#goldendicewrites

The loss of a parent connected you and Conrad before you’d truly gotten to know him. Your dad passed when you were six years old, taken by a different form of the illness that also left Conrad bereft of his mom. It was something you discovered you had in common very early on; you even discussed it on your first date. You’d carefully picked your moment to mention that you’d grown up with a single parent—and why.

You dropped it into the conversation as casually as possible, hoping for the best. To your relief, Conrad was kind, listening to your story without the flicker of judgment that you often caught in other people’s eyes, betraying their true feelings when you revealed this fundamental aspect of who you are as a person, who your circumstances have forced you to become.

In the past, you’d received reactions to the information about your upbringing that had made your heart sink. Where you grew up, it wasn’t standard for people to have an unconventional family set-up. But instead of reacting badly, Conrad let you speak; let you explain without interruptions, and never appeared to be negatively affected by the revelation. Then he told you he understood what you’d been through, to a certain degree, and you realised that he was different from anyone you’d ever dated.

Of course, he’d had longer with Susannah—his mom—than you were afforded with your dad. Conrad was essentially an adult when she died. But, in truth, that didn’t matter. Your grief was comparable enough that a bond was forged between you, despite having only begun chatting properly a week earlier, after running into one another a few times in your favourite campus cafe.

Even when his mom was still alive, Conrad had felt the absence of his dad, who he’d described at the time as cold and dismissive. You’d since confirmed that assessment for yourself. So Conrad did get it, and it helped you understand one another’s occasional dips into melancholy as your relationship progressed. After your first date, you couldn’t stop spending time together, even though you were both busy taking the first steps forward into your chosen careers.

Conrad aimed to become a doctor, and you were studying law. That was four years ago, and you’d both graduated and found jobs you were happy with. It was a tiring life, but you were content together in your cosy little apartment. In fact, you’d reached the stage within the last year where you’d been seriously thinking about what your future would look like… and whether or not that future was together.

You weren’t the type to hint about that kind of thing. One random Tuesday night, you decided to ask Conrad outright. You were cuddled together on the couch and had just finished a less-than-memorable movie that barely held your wandering attention.

“Do you see us getting married someday?” you asked. “I mean, is that something you ever think about?”

He smiled shyly and sipped his glass of water. He’d grown his hair a little longer than usual. Some of it fell over his eyes as he nodded with a cute little dip of the head.

“I think about that a lot, actually.”

He didn’t elaborate, so you left it there. You knew Conrad well enough to appreciate that he didn’t like to be pushed into things. And then, six months ago at Christmas, you’d had the strangest feeling that he would propose to you. A passing comment from your mom during dinner about how your dad would have loved to have Conrad as a son-in-law added fuel to the already flickering fire. But nothing came of it.

You almost went so far as to scroll through his email inbox, itching to check for a ring receipt, but you stopped yourself. You knew he wouldn’t have minded, but you didn’t want to become someone who would invade their partner’s privacy. So you’ve been waiting. It’s finally summer and time for your annual visit to Conrad’s beach house. You’re staying there for a week before you both travel back to your mom’s to attend a small family gathering. You do this yearly in late June to commemorate your dad’s passing.

Conrad shares the beach house with his brother and his mom’s best friend, Laurel, along with Laurel’s kids, Steven and Isabel. You don’t know them very well. In the years you and Conrad have been together, you’ve only met them once or twice in passing. There’s tension there, especially with Isabel, or rather Belly—the youngest. Not only was she Conrad’s first love, but she was also briefly engaged to his younger brother, Jeremiah. They were almost married, but it ended in tears, largely due to Conrad’s self-confessed interference. The two families are still dealing with some trauma around it all, and it sometimes feels to you as though the cracks have been hastily papered over.

Despite all that, Laurel has always been kind to you. You can sense how much she loves Conrad and how she just wants him to be happy. And yet, you don’t know when you’ll see her next. Conrad has his week at the Cousins house, and everyone generally leaves him and you to it. Conrad is fine with his brother, but Jeremiah keeps busy and has an active social life. Conrad once commented that his little brother will never settle down—he’s too restless. As for Belly, she doesn’t even live in the country. She’s currently in Paris, as far as you’re aware. And that suits you fine, if you’re being honest with yourself.

It’s not that you feel threatened by her, but you try to acknowledge that most people view their first love in a certain light. Conrad feels everything deeply, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he still holds a little fondness for Belly. That’s fine, only because Conrad has sworn that he learned his lesson. Belly and he are bad for one another. You believe it— you can tell by the way he talks about it all that she hurt him deeply. And in fairness to Belly, he admits to having hurt her, too. Above all, they’re both old enough now to have realised that sometimes love just isn’t enough to make a situation work.

It’s early evening as you and Conrad pull into the driveway of the summer house. Suddenly, your stomach flips, your anxiety stoked by the car sitting at the head of the drive, just in front of the house. What if it’s Belly? As much as you’ve accepted her past with Conrad, you don’t necessarily want to spend time with her, especially when you haven’t prepared yourself to do so.

