth. Dad had brought Mexican takeout and a small ice cream cake.
Of course the framed photo on his desk was the thing Will zeroed in on first. “That has got to be your father,” he said, studying it without picking it up. “You look exactly like him.”
“Yeah, he is.” Taz thought back to the shock and wonder of waking up to find his older double standing next to his hospital bed with tears in his eyes. “It’s weird to say anything good came out of being hit with acid, but he did.”
Will turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
“I never knew my father growing up, not even his name. I figured I took after him, because my mother and grandmother were Lebanese, so...” He took his ball cap off and flapped it at his hair. “The only time I really resented not knowing him was after my gramma died. She had custody of me, so I ended up in foster care at fifteen. My mother didn’t want me because of her new husband, and she refused to contact my father. Said she wouldn’t know how to find him. I hated her for abandoning me.”
Taz sank down on one end of the couch, exhausted by the memories and the hot walk back to the apartment.
“And I thought my mother was fucked-up,” Will said softly. But not soft enough that Taz didn’t hear it, and he wanted to know more but couldn’t make himself ask. Will was super protective of his past, while Taz’s life was an open book.
He kept talking instead, because he liked telling Will things. He liked having someone around who was so easy to talk to. “When I woke up in the hospital after the acid attack, my mother was there briefly. I had her listed as my emergency contact, even though I never expected her to give a shit if I was dead or alive. We didn’t really talk. Moving my face muscles hurt like nothing I can describe, so I mostly slept. One day I woke up and this tall, beefy red-haired guy was standing by my bed crying. Told me he was my father and apologized over and over for not being part of my life. Said he wanted to change that.”
Will drifted to the other end of the couch and sat on the arm, his feet on the cushions, facing Taz. His gaze was distant, a little sad. “Wow,” he said. “A story with a happy ending.”
“Yeah. He let me live with him when I first got out of the hospital. He was there for all the skin grafts and helped me get some counseling. He even got me set up with my transcriptionist job and cosigned my apartment lease. He’s done everything for me for the last two years.”
“Damn, he really is making up for lost time. I kind of hate you a little bit right now.”
His chiding tone said otherwise, but Taz abhorred the idea that Will hated him, even a little bit. “Why is that?”
Will lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know who my father is. He was never in my life, either.”
“Do you resent him for that?”
“Sometimes. I mean, sometimes I think if he’d been around, maybe a lot of awful things that happened wouldn’t have. Maybe he’d have taken me away from my mother before things got to their worst point. Then I think the opposite, that maybe he was a meaner, more selfish person than my mother, and I’d have been just as unhappy with him. I don’t know. I can’t change anything, so it doesn’t help to wonder anymore.”
Taz wasn’t sure why he was stuck on this topic. Maybe because he’d gotten his father back and Peter had turned out be an okay guy, despite past mistakes. “Do you ever think about tracking him down?”
“Fuck no.” Will shook his head, hair flying across his forehead. “Not a chance. There’s no name on my birth certificate, I don’t have any other surviving family to help me out, and no way am I going to ask my mother. I don’t want anything to do with that bitch.” That high-pitched, loud voice was coming back. He was upset.
“I’m sorry.” Taz held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t realize your mother was alive. I mean, you said you were in foster care, so I assumed it was because she died.”
“I wish.” Will’s face got stormy. Almost hateful. “She was arrested when I was sixteen. She’ll probably be in prison until I’m sixty, and she can fucking rot there.” The blackness in Will’s voice, combined with his earlier confession about being molested, made Taz’s insides burn with anger for a woman he’d never met. He was drawn to Will’s kindness and sense of humor, and to see this sort of hatred oozing off him suggested she was responsible for Will’s abuse. Or, at the very least, had known about it and done nothing to stop it.
And Taz didn’t want to keep stoking that anger. Maybe one day Will would be comfortable enough with him to talk about it, but not today. He flailed for another topic of conv
ersation. “Tell me more about this fund-raiser that you’ve got coming up,” Taz said, then immediately regretted it. The fund-raiser had already given Will one panic attack today.
I suck at this.
