The Bones of You

by Laura Stone

  “You live in Brooklyn?”

  Seth sat on one of the chairs near the wall and sighed. “I couldn’t afford Manhattan anymore. I shared an apartment the first year after I graduated, but with roommates’ weird schedules and my need for living in cleanliness, it was just a nightmare. I got a job in the chorus and was able to get my own place, so I jumped on it. Brooklyn’s pretty great, actually.”

  Oliver took a seat opposite him, leaning on the table and ruffling the greenery with his free hand. “Did you get your exposed brick wall? Loft? Massive shower and—or—a claw-foot tub?”

  Seth softly hummed a note of pleasure and looked away. “You remember that,” he murmured.

  “Of course I do,” Oliver replied, just as softly.

  Seth sat back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his hands in his lap. He smiled fondly at Oliver for a moment before saying, “No. No brick wall, no loft. And it has a stock shower-bathtub unit.” Seth rolled his eyes playfully. “Very boring. No shower curtain on earth can change it from stodgy to fabulous, I’m afraid.”

  Oliver chuckled. “I actually have the claw-foot tub, and they’re not all they’re cracked up to be, to be honest. I’ve practically killed myself trying to get out of it, more than once.”

  “Do you like it there?” Seth leaned in and rested his chin on his palm. “In England?”

  Oliver ran the pad of his thumb over a glossy leaf of trailing ivy, thinking. “Yes. For now, at least. There are too many things I miss back in the States,” he said, looking directly into Seth’s eyes. People I miss. “This has been the year of realizing just how much.”

  Seth looked down at the table and drew patterns on the Formica with the tip of his index finger.

  “I hope you get it, Seth.”

  Seth looked up, confused.

  “The brick wall? The claw-foot tub? The slate-stacked fireplace reaching all the way up through the loft?” Oliver added, smirking genially.

  Seth laughed. “Ah, yes, that last one was during our mid-century modern period.”

  Oliver could forget that they were in a public place, surrounded by people. Forget the years that stretched between them like a black hole. He was flooded with such longing at the mention of their Palm Desert fantasy: they’d dreamed they had a beautiful home, warm and inviting, and planned dinner parties and holiday gatherings that all began and ended with the two of them, together.

  Oh, he wanted that again. He wanted all of it: the friendship, the shared memories, the plans for their future. He wanted Seth to love him again—wanted that most of all. His chest clenched tightly at the thought of not ever having that, of not deserving it. It was almost too painful, sitting across from Seth with their futures unknown, their past both joy-filled and heartbreaking, not knowing where things could go or what was okay to ask of him.

  Oliver must have been sitting and staring at nothing for a long period of time, because Seth cleared his throat and looked at him expectantly.

  “I have a proposition,” Seth said. He paused, and it seemed he was thinking carefully about his choice of words. “I don’t know what other whirlwind activity you’ve planned for this evening, but to be truthful, I’d really just like to be done going from place to place and get these shoes off.” Seth poked his leg out and tugged on his pant leg to expose the gorgeous brown leather of his boots. “They pinch like hell.”

  Oliver’s heart sank. Of course Seth was tired. He’d had a show earlier, and Oliver was dragging him all over the island—

  “So why don’t we go back to your hotel, I’ll make you order ridiculously expensive room service, I kick these shoes off and we… talk?”

  That deep sense of longing within Oliver pulsed with the rhythm of his heartbeat, which was beginning to pick up speed, and he dared to let himself hope that maybe Seth wasn’t immune to this… whatever it still was between them. For Seth it might just be a longing for friendship, for someone who understood him at the most basic levels. Or it could be more. Oliver didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment; he had to tell himself that this was nothing but what Seth said it was, an opportunity to talk.

  But Oliver couldn’t help the little glimmer of hope for something more that refused to die, that told him maybe he wasn’t reading the situation wrong.

  “Okay,” he answered, his voice soft, and nodded.

  Seth held out Oliver’s coat for him this time. He smiled as he pulled the fabric up over Oliver’s broad shoulders.

  The roaring of the water as it shot into the air and pounded back into the fountain outside Lincoln Center, couldn’t match the roaring in Oliver’s ears when Seth tucked his arm into his own again and led him to the cab stand.

