SEBASTIAN
SEBASTIAN
It won’t ever feel right to enter the kitchen and not be accosted by a comet of frenzied excitement. But after the two days I’ve had to endure a hollow ache of life without him, the rhythmic grumble of Dobby’s snores grants an instant sweep of blessed relief. My intrusion disturbs barely a hitch to the sound, and one look at his dopey face reassures me enough to think better of lingering.
I don’t move beyond the doorway. Allowing myself only a minute, I bob an appreciative nod at Capt. C for keeping a vigilant guard over my best boy. The poster is no less ludicrous, and steely masked eyes glower as I unhook my coat with the greatest care. I'm scarcely breathing. Then, softly retreating back outside, I ease the door closed after me and turn in the opposite direction from which I came.
"Hey!"
Four steps have been taken, and a shout almost lost in the wind stills my feet.
"Hold up!"
I whip around, a grin already tugging at my lips even as my stomach swoops.
"Hi." Craig is jogging past the bonfire toward me. Because, of course, why wouldn't he be? His timing cannot be faulted.
And, I mean, sure; I’d thought he would catch my escape, no matter that I resisted checking. The play of covert glances hadn’t been one-sided. I might have even hoped he would call out as I left the field behind. In all honesty, though, given the amount of attention on him, it’s genuinely astonishing he's somehow managed to slip away after me.
There's a grin on his face to match my own. Even so, I’m perhaps still just the slightest bit braced for the other shoe to drop. "Figured I'd find you here," he sounds a little breathless. "Is our patient well?"
"Fast asleep," I nod, waiting until his pace slows to a walk. "Aren't you worried you'll miss your turn to bat?"
"Nah. Seemed little point in playing when I noticed you weren't there to cheer me on."
"Ha."
The unfairness of how good my hoody looks when he's in it continues to irk me, even as he's shivering against the gusting chill, his hands buried deep in its sleeves. He finally pulls up beside me, leaving about six feet of space between us, and his gaze flicks away. Only then do I realise the unnerving intensity of my stare.
"You about to head straight back?" He asks.
The shake of my head doesn't reclaim his attention, and an awkward beat passes before I opt to deflect instead. "Unless you’re willing to spare me a few precious minutes of your time first?"
"Please, no more surprises, Bas."
"I can promise you it's nothing much."
His groan is not encouraging. Not that I can blame him for it. But I restart my feet anyway, taking measured strides away. A feel about inside my coat pocket locates the little box I stashed there earlier. My fingers track its edges as I bypass Kye’s garden, and the rickety shed welcomes me. "I know exactly what I'm leading you into this time, Craig," I call back without turning.
"That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"Fair enough. Enjoy the rest of your party, then, I guess."
Disappointment flickers and gutters between one heartbeat and the next when, with a huffed expletive, Craig materialises at my side. He makes no further comment, keeping his eyes on the ground. That's fine, though, because I suddenly feel like my tongue is too thick for my mouth.
A corner of the box bites into my palm, my grip tightening around it. Nothing more than a token that I spent an obscene amount of time yesterday working on; my intention to share it with him today got shelved an hour ago. Before he sought me out, I'd been about to get into my truck and visit the oak tree. Yet, here we are together now, and I'm unshelving the original plan while thoroughly questioning the wisdom of doing so. Phase three, I guess. Or, possibly, more of a subsidiary of phase two. It has the potential to push him over a very fine line.
We've arrived at the shed doors when Craig finally looks at me again, expectant and curious. "It's not your truck again, is it?" He breaks his silence.
I snort, shaking my head. "You think I'd keep you away from your fans for that? Wow, Craig, ouch!"
"You've been itching to drag me away from the start. I've felt it. And, full disclosure, Bas, that's not the worst motive my imagination has concocted by far."
"I won't even ask."
"Good instinct."
"But, full disclosure," the humour I aim for is a little lacking. "You may have called it closer to the mark than I'm willing to admit."
