15
Later, when I opened my eyes to see the sky was dark through the windows, I realised we’d fallen asleep. My stirring woke up Nick too. He looked at the dried mess on his stomach and thigh and groaned, a noise that had no business sounding as hot as it did.
“Want a shower?” he asked, showing me to his bathroom. It was half the size of my ensuite: a tiny sink, a toilet, and a shower with a thin plastic curtain. It reminded me of an aeroplane bathroom.
“You can go first,” he said, passing me a towel and starting to head out.
I grabbed his arm. “Let’s shower together.”
“We’re not going to fit.”
“We might ,” I countered, tugging him closer.
Nick made some muttering noises, but he didn’t actually protest.
“I think you’ve forgotten,” Nick said when I stepped into the shower after him and pulled the curtain closed behind me, “that you’re a giant.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been aware of my height ever since I was fourteen.” I looked up at the ceiling, which was dangerously close to the top of my head.
Warm water hit my shoulders and slid down my back, steam rising up in the air. It looked like the shower head had been designed to reduce water usage, so while the water was warm, there wasn’t a whole lot of it, and we could easily hear each other over it.
“We can’t even move,” Nick said, and to be fair, he was flattened against the wall.
“We don’t need to move,” I said. “Stay still. I’ll wash you.” I reached for his bar soap, lathered it up between my hands, then started scrubbing his belly.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, looking down at my hands on his abdomen.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I admitted.
“Wash dried cum off a guy’s stomach?”
“No,” I said. “Shower with someone.”
“As in shower sex?”
“No. Well, maybe that too, but this as well. It’s intimate in a non-sexual way, you know?”
Nick was staring at me, droplets of water catching on his eyebrows and eyelashes. Standing so close to him, I could see all the earthy shades in his irises. He parted his lips as if to say something—
And then the water turned ice-cold. I shrieked. “What the hell?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nick said, shoving me past the shower curtain. “Get out, get out.”
We spilled out of the shower. In the mirror’s reflection, we looked like a pair of drowned rats.
“What happened? Did one of us bump the tap?” I asked.
“No,” he said, scrubbing the water out of his eyes. “It’s something that happens. I think the hot water system in this building is messed up, so sometimes the water randomly turns cold. Usually, I just move out of the way, but since we were both in there, there was nowhere to move.” He handed me a towel. “Sorry. I warned you my place is pretty shit.”
“It’s fine,” I said, wrapping myself in the grey towel. “They say cold showers are good for your health.”
That, at least, made him smile. He used the sink to wash off the rest of the cum on his skin. “You want to get something to eat after this?”
“Sure. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t have much here, but we could grab some groceries from down the street. I’m not as good as a cook as Elena, though.” He paused. “Unless you wanted to eat out?”
I shook my head. “No, let’s cook. It’ll be fun.”
After we dried ourselves off, we got changed and left the building carrying a reusable shopping bag each. Traffic lights were bright and vivid against the navy sky.
“Aldi is down that way,” Nick said, pointing towards the city. “It’s a short walk.”
“Is Aldi the closest grocery store to you?” I asked.
“There’s a Coles around the corner, but Aldi is cheaper, and I refuse to support a duopoly.”
“A duopoly?” I asked.
“It’s like a monopoly, but with two companies.”
“Oh yeah? Tell me more, Mr Commerce Student.”
Nick hesitated, like he couldn’t tell whether I was teasing him, but clearly, he had a burning passion for the topic because a second later, he was explaining how Coles and Woolworths could jack up their prices with little to no consequences.
It was nice to hear Nick talk so much without interruption. I realised that most of the time, he was a guy of few words. But as he talked about price gouging, I felt a pang of guilt.
The truth was, I shopped at whatever supermarket was closest, and I threw food into my shopping cart without thinking twice. Elena and I chose the gourmet pasta sauce, the expensive coffee beans, and bought mangoes, berries and pistachios when we felt like it.
My parents gave me an allowance, and I didn’t need to work a part-time job. I lived in a nice apartment. Nick lived in a run-down building with a shower that randomly spat out ice-cold water.
His self-consciousness made sense. I just needed to show him that it didn’t matter to me without insulting his pride.
We arrived at Aldi, which was surprisingly quiet for a Saturday evening.
“Alright, what do you want?” Nick asked, picking up a basket.
“I’m happy with anything. What do you like to cook?”
“I have rice at home, so I can make a crap version of red curry.”
