by Laura Stone
“No, no.” Seth started rubbing again, making a sort of figure eight across the expanse of Oliver’s back. Oliver wondered briefly if Seth was aware that he was doing it.
Seth said, “I didn’t mean that. I meant the last time I was with you.” His voice grew soft and Oliver could feel that he had moved closer. “When it was just the two of us, together. That’s what I keep thinking of. God,” Seth sighed. “I loved you so much, Oliver. But we’re not the same people, are we?”
Oliver didn’t respond; he had already given his response back in New York, after all.
“But then we are, aren’t we? It’s so comfortable with you, and then there are moments when I don’t understand how I’m in this situation again. I just don’t know what to do, here, I really don’t. I wish I did, though. I’m trying to figure it out, but… you’re a little distracting. I—I don’t think I can survive being hurt like that again. And I don’t want to hurt you again, not ever.”
Oliver tried to force his breathing back to something resembling normal, an almost impossible feat with Seth touching him; all Oliver wanted to do was pull Seth to him and promise they’d find a way to make things work.
The crowd inside grew impossibly loud. Seth pulled his hand away; the place where it had been felt icy cold as his warmth evaporated into the cold night air.
“It’s almost the New Year,” Seth said, tugging on Oliver’s arm to get him to turn around. Oliver did so reluctantly; he was unable to look into Seth’s eyes, afraid that he’d see “goodbye” there. Seth took him by both shoulders and shook him lightly. “Hey.”
Oliver couldn’t help himself. He slid his hands around Seth’s waist and pulled him close, hooking his chin over Seth’s shoulder. Seth wrapped his arms around him, too, rocking them gently from side to side. The noise inside exploded into cheers and the honking of plastic horns. It was the New Year.
Seth pulled back, a sad smile on his face. “Happy New Year.” And then he leaned forward and kissed Oliver. Just a gentle press of the lips, but it was as if the noise and energy from inside the house were now housed in Oliver’s chest, which threatened to burst open. He couldn’t help the pained noise that escaped him at the warmth of Seth’s body against his and the familiar scent of his skin. He wanted it to mean more; he wanted it to mean everything, but for now he allowed himself to fall into the wonderful sensation of Seth’s lips against his and hope for what could be.
Seth held his face and pulled back slightly. His warm breath gently blew over Oliver’s face. And suddenly it was just too much—the thought of losing him, the need for him to know without question how Oliver felt.
“I love you,” Oliver breathed, craning forward just enough for his lips to brush Seth’s. “I love you.”
Seth pressed their foreheads together and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “I’m leaving in the afternoon.” His voice choked slightly on “leaving.”
Oliver rested his hands lightly on Seth’s waist. He couldn’t help the tremors in his hands as he said, “I don’t want you to say goodbye to me again.”
“Oh, Oliver.” Seth’s voice broke on his name and he pulled Oliver back into his embrace, running the flat of his hand up and down his back, warming him, pressing his cheek against Oliver’s shoulder.
Oliver didn’t want to think about later. He didn’t want to think about driving back to his house where the dregs of another Andrews party would still be there in the morning, waiting for the maids; where he’d go back to his bed, the one in which his whole life had been changed by the boy—man, now—in his arms; where he’d be all alone, fully cognizant of what he’d let slip away.
He wanted this moment to stretch on forever. Even if nothing was being declared, he had Seth in his arms, he had the taste of him on his lips and he had the hope of a brand new year stretching out in front of him, one with Seth in it. He wanted that most of all.
But. This might very well be the goodbye he feared the most. This might be the start of a new year without Seth. He held on tightly, as he held on to the possibility of having Seth back, for as long as possible.
The porch lights flashed on and off in quick succession before the front door opened and John shrieked, “Whoo!” out into the night.
Seth and Oliver, both startled, flew apart and turned to see what was going on.
“Oh! Whoops. Sorry, just…” John jammed his hands into his front pockets, horrified with himself. “You know. Happy New Year?”
Seth gave him a watery smile. “It’s okay. But could you please give us some privacy?”
