by Laura Stone
“If you fall asleep on me, I’m going to want to fall asleep, and we’ll end up in another country, Oliver.”
“It’s an island,” he mumbled.
“Scotland is another country.”
He burrowed up against Seth and buried his face in the crook of Seth’s neck. Just a few minutes, that’s all he wanted. A few minutes when he could be without any worries beyond which stop was the correct one (there was only the one stop on the express) and forget that he needed to decide what would be happening in a few months, whether he would be in New York or staying in England.
“I am going to give you such a pinch if you don’t wake up, Oliver Andrews.” Seth’s voice was low and sounded nervous. That did it. Oliver sat bolt upright and forced his eyes wide open as he inhaled strongly through his nose.
“I’m up. I’m up.”
“Did you stay up late last night?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He nudged Seth with his shoulder and smiled. “Too excited, I guess.”
Seth rolled his eyes, but Oliver could see the pleasure in his face before he turned away.
Finally, they arrived in Cambridge, and as they had to go west of King’s College to get to Oliver’s apartment, Seth was able to see the spectacular view of The Backs. He gasped more than once, Oliver was happy to hear, even if he tried to play it cool—because of course Seth was a New Yorker now and had “seen everything.”
Finally, they made it to Oliver’s flat. Oliver led the way to his bedroom, where he’d set up a small table to keep Seth’s luggage off the floor.
“So,” Oliver said, trying to not sound nervous or expectant, “I cleared out a drawer for you to keep socks and things in, and I’m sorry that my wardrobe isn’t large, but there’s enough room for you to hang some of your clothing. But just know that I’ve tried since I moved in and still haven’t found a way into Narnia, so give me a shout if you do.” He smiled at Seth, who was laughing behind his hand, and said, “I assumed you’d prefer that to living out of a suitcase for a week.”
Seth positively beamed at Oliver, sending a thrill of pleasure through him. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you. Ever the gentleman.” Seth trailed a hand down Oliver’s arm and turned to lift his suitcase onto the table. Oliver showed him his drawer and pointed to the closet and en suite bathroom before backing out of the room.
As he stood just outside the doorway, sort of swinging in and out of the space, he asked, “Coffee here? Or do you want to go to the city center to that café I mentioned?”
Seth paused, holding a perfectly folded stack of undershirts, and replied, “Café, if that’s all right? I’d love something to eat, too.”
“Absolutely! I’ll just wait out here and give you a chance to breathe.”
Seth smiled up at him and went back to unpacking his suitcase. Every hair was in place, his eyes were bright and eager, and somehow none of his clothes even looked rumpled from his sitting in an airplane for hours. How could he travel for hours after getting off work and still look so pulled together?
“Oliver, thank you for letting me come stay with you.”
Oliver laughed, because really? Was Seth serious? “Seth, believe me when I say it’s my pleasure.”
“Well, I hope that your roommate will feel the same. I know you said he’s not… tolerant of gays.”
Seth made a face, but Oliver said, “He’s rough at first. Janos likes to test people, I think. But he’ll see how great you are, don’t worry.”
They smiled at each other, Oliver feeling a little shy and a lot excited. He pointed over his shoulder and said, “I’ll go ahead and leave you to unpacking. Take your time.”
It was easy to imagine more of this, like Seth moving his clothes into their shared space. Well, they would probably have to convert Janos’s room into a closet to hold all of Seth’s things. But how sweet to get a taste of the domesticity he’d envisioned as a lovestruck teenager: sharing space, getting morning coffee, walking to work, doing all of it together. Turned out he could easily imagine it as a lovestruck adult, too.
Oliver flopped onto the well-worn sofa, making a point of sitting on the far end so he wasn’t staring right into his bedroom at Seth; that would just be creepy. He laid his head back against the sofa with his hands folded across his belly and hummed a tune, completely and utterly satisfied with the exciting normalcy of Seth in his house, unpacking his things, singing something under his breath as he hung his clothes in Oliver’s wardrobe. It was just a perfect moment. He tried to tamp down the giddiness building up in him at having Seth here and getting a full week to spend with him. Oliver knew that they’d have to have some serious discussions, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the moment.