“Who else is here?” you ask. You dislike the fraught tone of your voice, but you couldn’t have covered it up. “You didn’t tell me we wouldn’t be alone.”

Conrad shakes his head, frowning. “No, I didn’t know we wouldn’t. Nobody said anything to me.” He peers at the license plate of the vehicle parked ahead of you. “I don’t recognise the car.”

He brakes and turns in his seat to look at you. “Are you okay? You seem—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rush to say. You don’t want to admit it, but you’re terrified that Belly is here. You’re not even sure why the thought scares you so much, but it does. You force yourself to smile. “Whoever it is can’t be planning to stay, right? Everyone knows it’s your week?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re supposed to,” Conrad agrees. He reaches for your hand and squeezes it. “Don’t worry, kay?”

You nod but say nothing. As you’re exiting the car, you hear the front door of the house creak open. Footfalls on the steps indicate that whoever was inside is coming down to say hello. You take a deep breath, plaster on a grin, and raise your head. You immediately lock eyes with Belly, and she falters. She looks the same as always, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders in a way that you try to admire rather than covet.

“Oh, hey!” she calls to you, recovering quickly. She takes a few steps forward. “Long time no see.”

“It’s you,” Conrad utters to her, cutting you off before you get a word out. There’s uncertainty in his voice, but he tries to mask it with shaky laughter.

You watch as Belly takes him in, her eyes wide. She folds her arms across her middle protectively. You can see that she’s feeling vulnerable, and you experience a pang of guilt. Although you don’t see yourself and Conrad as particularly threatening, Belly is clearly uncomfortable. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting you. According to Conrad, they’re on okay terms now, despite all the complicated history. Then again, he hasn’t exactly offered her a warm greeting.

“I’m sorry,” she begins. “I’ve totally messed up. I thought Steven was here this week. I was going to surprise him.”

“He’s next week,” Conrad smiles politely. Then, after a pause, he says, “I didn’t know you were back.”

Belly shrugs. “Just for summer.”

They observe each other in silence for several seconds. You’re frozen, feeling as though you’re intruding on the stilted reunion. Then, thankfully, Conrad breaks the tension.

“Well, uh, we’ve had this week planned for a while. Do you have somewhere else to stay?”

“No, wait,” you begin. “Belly, you can stay here. I don’t want to kick you out of your own house.”

She angles her body towards you, and her expression reveals her gratitude. “Please, I’m the one intruding. Of course, I can figure something out.”

You’re already shaking your head. Despite everything, it doesn’t feel right to ask her to go. “Honestly, stay. It’ll be fine.”

Belly pulls her phone from her pocket, checking the time. “It is kinda late for me to find somewhere now, but I’ll only stay for tonight. I’m out of here first thing in the morning.” She looks back at Conrad. “Is that okay?”

He raises one shoulder in an attempt to seem nonchalant. “I guess.”

“Okay, uh… I’m going to head out—grab myself dinner. I’ll be back later. Enjoy your evening, guys.”

With that, Belly makes a somewhat awkward exit. You gather your things from the car and head inside, leaving Conrad to follow you to his room with most of the luggage. You watch him deposit bags onto the bed from your spot in the chair by his dresser. You hope he’s not upset with you.

“I thought it’d be best to let her stay,” you say quietly, looking up at him.

“No, I know. I just… It’s unexpected. I don’t like surprises.”

You stand and shuffle towards him, wrapping your arms around his body. You feel the soft cotton of his shirt on your cheek as you press your head against him. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, and his arms encircle you, holding you tight.

“I know you don’t,” you say.

He sighs, leaning a little heavier on you.

“You’re so heavy! Can we lie down?” you request with a chuckle.

He grabs you by the hand and falls onto the bed, sending bags bouncing in all directions. He pulls you down and proceeds to enclose you in another bear hug.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” you mumble. “I’ll never get away.”

Conrad yawns. You know for a fact he’s gearing up for a nap, which he’ll only regret when he can’t sleep later on.

“We should have something to eat,” you suggest.

“What do you want?” he asks.

You yawn as well, hopeless to suppress it. “I have absolutely no idea.”

In the end, you settle for staying in the bedroom, picking at the snack bag you brought with you for the car journey. Conrad isn’t much of a snacker, but he occasionally partakes. With a handful of Doritos, he looks across the bed at you and smiles.

“I’m glad we’re here.”

“Me too,” you reply. “Don’t make crumbs.”

He begins to laugh. He’s about to say something when you hear the sound of the front door opening downstairs. Belly must be back.

“I’m sorry this hasn’t gone to plan,” Conrad says.

“It’s just one night,” you reassure him.

For some reason, he looks particularly sad. You don’t want to push him to talk. Instead, you reach across, brushing his hair away from his face.

“I love you,” you tell him.

He puts his chips back in the bag, then licks his fingers in a way that he definitely didn’t intend to seem seductive. However, you can’t help but enjoy a little thrill. He somehow manages to make the most mundane things attractive.

“I love you too,” he replies.