  Chapter Eight

  They came to Oliver’s hotel room to find Seth’s bouquet displayed in a beautiful cut-glass vase with the card propped up against it, a bottle of champagne chilling next to it and a small plate of chocolate-dipped strawberries to round out the tableau. Worried that Seth would think he had planned it, Oliver stammered, “I guess this is a really good hotel, huh?”

  Seth smirked, took one of the strawberries and settled onto the lone chair in the room, next to the table and opposite the bed.

  Oliver excused himself to freshen up and took extra time to run cold water over his wrists in order to calm his racing heart and thoughts. It was freezing outside. They constantly had to bundle up to go from place to place. This was just a way for them to relax and catch up without all of that hassle.

  In Oliver’s hotel room. With champagne and strawberries. So, hey. No pressure.

  He splashed cold water over his face and patted it dry. He found Seth still sitting in his chair, his fingers tracing the aubergine leaves of the filbert spray behind the roses. Their dark color was a lovely contrast to the golden-yellow roses and vivid bluebells. Oliver noted that Seth held the card, open, in his other hand.

  Oliver searched Seth’s face for any hint of what he was feeling and Seth looked back, breathing deeply. More than anything, Oliver wanted to lean forward and bury his hands in Seth’s thick hair. He wondered if it still smelled of Seth’s old shampoo. He wanted to press his lips to the warm, thin skin at Seth’s temple, to hold him close, for them not to have lived these past several years apart.

  Seth exhaled and shook his head a little—but he was smiling, Oliver was happy to see. It was a small smile, but it was warm.

  “You didn’t forget anything, did you?” Seth asked a little breathlessly, his fingers drawing over the message on the card.

  Oliver shook his head. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of Seth’s face. They stayed that way for a while, their breathing in sync, their eyes looking for clues: where it was safe to take this… whatever was happening? Seth was the first to break the gaze.

  “Feel like champagne?” he asked. “They went to the trouble to bring it up here, after all.”

  Oliver felt almost groggy, as if he had been shaken awake. He blinked heavily and forced himself to snap out of his reverie. “Uh, sure. Yes, let me get a towel.” He grabbed a hand towel from the bathroom to cover the cork, focusing everything on the task at hand in order to keep his wits about him.

  As Oliver unwrapped the foil on the bottle, Seth unbuckled his ankle boots, slid them off his feet and lined them up against the foot of the bed, out of the way. “Oh my God, that feels amazing,” he groaned, flexing and pointing his feet.

  Oliver wedged the cork out with a loud pop and set the bottle aside. “Here, Seth, this is silly. Stretch out and be comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the bed. As Seth made himself comfortable against the padded silk headboard, Oliver poured out two glasses. He handed one to Seth and settled in the chair. It was only a few feet away, but suddenly it seemed like miles.

  “To old friends,” Seth said, holding up his glass.

  “To old friends,” Oliver murmured, taking a sip.

  Seth laughed and his lips buzzed against the crystal of his champagne flute. “I remember you hiding your mother’s c
rystal in your room so we could toast my being accepted at Juilliard.”

  Oliver chuckled at that memory as he settled comfortably in the chair. He felt warm again. How special it had made him feel to have Seth want to be with him, and only him, to celebrate.

  “But that was diet soda we drank, not Veuve Clicquot.”

  Seth smiled and looked off into the middle distance.

  There had been another celebration with champagne: their last New Year’s Eve together, when Oliver was still a senior at Bakerfield. They had held each other for hours, their arms wrapped around one another, Seth’s forehead resting in the crook of Oliver’s neck, while Oliver sighed contentedly with every warm exhalation of Seth’s breath on his skin. They’d stayed that way until the final countdown. Seth had made sure their bottle of champagne stayed hidden so the other guys and their dates didn’t empty it before midnight.

  They had slipped into Gus’s garage and made quick work of popping the cork as quietly as possible and pouring the champagne into plastic cups, toasting the New Year as the group inside screamed and whistled their excitement. Seth’s kiss had tasted of fruit, the effervescent bubbles still sparkling and popping in his mouth when Oliver slipped in his tongue to taste both the drink and Seth.

