she toys with the ringlet cord, receiver between her jaw and her shoulder. ‘ before you head home – do you mind buying a new frying pan? ’ he can’t see her frown, but it weighs all the same. ‘ i’m a little squeamish about using the one we use to kill people. ’ 

maybe on another day he’d laugh, but with two markedly nasty clients and their half-hidden corpses fresh on his mind, the most he can manage is a sigh.

     he’s earned a wonderfully startled laugh. arms draped on his shoulders, head thrown back when he clocks in around middle-school dance distance. dimple on display, she shakes her head. ‘ yeah, uh. ’ another laugh pulls out like a sudden hiccup. happiness feels incandescent, shimmering like a soap bubble. she toys with the fine hair at the back of his neck.

     ‘ absolutely. ‘cause you’re stuck with me. sorry. ’ 

         ‘ that’s a shame. i made a fine bachelor. ’ he didn’t, and that’s the joke: that summer is in on it and knows he’s capable of improvement is the only reason he’s telling it again. when the audience is equally in ruin and hopeless about crawling out, it doesn’t quite land—the midday bar crowd was a grim one.

lesley is still closeted in label (not practice). he lets any partner he takes make whatever assumption they choose to make about his sexuality. he’s bisexual, as well as respectful of other bisexual people, but has never identified himself as such.

although it didn’t feel accurate, he judged based on his interest that he was homosexual from his mid teens into his early 20s. none of his family was made aware.

his mother’s abuse has been both verbal and physical—the latter until lesley left home for the first time. his father is a masterly bystander.

there have been years-long periods during which he hasn’t spoken to his younger sister as a result of her siding with their parents. he stopped cutting contact after the birth of her daughter/his niece, frances.

@caustis. re: this, because i cannot stop thinking about it. 

     ‘ alright – what do you think? ’ 

     summer has a new set of flyers ready to roll out. there’s a sample printed out and flat against the table between them, a bold contrast of black against a pale yellow. she sets a finger against the middle of the sheet and slides it towards him. ‘ a – ’ well, what could she call him? acquaintance sounds so cold. he isn’t, strictly speaking, a, ‘ friend, ’ of hers, but it’s all she has to work with. ‘ – of mine said it’d make it look … fun. ’ 

     she’s paraphrasing, here. cut her some slack. 

hands frozen in air as if the paper will burn him, poison him, or dunk him through the table and into a void should he touch the thing, les gives himself a minute to pull the slack on his disgust so that summer doesn’t have to hear it.

(he fails.)

he does that thing that you’re not supposed to do—that crouching thing, that almost-haunch, palms shuffled to a spot just above the knees and elbows turned slightly outward to lend an extra layer of condescension—when you’re talking to children wise enough to cut through the bullshit. it’s uncool, right?, to make kids feel small. lesley knows better.

so given that he’s not a kid.

     For the fifth day in a row, she’s sliding a pastry and an abhorrently sweet coffee across the counter to a well-dressed man whose name she only knows from his credit card.       “Mr. Causer, you are quickly becoming one of my favorite customers.”

his answering snort makes him wrinkle up on the right side of his face: lip to nostril to crow’s feet. it lands somewhere between a ‘you’ve made an error in judgment’ and ‘aw, that’s sweet, i’m touched.’

There he was with his classic frown. The energy in the air was a bit off, he should have sensed it from outside of the office. Curt sets his keys down on the counter and drapes himself behind Les, squeezing himself between the speechwriter and the back of the couch for optimum discomfort. The human embodiment of a sedentary reminder. “ Bad day or are you just being grouchy for the sake of it? ” He presses a scruffy kiss to the back of his neck and combs through Lesley’s hair with his fingers, pushing through product to get to his scalp. 

         ‘ maybe i was fine until i heard you— ’ he makes a pair of ‘legs’ with his fingers and walks them angrily in front his own face. ‘ —goose-stepping the fuck in. ’ (translated, it’s a little of column a, little of column b.)

he ought to be uncomfortable with curt wedged between himself and his furniture, but he finds he doesn’t mind the pressure. a new pinch in his already-sore back to remind him he’s not alone isn’t the worst of the worst of the worst, sir.

     in moments like these, summer sometimes wishes she could swallow the feelings whole and let them sit inside of her forever. pictures don’t do it justice— they’re never vibrant enough, never real enough. ‘ maybe they’re just holding out on us, ’ she says fondly. 

     she steps in closer and perches herself on the edge of an armchair. coaxed out by a smile, a dimple presses itself into her cheek when she continues. ‘ jury’s still out, you know. goodness knows how puberty’s gonna go. ’ 

his head-snap to attention lends his answering ‘ huh? no. ’ too much dad-in-denial sincerity.