When he kisses you, all of your tension eases, the stress from earlier in the day seeming to melt away. And then, you remember that Belly is here. You tense up and pull back.

Conrad looks as uncomfortable as you feel. “This isn’t happening tonight, is it?”

Your laughter is genuine, if a little strained. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

“No, I totally get it,” Conrad replies. “Trust me.”

“Okay,” you say. You peck him quickly on the cheek. “I’m going to shower.”

When you return, Conrad is grabbing his towel. “Back in five,” he says.

You dry off and put on your pyjamas while casting about to determine whether or not Conrad has a hairbrush on his dresser or nightstand. You don’t see one, so you go in search of your own. You don’t remember exactly where you packed it, but get down onto your hands and knees, unzipping the first of the bags that fell when you and Conrad jumped on the bed earlier. You’re rummaging through the contents when your hand brushes against an unfamiliar texture. It’s soft, velvety.

Your heart beats faster as your fingers close around a box. A ring box. You tuck it into the sleeve of your pyjama shirt without looking at it, and sit down heavily on the bed. That’s how Conrad finds you when he returns a few minutes later. He rushes straight to your side, even though he’s dripping wet, and kneels beside you.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

You stare at him and extend your arm, pulling back your sleeve with your empty hand. You and Conrad both look down at the ring box at the same time.

“Ah,” he breathes. “You found it.”

You nod slowly. “I couldn’t find my hairbrush.”

“This wasn’t what I’d planned… at all.”

“I guess nothing is going to plan these days,” you respond quietly.

“Are you upset?” Conrad asks, his brows knitting together.

“No!” you hurry to reassure him. “I just… this isn’t what I’d imagined. I didn’t think…” You sigh, “I didn’t think Belly would be here.”

Conrad’s eyes widen, and he stares off into space. “Me either.” He gives himself a little shake. “I wish you hadn’t found it,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

All of a sudden, you feel dizzy. What is he saying? Has he changed his mind about proposing? Is it because of Belly?

He focuses, his eyes fixing on you. “I was going to wait. Your mom asked me to. When I told her I was going to propose this week, she suggested I hold off. She thought it might be nice if I did it at your dad’s memorial.”

You feel a pain in your chest at the mention of your dad, but your eyes fill with tears of relief. It’s perfect, really. You’re reminded of how well your mom knows you; she knows how meaningful it will be to have your dad be part of such a pivotal moment in your life, especially as he will never get to join you for your wedding.

Conrad looks concerned. He reaches out to thumb away your tears. “Did we get it wrong?”

You shake your head profusely. “No! Not at all.” You hand him the small blue box. “You should probably pack this away again, so you can do what my mom suggested. It’s really thoughtful.” You smile at him, and a laugh escapes you. “I thought you were going to tell me you’d decided not to ask after seeing Belly.”

Instead of laughing, as you expected he would, Conrad appears alarmed at the thought. “No. Belly was my best friend for so long. And we tried so hard to love each other the way we thought we were supposed to—the way my mom probably hoped we would.” He pushes his hair back, sighing. “But something always felt… off. There was Jere, and it just hurt too much. It always felt like a push and pull between the three of us. It’s not love if you have to fight that hard just to feel okay. It’s not supposed to be painful all the time.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree.

Conrad gazes at you. “When I met you, I finally understood what it’s supposed to feel like, without all the mixed messages and the confusion, or expectations that can never be met. Love is about acceptance and understanding. You and I have always had that.”

“And we always will.”

You throw your arms around his neck, not caring that his hair is still damp. Eventually, he stands, pulling you gently to your feet. When he turns you towards the bed, you try to forget that Belly is still in the house, but you can’t. As soon as Conrad speaks, it’s as if he’s read your mind.

“We should get some sleep. It’s been a full-on day.”

There’s not a single member of staff working in this store who doesn’t know that you have a crush on him—Sad Guy. What they don’t know is that your fascination has gotten completely out of control. You even fucking googled him and found out that he’s basically a celebrity. Why he’s been coming here for his gum the past two weeks, you don’t know. You work in the shittiest drugstore imaginable, on the shittiest block you can think of. Maybe you’re in the vicinity of his place.

You feel your cheeks grow hot, and you shake your head, urging yourself to stop imagining where this guy lives, where he sleeps. You’ll never go there, so what’s the point? You look at Matty again. He’s nodding towards the counter. Sad Guy stands there, waiting to be served, and there’s no one else around. You take a deep breath. You know that Matty won’t cover this sale for you. He probably thinks he’s doing you a favour by letting you interact with the person you like. 

You mouth the word “thanks” to your friend, making sure to roll your eyes at the same time. It’s best not to let on that your heart skipped a little when it became clear you would get to talk to Sad Guy. You drop a shampoo bottle into the basket at your feet and wipe your dusty hands on the scratchy polyester tunic you wear, the one that denotes you work here, but you’re not actually a pharmacist and can’t get ahold of anyone’s drugs for them.