“Yeah, sure. No pro-blemo. I can totally do that.” John’s gaze darted back and forth between them and settled on Oliver. “You okay out here?”
“John,” Seth said, firmly but not unkindly.
“Right.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll just… right.” He looked back at Oliver, gave him a sympathetic half-smile and went back inside.
Oliver looked off into the middle distance, knowing that he needed to close himself off from the flood of emotions that threatened to drown him, but finding it incredibly difficult. He asked quietly, “Is this where you tell me that we can’t see each other again?”
“God. I…” Seth closed his mouth. His eyes brimmed with tears—seeing them sent a spike of agony through Oliver. Once again, Oliver had done that. He was afraid to ask again, but knew that he needed to. He couldn’t continue to prolong these hurts; he couldn’t do it to himself, and he certainly couldn’t continue to do it to Seth.
Death by a thousand cuts.
“What do you want?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t know about us being together like… that, Oliver.” Seth reached out and held Oliver’s hand in his. Oliver looked down, afraid to ask, afraid to breathe. Seth said, with a sort of ferocity, “But I do know that I don’t want that—to never see you again?” Seth sobbed a harsh exhalation and visibly steeled himself. “I don’t know about down the road, or what that means for us.” He gave Oliver’s hand a squeeze and waited for him to look up. A hint of desperation clouded the confusion that Oliver could see in Seth’s eyes. “If there’s an ‘us’ that can really happen beyond just being friends. If wanting it to work is enough to make it work, then you’d still be my… I do know that I like having my best friend back again. And I know how much I’ve missed you.”
Seth dropped Oliver’s hand to wipe at his cheek. “I really have, Oliver. I never wanted you to be unhappy. Not even when I was so miserable I couldn’t—” Seth wiped at his face again, his voice soft and plaintive as he said, “I don’t want you to be unhappy, no matter what happens with me. Don’t you know that?”
“Seth…” Oliver was sure it had been foolish to hope for more, to hope for anything, really. But Seth pulled him back into a tight hug, and that’s when he let himself go, shuddering both from the cold and the release of soul-crushing worry that this night would be it. He clung to Seth, who held on just as tightly to him.
Oliver wasn’t aware of the cold. All of his focus was on the warm, solid feeling of Seth in his arms and the longing in his heart as his mind repeated “back in my life” over and over.
Seth eventually broke their hold on each other, running his hands over Oliver’s shoulders to warm him. “I’m freezing, and I know you must be, too. Will you come inside with me?”
Oliver reached out and held Seth’s face, his thumb drawing away the faint tear-track on Seth’s cheek. All of his love for this wonderful, kind, amazing man was jammed inside him, trying to find its way out, so Seth would know just how much Oliver still loved him, what he meant to him. Seth closed his eyes, and a smile crept from the corners of his mouth, blossoming into something that filled Oliver with longing. Seth reached up and laid his hand over Oliver’s at his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed briefly.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.” Seth laced their fingers together and drew him back into the house. Oliver closed the door behind him; Seth didn’t let go of his hand.
It was a start. Of what st
ill remained to be seen. But it was a start.
* * *
John scanned the crowd looking for them. Seth was turned away, speaking to a neighbor, his hand still linked with Oliver’s. John caught Oliver’s eye and gave him a questioning look. Oliver shrugged, smiling shyly, and looked down at their hands.
John’s face broke into a huge grin and he gave Oliver two thumbs up. But Oliver didn’t want to create the wrong impression, as much as he wished it was a sign that everything was going to be all right. He shook his head.
John scoffed and raised his beer in salute before turning back to some guy in the kitchen doorway.
Squeezing Oliver’s hand, Seth whispered, “I’m going to freshen up a bit.” He gave Oliver a shy smile and asked, “Meet you back here in a few?”
Oliver smiled softly back at him. The night would come to an end eventually; he wanted to enjoy the time they had now. After all, Seth had indicated that there was hope for more, of a sort. More time together, more talking.
Oliver watched him walk up the stairs. Then he turned and walked back toward the basement stairs, where he bumped into Natalie. She threw her arms around him, tugging him into a tight hug.
