15. Julien
fifteen
Julien
I t wasn’t fair. Julien’s hangover was thoroughly undeserved.
He’d only had ten or so glasses of mulled wine, for Christ’s sake. Nothing to warrant this horrendous drilling sensation throbbing through his temple. He kept the covers firmly over his head for as long as possible, enjoying the warmth of Cinn’s thighs between his. He’d happily have spent a good few hours like that, but then Cinn spoiled it by insisting he had to leave Julien and get out of bed.
They were flying home late that evening, and Cinn was going to ring his mother’s phone number to see if she’d be up for a quick visit. Then, pulling on his clothes facing away from Julien, Cinn hastily mumbled something about swinging by to see Tyler.
Naturally, Julien put on a massive show about what a great idea that was.
Cinn rolled his eyes, falling back onto the bed, fully dressed. He hooked his leg around Julien’s hip, dragging him over to him. With gentle, caressing strokes, Cinn shifted Julien’s hair away from his face.
“There’s mixed messages going on right now,” Julien informed him. “You can’t put on clothes, then do this to me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be gone too long,” Cinn said, his face only an inch from Julien’s on the pillow. His eyes sought out Julien’s, locking onto them to say, “I already can’t wait to get back to you.”
The statement was said in a whisper, but Cinn may as well have screamed it, as far as Julien’s brain was concerned. It clung on to the sentiment like a child with their favourite toy, wrapping it around himself like a blanket.
He already can’t wait to get back to me.
Cinn shouldn’t have to placate him with such things, Julien knew that. He’d only said it so that Julien wouldn’t sit around moping all day. But regardless, it had sounded authentic, and Julien would treasure the words.
“I already can’t wait for you to get back, too,” Julien replied, kissing the smile on Cinn’s lips. “Go then, quickly, before I start taking your clothes back off.”
Cinn shuffled to perch on the edge of the bed. He appeared to be weighing something in his mind. After a long stretch of silence, he yanked his grey hoodie up and over his head in one rapid movement.
Julien couldn’t believe his luck—he hadn’t even been that persuasive.
Cinn’s hoodie hit him square in the face.
“You can borrow this while I’m gone. Wear it or whatever. If you want.”
There weren’t many moments of his life where Julien had been shocked into silence, but this was one of them. Julien’s mouth refused to move, and he openly gaped at Cinn, who’d flushed red.
“Or not,” Cinn mumbled, looking anywhere but Julien. Then he reached over to take the hoodie back.
“ Non ! It’s mine now.” Julien gripped the fabric tighter than he’d ever held anything before. “You’re not getting it back.” Ever was the unspoken word.
Was it normal to have heart palpitations over a hoodie? To feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, exhilarated and terrified all at once?
“Fine then,” Cinn said, tugging on his green beanie.
He turned to leave.
“Wait,” said Julien.
Cinn froze.
“One more kiss. On my forehead. For my headache.”
Cinn pressed his lips between Julien’s brows, one quick, firm kiss while his hand brushed over the mess of Julien’s hair.
When Cinn closed the bedroom door with a soft click, Julien expected his heart to sink, but it stayed firmly put, lodged securely in its place by Cinn’s words and the hoodie Julien put straight on. It was baggy on Cinn, even larger on Julien’s more slender frame.
He nestled straight back under the duvet, lulled back to sleep by the faint smell of Cinn on the sweatshirt. Ignoring the lingering smell of cigarettes, he focussed on cocoa powder and lemon shampoo.
It was way past noon when Julien stumbled into the kitchen in search of painkillers.
“Darcy!” Julien’s shock at her sudden return gave way to delight.
Hair damp from the shower, Darcy gave him a tired smile. “He’s okay. Up and walking and everything. They’re organising for him to fly home to Scotland later.”
Julien scooped her up into a hug, pressing her tightly against his chest. She was warm, and her woollen dress was soft.
“It’s all fine for now. Thank God.” She sighed into his shoulder. “One of these days it’s not going to be fine though, is it?” Darcy pulled away, red rimming her eyes.
A true pessimist at heart, Julien always struggled to comfort others. But he tried. “He’s doing better. Hold on to that for now,” he replied, switching on the kettle and reaching for the new tea Cinn bought her. “Shall I—” Facing the wall, he grimaced. “I could see if my father can do anything to speed up the pacemaker. He’s got to be good for something, right? ”
Darcy scrunched up her nose. “After that last conversation with him, when he was weird about wanting Cinn? No thanks. My mum has people on it, anyway.”
Julien nodded, relieved. His father would have absolutely loved it if Julien came begging at his door.
“Hey.” Darcy plucked at the sleeve of Cinn’s hoodie. “Your current outfit reminds me I have a bone to pick with you.” Her gaze narrowed, spelling trouble.
“What could I have possibly done now?” Julien groaned.
“When we were all tidying up in the kitchen, without you—”
“I don’t like this accusation.”
“No, shut up. My mum was talking to Cinn, and referred to you as his boyfriend.”
This was certainly going in an odd direction. “Okay…” Julien said slowly.
“Well, he just about had a breakdown over the word. Almost died trying to correct her, getting completely tongue-tied. At the time I was wetting myself in the background, then I realised the poor sod was genuinely worried.”
“What? Why was he trying to correct her?”
“Exactly, Julien! Why, indeed?”
Her tone had reached frenzied levels. Julien passed her some tea to calm her down.
“That’s very strange. I’m hurt that he doesn’t want to use that word.”
Darcy pierced him to shreds with her icy gaze. “Are you fucking joking with me right now? Are you actually trying to convince me that you’re not at fault here?”
“He knows he’s my…” Julien waved his hand. He couldn’t quite truthfully say the word, could he? “Whatever… or whatever…” he finished lamely.
“So you haven’t had that conversation? ”
“What conversation?” he pretended, because turning Darcy grey was brightening today’s dull mood.
Darcy only offered him a deadpan look in response.
“Look, we don’t need—”
“No, you look, I know this is your first time having actual romantic human emotions towards another human being, so I’m going easy on you—”
“Hey, you don’t have any more experience of such conversations than I do—”
“Yet I’m emotionally intelligent enough to know that it’s not only warranted, it’s expected of you. You promised me you weren’t going to fuck this up!”
That one hurt. Julien wasn’t fucking it up at all. He’d never been happier. Aside from all the other crap they were dealing with, of course. But being with Cinn, even in the mundane moments— non , especially in the mundane moments—filled him with a contented warmth he’d never understood was possible. Looking back, most of Julien’s time used to be underscored with a subtle anxiety, an edge of loneliness that constantly buzzed away in the background, unnamed. Now, when he woke up each morning, he got to turn over to find Cinn waiting for him, ready to tell him to go the fuck back to sleep as he nuzzled Julien into his arms.
Cinn was what he’d been missing all these years.
And he certainly wasn’t going to fuck it up, merci bien .
“And before you say ‘Cinn hasn’t asked me either,’”—Darcy’s whiny mock impression of Julien was truly ridiculous, quite frankly— “ Cinn is likely terrified you’ll turn around and say you thought you two were casually dating or something.”
A sharp shard pierced his heart. Darcy was completely wrong—there was no way Cinn would think that. Julien had been crystal clear with his affections towards him, right? Right ?
“Okay, okay. Message received. I’ve already got something planned out.”
Darcy clinked her mug down on the counter, eyes as fiery as her hair. “Good,” she said, far too aggressively. “Good.”