  Oliver blinked and watched the bubbles race to the top of his glass, their tiny fizzing noise the only sound in the room. To get to that place again—if it was even possible—Oliver knew he would have to bring up the past, and that part of his life that could still lay him low, make him ache as if a part of himself were missing. Which, in a way, it was. He looked up at Seth, so impossibly handsome: the sharp edges of his jaw-line and the faint stubble there, the breadth of his shoulders, his masculinity underscored by his flawless skin, his full lips, his elegant and effortless carriage.

  He still looked so much like the boy Oliver had fallen in love with all those years ago, but he had become a man Oliver wanted to know—to love, given the chance. Surely Seth was feeling this undercurrent of longing. Surely Seth was not immune to the echoes of the love they’d shared that had been reverberating between them since they saw each other again.

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment, sipping at their champagne as if to keep from saying something that might break the fragile bond between them. Oliver argued with himself: Should he bring up the thing he most wanted to say? It also was the one thing he really, really didn’t want to talk about for fear of ruining the tenuous bridge he was trying to build back to Seth’s life.

  He sighed; he needed to man up, here. Seth deserved any and every apology Oliver could offer.

  “Seth—”

  “Oliver, you don’t have to.” Seth’s smile was fading from his eyes.

  Regardless, Oliver knew he had to get this out there. “Please just let me,” he said quietly. “I am so, so sorry.” He could feel the tears stinging his eyes. They wouldn’t fall; he wouldn’t let them. He didn’t want to seem pitiable, just honest. “I want… Seth, I’m so sorry.”

  Seth slumped back against the pillows, his head against the padded wall, his face looking so sad. Goddamn it, Oliver had done it again. He was responsible for that shattered look on Seth’s face yet again. His intention had been to make Seth feel better, somehow. He was just really, monumentally bad at this.

  If that’s not the understatement of the year…

  “Seth, God; I didn’t mean to make you—I was so stupid, so selfish. God, why am I so clumsy at this!” He ran his hands through his hair. Seth sat still, regarding him with a pained expression. Oliver had to make that go away; he had to get back to where they could laugh and joke and be Seth-and-Oliver again, even if it was just as friends. He’d happily accept that gift, and he knew that, after this week, he could never go back to not having Seth in his life.

  “I still ache, thinking about hurting you.” Oliver couldn’t help himself, couldn’t rein it in. Seth was right here and he just needed Seth to know that he’d been stupid and wrong to go about things the way he had and he just kept hurting him—

  “I still ache thinking about that day,” Seth said quietly.

  Oliver hung his head. He felt utterly ashamed and awful. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “Just… let’s not do that ever again, okay?”

  Oliver looked up to see that Seth hadn’t moved. He was still sitting back against the headboard with hurt and sadness in his eyes. But. He was still there.

  “I wouldn’t. Won’t.” He spoke quietly, but fiercely. “It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

  Seth regarded him, breathing slowly and deeply but not moving. After a moment, he set down his glass and stretched his hand out across the duvet, palm up. A broken noise stuck halfway in Oliver’s throat at the sight. He jumped out of his seat to sit on the edge of the bed and take Seth’s hand in both of his.

  Oliver could barely force himself to look into Seth’s eyes; he was terrified of seeing something worse than hurt there. “I miss you,” he whispered.

  Seth tugged on his hand and shifted, making room for him on the bed. Oliver forced himself to look into his eyes—he had to know that he wasn’t imagining this peace offering. Seth looked sad, yes, but Oliver hoped that he was also seeing a little longing, maybe a little loneliness for him, too. He sat on the edge of the bed, unsure until Seth circled his arms around him and rested his cheek against Oliver’s shoulder.

  He shuddered out a breath and tightened his own arms around Seth. “I missed you, God, I…”

  Seth sighed, and the warmth of his breath on Oliver’s neck sent tiny tremors down his spine as Seth whispered, “I missed you, too.”

  Oliver couldn’t help himself; he felt a tear roll down his face. It was finally safe to let it, now that he was in Seth’s arms. They held each other for a moment, Oliver running his fingers through the soft, thick hair on the crown of Seth’s head, Seth rubbing small circles on Oliver’s back.

