Lucas Makes Friends and Influences People #2
“It was cartoon bloody penguins what bought this last round, so shut it,” Armand huffed defensively, his cheeks flushed pink.
I raised my glass in a toast. “To cartoon bloody penguins!”
Everyone joined in, with Armand somehow going even redder.
It was nearly Florabelle’s turn to perform, but the group did me the courtesy of doing a run-down of how these very different humans came together in a friend circle.
As Armand had implied in my attempted interview, Florabelle grew up with Armand and currently owned a ballet studio called Code Eight.
“Is that a reference to something?” I asked.
Florabelle quirked a playful eyebrow, but it was Armand who answered. “It’s British code for backup.”
Backup, like backup dancers. I grinned at Florabelle. “Genius.”
Sam had been with Armand the second-longest, having danced alongside him and Florabelle at the DOL House.
The grainy video of a very young Armand—whose stage name was something horrific: Schoolboy Lolito—dancing for a much older audience was seared in my brain.
I nearly combusted wanting to ask follow-up questions.
“And when I’m not dancing or camming, I’m a cellist for a Balkan dance band,” Sam concluded cheerfully and with more than a hint of enigma. “You’ll see some of that in my next set.”
Craig adjusted his glasses. “And I’m the boring one. I sell ad space for websites.”
“That doesn’t sound boring,” I said, a little too quickly.
“Oh, I assure you, mate, it is.”
Sam and Armand had needed a third roommate and found Craig, hilariously enough, through Craigslist.
It was fascinating. After interview upon interview, and talking with the people in Armand’s life, I was now speaking with his friends. It started to feel like I was getting somewhere, that Armand was coming more into focus.
Except.
Something was clearly missing from the conversation, something everyone was very carefully tiptoeing around, chatting casually but every so often glancing to Armand as if needing permission to continue.
I’d asked about the DOL House, how it differed from Boogie Le Bouge, and while Florabelle and Sam seemed obliging enough to regale me with nostalgia-infused stories, Armand would respond with one-word answers and avoid eye contact.
He doesn’t owe you his secrets. But I wanted Armand to trust me enough to share whatever everyone else here knew.
The evening closed out with one more performance from Sam who, as promised, did a sensual interpretive dance while playing a cello, and Florabelle, who did an amazing striptease the way it was meant to be done, with pizazz and confidence.
“Your mates are great,” I told Armand as we made it back to his apartment. “Thanks for introducing me.”
“Yeah, I think they really liked you.” Armand looked lost in thought while locking the door. “And they haven’t always liked my boyfriends.”
The breath caught in my throat. Tingles ran through me from head to toe.
Armand realized immediately what he’d said. “Er,” he started, grabbing the back of his neck and standing frozen. “W-which you are . . . Aren’t you?”
I could think of nothing to say except, “Oh thank god.” I cupped his face and kissed him, long and hard, until we were both breathless. “I was so scared you didn’t feel the same way. I mean, we never really put a label on it.”
“Didn’t feel—buggering hell,” Armand trailed off, finally meeting my eyes shyly, his lips a breath away. “I’m not seeing anyone else, you know.”
“Me neither. I’m, um. Really monogamous.”
He swallowed. “Likewise. I was worried you . . . That this was casual. Er. Friendly.”
I couldn’t help but giggle in disbelief, my thumbs stroking his cheeks. “Friendly. Oh my god. I packed up and came with you to England. Because that’s definitely something that platonic friends do for each other. What is wrong with you?”
Armand gently wrapped his fingers around my wrists, holding me in place as he flushed harder. “Shut up.”
“You know, bros being bros,” I teased, heart still fluttering. “Shall I make us some evening tea, buddy? Pal?” I booped Armand’s nose. “Ol’ chap?”
Armand surged forward and pulled me into another kiss, an obvious attempt to shut me up, which was a fair trade-off, all things considered.
I lost myself in the moment, relishing the way his strong hands cradled my face.
When we were like this, I could pretend I didn’t know there was something he was keeping from me.
That I hadn’t done enough to earn his trust, that I was still being held at arm’s length, like—
I pulled back, something shocking into my memory. “I almost forgot!”
Armand blinked in a daze, lips distractingly wet. “For— Wha?”
I planted a quick peck on his flushed cheek and hurried over to the bag I’d stashed in my suitcase for safekeeping, grateful I’d remembered. I presented him with the bespoke canvas satchel full of goodies. “Ta-da!”
Armand stared in confusion at the bag before fiddling it open. He swallowed, eyes going wide. “W-what are these?”
“A surprise for you! Non-homicidal pens! You said your old ones were trying to kill you.” I grinned, running my fingers through his mussed hair. “I didn’t know which was best, or what kind you used, so I showed the art lady the photos of your workspace and got everything she suggested.”
Armand bit his lip, looking so sweetly taken aback I wanted to squish him. “Lucas . . . I— Thank you, love, but you can’t keep buying me things!”
“Says who?” I took his hand, pulling him to sink onto the mattress. You deserve it, and I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with me.
“Lucas,” Armand tried, but my fingers made their way up to the edge of his jaw, thumb playing with the corner of his mouth.
“Is this an important conversation?” I asked, bending low, lips grazing his temple.
Armand’s breath stuttered. “N-no, I guess not . . . not that important.”
I wanted to show him that I was serious about this. That he was different, that we were different. “Good, because I think I’m done talking for now.”