The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  Several of the supporting cast and orchestra members had already come and gone before Seth exited the building. Oliver’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him: freshly scrubbed face, hair styled, chic coat with the collar turned up against the cold, huge smile to greet the small but boisterous crowd. Oliver couldn’t help but swell with pride for Seth and everything he’d accomplished.

  He could remember their teen years; all of the crude and hateful slurs people in their backward, conservative town had flung their way, and how many times Seth had been told he was wrong or weird or just unusual, as if that in itself was something bad. How they’d said he would never amount to anything because of it. But here he was, surrounded by a crowd of people both young and old, the cultured and the newly-initiated to the theater, a crowd that clamored for his autograph and wanted nothing more than to simply thank him for their experience today.

  Oliver rocked back and forth, smiling to himself, almost overcome with euphoric emotion on Seth’s behalf. Seth glanced his way as he took a playbill from an older woman and shrugged happily before signing. Oliver laughed; he couldn’t help it. He would have waited through a hundred signatures if it meant seeing that high color in Seth’s cheeks and the joyful smile on his face at being surrounded by people who recognized and admired his unique gift.

  The crowd began to disperse after Seth waved and told them, “Thank you for coming!” He headed down the walkway toward Oliver. “I still can’t believe they’re here to see me,” he said, laughing.

  “Don’t be silly, of course they are,” Oliver said, pulling one hand from behind his back and holding it out to Seth with a bit of trepidation in his smile. “Once again, you were… well, sublime.”

  His insides fluttered and twisted as Seth’s face went still and his eyes opened wide in dawning recognition of what Oliver was offering him.

  Oliver babbled, “Is it too much? I just wanted to do something as a thank you and congratulations, and I didn’t know if—”

  “Oh my God, they’re beautiful.” Seth took the bouquet with both hands and buried his face in the blooms, breathing deeply. “Oh, Oliver, I…” Seth lowered the blue and gold flowers, eyes still on them, as a smile began to blossom on his face. “I can’t believe you remembered these.”

  Oliver let out a shaky breath. Not the wrong gift, then. They’d worn matching golden rose and blue ribbon boutonnières to prom, to represent their school’s colors and where they’d met. He leaned one shoulder against the brick wall and said, “How on earth could you think I’d ever forget the first flowers anyone ever gave me? I know it’s not exactly the same; I had to fudge a bit with getting blue in there to make it right, but I tried.”

  Seth looked up. Oliver was desperate to know if he’d done right, if he’d pushed things too far too soon or if Seth really did simply enjoy the flowers.

  “Yes, you did,” Seth replied, warmly. His gaze was soft and he seemed pleased, so Oliver took it at face value. Relief spread through him.

  “I love them, thank you.”

  “Shall we?” Oliver asked, motioning to the end of the block.

  Seth followed along next to him as they walked down the side street, the roses cradled in his arm nearest Oliver. Seth touched one of the roses delicately with his gloved finger. “My dad gave me four dozen daisies after my first performance, if you can believe that.”

  Oliver laughed and saw through his peripheral vision that Seth was still smiling and biting his lip while he smelled the flowers.

  Definitely the right choice.

  “Why daisies?” Oliver asked.

  Seth paused for a moment; Oliver stopped on the sidewalk and turned to look at him. Seth had that look of love and pride that was reserved for Mike Larsen. There was a touch of sadness in his eyes, though, something that sent a leaden feeling through Oliver’s core and made him want to do anything to chase it away.

  “Seth?”

  Seth shook himself and laughed softly. “Sorry, I just miss my dad. He gave me daisies because he said they weren’t ‘too fancy’ and would make me think of ‘simple ol’ Pop back in the sticks,’ as he put it. And it was a dozen from each of them: him, the guys at the shop—John and Little Mike, you remember them?” At Oliver’s nod, Seth said quietly, “And from… my mom.”