  Eventually, Seth pulled back, still holding Oliver’s waist loosely. “Sorry, that was a little uncomfortable, twisting like that,” he said with a sheepish grin.

  Oliver got to his feet and tugged Seth gently into his arms again in one fluid motion. They stood like that, cheek to cheek, as Oliver rocked them gently from side to side and reveled in the feel of Seth in his arms again. He marveled at how light and relieved he felt, now that Seth had accepted his apology for not having included him in his decision all those years ago.

  He shuddered, a chill running down his spine as Seth raked his fingers through Oliver’s hair. Tightening his grip, Oliver buried his face in the hollow of Seth’s neck, breathing in his clean scent and finally feeling whole for the first time in far too long.

  Seth pulled back; Oliver could see that there were tears in his eyes, as well. Seth’s gaze, both tender and anguished, bore into him. As Seth ran his thumb across Oliver’s cheekbone, catching the moisture from his tears, Oliver’s breath caught.

  “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” Seth murmured.

  Oliver’s heart gave an enormous, pained thump and with a choked cry, he leaned forward across the mere inches between them and pressed their lips together. He felt Seth’s hand slide from his cheek and into his hair, felt Seth’s strong, lean body pressed against his. Oliver held their bodies together tightly even as his mouth was still gentle on Seth’s, sliding softly over Seth’s lips. He was amazed that this was happening.

  Seth pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, his hand massaging Oliver’s scalp. “God, I’ve missed you so much, Oliver—”

  “I know,” Oliver exhaled and kissed Seth again, all wariness gone. He opened his mouth, moaning softly when Seth followed suit and splaying his hands across Seth’s back when their tongues touched. Memories of all of the kisses they’d shared in the past came back and sped their reconnection.

  They knew each other so well. They both knew that Seth loved his neck to be kissed and touched, knew that Oliver wanted to feel enveloped by Seth, hands in his hair, legs en
twined; they knew that Seth would melt under gentle touches to his face and soft kisses to his eyelids and temple, and that he could have complete power over Oliver if he kissed and nipped at that one spot under Oliver’s ear, his hot breath cooling the skin there.

  Oliver murmured, “Missed you, God, so much,” over and over like a mantra, a plea for this to be real, for Seth to be with him here, now, holding him, loving him again.

  Seth kissed each corner of his mouth and slid his hand up the flat plane of Oliver’s chest, up the side of his neck and into his hair. “I was sure that you’d forgotten me,” Seth whispered brokenly.

  “I tried, Seth; I did. I thought it might make the pain go away if I could forget how we were. I tried to forget you. You’re just… unforgettable.”

  Seth held him tightly, his face buried against Oliver’s neck. Oliver shuddered with the sensation of Seth’s breath and the vibrations from the force of his voice against his skin as he spoke. “No one I’ve tried to fit into my life has ever made me feel as important, as wanted, as you did, Oliver. No one.”

  Oliver held Seth’s face in both of his hands, thumbs softly working back and forth against Seth’s cheekbones. He let himself look—really look—into Seth’s eyes, wondering if he’d ever truly seen how beautiful their kaleidoscope of color was, how much of Seth’s heart and soul he carried in them. His gaze fell to Seth’s mouth, swollen and red from kissing.

  “I remember this, you,” Oliver murmured as he drew his fingertips lightly down Seth’s cheek, his neck, and laid the flat of his palm against Seth’s heart. It was beating fast, just like his.

  “How you felt in my arms. God, your lips…” Oliver stared longingly at Seth’s mouth until he heard Seth’s breath hitch. Oliver took his time kissing Seth now, dragging his bottom lip back and forth along Seth’s and lightly tracing it with the tip of his tongue.

  Seth pressed their bodies together, gasping against Oliver’s hair as Oliver dragged his mouth up the slender column of Seth’s neck. Then Oliver felt Seth moving backwards, drawing him along. They broke apart as Seth bumped into the bed, sat down abruptly and blinked up at him. His hair was beginning to look wild, his cheeks were bright pink and his breath came short; Oliver never wanted this moment to end.