Will’s expression smoothed out. “It was all kind of last-minute, as far as the stuff we usually do at the Stanley Center, for a homeless shelter called All Saints House. They’re exclusive to queer teenagers, which is really cool.” With every sentence, Will drifted away from his fury and back to the person Taz liked best. “Last month, they lost a really important grant, and one director’s boyfriend, Jonas, used to work at Stanley Center, so he reached out to Sam and she offered me to him as extra help on setup day.”
“She just volunteered you like that?” He wasn’t entirely sure why that irritated him.
“Sam knows about my anxiety, trust me. She’s been really supportive since I’ve volunteered there, and I know it was her way of getting me out there, interacting with people my own age.” Will finally smiled again, flashing slightly crooked teeth. “Your outrage on my behalf is adorable, by the way.”
Taz ducked his head, a little embarrassed by the compliment. “It seems kind of insensitive, that’s all. I mean, it sent you racing home to work out a panic attack.”
“At least it’s for a really good cause. I mean, I was never technically homeless, but my mother was useless for a lot of years, so I had to pretty much take care of myself. Stealing and panhandling and shit. Makes me glad that other kids have a safe place for the night.”
“Me too.” Taz was a little ashamed that he’d never heard of All Saints House until today. Then again, he couldn’t name or locate a single homeless shelter in the city. He barely knew Wilmington beyond his own city block. It made him appreciate the work Will did even more.
They held eye contact for a moment, and then Will started looking around again. “So your place isn’t as bad as you think,” he said. “I mean, it could use some dusting and general tidying, but I like it.”
“You haven’t seen the kitchen yet.”
Will seemed to take that as a challenge, because he vaulted off the couch and strode to the dark archway that led into the narrow, windowless kitchen. He felt along the wall until he found the switch, bathing the room in fluorescent light. Taz followed him, pausing to lean in the entrance and observe. Will stared at the pile of dishes in the sink, the empty egg carton on the counter he hadn’t bothered to toss, and probably even had thoughts about checking the grease level inside the microwave.
“I’ve seen worse,” Will said. “But you really should wash your dishes every day. Letting shit dry just makes it harder to scrape off later.”
Taz laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Clean.”
“I’m serious. All that old food sitting around attracts bugs, too, and this building is probably sixty years old at its youngest.”
He didn’t comment about the occasional roach he sometimes saw skittering away at night. “I’ll wash them later, I promise.”
“Let’s do them now. We can still chat while we work, and I get less anxious if I’m actively engaged with something.”
“You’re anxious?”
Will half turned his head. “A little. Mostly because this is a strange environment.”
“And I’m a stranger.” He didn’t want to make Will nervous, but this had been Will’s idea in the first place.
“I don’t think of you as a stranger anymore, Taz. And I trust you.”
“Good. I trust you, too. Besides my dad, you’re the only other person who’s been in here.”
Will’s grin was brilliantly blinding. “Then I’m honored. So honored, I’m going to wash your dishes for you.”
Taz couldn’t think of a single thing to say to that other than, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
They didn’t talk much about anything other than the dishes at first, because the whole production ended up being more complicated than Taz had imagined. First the full drying rack had to be emptied and stuff put away. Will even declared a few things weren’t clean enough and had to be rewashed. Taz didn’t argue because Will was adorable when he got all take-charge.
Most of the dirty stuff had to be piled on the counter next to the single-basin sink. Taz had one of those plastic, refillable scrubbing wand things, so Will got hot water going and put a few dishes in to get wet. Taz found a couple of clean towels, because not all of that was going to fit in the drying rack. Will even made a game out of guessing what Taz had eaten based on what was left in a pot or attached to a plate.
It definitely became Taz’s new favorite memory involving any housekeeping activity. “Are you like this at your house?” Taz asked once the last plate was carefully tucked into the drying rack. “All militant about the dishes?”
Will snorted as he dried his hands. “No. Cleaning up after yourself is another house rule. For group meals, we all take turns with the cooking and cleanup, but if I made a sandwich and left the dirty plate in the sink, I could lose privileges. TV, curfew time, things like that.”
“Seems strict.”