  Oliver smiled and looked off at the passersby on the street. “That’s really sweet.” Maybe it was just his close proximity to Seth after all these years, and all of the memories that came with it, but Oliver positively missed Mike. For such a simple man, he was capable of the most elegant and thoughtful gestures, and they came straight from his heart.

  “So!” Seth said, putting a bright smile back on his face. “Where to?”

  “Oh! Well, I have a reservation for an early dinner, is that okay?”

  “I am absolutely starved, so that’s perfect. But…” Seth looked down at his bouquet. Two dozen flowers were a bit much to carry around the city.

  “I thought that we could leave those,” Oliver nodded at the bouquet, “with the concierge at my hotel, since it’s just around the corner, and then head out?”

  “Excellent! Then again, you always excelled at executing elaborate plans,” Seth said, a tiny smirk at the corners of his mouth. “Like that ride home from the airport my freshman year.”

  Oliver chuckled softly, his stomach swooping from the memory, as they entered the hotel’s lobby.

  Seth smoothed the front of his jacket, stopped mid-stroke and quickly looked up at Oliver. “Not that I’m always thinking of that.”

  The bare nervousness on Seth’s face did more to encourage Oliver in this plan of getting his friend back than anything else.

  After discreetly slipping the concierge a bill, Oliver had Seth’s flowers taken care of. He turned to lead Seth back out to the street and hail a cab.

  “I hope it’s okay that I’m always using these,” he said as he held the door for Seth to slide in. “Front and Beekman, please,” he told the driver. “I don’t trust myself with the trains yet. I’m sure I’ll try to show off and take you north when I mean to go south.”

  Oliver settled in next to Seth, almost hyper-aware of the warmth pouring off of his body even though there was a respectable distance between them. He needed to act appropriately here and keep himself talking casually.

  Seth shook his head. “South Street Seaport? If you wanted the tourist experience, we could always stay in Times Square.”

  “Just… trust me. Hey, I know some things,” Oliver said, trying to give off an aura of casual city know-how. He was feeling a little on edge, worried that his choice for their outing was going to seem seriously uncool to Seth. “It’s not touristy in the winter, and we’re not going to the mall, I promise.”

  Seth hummed a laugh and patted him on the knee as they pulled away from the curb. Oliver felt the warmth of the touch all the way to his ears. He really needed to remember what Seth was possibly offering him: friendship. Oliver shouldn’t treat this like a date or anything else. They were old friends, catching up. His stomach was already in knots as it was; he didn’t need to put any extra pressure on the situation.

  * * *

  “And evidently I’d been hitting on him all term, no thanks to my friend Todd.”

  Seth sat back in his chair, laughing with his hand splayed across his sternum. “I can’t believe you didn’t pay attention to where you were getting your information, Oliver. And you, a researcher? That is priceless.”

  Oliver swallowed a mouthful of wine and set his glass back down carefully. “You can’t imagine the looks I’ve been getting from his teammates.”

  The way Seth was looking at him—happy, interested, possibly even content—was doing insane things to his stomach. It looped and swirled with Seth’s every laugh, his every casual touch to Oliver’s arm.

  They’d arrived at Harbor Lights for their dinner reservation just before the sun began to set over the water. The patio was enclosed with heavy clear plastic and space heaters were placed overhea
d; it was cozy, and they had an outstanding view of the Brooklyn Bridge, one of the prettiest views in the whole city.

  Seth had raised an eyebrow at him as the hostess seated them on the patio; they were one of two couples that had chosen to sit outside. Oliver was sure that some people probably found this particular location terribly romantic; he just thought it would be a nice change of pace from where he’d been staying.

  And… well, okay, it was terribly romantic when the bridge’s lights came on, swooping along the suspension cables. The sun setting behind them cast a warm orange glow over the water. They’d taken their time with dinner, chatting about their days, Seth wanting to know every detail of Oliver’s life in England. The conversation had been relaxed, natural, with not one awkward pause.