As you approach the cash register, you see that Sad Guy is tapping a pack of nicotine gum against the counter. He seems completely wired. Maybe he has more going on than just an addiction to cigarettes. Not that it would make a bit of difference to you if he were also engaging with other substances. You really wouldn’t mind.

“Hey,” you say cheerfully, coming around behind him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

His eyes meet yours as you step in front of the register. His irises are the most shocking, gorgeous blue you’ve ever seen, and his lids are a little lazy, but you like that. His hair is a mess, as always, with loose curls the colour of wet sand gathering around his face haphazardly, styled as if he’d rather not have hair because it causes him too much hassle.

“Uh, yeah. Same as always. Thanks,” he replies snappily.

He doesn’t smile. In fact, you don’t think you’ve seen him make that expression in the couple of weeks you’ve known him. If you didn’t know better, you’d suspect he was mad at you, but this is just how he is. He lets go of the pack of gum, and you scan it. You don’t need to tell him the price; he already has bills ready to hand over to you. You glance at Matty, who watches the interaction between you and your crush. Your friend gives you a little nod of encouragement.

“Are you having a good day?” you ask Sad Guy.

You take his money while he considers his answer, then complete the sale and hand him his change. He grabs his gum. He sort of resembles a bird on the road, about to be squashed by oncoming traffic. You get the feeling nobody has asked him how his day is going for a while.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he says, bobbing his head at you as a form of farewell.

With that, he turns to leave, making his way out of the store swiftly. Sometimes, he stops to chat a little longer, but today, he’s in a hurry. He’s about to get soaked in the downpour, but he clearly doesn’t care. You watch him until he’s out of sight, feeling a confusing mix of excitement and emptiness. You toss his receipt in the trash. He never takes one. Matty approaches.

“All good?” he asks kindly.

“Yeah. I just… he’s so fucking sad.” 

“The saddest,” Matty replies, laughing again.

“It’s not funny!” 

“No, I know,” he says, sobering. “Hey, I found out his name! Maybe you can stalk him.”

Already did.

“What is it? I mean… how did you find him?”

“So it’s the weirdest thing, my sister knows him. Well, she’s friends with his ex.”

“His ex?”

“Yeah. They literally just broke up. Guess we know why he looks like he wants to jump in front of a train all the time.” Matty shrugs. “His name’s Carmen.”

Right. Carmen Berzatto. He just opened a new restaurant, and it actually looks like he never sleeps. He’s also the cutest fucking guy you’ve ever seen.

“Carmen? Good to know. So…”

“So?” Matty asks playfully.

“What’re they like—the ex?”

Matty’s laughter bursts from him, and you can’t help but join in.

~

It’s been raining for a week. Every day, Carmen comes in, and every day, your colleagues avoid him like the plague so that you can serve him. He’s buying less gum now, sometimes grabbing a drink instead, and he’s slightly chattier as time goes on. You wonder if it’s because the restaurant seems to be doing well. You’ve been keeping up with it, reading the slew of articles from respected publications and less reputable sites alike. Any mention of Carmen’s name causes your stomach to flip.

When Friday finally comes around, you take extra care with your hair while getting ready. You’re going out after work with Matty. You suck at makeup, but he doesn’t. He’ll help you at the end of your shift, picking the right lip colour for you and carefully winging out your liner the way you like but have never managed to master. At least, that was the plan. He texts you not long before you leave to catch the bus, explaining that he feels like shit and won’t even be in to work his shift. 

Great. Well, at least you’ll see Sad Guy today. Not-so Sad Guy, you should say. He really does seem better.

Minutes feel like hours as the day drags on. You realise how much you rely on Matty to get you through your shifts now that he’s not here. You wait for Carmen, glancing towards the door every few minutes, but he doesn’t show. Your mood sinks lower and lower as your shift continues, and by the time you’re cashing up, you just want to get home and crash. It’s dark out, and the rain hasn’t let up.

You shut the store and step outside, opening your umbrella immediately. The streets are slick and shiny, and there’s barely anyone around. You hurry towards the nearest bus stop, paying little attention to anything other than your feet, which are becoming steadily wetter as rain soaks through your shoes. When you slam into the side of another body, you feel like you’re about to topple over due to lost balance. That is until a hand darts out to grab the arm of your cardigan, setting you right. You look down, frowning in recognition.

That sleeve is familiar.

You raise your umbrella, feeling raindrops sprinkle your cheeks.

It’s him.

Carmen is watching you intently. His skin has taken on an orange hue in the glow of the streetlights. “You okay?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s my fault; I was… somewhere else.”

The rain keeps on falling. “You want under?” you ask him, feeling suddenly bold.

He squints upward as if only now, realising that he’s been getting wet. He shrugs. “Sure.”

You lift your umbrella so that it covers both of you, but he still has to shuffle a little closer. He smells like cooking. “You’re not working?” you ask.

Shit. He’s going to realise you know who he is.

He smiles a little. “I needed a break. Actually, they asked me to step out. I can get a little… I work in a restaurant, and it’s a lot.”

Fuck it.

“I’m aware of who you are, actually. And where you work,” you say, swallowing down your shyness. You’ve had a shitty day, and you don’t have the energy to play coy.

