6
That evening, I texted Atticus to tell him I enjoyed meeting him, and I asked if he was interested in a double date. He seemed enthusiastic about the idea — at least, as enthusiastic as he could be with his formal way of writing — and said he’d bring his friend Elena.
After we finalised the plan to have dinner on Friday at six, I called Leo. As the phone rang, I leaned back in my desk chair. The sun began to set through my apartment windows, streaking clouds with pink.
Leo answered immediately. “Hey Winnie! What’s up?”
I huffed in fake annoyance. “What are you doing Friday night?”
“Probably frantically finishing my mid-sem project.”
“Is that the model you’re making?”
“Yeah, it’s due at midnight.”
“Oh.”
“Why, did you want to hang out?”
“Well, you know my double date plan? Atticus agreed, and we decided on Friday night since that’s the only time that works for both of us, but your project —”
“I can finish it early,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“I can make it,” Leo said firmly. “This will force me to not leave the final details to the last minute like I always do. I have classes on Friday, so…” he trailed off as he worked it out in his head. “I’ll submit it Thursday night.”
“Are you sure?” I couldn’t help but ask again.
“Of course. I can’t let you down, especially after you begged me to help you.”
“I didn’t beg.”
“You said, ‘Please, Leo, please.’ I’d classify that as begging.”
“Oh, whatever.”
He laughed. “So I’ll see you on Friday?”
“Yep, I’ll text you the details.”
Thursday night, I messaged Leo.
Edwin: How’s it going with your project?
He replied a minute later with a photo of his desk. It was even messier than I remembered it, the white surface almost completely covered in pieces of card and paper of all different colours and textures.
Leo: I’d say 50% to go.
Edwin: 50%??? You said you planned to submit it tonight.
Leo: Yeah, I will, but maybe later than I expected, lol.
Leo: I’ll finish it by 6am definitely
Edwin: Are you sure? If you can’t make the date on Friday, I get it.
Leo: No, don’t worry, I’ll get it done tonight! Trust me.
I bit my thumbnail as I read his message. How could he be so relaxed?
Edwin: Do you need help?
Leo: You really want me to go on this double date with you, don’t you haha.
Edwin: And I want to help you with your project. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.
Leo: Actually?
Leo: Because if you did help I might be able to go to sleep at a reasonable time haha
Edwin: Yeah I’m serious.
Edwin: What’s your address again? I can swing by now.
Yes, I’d been to his place on Monday night, but I’d been too distracted then to pay attention to where exactly he lived.
Once he sent his address, I texted him, letting him know I’d be there in 15. I packed my backpack with my things, including my keys, wallet, and a water bottle, and then headed out into the night. It was only eight, but the city was relatively quiet. I took a tram to Leo’s street and stopped at a convenience store on the way, the only place that was still open that sold coffee.
Leo was waiting for me in the lobby of his building. He wore shorts and a baggy grey hoodie, which made his upper body look even broader than usual.
“You brought coffee?” he said, perking up at the sight of the two takeaway cups in my hands.
“You said you were addicted,” I said, handing him his cup. “I got hot chocolate for myself. Hopefully, the sugar gives me an extra burst of energy.”
“Thanks for coming,” Leo said as we walked to the elevator. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” I said. “How’s your project?”
“It’s fine. I don’t need to think, which is good. Just finish it so I can take photos of it.” We arrived on his floor, and he led me into his studio and to his desk. His model was more finished than what I’d seen the last time I visited, but it was still only the bones of a building. Walls, half-completed windows, beams.
“How can I help?” I asked.
He dug through the items on his desk to reveal several pieces of cream and grey cardboard. There were faint pencil marks on the card. “Can you cut these out? You can use this box cutter, and where’s the…here.” He pushed scraps of paper to the side, revealing a green cutting mat.
“Seems easy enough.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty simple, just time-consuming.”
We settled at the desk, Leo giving me a stool to sit on. I placed my hot chocolate in the corner of the desk where there was no risk of it staining the model materials. Leo continued working on his model. He already had several pieces cut out, and now he was carefully gluing a staircase together. I glanced around his studio. Paper was scattered over his bed, looking like architectural plans. On his side of the desk, next to the coffee I’d bought him, were two empty mugs.
“What were you doing before this?” Leo asked. His desk lamp was on and pointed at his model, and his eyes were intent on it, hands steady, but his voice was laid back as always.
“Working on an assignment.”
He looked at me. “It’s not due soon, is it?”
“Nah,” I replied. “Not for two weeks.”
I used the box cutter to carve out the pieces of card, trying to be as careful as possible. I couldn’t ruin Leo’s project with wobbly edges and wonky lines.
