Trevor looked over, lookeddown, because G.G. was that much shorter than him. “You know where to go if you want me to do this for you.”
G.G. seemed to flutter, as if a spike in his pulse took hold of his whole body. He parted his lips, then nodded. He went and sat.
Trevor stood over him and took the hand G.G. gave him. He gave G.G. no praise in return, but his motions were practiced and smooth. He removed the used bandages and then went to get the replacements, which he set into place without a word.
“The flavors were to your taste?” G.G. asked, breaking the silence after several long looks up at Trevor through his eyelashes. “Even though you don’t drink tea the way I assumed?”
“Like proper tea from a proper tea pot?” The lack of bitterness in Trevor’s voice surprised him, but he suspected it had something to do with G.G.’s eyelashes, which were also pretty. “I like sugary drinks in well-designed cans, as you discovered. And I make herbal teas for Sky after… for after.” He finally returned one of G.G.’s looks. “I didn’t need an apology. No one was forcing you to come. I was disappointed that you didn’t, though. I wanted to give you that.”
G.G. brought his head up to stare at Trevor directly. He seemed to make himself breathe. “You meant that?” he asked as Trevor taped down the end of the gauze. “I thought that was one of your jokes.”
Trevor set the roll of medical tape down hard. “It was a written invitation,” he said in disbelief. “The expression is, ‘What, do you need a written invitation?’ but apparently even that isn’t enough for G.—what does the first g stand for anyway?”
G.G. gazed at him, surprise all over his darkening face. “I didn’t think that was serious. When you offered it, I thought you were teasing.”
“Because a tea party was a ridiculous thing to offer in the first place?” Trevor did his best to make that light and joking, although that probably didn’t matter, all things considered. He gathered up the mess and moved away to deal with it. “You know me,” he swept on, tossing the old bandages, putting the rest away, not addressing the paper invitation with the drawing of a cat on it that was sitting on G.G.’s counter. “I’m artistic and get carried away. So. The spaghetti can go in the oven—or microwave it. Whatever. You know how to feed yourself. You don’t need me for these things. You don’t want that from me.” He turned back to G.G. “It’s fine.”
G.G. was on his feet but hadn’t otherwise moved.
“The sketch of Miss Delilah was very good.” G.G. gave Trevor one of his small, cautious smiles and Trevor put one hand to the countertop linoleum, which was extraordinarily cool or Trevor was extraordinarily hot. G.G. watched him carefully, the way he always watched Trevor, at least until Trevor looked back. Then he’d usually glance away or lower his head… or scuttle away. But not this time. “The first g stands for Gregory, which nobody calls me or has ever called me. I’ve been G.G. my entire life. Although not how you say it.”
Trevor stared and stared at G.G. until G.G. began to breathe faster.
Trevor thought he should say something.
“You don’t need to throw compliments at me. I know I can draw. I worked hard at it. Even that sketch took me following Mr. Tammy around so I could get cat feet right. I—I wasn’t joking. The tea party was silly, but I wasn’t joking. You wanted a change in routine, so I offered you my garden. Not mine, I mean. My gr….”
“Your garden.” G.G. was quiet. He took a deep breath and seemed to settle as he let it out, his shoulders easing down. “There are clubs for people like me. But no one offering me their gardens.”
Trevor’s throat was tight. “Because it’s fanciful, immature, and nerdy?”
G.G. shook his head once. “Trevor, you must have noticed that I don’t have anyone.”
It was the worst thing in the entire world in that moment that G.G. would say those words and then dole out another private smile.
Trevor moved across the kitchen, around the island, so he could slide his hand up to G.G.’s cheek. “I don’t understand that.”
G.G. closed his eyes the second Trevor touched him, then slowly blinked them open again. “I lost a friend group just before everything shut down. No,” he went on a second later. “That’s not accurate. Notjustbefore. But they’re gone. Anyway, none of them were the kind to…”
“Invite you over for tea?” Trevor finished for him, letting his hand fall.
G.G. met Trevor’s stare, his gaze very warm. “It might have been nice.”
“You don’t need to be kind about my failure.” It was easier to say now. “You aren’t a ‘sit outside with this dork’ kind of man. That’s okay.” Trevor meant that. “But you should believe that the offer was genuine.” He could even manage a smile about it. “It was a literal written invitation, Gregory,” he added softly. “Do only orders work on you?”
G.G. glanced around the kitchen as if something there could help him deal with Trevor’s teasing. “I don’t often get written invitations. Or any invitations, these days.”
“Yeah, well.” Trevor wondered if all that blushing left G.G. lightheaded. “I wanted you there. I bought snacks.” He had no idea why he was being this honest. He must want to torture himself with his failure.
G.G. made a startled face, as if no one in his life really ever did think to invite him over and feed him.
“I even bought some nice cider and beer,” Trevor continued, testing, pleased when G.G.’s gaze grew even warmer. “Cider in case you don’t like beer—hard cider. Like I said, I don’t actually drink tea from a teapot. Although I’m sure I could manage to serve some if someone wanted it. But I don’t. And my grandmother loves coffee. Too much really.”
“I used to drink a lot of beer,” G.G. said distantly before stopping to frown. “People expect you to like beer when you have my family or work in construction. I’m not sure I’ve had cider except for the sparkling kind they give to children as a champagne substitute.”
“Well, I still have it. The cider, I mean. Or I can make coffee for you.” Trevor took a moment to steady himself and make sure he was clear and didn’t use any cat puns. “We needed to talk, and you needed the break, and I… I wanted to see you there.” He thought he should be terrified, but he’d already been implicitly rejected twice in the span of a few days, and there was something freeing about honesty—and the way his honesty made G.G. look directly at him. “I want to get to know you. That is an invitation to hang out, if you meant it when you said it might have been nice. I know my social skills have atrophied the past few years but yours might be worse. I don’t know exactly what you want from me yet. But we can also be friends, or… more, eventually, if you don’t think that’s too ridiculous.”
Trevor was a fool, and as lightheaded as G.G. might be though he didn’t even have the excuse of being flushed. The idea of dating G.G.wasridiculous, for every reason Trevor had given to his grandmother. All of which were probably obvious to G.G. as well.
