Chapter Fifteen
Christopher
Once he’s safely ensconced in the bathroom, several thoughts run through Christopher’s head at once.
The first is whether it’s possible for a person to safely live in a bathroom for several days, just long enough for the snow to melt and for Nash to leave.
Sure, there’s no food and sleeping in the bathtub is going to be hell, but he could put up with that.
Of course, it’s a one-bathroom flat, so unless Nash is going to have flannel washes in the café bathroom, there’s going to be some serious logistical issues with this plan.
But he can’t face him again. Not after the way he just sprinted away from him.
The second thought is, how can a person go quite so pink?
Is it some kind of heinous medical condition he wasn’t aware of, or is it, as he fears, just a side effect of being a total dork.
His cheeks are aflame, and the heat runs down his whole body – twitchy and nervous and horrible. And that was just from a torso!
A normal, nice torso.
Well, not nice. And not not nice either.
Christ.
It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen a guy topless, for heaven’s sake.
He’s seen plenty of bare torsos in his time – during rugby at school and also any time he’s been near a pool or a beach.
Or whenever the temperature in the UK gets over 25 degrees, when all the topless-but-still-wearing-jeans men seem to appear from nowhere, ready to baffle everyone in their wake.
However, this is, admittedly, the first time there’s been a topless person other than himself in this flat.
In his bedroom.
About to get into his bed.
And let’s be real, Nash isn’t just any old person for him. Christopher is pretty sure he’s had several dreams that started out with Nash stripping off…
Oh God.
He’s been in the bathroom so long that there’s a distinct possibility that Nash is now de-trousered on the other side of the door.
Just the thought of Nash in his boxers is doing something strange to Christopher.
His body feels like a box of shaken frogs – confused, wriggling, slightly . . . no. Get a grip.
Or, he could be completely naked – though it would be slightly weird for him to just be standing in the middle of the room, totally starkers. But then again, what if he sleeps naked?!
Surely he wouldn’t if they had to share . . . that wouldn’t be proper. And Nash might be somewhat uncouth on occasion, but he’s not weird. He wouldn’t just spring nakedness on Christopher.
That is, unless he thought it would be a very good joke. Christ.
The cold water he splashes on his face practically evaporates the moment it hits his skin. What the hell is he going to do? He needs to calm down. Get a grip, or get a hold of himself. He needs help.
And for some – probably rather daft – reason, he goes to Ambrose and Laurel.
Christopher: Mayday. I think. Help.
Ambrose: what did you do
Christopher: Nash kindly suggested that we should share a bed because the couch is too small for me to sleep on, which I did last night and he’s not wrong it was horrible.
Ambrose: yeah you should
Laurel: I agree!
Christopher: Well I’m freaking out!!
Laurel: I thought you weren’t interested in him. How’s this any different from sharing with Haf?
Well. She has him there. It was so different with Haf, because despite their two occasions of kissing – one terrible snog that started the whole confusing mess off, and one pretend but arguably quite good kiss to keep up the charade – they just weren’t attracted to each other in that way.
It was more that she was another half of him, and he of her.
And the reason he’s not texting her about this right now is that she would be even more overexcited about this than Ambrose and Laurel.
And telling her means sort of telling Kit, and he’s not sure he wants to talk to his sister about the potential pitfalls of sharing a bed with a man he might be attracted to.
Ambrose: i bet he doesn’t bear hug in his sleep like haf does
Ambrose: it’s like sleeping in a vice
Christopher: I’m not interested, so to speak. He’s an actor and I’m only human. It’s his literal job to be handsome.
Laurel: So you agree that he’s handsome?
Ambrose: hahahahah
Christopher: I came here for moral support :(
Ambrose: hahahaha
Laurel: Toph, just put your big pants on, and go get in bed with that man. If you don’t want to do anything, you don’t have to do anything! It’s very simple darling.
Christopher: I’ve never slept over with a guy before without the sex part. It just feels like a big deal and I’m not sure why.
Laurel: I have a few ideas hehe
Ambrose: oh no you’re having a gay panic
Ambrose: this is so cute
Christopher: I’m not.
Christopher: Maybe a small one?
