They stood together, Callahan’s cheek pressed against Jace’s shoulder blade, fingers twined together. Jace didn’t want to close his eyes because the view was amazing, but he wanted to remember other things about the moment, more things than just the sparkling lights on the horizon. He let his eyes fall closed, and as he listened to the sound of Callahan’s quiet breathing, he traced his thumb around the edge of Callahan’s hand, feeling the way his skin crinkled and bent.
“I could get used to you,” he whispered.
“I’m glad,” Callahan answered.
Behind him, something started to vibrate, and Jace laughed as Callahan’s phone battered the back of his leg into oblivion.
“Someone is calling you.”
“It’s the food.” Callahan stepped away and silenced his phone. “I’ll run down and get it. Will you make yourself comfortable?”
Jace looked around, and his first instinct was to say no, because nothing about Callahan’s boxy and modern white couch looked comfortable, but he swallowed back the remark, knowing it was born out of nerves and not malice.
“Yes.”
Callahan gave him a bright smile, then dashed out of the apartment promising a hasty return. Jace glanced to the side, taking note of the giant flat screen mounted on the wall, the low side table stacked with books and well-matched decorative trinkets. He was curious what Callahan’s bedroom looked like, if his sheets were as soft as at the hotel or better.
He walked toward the kitchen, testing the couch as he went, surprised to find it was more comfortable than he’d initially thought, and that was where he was when Callahan opened the door. Jace stood up quickly and smoothed a shaky hand down the front of his shirt. Callahan had told him to get comfortable, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was in the wrong place, like an impostor in a world that was never meant to be his.
“I hope you like lo mein.” Callahan raised the bags of food in the air. “But if you don’t, I got fried rice. Chicken, beef…”
Callahan set the bags down and trailed off as he reached in and removed container after container of food, arranging them neatly on the counter.
“Do you want to eat at the bar or the table?”
The idea that this apartment had more than one place to eat blew his mind. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tilted his head toward the coffee table. “What about here?”
“That works.” Callahan shrugged and gave him a goofy grin. Jace’s chest tightened, the sheer innocence of the expression enough to send him flying. “Did you want a drink? No champagne, but I have cider.”
“That’s great,” he answered, clearing his throat and sitting back down on the couch.
Callahan brought drinks and food and fancy chopsticks that were definitely not sent from the restaurant.
You can do this, he said to himself.He wants you here. You want to be here. Don’t freak out.
“You look like me right now,” Callahan said, taking a seat beside him.
“How’s that?”
“Like you think this isn’t real.”
He licked his lips and huffed out a quiet breath.
“It’s real,” Callahan said softly.
“No more pretending,” Jace said, not a question, but not entirely convinced of the fact.
“No more pretending.” Callahan took his hand and brushed a kiss across the top of his knuckles. “This is me, and you, and enough MSG to send us into a coma.”
“That’s not a proven thing, you know.” Jace picked up his chopsticks with a small smile, grateful to remember even half the things Remington told him.
“What part?”
“The MSG.”
“And the other part?” Callahan asked. “The you and me bit?”
“Yet to be seen,” he said, “but I’m optimistic you’re right.”
