Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Aidan
I don’t know if Ludo will show up. And if he does, I have zero clue what we’re going to do. Common sense dictates that we’ll slide into the routine we’ve followed for weeks now, but a nagging in my heart tells me something between us has changed. And it has nothing to do with kissing.
Or not kissing.
Whatever.
It’s definitely my turn to cook.
After work I refuse Bernard’s offer of a pint and schlep to the shop nearest my place.
It’s not as posh as the one Ludo uses. It caters to the handful of flats and bedsits rather than the bazillion listed cottages and mansions, but it’s got sausages—which I know Ludo likes—and frozen chips. Even I can’t fuck that up.
I’m starving, but I walk home vowing not to cook until Ludo arrives. Relief almost drowns me when I find him waiting on my doorstep. “All right, mate?”
He throws me a tired smile. “I am now. What did you get?”
“Bangers.” I hold my shopping bag up. “And chips. That okay?”
“Anything that isn’t hospital food is okay with me.”
I feel bad that I haven’t cooked for him before, but it’s hard to do something I know I’m shit at when he does it so much better.
And he’s comfortable in the kitchen—his or mine.
Relaxed. Happy. I’m addicted to watching him when he thinks I’m busy in the garden.
The way he bites his lip when he’s peering into the pasta pot, messy hair in his eyes.
I try not to think about the fact that he won’t touch a knife.
To wonder why when the reality is I already know, even if he hasn’t told me.
He might never tell me.
“Aidan?”
“Yeah?”
Ludo bites his bottom lip. “I’m sorry I’ve been a weirdo.”
“You’re not a weirdo.”
“Not true.”
“It is if you’re apologising for having mental health issues, mate. Fuck that noise.” I turn my back on him and open the door. It swings shut behind me, but Ludo catches it with his foot and follows me inside.
He doesn’t speak for ages, so I busy myself turning the oven on and searching for the baking trays he bought me a few weeks ago. It takes me far too long to remember that loaded silences freak him out.
It helps that I’m kind of stuck in a misguided crouch. I hold out my hand. “Can you help me up?”
Ludo comes to life in ways I can’t describe.
He takes my outstretched hand and pries the other from the counter.
I borrow his strength and balance as he hauls me to my feet, and somehow we end up nose-to-nose.
In the murky depths of my mind I consider breaking every vow I’ve made about kissing him, but I don’t move.
I don’t breathe. I just stare at him and pray that one day soon, he’ll kiss me.
Like he hears my thoughts, Ludo licks his lips, and I trace his tongue as it darts out in its fleeting sweep. I have never wanted someone so bad in my whole life.
I’m hot.
I’m cold.
I’m shaking, and yet I’m frozen in place. Only my heart seems to move freely, and every thudding beat is for him.
Ludo squeezes his eyes shut. “I know I keep trying to explain inexplicable things, but you have to know how good you make me feel when you look at me like that.”
“Why are you closing your eyes then?”
“Because it scares me. Everything does. Do you know how it feels to never be sure if you’re truly happy or sliding into mania? To distrust every emotion?”
Of course I don’t. I don’t have the first clue what it’s like to be Ludo, but I want to. I want to know everything he’s prepared to tell me.
Fuck it. I take a chance and press a soft kiss to his glorious cheekbone. “I don’t know how you feel, but I know how I feel, and that scares me a bit too.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s brand new. I’m not used to liking people.”
Ludo snorts and opens his eyes. “You’re pretty likeable too, you know.”
“Yeah. Okay. Do you want bread and butter with your dinner?”
The standoff is over, and for once it’s a clean break. Ludo nods and releases his death grip on my hands. “For sure. I’ll do it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse his help and pack him off to the couch, but he’s not me, so I give him things to do until our nursery dinner is ready.
We take our plates to the couch. I open the back door and the cat strolls in, sniffing the sausage-scented air.
I’ve been the victim of his drive-by swipes too many times to let that shit slide. I move my foot to nudge him out, but Ludo’s frown stops me. “He’ll jump you,” I warn.
Ludo shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
The cat wins, and he beats me to the couch, settling into my spot as though he’s been there all along. He leans against Ludo and nudges the hand holding his fork. It’s sweet, but I know what’s coming.
Still. At least it’s not my dinner under attack.
We eat in companionable silence. I’ve overcooked the chips, but Ludo doesn’t seem to mind. He makes thick sandwiches, dripping with butter and ketchup, and eats every crumb.
“God, that was good.” He flops back on the couch, rubbing his stomach. He’s saved a tiny sausage morsel for the cat and holds it out. “Is it yours?”
“The cat?” I shove my last bite into my mouth. “Hell no. Little shit just comes in every day begging.”
“But you have cat food in your cupboard.”
“He’s an efficient squatter.”
“Oh wow.” Ludo grins as wide as I’ve ever seen him. “You are way nicer than you think.”
“Shut up.”
Ludo yawns. “I might have to. You’ve put me in a food coma.”
“It’s about my turn, but don’t go to sleep yet. I’ve got something for you.”
I take the plates to the kitchen and fish a plastic pot from the back of my fridge. It’s the most ridiculous thing, but I wasn’t able to leave the shop without buying it, a state of affairs I usually reserve for Stella Artois. I return to the couch and hold it out. “Here you go.”