* * *
Sitting together in a café halfway around the world from Kansas, talking about everything under the sun (the atrocity that was the mock turtleneck, the dangers of Auto-Tune, Mike Larsen’s slow slide into acceptance that his future tasted of broiled chicken breasts and not the fatty death patty that was the hamburger) was absolutely surreal. Every now and then one of them laughed at how absurdly familiar it was.
“It shouldn’t feel this normal, right?” Seth asked on a few occasions. Oliver just smiled back and shook his head a little, not in disagreement but to keep from blurting out, “It feels normal because it’s right. What we feel is right.” He needed Seth to come to that conclusion on his own, as much as he wanted to press the issue.
They spent the afternoon wandering the Back Lawn and people-watching. Seth was too jittery on coffee and lack of sleep to go on any in-depth tours, he said, so they strolled about near King’s Chapel and along the King’s Parade to window shop and make a trip to The Haunted Bookshop. Seth had rolled his eyes at the legend but bought a book on paranormal activities to bring back to John and Natalie.
Oliver led the way back to his apartment, feeling pleasantly exhausted. Before they hopped on the bus, he made a point of getting some takeout. Seth stood at Oliver’s elbow as he paid, disappointed that Oliver used a bank card instead of actual British pounds.
“But their money is actually attractive; why wouldn’t you want to use it? Oliver, it has the Queen on it.”
After they climbed onto the bus and got settled, Seth reached into one of the bags to grab a piece of bread. Oliver playfully grabbed the bag back. “You’ll ruin your dinner.”
The sense of contentment that he’d felt on the train from the airport had continued to build throughout the day until Oliver had almost forgotten that this was temporary, that Seth would eventually go back to New York. That they might not get together in the end.
They hopped off the bus, Seth thrilling at the “Cheers!” the bus driver called out to Oliver; he chattered the entire way down the street, charmed by the buildings, the accents and how “cozy” the city seemed in comparison to New York. Oliver had enjoyed all of this when he’d first moved to Cambridge, as well, but for all of its charms, it had never felt like home to him. It had always felt temporary; Massachusetts had been the same, and if he were honest with himself, so had his own home.
He looked sideways at Seth, who was happily pointing out different elements of the cottages he found attractive, and Oliver realized that he knew where his home was. It was just a matter of whether or not he’d be allowed to come back to it.
They walked into the house, laughing (“I haven’t seen one tweed cap, Oliver. I feel cheated.”), and realized that Janos was home. He was watching a football game and looked over the back of the sofa at them and held a hand up in greeting before turning back to the television.
“He’s not what I expected,” Seth whispered as they moved into the kitchen with their food.
“Oh? What did you expect?” Oliver asked, pulling out two plates and silverware.
“Viktor Krum.”
Oliver grabbed the edge of the counter and burst out laughing.
“American television has done the Iron Curtain a major disservice,” Seth whispered, jerking his head in Janos�
��s direction. “I expected a sallow complexion and a black unibrow, not, well… that. Why are the good-looking ones always the homophobes?”
Oliver bit his lip to keep from laughing again and motioned for Seth to take his plate to the small table against the far wall. “Janos,” he called out, “there’s enough for you, if you want any?”
Janos turned and looked their way, giving Seth a thorough once-over. “No, thank you,” he said; his voice sounded mildly disgusted.
Seth went still briefly and bristled with visible indignation. “Don’t worry. We didn’t order it with a side of homo, so you should be fine. Although it seems like you had a helping of jackass earlier; no wonder you’re not hungry. Must have had seconds.”
Janos twisted on the sofa, his arm draped over the back as he gaped at Seth. Oliver was momentarily shocked into silence, but Seth had never really needed assistance in the face of bigotry—only support.
“Van egy nagy heréje, akkor a buzl. Én szeretem.”