Withdrawing the blue rectangle from my coat takes effort. However, although Craig immediately slants his gaze to it, his hands don't shift from their sleeve cubbies to accept it. We're past the point of no return now, though. This is happening whether or not either of us feels ready. He blinks slowly at me, his expression carefully neutral. Waiting.
"It's just a key," I stop thinking so hard, cracking open the box's lid to reveal the thing inside. "For the shed."
Then he laughs, and the guffaw startles me into nearly pulling away as he snatches it from my clutch. "It’s mine?"
"Duh." My muscles relax, not a lot but enough. Watching his thumb stroke over the miniature doggy keycharm whittled by my fifteen-year-old self, I even recover a smirk. "It's mostly from Dobby, for all you've done for him — and tried to do. He suggested that you may like to come and go as you please, someplace to take a break and keep busy. Whenever you feel the need."
Before I've finished talking, the padlock is already off the door. Craig is stepping into the shed without me and switching on the light. I don't hesitate to follow, determined not to let his first response go unseen.
He scans the workbench, cleared of clutter, pausing on the kettle and two mugs; notes my truck, parked in snug beside the opposite wall, then takes a circuit around the newly freed floor space. Roxy has plenty of room to hide away here, too. There's not a single tool out of place, and every box is labelled; that task alone took me three hours.
His brief exploration stops at the ratty old armchair I've placed in the back corner, and I don't care that I'm staring again when he whirls around on me.
"What have you done?" His face is a picture.
And, fuck this for a lark; I might be smitten. "Tidied up a bit."
"Tidied up? Shut your mouth!"
"You don't think it's tidy?"
Turning back to the armchair, he grabs the folded overalls on its cushion and shakes them out. "These are brand new, Bas. And, shit! They have my name on the chest."
"Yes, well—" I track his gaze to the boots on the floor.
"Seriously?"
"—Dobby insisted it only practical you have your own. But those boots aren't new, just so you know. They're new to you and in your size. Because hearing you whine about blisters is like nails on a chalkboard. But they didn't cost—"
My mind hasn't once entertained an outcome of him hugging me. So, when he throws his arms around me, I'm knocked off balance, and the breath is slammed from my lungs as I fall into him, hard. "This is better than my party," his rasp at my ear sends a tingle down my spine.
I'd wonder if he could have perhaps partaken of a sly tipple, except I now have far more trust in him than that. I'm not his minder nor his judge, and he hasn’t ever played me false. His dizzying impulses are blunt in their sincerity if nothing else. And after the barest moment of hesitation, my pulse racing, I'm clumsily hugging him back. "Ash need never know."
The scent of his expensive cologne is subtle beneath a clinging smokiness, his skin warm. He huffs a soft laugh against my shoulder, and I curl my fingers into the fabric of the unremarkable hoody he wears like a statement. Neither one of us makes any immediate move to let go. Our hearts beat erratically against each other, heat gathering low in my belly as he presses me closer still on a shuddering sigh.
“We’re going to need a new project now,” he murmurs into my neck, and damnit, nope; smitten is entirely not a deep enough word at all for how I feel inside this moment.
But it was only ever a matter of time before we were hunted down, and too soon, we both tense at the shrill disturbance of a wolf whistle piercing the air. "Sneaky sneaky, little bro," Alex's voice follows after.
Our contact is severed with an abruptness that sends Craig staggering backwards. I can’t help a pang of conscience at the inadvertent force; for all that I’m sure it’d been mutual. The guilty expression on his face must surely be mirrored on mine as we both turn to the cursedly open doorway. His brother approaches, with Ashleigh and Steph just a step behind, clearing the farmhouse and grinning wide.
"Please don't stop on our account," Ashleigh calls.
Craig flicks me a look, an unspoken apology I don’t want, and when he takes another step away, I wish he hadn’t.
We still have perhaps a minute before the invaders are upon us. I have to make it count for something. “My truck will always be in need of your attention, Craig,” I tell him, my voice low. “It may not be much, but I can promise you that.”