Ludo sits up and plucks the pot from my hand. “Fudge flavour? That’s amazing. Where did you find it?”
“In the offie. They get random shit in sometimes. Surplus stock, I reckon, not like all that fancy pants avocado stuff you get at the co-op.”
“I’ve never bought an avocado in my life, and I only go to that shop because it’s closest to my house.” Ludo shoots me a faux glare and tears the yoghurt pot open. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
I don’t tell him that I held an actual conversation with crazy-pen-lid man across the aisle to secure the pot I gave him in the hospital.
Smiling, I watch him eat, much like I did then, but it’s different this time because he’s in my house.
He’s with me because he wants to be, not because we’ve been forced together by blood and pain.
You morbid fucker.
Not on purpose.
Ludo finishes the yoghurt and gets up to throw the pot in the bin. When he comes back, he surprises me by sliding closer on the couch than he was before. His thigh touches mine, and he leans on me, eyes closed, his limbs liquid.
“I’m so tired,” he says. “I could fall asleep right here.”
I drop a cautious arm around him. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“I have to get back for Bella.”
“How about a little nod? I’ll wake you up in a bit and walk you home.”
Ludo makes a sound I take as consent and presses tighter against me. I hold him close as the cat that isn’t my cat looks on and wonder if I’m dreaming.
Ludo
I wake up with a crick in my neck, and three things strike me all at once.
One: my chest isn’t gripped with the crippling anxiety I usually wake with.
Two: I’m not at home.
Three: despite his promise to wake me up and walk me home, Aidan is fast asleep.
With Bella on my mind, I check the time and relief washes over me as I realise it’s not that late. That despite feeling as though I’ve been asleep in Aidan’s arms my whole life, it’s actually only been an hour.
I disentangle us but don’t go far. Can’t, because I’m enraptured: I can’t take my eyes off him. I stare at Aidan all the time but rarely without being caught. With him fast asleep, head tipped back, features smooth, I take my fill of him, undisturbed.
God, he’s beautiful. Even his imperfections make my head spin.
I trace his jaw with my fingertip and then the jagged scar along my own.
Usually, it’s enough to ground me, to remind me of my place in the world, but in the peaceful darkness of Aidan’s quiet bedsit, I don’t care for the dingy hole I dug for myself so many years ago.
I don’t care about anything except how it feels to be this close to him.
I touch him again, dragging my thumb over his cheek, and cupping his face in my steady hand.
Cos that’s the other thing about being around Aidan; I don’t shake.
One hand is joined by the other, and before long I’m tangling my fingers in his hair, willing him to wake up so I can lose myself in his stormy gaze.
Or maybe that’s where I’ll find myself.
Either way, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
“Aidan.”
I whisper, but somehow he hears me. He stirs and my name is on his lips as he opens his eyes.
“Ludo.”
I bite my lip as he acclimatises to me leaning over him on his couch, invading his personal space without invitation. But as I open my mouth to apologise and shift to back up, he seizes my wrists and pulls me on top of him.
He’s broader than me, and my battered bones creak as I straddle him, but we fit together. I press my forehead against his and he wraps his arms around me. I want him to kiss me, but instinct tells me he won’t. That if I want this, I need to reach out and take it.
My hands find his face again. I kiss him, but it’s not the same. Our lips meet and stars explode, as if all the sweetness that’s come before has been used up.
The scruff on his face scrapes my skin, and the roughness heats my blood. I clutch at him and kiss him harder. Aidan groans. A sound escapes me too, but I’m so far gone I don’t catch it.
He’s wearing too many clothes.
The errant thought strikes a match under the desire I’ve carried for so long. I twist my fingers into his T-shirt. My thumbs graze the heated skin of his abdomen and all I can think of is stripping him bare so I can feel him all over me.
Aidan slips his tongue into my mouth. I fall slack and cognitive function abandons me. For long moments my world is narrowed to the slippery velvet invading my mouth and the sparks of magic it sets off in my soul.
“Whoa.” Aidan’s voice is rougher than ever as he pulls away. “We better stop this shit before it gets out of control.”
He’s not out of control. He’s riled up, flushed and breathing hard, but there’s caution too, that I’m grateful for, despite the fact that every fibre of my being is screaming at him to throw me down and—
“Ludo.”
There’s no question in the way he says my name.
He isn’t asking me if I’m okay, and I’m thankful for that too.
So much of my life is wasted checking and testing my emotions.
Right now I don’t need that. I just need him to keep gazing at me like I’m his most precious thing. “I should probably go home.”
He nods. “I’ll walk you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
I have no argument. We leave the bedsit.
Cool evening air hits me and the razor-sharp edges of the inferno we started on his couch soften a little.
I want to take his hand, but I don’t know if he’s into queer PDAs, so I don’t, and we walk side-by-side, elbows bumping every other step until he slips an arm around me.
We reach my house far too soon. I open my mouth to invite him in. He silences me with a slow kiss, backing me against my front door.
My street is well lit and full of neighbours with twitching curtains, but it’s clear Aidan doesn’t care. So I don’t either, and I kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, cursing the fact that the oxygen in my lungs is finite.
I run out of air and pull back. “I—”
Aidan taps a finger to my lips. “Call me soon.”