“Maybe, but we’re living there for a reason, right? The rules are good, I think. I like the structure. I had free rein over my own life for almost sixteen years, and at first I hated foster care. I resented being told what to do.” Will neatly folded his damp towel and placed it on the counter. “Now it’s kind of comforting. Is that weird?”
“No. It’s not weird if it helps you.”
“The biggest drawback, honestly, is the lack of privacy and thin walls. I mean, I don’t fault my housemates for having the occasional nightmare or whatever, but the only time I can usually find to jerk off is in the shower.”
Taz could not stop the mental image of Will, skinned down and soaking wet, standing beneath a stream of water with his hand on his dick. His own cock took interest in the fantasy, and Will’s flirty smile did nothing to calm it down.
“So for that reason,” Will said, “I’m pretty jealous you have your own place.”
A dozen other awesome reasons for having his own place buzzed through Taz’s mind, including the ability to have noisy, wall-banging sex, and he tried to make them stop. Tried to think of anything other than naked activities that included his new friend, because that was a quick-fire way to ruin this. The last thing he wanted was to pressure Will into anything, or to scare him by coming on too strong.
“The upstairs neighbors fight a lot,” Taz said. “Um, and someone on this floor plays loud music all the time, especially on weekends. So, you know, minuses, too.” Lame babble, check.
Will rolled his eyes. “One of the girls I live with thinks she’ll be the next Beyoncé and spends hours belting out the worst, most tone-deaf singing you can imagine. These things are why God invented earplugs.”
“True.” The kitchen was too small, though, and his proximity to Will wasn’t doing anything to tame his unwanted boner. He almost turned and escaped to the living room, but he was being a terrible host. “You, um, want something to drink? Another soda?”
“Sure.”
“Root beer?”
“Sounds good.”
Except Taz getting the root beer meant slipping past Will to reach the fridge, and Will was standing directly in the middle of the narrow kitchen space. Neither one of them moved. If Will realized a standoff of sorts was happening, he didn’t show it. He watched Taz with a totally open, somewhat expectant expression, which made him look so goddamn fuckable that Taz wasn’t sure he could walk past without touching him.
Stop it. Don’t even think about it. He’s been through some heavy shit.
The reminder wasn’t quite as good as a bucket of ice water on his crotch, but it helped. “Why don’t you go sit again,” Taz said, now that his brain had returned to normal working order. “I’ll bring the sodas in.”
“Okay.” Will breezed by him, leaving a g
entle scent of soap, sweat and sweetness in his wake.
Jesus Christ. Keeping my hands to myself is going to kill me.
He grabbed two cold cans of root beer, noting the need to refill the shelf from the case in one of the cupboards. He pressed one to his forehead to cool himself down, flushed even though the apartment wasn’t remotely hot. As far as intense reactions went, he totally preferred this to his episodes, but damn. This was attraction times ten, stronger than he’d felt with anyone he’d been with before.
And he hadn’t even touched Will yet. Random elbow brushes didn’t count.
Will stood by one of the living room’s two windows. The building didn’t have balconies, but the windows were big, and he was on the fourth floor, so he had an okay view of downtown in the distance. Business and financial buildings. Men and women in smart suits. Fancy cars and expensive restaurants. A faraway world from this side of the city.
Taz politely cracked the tab before giving Will a can of soda. Will seemed to deliberately avoid their fingers touching at all, which kind of hurt but was also understandable. Taz had seen enough in foster care, heard enough stories, to know that sometimes sexual assault victims didn’t like to be touched.
He opened his own soda, then gulped some down. It helped the weird dryness in his mouth.
“Can I ask you something?” Will said. “Because I’m getting mixed signals here, and I like it better when people are straightforward.”
“Sure.”
Will angled so more of his body faced Taz. “Are you attracted to me, or was the cute thing in the park you trying to make me feel better about myself?”
The blunt questions buzzed in Taz’s brain; they made as much sense as they also confused him. Instead of trying to think too hard about the reason for the questions, he simply went for the truth. “Yes, I’m attracted to you.”
“Sexually attracted, like, I wanna bend you over the couch and fuck you blind, or emotionally attracted, like, I want to be your best friend because you totally get where I’m coming from and hanging around you makes me feel good?”