I agreed although I wasn’t sure what a ‘crap version of red curry’ entailed. We picked up pumpkin and beans, some chicken breast, and a jar of curry paste from the pantry aisle.
Once dinner was sorted, we grabbed a bottle of orange juice to drink and a frozen tiramisu for dessert. After we used the self-serve machines to scan the groceries, we walked back to Nick’s place.
“I’m so excited,” I said. “I’m starving now.”
“Don’t have high expectations,” Nick warned me. “When I say I cook, I mean I make something mostly edible. It tastes fine to me, but I think half of my tastebuds don’t work.”
I laughed. “Alright. My expectations are rock bottom.”
Once back in his place, he instructed me to cut up the pumpkin and beans. He cooked the meat and did some magic with the red curry paste, which quickly filled his studio with a rich, spicy fragrance.
He cooked rice in a saucepan, and he seemed pretty proficient at it. The one and only time I’d attempted to make rice, I’d burnt the bottom of it, and the rest had been intolerably crunchy.
Half an hour later, we were seated at his desk. His meal was on a plate, mine was in a bowl. He used a fork, I used a spoon. He only had one of each piece of cutlery, so we had to make do.
“Mm!” I said after taking the first bite.
“It’s kind of offensive you sound so surprised,” Nick said.
“Hey, you’re the one who told me to have rock-bottom expectations.”
He was quiet as he swallowed a few bites. “It’s not as good as the restaurant’s one.”
“The restaurant you work at?”
“Yeah. Sometimes they give me containers of leftovers. It’s really good.”
“Sounds like a good job.”
“It is,” Nick agreed. “The people there are very friendly. They pay me in cash, which is a little sketchy, but other than that, it’s great.”
“At least you don’t have to pay tax,” I pointed out.
“True,” he said. “On the other hand, I live in constant fear that the money I hide under my bed will be stolen.”
“Now I know where to look.”
Nick smiled. “I’m kidding. I deposit the cash as soon as I receive it. I am paranoid about the robbing thing. There have been thefts in this building. Tyler said that someone stole alcohol from him, but now that I say it aloud, he probably just drank it all and then forgot.”
I laughed before eating a few more spoonfuls. Whatever Nick said, this was pretty good.
“What do you want to do after this?” I asked. “Want to watch a movie?”
“I don’t have a TV,” he pointed out.
“We can watch something on your laptop,” I said.
“Okay, sure.” He shot me a look. “Do you want to watch the rest of that video essay?”
“Nah, let’s watch a rom-com.”
That seemed to take him aback. “A rom-com? Like what?”
I shrugged. “I’ll search one up. It’ll be cute!”
“Whatever,” he said, sounding sceptical.
After we finished eating, Nick pulled out a container and filled half of it with curry and the other half with rice. “For Tyler,” he explained. “I should go check on him. Knowing him, he’s either freaking out about his assignment, or he’s already given up and texting randoms on Grindr.”
“You’re a good friend,” I said.
“It’s just leftovers. I won’t be long.”
“Sure. I’ll research rom-coms,” I said.
It only took me a few seconds on my phone to find an article listing the best romantic comedy movies of all time. Which meant for the next few minutes, I was left alone in his studio with nothing to do.
I didn’t dig through drawers or search the back of his closet, but I did look at what was out on display. His bedside table displayed nothing except an Ikea lamp, a box of tissues and his phone charger. Above his desk, he didn’t have any pictures or decorations, just the paper calendar Lygon U handed out to all of its students. Next to the laptop was a black water bottle decorated with a 10 km charity run sticker. Sitting on the shelf above his desk were two notebooks, a cap, a pair of sunglasses, an air freshener and a bottle of magnesium supplements.
I stepped into his bathroom. I’d noticed the shower shelf earlier—bar soap (the sight of which would have given Lisa a heart attack; she always bought me bottles of body wash), shampoo, conditioner and a loofah. Near the sink was deodorant and a clean razor. On the very top shelf above his sink was an unopened six-pack of toilet paper.
The door opened. “What are you doing?” Nick asked, looking at me through the open bathroom door.
“Snooping.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“You’re very neat. My room must look like a mess compared to yours.”
“It doesn’t. You just have more things than me.”
I stepped out of the bathroom and followed him to his bed. “How was Tyler?”
“He was talking about dropping out.”
I froze. “What?”
“He talks about dropping out five times a year. I’m not concerned. The food seemed to cheer him up, though.” Nick fell down onto the edge of his bed. “Have you chosen a movie yet?”
