“I’m not assuming anything because I said—what I said.” Matt focused on putting tea leaves into his simple clay teapot. “You don’t have to drink this if you don’t like it. Except for the quality of the tea itself, there’s nothing complicated or artisanal or whatever about this. People drank it without all that for thousands of years, and it’s arrogant for others to insist on fancy equipment to drink it now.” He pulled out two small, round bowls. “I like a nice tea set. But nothing is better than a thick, sturdy mug, or a plain bowl of tea when you need something comforting.”
“This has been an emotional night. Some comfort wouldn’t be out of place.” Santi came into the kitchen and stood at the island in the middle, leaning against a stool without sitting in it. When Matt twisted around to look at him, he was contemplating the bowl of Honeycrisp apples at the center of the island. “Matt,” he said again, less exasperated and more fond.
The water started to boil. Matt shut off the kettle to let it cool, then turned back around. Santi was watching him again. It was amazing the difference it made with his hair pulled out of his face. Matt could see everything.
“Not a bad end to my night as your babysitter,” Matt joked, although his polite voice was nowhere to be found.
“Do you want to know why I decided not to drink tonight?” Santi offered in response.
“If you want to tell me,” Matt answered, but then occupied himself with pouring water into the teapot. It was steaming. That was close enough to the right temperature for his current mood. The tea had to steep, but he didn’t turn around.
“You’ve told me everything. It only seems fair.”
Matt splashed hot water into each bowl to warm them, then poured the water out. “I didn’t do it to get something.”
“Of course you didn’t.” The stool skidded against the floor as if Santi had moved, maybe to finally sit down. “I decided not to drink tonight, or on any of these nights where I am among the Del Pretes, because I am the most boring, trite gay you can imagine, and I have been in love with you for a stupidly long time.”
Matt went still and Santi laughed again, a bit mocking, but with Santi that was always aimed at himself.
“I come to these parties and hereyouare, and heretheyare, and everything is lovely and fucked. You’re in front of me, but you’re polite and you’re charming and you’re miserable. We’re all miserable. I think even they are miserable. But they hurt you in their misery and I’m not permitted to do anything about it, because you aren’t mine. Not family, not a lover, only my friend—but a distant one, these days. It’s a terrible existence, Matty, not even being allowed to be close to you for long, knowing you’re suffering, hoping that I’m not imagining how you look at me, knowing that I must be. It’s pathetic, really.”
“I…” Matt stuttered. “No.”
“It really is,” Santi quietly disagreed. “I would have a glass or two or three, and become someone no one would want to sit with, not even you. And that worked until it didn’t anymore. So I decidedenough of that. I’d do it differently this time. I’d move forward.” Santi probably had that quirk to his lips again. “Of course, I didn’t tell anybody why. I mentioned it to my mother and she must have mentioned it to your mother and everyone else. And in their loving, controlling way, they decided to help—by sending you to me. I never had a chance.”
Matt poured the tea because he didn’t know what else to do. His hands weren’t steady.
“And then—and then, in the midst of my truly obvious and predictable pining, you, Matty—yes, you—go and decide for the first time in years to be honest with me.” Santi raised his voice but he didn’t sound angry. “You know exactly what your family are, and you want to make a home and fill it with skylights and views and good food. You go home with men sometimes—Christ, Matthew, do you have any idea what that did to me? I’ve been trying to push hope away and you pushed it right back at me.”
Matt stared down at the steaming bowls. He lifted one, enjoying the subtle heat against his palms, then turned around to place it in front of Santi without looking up. “I’m nothing but a trust fund.”
Santi curled his hands around the bowl. “You are dreams, and practicality, and secrets. I want to see your castle. I want to visit it and paint the loft like it’s the Sistine Chapel. You see how predictable I am? I don’t need big fucking gestures and brilliance. I am all of that and I am amess. There is enough drive and ambition in the world. You can be quiet, gentle Matty and be loved by this disaster. You have been for years already. There’s no changing it now.”
Matt was vaguely aware he’d forgotten to bring his tea over. He watched Santi lift the bowl to his mouth.
Santi blew through the stream, unnaturally focused on it, and took a sip. He hummed before he put the bowl back down. “This is nice. Do you sometimes cup the warm bowl in your hands simply because it feels good? I would. It’s very comforting to hold onto.”
His cheeks were darker and his gaze skittered around the kitchen even though he was pretending he was calm. His hair was ridiculous although a better word would have been adorable.
“I think I adore you,” Matt blurted, and decided no one should ever call him charming again.
Santi looked at him, startled, wide-eyed, fragile at the edges. Then, with an ungraceful slump, Santi slid off the stool to come toward him. He put a hand on Matt’s chest, clutching a fistful of his shirt, and backed Matt into the counter. He didn’t let go. He got right in Matt’s face and studied his expression, searching for something.
“I don’t really have anything to offer you,” Santi said carefully, “except that I adore you too.”
Matt felt himself smiling for those impossible words, and that made Santi smile with him. Santi still had his hand on Matt’s chest, so Matt raised his arms to gently pull the hairband from Santi’s hair and brush the curls back from his forehead.
Santi shut his eyes and made a pleased, dreamy sound.
Matt’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He tensed.
Santi fell forward with a groan, his face hidden against Matt’s throat. “No.”
Matt could ignore it. Unless it was his mother. She’d keep calling if the situation were dire enough. “Someone probably needs a ride.”
“Then be very pleasant and polite and unavailable.” Santi put his other hand at Matt’s waist and puffed out a laugh when Matt shivered. Evidently curious now, he skated a touch over Matt’s shirt and then started to tug it from Matt’s pants.