  Oliver realized sometime after his second glass of wine that he could do this: simply be friends. It wouldn’t be weird or painful—much—and he would have the benefit of his best friend to talk to again, someone who made him laugh like no one else, someone empathetic and kind and just… Seth.

  He would do whatever was necessary to have this camaraderie in his life again.

  Propping his chin on his hand, Oliver listened to Seth talk about David Falchurch, the actor who had originated the role of The Fair Youth before injuring himself and opening up an entirely new world for Seth.

  “I think the only reason why I was able to resist brutally murdering him and certain other members of the cast was the diva training I got watching Chance back at Bakerfield,” Seth said. He was resting his weight on his arms on the table, leaning into Oliver’s space. “He was the gayest straight boy I’ve ever known, and I went to a dramatic arts college.”

  Oliver drifted off into thought as Seth explained the backstage politics that had existed prior to his taking the lead. Seth was so confident now; he’d always presented as confident when they were younger, but now it wasn’t an act of defiance. He simply knew that he deserved to be where he was and that other people knew it, too.

  Oliver wondered if he still bit the edge of his thumb when he was deep in thought. If he still liked the same cinnamon-flavored mouthwash. If his hands still trembled when he was kissed just at the base of his Adam’s apple…

  “But I’m boring you, I’m sorry,” Seth said, blushing slightly. “This isn’t interesting to anyone who isn’t involved.”

  Oliver mentally cursed himself for letting his imagination carry him away. “No, no, I just got lost in thought, that’s all. I’m sorry,” he reassured Seth.

  Seth raised one eyebrow in question as he took a sip from his wine glass.

  “Oh. I—” Oliver wanted nothing more than to reach out and take his hand. But then, he’d always been physically demonstrative—even before they’d dated, he reminded himself. “I’m just so, so proud of you, Seth.” Steeling himself, he reached out and laid a hand on top of Seth’s, giving it a squeeze before letting it go and resting his own hand just inches from Seth’s.

  “Thank you.” Seth kept his hand where it had been; Oliver wanted even more to take it in his, knowing how warm and smooth Seth’s skin was, how their fingers looked linked together. A dull ache settled low in his belly. He wanted it so much, but knew he would be happy with another friendly hug at the end of the evening.

  “Feel like walking? There’s something I wanted to see with you, if you don’t mind being a little cold?” Oliver asked.

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Seth said, smiling.

  Oliver laughed, feeling nervous and happy and all of seventeen again. He quickly took care of the tab and held Seth’s coat for him to slip on.

  “Always the gentleman,” Seth murmured.

  “Oh, um… habit. Sorry,” Oliver said, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt shy and obvious.

  “Don’t be! It’s a rare find in this day and age, believe me.” Seth smiled and bumped his shoulder into Oliver as they headed outside. “Makes me feel special.”

  You are.

  It was freezing. Fortunately, there wasn’t much of a wind coming off the water, so while it was definitely cold, it wasn’t bitterly so. The cold had the added benefit of forcing them to walk close together for warmth as they headed into Seaport. The sun had set, and the streets were decked with lit garlands hung from the streetlights, and other holiday-themed decorations. They rounded Fulton and there was a gorgeous tree, more than twenty-five feet tall, every single branch wrapped in warm amber light.

  They stopped in their tracks, taken aback by its size and beauty.

  “Even though I find the dogma ridiculous and insulting in places, they sure know how to decorate for a celebration,” Seth mused. “Consider this hall decked.”

  Oliver chuckled and tugged on Seth’s elbow. Then he stopped at a sign in front of the carpeted steps leading up to the tree.

  Caroling every Saturday and Sunday until 4 p.m.!

  It was close to seven. He had completely missed the carolers; there went the second activity for the night. He rubbed his hand over his face and tried to think of what to do.

  “Oliver?”

  He turned and pasted a smile on his face. “Well, evidently I can’t tell time anymore.”

  Seth cocked his head in question, waiting for Oliver to continue.

  “Oh. Um, they have carolers here on the weekend, and it’s a crowd event. I thought it would be fun, but…” Feeling foolish, he pointed over his shoulder at the sign.