Carmen’s smile falters, but only for a second. “Well, I know where you work, so we’re even.”

“Okay,” you reply. You’re not sure what else to say. 

“Well, I, uh, I better get back,” he tells you.

“Sure, yeah,” you say. You feel as though your tongue is made of lead.

Carmen doesn’t move, and neither do you. The rain patters down onto the top of your umbrella as he watches you. 

“I should probably get myself one of these,” he observes, reaching up to gently tap the handle just above your fingers.

“We sell them,” you reply, stating the obvious and trying to ignore the fact that he almost touched you. You laugh then, breaking the tension. “I guess you knew that, too.”

Carmen chuckles, and his whole face transforms into something painfully endearing. “Right. Well, I’ll see ya.”

He makes to move, and you step back, freeing him from the little bubble you’ve been in together under the umbrella. He walks away as you stand still, watching him go. Just as he’s about to turn the corner at the end of the street, he raises his head, locking eyes with you a final time. You start and spin around, cringing with embarrassment over the fact that he caught you staring.

~

“No way.”

“Yes. He fully caught me gawking at him.”

“Girl…” Matty guffaws.

“Please shut up!” you reply.

“Okay, okay. Well, maybe he liked it? You know some people—“

“Okay, enough. I doubt I’ll ever see him again anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

You walk away from the register, having just filled it with change. It’s Monday, and you spent the whole of Saturday and Sunday thinking about your encounter with Carmen. While the rain seemed as though it was going to clear over the course of the weekend, it’s back today with a vengeance. You sigh heavily. It was nice while it lasted, the whole ‘having a crush’ thing. Nice, but also excruciating. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing if you’ve scared him off.

You take lunch, and while you’re sitting in the break room eating a fairly uninspiring sandwich, you force yourself not to look up Carmen or The Bear. It would do you no good to see his picture right now. His soulful eyes and tattooed arms need to become a thing of the past in your mind. After almost an hour, Matty comes in to tell you it’s time to finish up and let him away for his break.

“Oh, and your guy was here.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, you missed him, babe, sorry. I was slammed, or I would’ve grabbed you.”

You level your friend with a mock death stare.

“Hey, at least you know he’s not avoiding you!”

True. Maybe you didn’t freak him out after all.

The rest of the afternoon passes quickly. It’s delivery day, and you have plenty to do. It’s so misty at finishing time that you can’t see the setting sun. You cash up alone while Matty mops the floors. When it’s time to leave, he heads out first. You’re rummaging in your bag, searching for lip balm, and bump into him.

“What the fuck!?” you question loudly, wondering why your friend has stopped right in the doorway.

You hear laughter and glance outside. Carmen is there, standing beneath his own umbrella. It’s only drizzling now—you weren’t even going to bother with yours. He’s smiling at you, clearly finding the whole situation amusing. 

Matty moves out of the way. He looks down at you with a knowing grin. “Catch ya later,” he says conspiratorially. He faces away from Carmen and winks at you, then struts away with his customary confidence.

Yeah, bye! Thanks for abandoning me!

“Hey,” says Carmen, pulling your attention. He seems suddenly shy.

“You got one,” you state, nodding at his umbrella. You immediately wish you’d said something different.

“I did. Want to share?”

“Okay,” you reply, stepping forward.

Carmen raises the umbrella so that you both fit underneath it, and you begin walking in step with one another.

“I’m Carmy, by the way. I realised I never told you that.”

“Hi, Carmy. You’ve seen my name badge, I take it?”

“I have.”

The butterflies in your stomach are dancing up a storm.

“Which bus do you get?”

“I was thinking of walking home, actually.”

“Oh yeah? I can come with, if you want. Just to get you there.”

“You’re not too busy?” you ask, turning your face towards his. 

He shakes his head softly. You don’t fully believe him, but for whatever reason, he wants to accompany you. You decide not to question it further.

“It’s this way,” you say, nodding in the general direction of your neighbourhood.

It usually takes you half an hour to walk home. Because you’re with Carmy, it ends up taking closer to an hour. You talk about everything: light stuff and, occasionally, subjects that are a little heavier. There’s still an air of sadness about him, but you’re starting to think a lot of it might be his nature. He’s quiet and thoughtful, which can come across as him being morose. You suspect that after he’s opened himself up to someone fully, he probably has a hell of a lot to say. 

He’s funny, too, in a quick and nonchalant kind of way. He speaks a lot about the people who work in the restaurant but doesn’t go into too much detail about how the place is performing. He mentions his ex, but only briefly, stating that it was doomed for them from the beginning. You choose not to ask him what he means by that. If this is a rebound situation, you’ll find out sooner or later. Right now, it feels worth the potential heartbreak.

“This is me,” you tell him, stopping outside your apartment block when you finally reach it.

You turn to face him, and he looks at you with his intense eyes.

“I want to tell you something,” he says. He’s still holding the umbrella over you both. 

“What is it?”

“I wanted to say that I’m glad I met you. Seeing you every day… it helped me through a tough time.”

