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“Well, I’ve been slaving all day over a hot stove,” Tristan said.
“Uh-huh,” Leo replied, unable to get anything more coherent out since Tristan was in the process of putting his hair up in a messy bun. All Leo could compute were those bare arms, those long, dexterous fingers and the glorious way all Tristan’s muscles shifted under his skin as he moved. The snap of the hairband startled him back to reality. “Sorry, what?”
“I said I’ve been slaving all day over a hot stove,” Tristan said, leading him down into the kitchen, where a bunch of takeaway bags from Gio’s immediately called him out as a dirty liar.
Leo raised his eyebrows. “Sure you did.”
“I actually did, but it turns out I’m a terrible cook, so Jack very kindly suggested I get delivery instead of, and I quote, ‘murdering your boyfriend with food.’”
“Oh, wow.” Leo blinked around at all the bags. He counted at least four bags, all of them stacked with containers. The whole house smelled of garlic and everything that was good about the world. “This must have cost a fortune!”
Tristan waved his hand. “It’s fine. Oh, and Harry and Jack are at Ambrose and Liam’s for the night, so we have the place to ourselves for at least a few hours. Usually I’d suggest that means we can fuck in the living room, but I’ve been sitting here smelling this food for the last half hour, and if I don’t eat it now, I might die.”
They ate in the living room, sitting on the floor with their plates on the coffee table. They left the lights off, and the only illumination was from the strings of fairy lights stuck around the windows. It was surprisingly effective. The soft lighting made the house look much nicer than it actually was—charming instead of decrepit. Faint music played in the background. Something instrumental.
“This is nice,” Leo said, then realised how inadequate those words were. “I mean, it’s perfect.”
Tristan’s happy smile was beautiful. “I’m pretty new at this boyfriend stuff…”
“You’re doing amazing.” Leo kissed him and smeared carbonara sauce on his lips.
Tristan laughed and swiped it off with his tongue. “Harry said I shouldn’t order anything with garlic for a date, but frankly he gets all his tips from romcoms, so he can’t be trusted.”
“I love garlic.”
“Same.”
They kissed again. Leo thought that all kisses ought to be carbonara-flavoured, and also that maybe he’d had a little too much wine if he really thought that was a good idea.
“Want to tell me why your parents sent a property valuer?” Tristan asked.
“Ugh.” Leo helped himself to another piece of garlic bread. “My parents are…painfully middle class. They think that Uncle Jimmy was the devil.”
“Because he was gay?”
“No, because he was the wrong sort of gay,” Leo said.
“Ah.” Tristan grinned. “Am I the wrong sort of gay, too?”
“God, yes,” Leo said. “You’re so… You’re not boring. You’re not the least bit apologetic. They’d hate you.” He realised what he’d said a second later. “Oh God, that sounded awful, didn’t it? I just mean they hate the idea of anyone like you existing, because you’re so loud about it.” God, he really had drunk too much wine, hadn’t he? “Not that there’s anything wrong with you!”
“I like tipsy Leo.” Tristan topped up his glass. “He’s very uninhibited.”
“Uninhibited!” Leo exclaimed. “That’s the right word. For you, I mean. And it’s a good thing.”
“I’m a fabulous gay butterfly who spreads colour and joy throughout the world, and people like your parents would prefer it if I was a boring brown moth, is that it?” Tristan said.
“Yes! And…ugh, I’m so tired of being a boring brown moth, Tris.” He blinked. “Not that…not that I could be a butterfly. I don’t like it when people look at me. But there are other sorts of moths, right? Apart from those dusty brown ones.”
Tristan caught his hand as he reached for his phone to google it. “I like tipsy Leo, but maybe he should switch to water after this one.”
“That’s a good idea.” Leo sighed. “I think that’s why Jimmy left me the shop and the house, so that I could get out from under their thumb. Except I didn’t even really know I was stuck there. Not until…not until I met you, and Wei, and Harry and Jack, and Miss O’Jenny and even Orlando.”
“You think Jimmy was giving you an escape?” Tristan smiled and squeezed his hand. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“I wish I’d known him better.”
“He was great,” Tristan said. “Totally crazy, but in the best way. He was the most glorious butterfly, if you crossed it with a fighter pilot or something. Wait. No. A wasp? I feel like this metaphor is getting away from us.”