“Here are the options,” I said, showing him my phone screen. “British rom-com one, British rom-com two with a love triangle, and British rom-com three, Christmas edition.”
“Why do all these movies have Hugh Grant?”
I took a closer look at my phone. “Hmm. You’re right.”
“Let’s go with British rom-com one. It looks the least excruciating.”
“I bet you’ll secretly enjoy it,” I said.
Five minutes later, we had changed out of our uncomfortable day clothes. Nick wore an oversized T-shirt and worn shorts. I wore my pyjamas, and I thought he’d tease me about them, but instead, he pinched the satin between his fingers and murmured, “Soft.”
We sat side by side on the bed, backs against the headboard, and he pulled the movie up on his laptop.
“This is so dumb,” he muttered as the film began with a panning shot of London.
I shushed him, and despite his occasional grumblings, as the movie continued, he became quieter and quieter, even laughing softly now and then. I did the mature thing and didn’t rub his obvious enjoyment in his face.
Halfway through the movie, we took the tiramisu from the fridge and ate it straight from the plastic container with a fork and spoon. It tasted great, the movie was great, and I had Nick sitting right beside me in his bed that smelled like him.
“Isn’t that so romantic?” I asked when Julia Roberts gave her famous speech. “I can’t wait for that to happen to me.”
“What, for a movie star to confess her love for you?” Nick asked dryly.
“When I get to give a romantic speech to the person I love,” I corrected.
I expected him to make fun of me, and he did roll his eyes, but the corners of his lips quirked up. “Alright, and what are you going to say in the speech?”
“The stuff everyone says. I’ll talk about how amazing they are, and how much I love them, how perfect we’d be together, etcetera, etcetera.” I stopped there when the characters on screen continued to talk, not wanting to miss what they said.
When the movie ended, the credits rolling over the black screen, I turned to Nick. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“It was fine.”
“It wasn’t just fine! You liked it.”
“Can you read my mind now?”
I opened my mouth to answer that yes, I could, even though that was a lie. Nick leaned over the bed to set his laptop down. “I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep.”
We brushed our teeth, cramped in his tiny bathroom. Afterwards, we flicked all the lights off and got into his bed.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and tugged him close. I couldn’t get over how slim he was under the bulk of his winter clothing. Other people wouldn’t know about it, wouldn’t be able to touch him like this.
Only me.
Well, me and everyone else he’d had sex with.
Nick rolled over so he was the little spoon, slotting against me like a puzzle piece.
“Let’s not do this again.” His voice was quiet.
My heart stopped. “What?”
He froze, then turned around so quickly I almost got elbowed in the face. “I mean, let’s not stay over at my place again,” he clarified. “In the future, let’s stay at yours.”
“Why? Your place is fine.” Was he insecure about it?
“Yeah, but I have a single bed.”
“So?”
“So, have you ever shared a single bed with a man who’s 195 centimetres?”
My shoulders relaxed as I laughed softly. “You’re not falling off the bed, are you?”
“Just a little.”
I pushed myself backwards so my back was flattened against the wall. “Is that better?”
“Marginally,” he said. “It’s okay. I don’t think there’s any way we’d both fit comfortably unless we were literally on top of each other, which would probably lead to me suffocating.”
“I thought we established you were into that.”
That startled a noise from him. He shoved my shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”
I turned him around so we were cuddling again, his back to my chest.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“What?” In any other circumstance, it would’ve been amusing how quickly he stiffened. I rubbed the sides of his arms to get him to relax.
“Why don’t you want a relationship?”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “I just don’t.”
“But why?”
“Why do you care?” His voice was close to sharp.
“Why wouldn’t I be curious? I liked hanging out with you today. You’re my friend. You’re my friend, and I want to have sex with you,” I said slowly, putting my thoughts together for the first time. “Doesn’t that mean I…”
“You what?” Nick’s voice was low. “A relationship is different,” he said when I didn’t reply. “You have to expose yourself more to a partner than to a friend.”
“But I’ve already exposed myself,” I said. “You’ve seen all the weird parts of me.”
“You’re not weird. I know I call you a weirdo,” Nick said, as if anticipating my response, “but in actuality, you’re… nice. And normal.”
Normal. I wasn’t sure whether to take that as an insult.
Silence stretched out between us. Maybe I’d ruined the mood, but Nick didn’t pull away from my arms.
“Am I holding you too tight?” I whispered.
“No,” he replied. “You’re not.”