You’re instinctively aware that it’s taking a lot for him to reveal this to you. You want to reassure him that it’s okay to be vulnerable, but you don’t want to push him out of his comfort zone. Instead of saying anything, you reach up to brush one of his curls away from his face. He moves closer to you, so close that your noses are almost touching. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I’m glad too,” you utter.

When his eyes begin to close, you realise he’s going to kiss you. You force your lids shut, too. As much as you’d rather watch him, you don’t want to seem weird. You feel giddy and lightheaded when your lips touch. The kiss is gentle at first, but then Carmy’s hand drops and finds its way into your hair. At the same moment, his tongue brushes your bottom lip insistently, and you open your mouth to him. You grasp his jacket—the one he always wears—trying to eliminate any remaining space between your bodies. You don’t know how long he kisses you. When you pull away to take a breath, he’s gazing at you.

“I gotta go,” he breathes regretfully.

You nod, understanding that he’s probably been away far too long already. “Sure. Thanks for walking me.”

As Carmy strolls up the street, you climb the bottom few steps leading to your door. He doesn’t look away from you, tilting his umbrella back to see you better. You linger, knowing that this time, when you watch him leave, you don’t need to worry about scaring him away. Just before he reaches the corner to turn out of sight, he halts, calling out, 

~ Shane

Shane wakes, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Not ready yet.

He listens to the steady intake and exhale of breath next to him. He’s still getting used to waking up with someone else in his bed. He’s shared rooms with people before, of course. He’s been doing that for years. But this is different, and it hasn’t happened all that often. Shane’s intimate space no longer belongs to him alone. If he shifts a little, he becomes aware that another body is resting just inches from his own… It’s impossible to ignore. Not that he could ever ignore Ilya anyway.

When he finally lifts his eyelids, he’s faced with Ilya’s arm, pressed right up against his pillow. Ilya’s own pillows are a disaster. He lounges against them even though they’re in complete disarray, and appears to be wholly unbothered by the chaos. Shane could never. He needs his bedding to be straight, aligned, and perfectly adjusted before he’s comfortable.

Ilya is scrolling, but Shane can’t quite see the phone’s screen. He peers up at Ilya’s face.

“Hey.”

“Good morning.” Ilya glances down.

He shows Shane a true smile, banishing the frown he’d been wearing.

“How long have you been up?”

Ilya shrugs. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

Shane squints away the brightness as he looks out the window. The sun peeks over the tree line, and birds are singing. He stretches.

“I like waking up with you,” he sighs, nuzzling into Ilya’s side.

Ilya lays his phone face down on his bare stomach. “I like it too.”

After a minute, Shane asks the question that’s been lingering in the back of his mind. “What were you looking at?”

For a second, Ilya doesn’t respond. Then, he picks up his phone. He unlocks it and turns it to face Shane. On the screen is an image of an old photograph, one taken so long ago that the colours are just different shades of brown. The photo shows a group of young men in military uniform, laughing together. The figure in the middle could be Ilya, as he was when Shane first met him.

“Is that your dad?”

“Mhm.”

“Wow, you look a lot like him there.”

Shane feels the rise and fall of Ilya’s chest as he breathes in deeply and then sighs.

“We both resemble my grandmother—his mother.”

Shane sits up. He studies Ilya, but his face gives nothing away. “Do you… want to talk?”

Ilya offers another shrug. “There is nothing to say. I just…” He clicks the lock button on his phone, and the picture disappears. “I was dreaming about him. He looked young again. And he was happy in the dream. Not like real life.”

Shane thinks about Ilya’s words. He remembers his own parents from when he was a child. Sure, they’d been pretty strict, and there had always been rules for Shane to follow. But he couldn't possibly say they weren’t happy. He reaches out to take Ilya’s hand. He lifts it and places a kiss there.

“I’m sorry. It must have been so hard.”

Ilya fails to respond at first, but eventually he nods. “Mostly, I feel lucky that I got away. But sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I hadn’t.”

Shane suppresses a shudder. A life without Ilya in it is horrible to contemplate. “What do you think that life would look like for you?” he asks.

Ilya’s smile is wry. “I think I would have become just like him. And that was something I never wanted. He was everything I knew I didn’t want to be.”

Despite his attempts to appear unbothered, Shane can tell that Ilya has been affected by the conversation. He shuffles over and leans in so that his face is close to Ilya’s. He closes his eyelids and kisses him gently. When he pulls back, he sees that Ilya is watching him with misty eyes.

“You look worried,” Ilya observes. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.”

Shane nods, accepting, but not fully believing Ilya’s assurance. “So, what do you want to do today?” he asks, making a valiant attempt to sound cheerful.

This causes Ilya to laugh. “I don’t care, as long as you don’t leave me by myself.”

Shane shakes his head from side to side. “Never.”

~ Ilya

Ilya drifts beneath the water, letting the current nudge him this way and that. His eyes are open—he can see the broken glimmers of the sun’s dappled light dancing upon the surface of the lake up above him. He uses his strong arms and even stronger legs to push himself further down, so that the light gets dimmer and dimmer. When he reaches the lake bed, he grasps a handful of silt and pebbles. He’s letting the sand filter through his fingers when his chest begins to hurt.