  Seth rolled his eyes and walked up the steps to join him at the base of the tree. With their backs to it, they could just see the bridge lights dancing on the water.

  “Like we need a crowd to sing,” Seth scoffed. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and clasped them at his sternum as he took a deep breath. “Once in royal David’s city,” he began to sing.

  Oliver went completely still. They stood shoulder to shoulder, Oliver aware of every small movement as Seth sang, the tiny shifts in his stature as he breathed deeply, his voice, as mesmerizing as ever but astoundingly controlled. Clearly his years of training had somehow managed to make his instrument even better. Oliver closed his eyes, a smile on his face, as Seth sang the first verse perfectly. He joined in the second verse, picking up the harmony. Seth bumped their shoulders together again, not missing a note.

  Oliver had never been to this street corner before, had never sung this particular song with Seth, but it seemed like home. It was familiar and warm and right and he thrilled at the sound of their voices mingled in song once again. This is how it’s supposed to be, he thought.

  Seth leaned against him on the final repeated note and then laughed and stepped away. Oliver wanted to pull him right back and keep him there, warm and at his side, and sing every song he could think of. Seth walked around the tree, his hands back in his pockets and a bashful smile on his face as he looked at some of the utilitarian decorations hung here and there.

  “Before people realized my voice wasn’t going to get any deeper and it became something that made me an easy target, I always had the solo at Christmas at my mom’s church. You know how I’m incapable of turning down a chance to sing in front of a willing audience,” Seth said, laughing.

  “They always gave it to you because you sound like an angel.” Oliver went still and his mouth snapped shut. What was wrong with him? That was too much. He believed it to his core, but he didn’t need to say it.

  “Remind me to record some of these compliments so I can listen to them on days that bad reviews come out,” Seth said, shaking his head. He turned back to the tree, but not before Oliver saw the high color on his cheeks; it wasn’t from the cold.

  “Since I didn’t plan this portion of our evening very well, how do you feel about moving on to our next destination?” Oliver asked, hopping down the steps one at a time, trying to keep things light. When he reached the bottom, he turned to look up at Seth, who was still standing by the tree. “Oh, unless you’re worn out and just want to call it a night; I don’t mean to pressure y—”

  Seth glide
d down the stairs and hooked an arm through Oliver’s. “Where to, mon Capitaine?”

  Oliver tried to control his grin—he really did—but at that simple gesture, the casual touch, he was filled with excitement. It was as if something within him had been asleep and was waking up again. He didn’t want the night to end—he was just getting started.

  They walked toward the main street to hail a cab—Oliver didn’t want to give away their destination by getting Seth to help him with the subway, and he had the money—and when Oliver began to sing “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” as they waited for an available taxi, Seth joined in, not missing a beat as he threw his arm up in the air to stop a cab.

  Oliver opened the door with a flourish as he sang “Comfort and joy,” sliding in after Seth as they wrapped up the verse, laughing. If this was what friendship with Seth would be like, then coming to New York was definitely the best decision of his life.

  This is exactly where I should be.

  * * *

  “I love these. Love. If I had the space, I would install one in my apartment,” Seth said, running his palm lightly over the Japanese painted ferns. He looked over his shoulder at Oliver, eyes dreamy, his head no doubt filled with new décor plans. “My place is a shoebox, though. Not to mention the two hours of sunlight I get most likely aren’t enough to keep this alive.”

  Oliver smiled at him and turned back to look at the patterns woven into the installation. The mass of plant material was as high as the vaulted ceiling and stretched along the entire wall. The atrium of the Lincoln Center was beautiful on its own, with the various sculptures and exhibits placed here and there, but the Living Wall was something unique. Oliver had seen one in London a year ago and had fallen in love with the idea of interior landscaping; it just made the room feel… warmer. Cleaner.

  “I do have a fabulous view, though,” Seth continued. “Huh, the opposite view of the one we had at dinner, come to think of it.”