Then she pulled back, her arms still flung around his neck, and tilted her head to peer closer into his face. “Oh, no. You okay, honey? I got an emergency makeup kit in my car; I can go run and get it for you if you’d like?”
“Do I look that bad?” he asked, rubbing his face.
“No…” She hesitated. “You just look like you’ve had your heart scooped out and shoved back in.”
“Probably because that’s about what just happened?” He laughed. He felt wrung out.
“Oh. Were you boys talking?” At his nod, she continued. “So? You coming back?”
“Downstairs?” Oliver asked, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder. “I’m waiting for Seth to come back, first.”
“No, dummy,” she said, slapping him gently on the arm. “Are you coming back? To America?” She raised one eyebrow questioningly. “To Seth?”
He gaped at her for a minute. “I… don’t know. I think so, eventually? We’ll see if he even wants that?”
“You’re never gonna convince that boy to live too far from his daddy, and his daddy would never leave the place where his wife’s buried.” She looked past his shoulder toward the living room and John. Her voice softened. “And I get it. When you’re young, you’re sure that you know what a forever love is, huh? Sometimes we get it right, too, even if we don’t get to hang onto it.”
He slumped against the wall, suddenly feeling very tired.
She pressed her hand against his chest, just over his heart, and rubbed her thumb back and forth before giving him a pat. “You know he spent all four years at college comparing boys to you?” At Oliver’s bewildered look she shook her head and said, “Not realizing it, not every time. But that’s what he was doing. Letters home just full of boys’ faults.”
They broke apart to let someone walk past.
“No one ever matched up to you, I think,” Natalie said. “So—”
Oliver cut her off with a gentle squeeze to her arm. “Nat. You know I adore you. But I just can’t right now, okay? I feel like I’m barely holding it together here. And I need to go wash my face, evidently,” he gave her a pretend sour face. “And then find a place to sit and just be still for a bit. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll even let you go to the bathroom before me,” she said with a wink.
He laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Thank you, but I don’t think I’m so down and out that I would cut in front of a lady. I’ll just wait here.” He bent to give her a kiss on the cheek and leaned against the wall near the bathroom door.
She beamed at him. “Lord, but I wish these guys would take some lessons from you boys in how to treat a lady.”
* * *
After he had a chance to wash his face—and yes, he did look like he’d been dismantled and put back together hastily—he scanned the living room and kitchen for Seth and saw no sign of him. The crowd seemed to be thinning; it was getting late.
He went downstairs, wanting to find anyone he knew. Little Mike and John were talking with a small group of people he didn’t know; Natalie was nowhere to be found. Big Mike wasn’t anywhere he could see, either.
A couple got up from the couch, so Oliver sat down, leaned against one arm and fought off a yawn. It was a longish drive back to his part of town, and it was getting late. He should probably say his goodbyes, too, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He just needed to rest his eyes for a minute.
“Hey, Andrews.” Oliver opened his eyes and looked up to see Little Mike. He said quietly, “You staying? John said you two might have worked things out.”
He was looking down at Oliver with such a sweet and hopeful expression.
“We’re… trying,” Oliver said. “Trying to be friends again. So you can tell the rumor mill,” he looked over at John, who now had his arm over Natalie’s shoulder, “not to blow things out of proportion, please.”
“All good, man. Just—the way you two are, even when you was kids?” Little Mike sat down next to him and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Coming from a busted up family, it was, you know, nice to see that people seemed to be able to beat the odds, that’s all.” He had a frank expression, as though he was explaining how pistons fired.
He slapped Oliver’s thigh and stood up. “All right, man. Good to see you.”
Oliver looked back at him with a dazed expression. “You, too.”
Little Mike nodded and crossed to the door. Then Oliver heard him say, “Later, Seth. Congrats on being badass and stuff on Broadway.” Oliver turned to see Seth awkwardly bumping fists and smiling his thanks.
Seth sat next to Oliver on the sofa, and their knees brushed. He laid his head on Oliver’s shoulder briefly. Was Oliver tired? Because he suddenly felt very much awake in that buzzing-with-energy, not-enough-sleep kind of way.