As much as he doesn’t want to surface, he knows that he has to. His breath-holding capacity is limited because of the rib injury he’s still recovering from, and Shane knows it. Ilya doesn’t want him to worry. He kicks off and propels himself upward. It only takes a few seconds for him to break through. Right away, he spots Shane on the bank, searching for a sight of him. Ilya wanted him to stay close by. And he did.

When they’re back inside, Ilya heads straight for the shower. “Join me if you want,” he shoots over his shoulder to Shane.

As soon as they’re under the water, Ilya gets to his knees. Making Shane come is probably the quickest way to quiet the onslaught of negative feelings he’s been dealing with ever since he woke up. He doesn’t want to think about his dad or his childhood anymore. He only wants to think about Shane. Shane, who is just like the sun filtering through the lake, his light penetrating the darkness in Ilya’s mind.

At lunchtime, they eat leftovers in front of the TV. Ilya feels Shane’s eyes on him. He looks over and asks, “Why do you keep watching me?”

Shane makes a subconscious face—one that Ilya recognises very well. It’s the one that tells him Shane is trying to force his thoughts into cohesive sentences. Ilya suspects he often wore his own version of this same expression when he was first learning English. It’s like mild confusion and intense concentration mixed together.

Shane’s head tilts to the side. “You don’t seem… okay today.” He glances at his hands. “Is it because of what we discussed earlier?”

Ilya pushes his plate away. Gloom has descended on him like the sudden appearance of rain-filled clouds, and there’s nothing he could have done to mitigate it. He sighs, but before he can say anything, Shane speaks again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I wasn’t sure if I should even bring it up, and now—“

Ilya puts out his hand, resting it on Shane’s thigh. “It’s okay. You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says steadily.

Shane covers Ilya’s hand with both of his. “At the risk of sounding trite, I just want to say that if you’re not all right, it’s—it’s fine. You don’t have to be. I know you deal with a lot of expectation, but you can be whatever you need to when you’re here… with me. That’s the whole point.”

Ilya nods. Shane looks so vulnerable and earnest, and his sincerity is like a knife in Ilya’s heart. He leans in to kiss Shane, surprised by the level of emotion he suddenly feels. When he pulls back, he remains in Shane’s space, resting their foreheads together.

“I’m tired,” Ilya breathes.

Shane moves as if to stand, so Ilya backs off. When Shane is on his feet, he holds his hand out without saying a word. Ilya raises his eyebrows at him, but takes the offered hand. Shane leads Ilya to his bedroom.

“Lie down,” he says softly.

As Ilya follows Shane’s instruction, Shane grabs the remote for the blinds, causing them all to close slowly. Instead of coming to lie next to him, Shane collects a blanket and throws it over Ilya, bringing it up over his shoulders, tucking him in as if he’s a small child.

“You should get some rest,” Shane suggests. He turns to leave.

“Shane. Stay. Please?”

Shane comes back. He lies down on the bed next to Ilya. He doesn’t say anything, but he smiles. Ilya closes his eyes. He feels a kiss upon his cheek. The dark clouds have been broken up and chased away by the purest sunlight.

Ilya falls into a dreamless sleep.

~ Ilya

Ilya hears a knock and pops one eye open. He’d been teetering on the edge of sleep, lying on Shane’s couch, which is, of course, as comfortable a place to land as anywhere else in the cottage. Up until the knock at the door, Shane had been sitting nearby, sharing in his and Ilya’s quiet, cosy bubble.

They’re both tired. Both feeling a confusing mixture of relief and heaviness after being caught by Shane’s dad the week before. Then had come the stressed rush to the Hollanders’ to explain everything. Shane had seemed surprised at Ilya’s offer to go with him, even slightly reluctant to accept it. He was used to dealing with his mom and dad on his own. But they’d been great, taken aback at first, yes, but great. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been intense. And everything was going to be different now.

Now people would be allowed into their secret… their bubble. It would no longer just be Ilya and Shane… Rozanov and Hollander… Lily and Jane. That meant something. It meant everything. It was a lot to process. And so they’d tried. They’ve been spending their days as isolated as possible, enjoying the last gasp of their relationship being theirs alone. Soon, people will try to take ownership of them and what it means that they are together. And not all of it will be as hopeful, as positive, as Shane’s parents were.

Speaking of Shane’s parents, Ilya listens as Shane opens the terrace door to a warm greeting from his dad. How different, Ilya thinks, to what would have come knocking if they’d been discovered by a member of his family back home. He doesn’t really want to think about that. He rises and makes a cursory attempt to neaten the cushions he’d stuffed down behind him while he was lounging.

Shane’s dad greets him with a wave and a smile, which he returns as he approaches. David explains that he needs cable ties, and he knows Shane’s basement is full of them. Shane glances at Ilya. Ilya reads his face as if reading his mind. He’s asking if it’s okay for him to leave. Ilya blinks, once, slowly. It’s as good as a nod. Shane can read him, too.