Laurel: I assure you it’s not that different from sharing a bed with anyone else. It’ll be like when I stayed over all the time.
Christopher: We were dating! That’s my point!!!
Laurel: Darling, you were able to restrain yourself from jumping my bones every night, so I’m sure you can do the same with Nash Nadeau for one night.
Ambrose: did you just say jumping my bones
Ambrose: im dying
Ambrose: please, my bones, they are very sick
Christopher: I know, but it’s not just one night. It’ll be every night until he leaves if we set the precedent now.
Ambrose: Christopher. I’m going to be really serious for a second. Look I’m using capitals and everything.
Ambrose: Are you listening?
Christopher: Yes.
Ambrose: do you have lube
Christopher: I hate you.
Laurel: It’s an important question darling.
Christopher: An irrelevant one! I’m not planning on having sex with him!! That’s the whole point! I’m just!!
Laurel: Unless the opportunity arises because darling I think you should take it. Bonk the man of your Hallmark dreams!
Ambrose: get some get some
Christopher: I don’t think he’s interested even if I was, which to be clear I’m not!
Ambrose: well he should be! have you seen yourself, you’re a hot little slice
Laurel: Americans love a Brit. It’s the accent.
Christopher: He’s Canadian
Laurel: I’m sure they love it too
There’s no way he’s going to do anything with this man. It’s more that, well, the spectre of it all hangs over him. The idea of what could happen. It’s been so long since he was intimate with anyone, even longer since it was someone he wasn’t just letting off steam with.
He needs to get himself together. After all, this is probably all in his head and they’re right, he’s quite possibly making a bigger deal out of this than he needs to. And Nash must not think anything of it, else he wouldn’t have suggested it, right?
These are the sorts of sensible things Kit and Haf probably would have said to him. In hindsight, he probably should have swallowed the shame of hitting up his sister for advice.
With a few deep breaths in and out, he imagines himself rolling out croissant dough.
A triangle rolled up becomes a delicious layered laminated curl.
The smell of butter and warmed pastry. The milky coffee he’d have with it.
All of these images and smells fill his brain, and while they don’t quite push out all the wriggling thoughts and feelings, they shrink them.
They’re pushed aside just enough for him to breathe them out. Or bake them into the imaginary pastry.
Time to be normal, he tells himself. Time to get ready for bed. It’s just a normal day, a normal getting-ready-for-bed. Nothing to worry about. There’s nothing different about tonight.
And just as he’s very almost convinced himself of this, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.
‘Are you okay in there?’
‘Do you mind? It’s the bathroom,’ he replies haughtily.
‘Right, and I need to use it too. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen in.’
‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ he grumbles, and all the wild, wriggly feelings worm back in as he brushes his teeth a little too vigorously.
Just to be polite, he decides to put on some deodorant. After all, no one wants to share a bed with someone who smells as if they’ve been stress-sweating for the last ten minutes (which he has). It’s just courtesy.
He puts on some moisturiser too. Just for good measure.
There are only so many ablutions he can do before it swings towards actively making yourself look nice, so Christopher calls it a day and instead cleans up the mess he’s made, takes a deep breath and steps out into the bedroom.
And almost crashes right into Nash who is standing just on the other side of the door, leaning on the door frame. He’s still topless, but thankfully not trouserless.
‘Christ, sorry,’ Christopher says as they both stumble away from each other. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to be listening in.’
‘I really need to pee, so was coming to ask you to get out.’ Nash rubs his forehead where Christopher’s chin had bashed him.
‘Sorry about that.’
‘Can you move? I still need to pee.’
‘Sorry!’ Christopher squeaks, as he squeezes out of the way so Nash can use the bathroom.
All this means that he’s then standing uselessly in the middle of his bedroom.
Keep it together. Just put on some pyjamas.
God knows where last night’s pair went after he overheated in the blanket mound, and instead of faffing about looking for them, he decides to just put on a nice pair of button-up flannel pyjamas that his mother bought him for Christmas last year.
After all, he’s not getting new Christmas pyjamas this year, so these will have to do.
He undresses and redresses at lightning speed, lest Nash catch him in his pants again – it was bad enough the first time, but somehow now would feel even more mortifying.
But once he’s dressed, he doesn’t really know what to do next.