“They can both live without me for an hour or two. It’s supposed to be my day off anyway. I think my employees will be happy to see that I’m actually taking one.” Smiling, I brush a bit of paint from his nose. “Besides, it looks like you need me more than they do. I’d hate to leave and then you paint yourself into the wall.”
Laughter sputters from him and he nods, stepping back enough to give me room to enter the house. “Okay. Come on in then and I’ll find you another roller or paint brush.”
His house is bigger than I imagined, the living room and kitchen both very spacious while interconnecting. He really does like everything bright and colorful, from his baby blue couches to his teal cabinets.
“You really like plants.” I gesture toward more succulents filling the windowsills of the kitchen and the bookshelf near the TV.
“Oh. Those are all Stacey’s. I mean, she got those for me to care for since she’s the one with the green thumb and better with plants that actually require watering.”
I laugh, following him into the last bedroom down a long hall after he grabs what he needs. “Most of the furniture is temporarily moved into the guest room, but the bed was a little more of a challenge so I threw plastic over it and called it a day.”
“Should you really be moving all this stuff by yourself?” I ask, testing the weight of the mattress.
“Probably not, but I’ve been on restrictions practically my whole life.”
“I can help you get the bed out of here. It’ll make it easier to paint around the window.”
Ripping plastic from a new paint brush, he shakes his head. “Sounds like I’m putting you through too much trouble and this is already hardly qualifying as a day off.”
He makes it feel like one all the same. Not only from work either—from everything. Grief, loneliness, and the dark. “Beats being yelled at for food not being hot or cool enough, or for not having the right books on hand.”
His eyes light up as he smiles wider. “If you’re really okay with it, then sure.”
“I really am okay with it.” I peel the plastic off the bed and toss it to the side before tugging the mattress onto the floor in a standing position. He’s painting a corner while I’m pushing the mattress out of the room, and is still slathering the same spot in yellow by the time I get the rest of the bed into the spare room. As I’m covering the rest of the floor in plastic he starts humming, and when he sings the lyrics to “Just Breathe” by Pearl Jam, I freeze.
He goes on about him needing and wanting me—not him, it’s part of the lyrics. He didn’t write them. As he continues to sing, I can’t help but gravitate toward him the way a weak, transfixedfool at sea would a siren. I ignore all the warnings and sounding alarms going off inside me all the same. I’m swimming into dangerous waters with him, and the deeper I go the bigger risk I have of drowning.
Preparing to hold my breath when the time comes, I pick up a brush and join him in both singing and painting, our arms brushing together as I touch up spots he missed. He’s horrible at this and I’m happy I stopped by at the right time. The words he’s saying might be part of a song, but he really does need me and I need the constant smiles.
I pull out my phone and play the song from my playlist. We both sing louder, one of us getting more paint on ourselves than the wall. He chose yellow, the color that matches him best. The color of sunshine.
Looking at me while accidentally painting over my fingers, he sings for me to stay with him and I do. Him staining my fingers yellow leads me to painting a stripe on his arm and then we both get a little carried away, leaving the room in fits of laughter while covered in proof of what we did today. To anyone else, we simply painted a room, but for me, we stepped out of the dark and went somewhere only we were allowed.
I wash up in the kitchen sink while he takes a quick shower. Walking by to grab my phone from the room, I don’t realize the bathroom door is open and catch his naked reflection in the mirror as he’s drying off with a towel. His pink scar in the center of his chest and half-hard cock stay at the front of my mind while I help him prepare lunch. His wet, gorgeous body taunts me while we’re eating, and even while he’s showing me old pictures from a photo album on his living room couch. Keeping my legs and hands where they are is a resistance I can’t fight for long. Different parts of our bodies brush on occasion causing a strong energy to vibrate between our skin.
“Where was this at?” I ask, pointing to a picture of him and Stacey in front of a cabin, trying to focus on something else.
“Oh, somewhere in Colorado. It’s a bit of a blur since our trip was cut short. All our trips were, even some of the short ones, like going to the Riverwalk. Never even made it to the lock bridge”
Smiling softly, I flip to the last page. “Sounds like you need a do-over on all accounts.”
“You offering?”
“Maybe.” I bump my shoulder into his and he places a hand over a photo, shifting my attention. His warm skin is all I think about, and his perfect soft hands that have never seen an ounce of hard labor. He has a tiny brown freckle beneath his thumb and I wonder if he has them anywhere else.
“Darn, we’re at the end with nothing more to see. Want to take a walk?” I snap my eyes to his.
Grinning, I slowly pull his fingers from the photo he’s trying so hard to keep me from seeing. I don’t mind because it gives us another reason to stay as we are. Our fingers struggle against each other a little longer before I finally get his away from the photo. I hold them in my grip to keep him from covering the photo again, and because his hand feels too good in mine to let it go. He doesn’t fight as much as I expect him to so I don’t let go, leaning down lower to get a better look at what he was embarrassed for me to see.
Standing in front of a porch covered in pumpkins, he’s dressed as Tinkerbell while Stacey is Peter Pan.
“What’s wrong with this one? Green is a good color on you.” Keeping our hands linked, I yank out the picture and hold it closer to the light entering through the window. He still doesn’t let go. Does he not notice we’re holding hands?
“Stacey said it was too cold so I offered to switch costumes. Thankfully, we mostly stayed inside and my friends only gaveme a hard time the first half of the night. Joke’s on them. That costume was comfortable as fuck.”
Laughing, I bring the photo closer to my face and he squeezes my fingers, shifting closer to me. “This is actually a really good photo of you, and the sparkling eyeshadow really brings out the green specks in your eyes.” I leave out the part about how well his small skirt hugs his hips.
Snatching the picture from me, he tosses his head back and laughs. “Better yet, I say we skip the walk and you go home.” Our hands part and I’m already missing the weight.