Oliver and Seth both narrowed their eyes at him, Oliver trying to figure out what the hell Janos just said.
“Translate. Now.” Seth’s voice was positively icy; he vibrated with anger. “Or you’re going to learn in a very painful way that I’m a hell of a lot tougher than I look.”
Janos seemed to pick up on this and answered quickly, with his hands up in surrender. “I say: for a f-, uh… homosexual? You have… what, balls? Testicles.” He grabbed his crotch and continued. “I say I very much like this about you.”
With as droll a voice as Oliver had ever heard, Seth replied, “Isn’t that interesting that you’re fond of my testicles so quickly; normally it takes until the third date for me to hear that.”
Janos laughed. He laughed. Oliver had worried that the two might butt heads; he knew that Janos, while not necessarily antagonistic toward homosexuals, was definitely not a fan, either. Seth wasn’t one to shy away from defending himself; Oliver had learned that about him years ago (and he’d taught Oliver how to truly stand up for himself, as well). But to crack Janos up? Oliver had never made Janos laugh, and not for lack of trying.
“I like your friend, Oliver. He is a good guy, this Seth.”
Seth rolled his eyes. “Oh, thank you.”
Oliver smirked. “You’d better watch offending him, Janos. His dad could crush you with one hand. He’s in a biker gang,” he added, leaning in. “Real tough guy.”
“Biker? Like… motorcycles?” Janos said, sounding skeptical.
Seth fixed him with a droll look. “Yep,” he replied, popping the “p.” He pulled his phone out, flipped through his pictures and handed it over. Oliver stood next to Janos to see which picture he had called up: Big Mike, all six-foot-five inches of him, in full riding leathers, black skull bandana tied around his head (Oliver knew that Seth allowed it because of his appreciation for Alexander McQueen) and mirrored shades, his beard steel-gray and full and a stoic expression on his face, sat astride his massive custom-built bike.
Janos whistled. “That’s your father? Your father?” He looked Seth up and down, both shocked and impressed.
Seth gave a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and turned to Oliver, signaling that his conversation with Janos was over. Janos shrugged and went back to his game on the television.
“So I see why you never tried to hook up with him. Looks, sure, but what a jackass,” Seth muttered.
Oliver chuckled. “That’s just what I told him when he thought I was ‘into’ him.”
Seth, his tongue in his cheek to fight off a smile, said, “You better not be.” Then he looked down at his food, blushing as if it were the most fascinating thing; but Oliver caught his smile.
After they finished their dinner, it was clear that the travel had taken its toll on both of them. Oliver showed Seth the guest towels in the small bathroom and the trick to climbing out of the claw-foot tub without slipping and cracking his skull open on the hard stone floor. Oliver took the few minutes during Seth’s shower to wash the dishes and answer work-related emails. His plan of having a full day with Seth without worry about future plans was quickly trashed when he saw his inbox.
Apr 1, 10:43 AM EST
To: Oliver Andrews
From: Jones, Maeve MSW, PhD
Subject: Why Silver is the best program for you
Dear Mr. Andrews,
Thank you for your interest in the NYU Silver School of Social Work Doctoral Program. As head of GALIP (Gays and Lesbians in Psychotherapy Study), let me first say how delighted I am to have someone of your background joining us. TMMaT has made waves in the community; you and your team should be proud of your excellent work. I could tell from our phone interview last month that your excitement and passion for your work would make an excellent addition to our doctoral program.
As you are well aware, I’m sure, the time for accepting or declining graduate programs is almost at a close, April 15th. If you have any concerns about what you’ll be involved with here, or need assistance financially, I would be pleased to offer help and/or guidance. And if you would prefer a closer look at the school and current research, we would love to fly you to New York next week and let you see firsthand.
You may know that I’m a board member for the Foundation for Research and Experimentation. We’ve had a significant shift in our funding and are prepared to increase your original offer to a three-year fellowship, followed by a three-year assistantship.
