Chapter Twelve #2
Cassian was standing by the edge of the promenade, clutching the metal handrails and staring off into the night.
Upon seeing him, James fumbled with his pen, leaving an inky splatter on the page.
He continued to sit there, unmoving, for what felt like minutes, and when the nighttime clouds parted and the light from the waning crescent moon better illuminated the edge of the promenade, James’s heart broke into a million more pieces, the full force of his sorrow slamming into him and making his breath catch as Cassian’s image became clearer.
Before James could make himself react, Cassian looked over his shoulder, and their eyes met.
James couldn’t be sure if it was merely a trick of the light—the moon’s ethereal luminescence reflecting off of the water before catching Cassian’s face—but he could have sworn the poor man’s eyes were shimmering with a heartache so intense that it mirrored his own. And he felt horrible for it.
Cassian started to leave.
“Cassian, wait!” James cried out.
By some miracle, Cassian froze. James exhaled with relief.
Because now, even though it was irrational, even though it was selfish, even though it was exactly the wrong and immoral thing, the only thing that James wanted was to spend time with his friend, if only to save them both from further pain. To hell with healing, to hell with moving on.
“Don’t go,” James said.
Cassian’s shoulders rose and fell, like he’d taken a measured breath.
“I thought we were . . . keeping to ourselves for a while,” the man replied softly, still facing the closest door.
James prayed that he wouldn’t walk through it.
“I know,” James said, his voice starting to shake. “But . . .”
Oh, God, he hated this. He hated that he’d hurt Cassian.
He hated that he’d hurt himself too. He’d hurt both of them by falling in love and by letting Cassian fall in .
. . lust or . . . or whatever the man felt.
And then he’d hurt both of them even more by ending the wonderful something that had been blossoming between them.
Most of all, though, James hated that, regardless of either his or Cassian’s feelings, hurting them both had been the right thing to do.
He hated that it still was the right thing to do.
But, bloody hell, right or not, James couldn’t do it anymore.
Cassian looked over.
“But what?” he hissed.
“But I miss you,” James choked out, his throat tightening as he said the words.
Thank God they were the only two people who were foolhearted enough to be out here on the promenade past midnight.
Cassian’s resolve seemed to crumple, his expression softening, and he started over. Holding his breath to keep himself from crying, James thanked the Lord that the man hadn’t left instead. Cassian sat in the lounge chair beside him.
“I should hate you,” Cassian said.
James lowered his head. “Yes, probably.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You were thoughtless.”
James flinched. “I never meant to be. I was only trying to—”
“I’m not looking for excuses, James.”
“Sorry.”
Both men fell silent. James listened to the ocean’s waves.
Finally, Cassian asked, “Are you finished being selfish now?”
Frowning at his hands, James shrank into himself a little. He was not, in fact, finished being selfish. Instead, he was preparing to be even more selfish. More selfish than he’d ever been before in his life.
“Yes,” he said, because he was a liar and he was in love and he was a liar precisely because he was in love.
Oh, God, how he wanted to see Cassian smile again.
“Good.” Cassian shut his eyes and let out a long breath.
Upon reopening them, he looked at the notebook in James’s lap.
“How can you even see what you’re writing?
You’re not near one of the lights. And what on earth could you be writing in the middle of the night, anyway?
Surely not a letter home if you can barely see the page. ”
James huffed a quiet laugh.
“You’re right. I can’t see, really. But I’m mostly writing so that I can remember my ideas better later.
I find that scribbling things down helps my brain hold onto them, whether or not I can see every word on the page.
Or even whether or not I can see most of them.
I, uhm, I figured that out a long time ago.
” Pausing, James rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, his cheeks warming at the prospect of sharing more with Cassian.
“See, when I was a kid, I wanted to recall my dreams. And so, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and then, in the cloak of absolute darkness, I’d hastily write down whatever I could before falling back asleep.
In the morning, even reading random words like .
. . like ‘chicken’ or ‘marbles’ or whatever it was that I’d scribbled in the nighttime would help me remember the rest of whatever scene it was related to. ” He paused. “It’s probably silly.”