“Have you heard much about the double date?” he asked.
I had, actually. Atticus let me know that his friend was confirmed to come and that they’d made a reservation at a restaurant in Chinatown. I relayed that information to Leo, who said, “It’ll be fun.”
“Hopefully. Who knows, you might really like Atticus’s friend. He said her name was Elena.”
“That’s a pretty name,” Leo mused. “But I don’t have my hopes up.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I don’t want to be disappointed. Besides, it’s unlikely that she’s my type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, frowning. “You’re judging her before you’ve even met her.”
I sensed him glancing at me before he returned his eyes to the model. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologise,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s probably smarter to go in with no expectations.”
“That’s what happened with Atticus,” he said.
“True.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “So, he’s your type then? Slim and shorter than you?”
“I don’t have a type looks-wise,” I said. “I like all types of guys. Taller, shorter, broader, leaner, bigger, smaller. Blonde, brunette, red hair. Long hair, short. Green eyes, blue eyes, brown.”
“Come on, you have to have a type.”
“I really don’t. It’s like watching Hollywood movies. You can recognise loads of different actors are hot even if they look totally different.”
He poked my arm, eyes still on his model. “You’re giving me the diplomatic answer. If you could design the perfect boyfriend, what would he look like?”
“Fine,” I groaned. “My perfect boyfriend would be tall and kinda muscular. He doesn’t have to be jacked or anything, just pretty fit. He would have a nice smile and pretty eyes — blue eyes, I’m a sucker for blue. And blond hair. Dark blond —” I cut myself off abruptly, realising I was describing the man beside me.
Leo didn’t react. I could tell he was listening, but his hands were still moving, working on his model.
“And he has beach waves,” I blurted. “And he surfs.”
“He surfs?” Leo echoed
“Yep. He’s the typical blond, wavy-haired surfer boy.” I didn’t give a crap about guys who surfed — I just needed to start describing someone who was the opposite of the man sitting beside me. “And he has a massive surfboard.”
Leo paused. “Is the surfboard important?”
“Some would argue it’s the most important thing of all. It has to be clean. When people keep their things clean, it says a lot about them. I don’t want to date someone unhygienic.”
He nodded.
“And it has to be thick. I don’t want him to have some flimsy floppy surfboard.” Last year, I’d chatted up a guy who surfed at a queer bar. He told me all about the different types of surfboards while I half-listened, wondering whether he’d go home with me. Now, I tried to remember what he’d said. “And it has to have a good thrust.”
Leo made a weird noise.
Was he on to my bullshit? “Thrusts are very important to surfboards,” I said seriously. “It’s what propels the surfboard forward.”
“I…see.”
“Finally, it has to be long. It’s more comfortable to sit on a long surfboard.”
“And you’ll be…sitting on this guy’s surfboard?”
“Of course. That’s one of the major reasons I’ll be dating the guy — so we can surf together.”
Leo nodded slowly as if considering something deep. “And what do you consider to be long?”
“Hmm.” What had surfer hookup guy said? “Six, six point 5. Maybe even seven?”
Leo’s head whipped to look at me. “Seven inches?”
“What? No! Seven feet. So that’d be over two metres.” I blinked at him. “How could a surfboard be seven inches? That’d be impossible to ride.”
“Right,” Leo said. “Right, it’d be impossible to ride a seven-inch…” he trailed off, and then the strangest thing happened — he went red. Scarlet washed over his face in slow motion, from his neck to his hairline.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Are you having an allergic reaction?”
He startled and let go of his model to press both hands to his cheeks. “Fuck me,” he muttered, so low I barely heard it. “It’s nothing,” he told me, his voice back to a normal volume. “I’m being stupid.”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes, so I didn’t push it. A few minutes passed, and we paused our work every now and then to sip our drinks. Carving shapes out of paper wasn’t exciting, but I found it satisfying as I worked through an entire sheet.
Leo cleared his throat. “So, uh, you know your imaginary perfect boyfriend?”
“What about him?”
Leo dabbed some glue to the top of a wall so he could start constructing the second story. “What does he wear?”
“Board shorts to surf, of course,” I joked. “And if not that…maybe a sleeveless top?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. One that shows off his arms. I’m a fan of nice arms. A sleeveless top is the sluttiest thing a guy can wear —” I cut myself off. “No, actually, a compression top. A tight black compression top. That’s hot.”
“And that’s the…sluttiest thing a guy can wear?” Leo sounded uncertain.
I nodded. “When I say slutty, I mean that in the complimentary, reclaimed sense.”