“Are you getting sleepy?” Seth asked.
“I was.”
Oliver jolted in his seat when John patted his shoulder as he walked behind the sofa. “Good seeing you, Mr. Fancy!”
Seth turned to shoot John a dirty look, which he ignored.
“You too, John,” Oliver said.
The last crowd of people left; Oliver suddenly realized that it was just the two of them. Seth sighed and took his hand, shifting to face him on the couch with his leg bent between them.
“Oliver, I don’t want to lead you on. By which I mean that I don’t want you to think,” he continued, “that everything is exactly like it used to be between us. That’s too…” Seth shuddered out a pained sigh. “I’m not there, yet.”
Oliver watched Seth’s thumb work back and forth over his, utterly confused and completely exhausted.
“But I definitely want to be friends again. I miss that. I miss you.” Seth gripped his hand tighter, his eyes pleading with Oliver to understand. Oliver didn’t. Seth continued, “I want to take things slowly. I want us to talk, to share our lives a little and see how that works. Is that—can we do that, please?”
Oliver didn’t answer; he pulled Seth to him, his eyes closing at the tingly feeling of Seth’s nose brushing against his neck. He had asked for this much, to be friends as they’d once been, and knowing that he could have Seth in his life—even if as just a friend—was enough for now. And Seth had said he wasn’t there yet.
Seth exhaled slowly, his arm draped loosely over Oliver’s waist. “I just don’t want to jump into anything and end up hurting you, or for me to get hurt and—” Seth sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes. “I don’t want to mess things up again, okay?” He turned to look up at Oliver, his face a plea.
“Okay.” Oliver kissed Seth’s forehead and tightened his grip. “I… yes. I would love to talk with you, and nothing would make me happier than to share my life with you. I know what you mean,” he said quickly, squeezing Seth onc
e. “I know you mean as friends. I do.”
They held each other, using the quiet of the house to relax against one another. Learning how to share space again as friends was something Oliver would do willingly. Holding Seth would be enough. Talking to him again. That could be enough.
“You have a long drive,” Seth murmured after a while.
Oliver glanced at his watch; it was after two. He groaned softly even as his arms held Seth just a hair tighter.
“You should stay here,” Seth said quietly. “My dad won’t mind. He’d rather you got home in one piece, I’m sure.”
Oliver sat up as Seth pulled away. He rubbed at his face; he felt more tired than he could remember being. It wasn’t a bad idea, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “I’ll just stretch out here for a little bit, if that’s okay? Maybe catch a quick nap and then I can drive home—”
“Oliver, don’t be ridiculous. Come on.” Seth stood and pulled on Oliver’s hand to get him to standing. “You can borrow a pair of pajamas. You’re not napping in cashmere.”
He sounded so affronted at the thought that Oliver laughed.
“And you can sleep with me. I mean—” Seth blushed. “You know, actual sleep.”
Oliver cupped Seth’s cheek, his smile turning into a jaw-cracking yawn. With the emotional rollercoaster that he’d been on all night, coupled with alcohol, he was barely able to stand, let alone get up to anything in the bedroom. And while he was close to passing out into a deep sleep, he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t still fear Mike Larsen’s possible reaction if he were to find out about any sexual activities in his house.
But, even the offer to stay? That was pretty great.
“Seth? As wonderful as I know it would be with you, I don’t think I have enough energy to untie my shoes, let alone properly woo you. But I am flattered that you think I could.”
Seth laughed sharply and clapped his hand over his mouth. “Okay, Don Juan, let’s get you into some jammies and that sweater in some tissue.”
Seth led them upstairs to his old bedroom, quickly set out clothes for Oliver and excused himself to go to the bathroom. Oliver looked around the room, recognizing a lot of the furniture and décor, but seeing hints of the past several years that he’d missed. The small loveseat was gone, maybe moved into Seth’s New York apartment? A poster hung near the door from one of Seth’s college performances. On his vanity was a picture of a cast with their arms around each other, Seth off to the side looking at someone and laughing.