“It’s not silly,” Cassian said. “In fact, I think it’s rather clever.”
James’s cheeks burned hotter, and his insides melted into a soupy porridge of want.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Cassian smiled and knocked James’s knee with his own.
“You only answered half of what I asked, though,” he said, his tone a mixture of playful and chastising that made James’s stomach tumble. “Are you writing a letter, then? One that you’ll transcribe over to a new sheet of paper tomorrow?”
“I’m . . . writing a story,” James replied, somewhat meekly.
Cassian cocked an eyebrow. “What, like one of those short stories that they publish in magazines?”
“Yes.” James’s stomach roiled. “Except, well, except mine couldn’t ever be published.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a, uhm, a love story.” James’s heart began to pound. “Between two men.”
Cassian’s eyebrows shot up.
“Sorry.” James winced. “I know that’s . . . not the most comfortable subject. But I’m really only writing it for myself. And I like men, so I . . . well, so that’s what I wanted to . . . to write.”
Cassian only hummed. James began rolling his pen between his fingers.
“I want you to tell me about it,” Cassian remarked after a while.
James stopped twirling the pen. “Are you sure?”
Cassian nodded, the movement nearly imperceptible, as though he could barely force himself to respond, even without words.
“Alright, well, uhm, there’s a sailor,” James said. “He’s inexperienced. But eager to learn. He’s hungry for it. For knowledge. For adventure. But he’s na?ve. He has no concept of the types of perils that wait for him in open waters.”
Nervousness twisted in James’s stomach. He paused to check on Cassian, to see whether or not the man might want to hear more.
“I’m intrigued,” Cassian said. “Go on.”
James swallowed thickly. His hands began to tremble a little.
“Eventually, his ship will be attacked. He’ll be taken by pirates. Or, well, I mean, the, uhm, the rival ship, it has more than one pirate. But there’s only one who . . .”
James couldn’t even make himself continue. It seemed so ridiculous now.
“Who . . . ?” Cassian prodded.
“I can’t.”
Cassian leveled a look. “James.”
James’s face caught fire. He knew right then and there that he’d have to tell Cassian the rest, no matter how embarrassed he was. Dammit, how did Cassian manage to do this to him?
Bracing himself for further humiliation, James said, “There’s only one who . . . takes him.”
“Takes him?” Cassian asked, crooking an eyebrow once again.
“Sexually.”
Cassian’s eyes bulged. “Dear Lord.”
“Sorry,” James said through a cringe.
“I thought this was a love story,” Cassian said with a half-laugh and a shake of his head.
James chuckled a little, too. “It is!”
“Does the man want to be . . . taken?” Cassian asked.
“Yes? I mean, not . . . exactly. Yes and no.” James released his pen and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, hell, it seems horrible when I say it out loud.”
Cassian laughed some more. “Oh, come on, James, everyone has fantasies.”
“Not ones like mine.”
James’s embarrassing confession hung between them for several seconds.
“I-it’s not as though I’d like that sort of thing in real life,” James stammered. “I mean, maybe . . . f-for pretend.”
Cassian cleared his throat, prompting James to stop rambling.
“I can see myself . . . enjoying a story like this one,” he said.
It sent James’s heart aflutter. Warmth settled in his chest. And . . . elsewhere.
Oh, God, to think of Cassian taking him like that . . .
“Really?” James asked through a whisper, peeking out from behind his hands.
Once again, Cassian merely nodded, only now, there wasn’t even a hint of nervousness or heartache in the man’s eyes. All there seemed to be was want.
Slowly, James removed his hands from his face, his whole entire body, every muscle, every fiber, now vibrating from a flood of nervousness and shame and elation and an intense, pulsating, incredible yearning to make his immoral, wicked fantasies come to fruition.
James’s pen rolled off of his notebook onto the floorboards.
“Sorry,” James spluttered.
At the same time, both men leaned forward to reach for it.
And then, their fingers touched.