“Right.” Leo took another sip of his coffee. “What’s your type personality-wise?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. I mean, there’s all the obvious things, like if it’s easy to talk to him, and if he’s funny and kind. I suppose I like friendly guys, but I don’t think Atticus is really like that. But who knows? Maybe once we get to know each other, he’ll surprise me.”
“How are you not sure what you like, though?”
“I’ve never had a relationship. I didn’t date in high school. My parents didn’t let me because they said it’d distract me from studying, and even if I was allowed, I didn’t like anyone in high school. All the guys were either straight or ugly or had the personality of a slice of bread.”
“What about when you came to uni?”
“I was too busy celebrating my freedom, slutting it up,” I said. “Eventually, I realised that as much as I liked having fun, I wanted something real, y’know? Something deeper than just sex. Some people might think it’s strange that I’m twenty and I’ve never been in a relationship, but that’s just how it’s turned out.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” Leo admitted.
“Really?” I tried not to sound as shocked as I felt.
He nodded. “So don’t worry. It’s not strange.”
“That’s really…reassuring. If someone like you has never had a girlfriend, that makes me feel a lot better about my singleness. Have you been messing around instead?”
He flushed but didn’t answer. That was fair enough — some guys didn’t like to talk about sex. I believed there were two categories of men. The type who was proud of getting laid, like it was an accomplishment, and then there was the type who kept it private. Not because they were ashamed or embarrassed — at least not all of them — but because it was personal and vulnerable, and they didn’t want to share that with others.
After my hoe era in first year, I talked about sex like I talked about food. But if I was in a proper relationship, I’d probably fall into the second category. I wouldn’t want to share the details of my sex life with my boyfriend with anyone. I’d want it to belong to only us.
I finished the first card of cutouts, stacked them into a neat pile, and passed them to Leo. He thanked me, and I watched his crafting for a moment. He’d constructed a winding staircase that looked perfectly round, each movement of his hands deliberate and sure. He barely glanced at his plans — it must’ve been all in his head.
Then, realising I was wasting time, I returned my focus to the next cutout.
The first hour passed by quickly, and we drained our beverages. Leo stood up and stretched, arching his back, head thrown back to expose his Adam’s apple. I looked away before I started feeling like a pervert. He went to his espresso machine — a tiny, cheap thing that used pods — and started making another cup.
“I only have coffee, sorry,” he said with a wince.
“That’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”
He asked if I wanted anything to eat, but I wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t either, because he returned to the desk with nothing but his coffee.
We worked for another half hour, and once I finally finished cutting out all the card pieces, my fingers felt tight and blistery. “Oh god, how do design students do this?” I asked, rubbing the pads of my fingers, which had formed about twenty callouses.
“You get used to the pain,” Leo said. “My hands are kind of rough now. Feel.”
I reached over. The pads of his fingers were slightly tougher than mine, but they were still soft. Young person hands. Nineteen-year-old hands.
“Your hands are bigger than mine,” I said, comparing them side by side. “How are yours so much more nimble?”
“Years of practice,” Leo replied, flashing a smile.
“You’ve been building things since before uni?” I asked.
“When I was in primary school, I made birdhouses with my pop.”
“Really?”
“He did all the cutting and stuff. He wasn’t crazy enough to let a kid near a power saw. But I put things together and liked decorating them with windows and roof tiles. If birds were going to live there, it should at least be pretty.”
“That’s adorable,” I said.
He blushed. “I started making more elaborate stuff when I was in high school. Once I was old enough to use everything in pop’s toolshed. I was like, ‘Houses are out. The birds in my neighbourhood deserve mansions and palaces.’”
“Did you build things for other animals?”
“I made possum boxes. Pop lived on the outskirts of Sydney, with a national park in his backyard, so I have had a lot of contact with wild animals since I was a kid. I thought about studying to be a vet, but science is not really my thing. I almost failed Chemistry.”
“God, Chem was my worst subject,” I said.
After I’d thrown away all my rubbish, Leo got me to glue a print out of brick texture to slices of paper, which was easier than cutting. Later, he instructed me to glue together a few trees. He said they didn’t have to be perfect since they weren’t part of the main building, so they wouldn’t be a major factor in deciding his grade. Nonetheless, I paid careful attention to gluing together the branches to the trunk.
“Shit,” Leo said once the time clicked past midnight. “I’ve kept you here for hours.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
“But aren’t you tired?”
“Not really.” I felt relaxed but not drowsy. “Besides, you haven’t finished yet.”
“I can’t expect you to help me to the very end,” he said.
“Why not?” At his expression, I added, “You’re doing me a favour tomorrow. The least I can do is help. I’m enjoying myself. Trust me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Besides, you’re good company. It’s all good, Leo.”
“Okay.” Then he smiled, so wide and sweet, and I had to look away.