I look forward to hearing from you soon,
Maeve Jones, MSW, PhD
Associate Professor of Social Work
* * *
Oliver sat back in his task chair, hands in his hair, his mind racing. They were offering him a free ride for three years and a job plus school for three more. Cambridge was also offering him a fellowship, but it was only for one year. But here, he would publish an important paper with one of the most respected members of his field and co-run a research program that was beginning to have real effect on public policy in England.
He had pursued this particular field of study because he wanted to make a difference. He wanted to help people find their own strengths and do for others what Seth had done for him. But now he had absolutely no idea which choice to make in order to do just that.
He heard Seth moving around in the bedroom, apparently finished with his shower. Oliver planned to sleep on the sofa—he hadn’t wanted to presume anything—and wanted to grab a pillow and blanket before Seth turned in. Then Janos stood up, cheering loudly at the television as whatever team he was pulling for got close to scoring.
Oliver anticipated a long night.
“All yours!” Seth said as he folded his clothes to be put away in his suitcase.
“Thanks, I’ll be quick. Let me just grab a pillow so if you fall asleep before I’m finished with the bathroom, I won’t wake you up.”
Seth turned in confusion, his jeans perfectly folded into thirds in his hands. “Grab a pillow? Are you planning on sleeping with him?” Seth cocked his head toward the door, where Janos was moaning in Hungarian—apparently some athlete had done something stupid.
Oliver laughed, “No, on the couch.”
Seth turned back to his suitcase, slipping his dirty clothes inside. “That’s silly. I thought you were going to sleep in here. Oh!” Seth turned back to face Oliver, looking concerned. “Unless that’s awkward for you? I’m sorry; I just assumed. Here, I should be the one taking the couch—”
Oliver stopped Seth by holding both of his biceps. “Seth. It’s fine. You can’t possibly think I’d let a guest sleep on our old sofa. It won’t be the first time I’ve crashed there, believe me.”
Rolling his eyes, Seth said, “Just sleep in here; we managed just fine at New Year’s, didn’t we?”
Oliver’s breath stuttered at the memory of that night. How they’d kissed, albeit chastely. How he’d said he still loved Seth. How he knew the next day that it would be just a matter of time for them to work out their relationship. He knew that; they belonged together
.
He bit his lip, watching Seth’s face for any signs of reluctance. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“We’ll be fine. And it’s just like that night,” Seth said, smiling. “I’m way too exhausted to get up to any shenanigans. And it’s not like we haven’t done this before as friends, back when we were at school.”
Friends. Right. For now they were friends. Oliver could believe they would get back together eventually all he wanted. But without a solid plan, nothing could move in that direction. Oliver had to remember that Seth wouldn’t commit to anything more until Oliver’s future was settled.
Too bad he had absolutely no idea how to solve that problem.
By the time Oliver had taken a perfunctory shower, brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, Seth was sound asleep, curled on his side facing away from Oliver’s side of the bed. The few times they’d found a way to sleep over at each other’s houses, they’d teased each other about who would get to be the “the little spoon.” On rare occasions, Seth wanted to be; sometimes he felt claustrophobic, he’d explained to Oliver one night. Years of fight or flight had ingrained that in him, unfortunately.
Oliver slipped under the cool sheets, quietly moaning at how good it felt to be prone and almost asleep. He curled onto his side, facing Seth’s back. There was a reasonable amount of space between them to maintain the delicate balance of friendship they were attempting, but there was something about watching the gentle rise and fall of Seth’s shoulder as he breathed deeply that soothed Oliver into his own state of blissful unconsciousness.
* * *
Oliver opened the door to his New York apartment, still thrilling that they they’d done it—they’d found a wonderful home together and were going to make life work. He’d finally finished school and had prospective jobs lined up—all in the city, so there was no need to commute long distance.
He dropped his satchel on the floor by the console in the entryway, his keys and wallet going into the bowl that sat there for just that purpose. Except it wasn’t there. Huh. Maybe Seth had decided to switch it with something else? He was always doing things like that, changing the décor to keep things fresh. It was something Oliver loved about him.