When Shane is gone, Ilya surprises himself by feeling comfortable enough to observe David Hollander with open curiosity. He must be a good person, Ilya thinks, to have raised a man like Shane. He stands opposite Ilya in Shane’s kitchen, but something about the way he holds himself makes it clear that he knows he’s a guest in Shane’s home. He’s not one of those parents who find no issue in taking advantage of the spoils of their children’s career success. Ilya has met plenty of that type of parent before. He’s glad Shane hasn’t had to deal with it.

“So…” the older man says, clearly searching his brain for something to discuss. Some kind of common ground. “Ah, how are you enjoying the weather?”

Ilya instantly forces himself to suppress a snort of laughter. He doesn’t want to hurt David’s feelings, but really, the weather? He smiles as politely as he can. “I like it.”

“Good, good.” David looks at his watch.

Ilya casts around. Logically, he knows he is supposed to talk about something else now, but he can’t bring himself to ask David what he’s planning to have for dinner. He decides to give voice to the thought lurking in the back of his mind.

“I want to thank you for welcoming me into your home last week,” he offers softly.

David’s eyebrows shoot up. “Of course, of course. I mean… was it unexpected? Sure! But…” he pauses to consider what he wants to say. It’s very reminiscent of Shane. “But it was clear to us how much you two care about each other.”

Ilya hesitates to say anything right away. He’s not one to talk if only to fill silences. Before he can decide on a reply, David continues,

“Your family… they don’t know about Shane.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“No. My mother… she is dead. And my father, now dead also. I have a brother, but…”

Ilya shrugs.

“Ah, I see,” David says. He looks sad.

For a moment, it seems like Shane’s dad wants to hug him—to close the physical distance between them and offer him comfort in the form of a fatherly embrace. And maybe he contemplates doing just that, but in the end, David stays put. Ilya is relieved. If he’s being honest with himself, he wouldn’t have wanted it. He’s not a lover of feeling that exposed with someone so new.

Before either of them can say anything else, Shane is returning, bounding up the hallway with a huge pack of cable ties in his hand and a somewhat strained grin on his face. He passes the pack to his dad and comes to stand next to Ilya, giving him a subtly speculative look, wondering if—and hoping that—it all went okay while he was gone. Ilya smiles at him. It went okay.

“Well, thanks,” David says. “I’ll head out. But we’ll see you both soon, yes?”

It’s somehow slightly awkward again between the three of them. Maybe all of their interactions going forward will be tinged with a hint of vulnerability, at least until they get to know one another a little better. But, strangely, that’s something Ilya is very much looking forward to.

~ Shane

Shane watches Ilya, who lies next to him in bed, eyes closed. He’s so beautiful, Shane thinks.

“I know you are looking at me,” Ilya grumbles.

Shane’s breath of a laugh escapes him before he can stop it, confirming that which Ilya already knows—that Shane is awake and staring unabashedly.

“Can you blame me?”

“No. I’m good to look at,” Ilya states simply. His lip curls up, but he keeps his eyelids shut.

“Yeah,” Shane agrees, chuckling again.

Finally, Ilya looks at him, his eyes appearing almost golden in the early morning light. He forces his way closer to Shane so that they are chest-to-chest, and Shane throws a leg over Ilya’s hip. Ilya brings his face right next to Shane’s, resting his head on the same pillow. Then comes the kiss that Shane desperately wanted. It’s slow—there’s no need for them to hurry now. They can relax into it, enjoy it. Shane’s fingers rummage through Ilya’s hair as if they belong there, seeking intimacy while also asserting ownership.

Shane was already aroused when he woke to memories of all that had transpired in his bed the night before. Now he’s almost hard, and Ilya’s hand travels down to assist. Again, every movement is slow—the brush of their tongues against one another, the stroke of Ilya’s practised wrist. Soon, Shane is coming, soft moans captured by Ilya’s warm mouth.

Shane remains on his back, catching his breath, while Ilya deals with the mess on his hands. He returns quickly and puts himself right where he was before—between Shane’s thighs—getting as close to him as he can. Now it’s his turn to stare.

“Am I good to look at, too?” Shane asks, gazing up.

“Yes. Especially like this.”

“Half awake?”

“No… wanting me to fuck you,” Ilya breathes.

Shane feels his already flushed cheeks grow hotter. “Will you?”

Ilya nods, eliminating any remaining space between them.

Later, as Ilya lingers in the shower, Shane potters around the kitchen. He grabs whatever fruit they have left and throws it all into the blender. When Ilya pads towards him, wearing only shorts, his hair dampened into perfect little ringlets, Shane offers him a glass containing today’s smoothie experiment. Ilya takes a tentative sip.

“Yes, this is a good one,” he confirms. “Not like yesterday.”

Shane laughs out loud. “Okay, I can admit yesterday was bad. From now on, let’s avoid overripe mango, especially if we’re using coconut milk.” He’s about to suggest they venture out to restock the kitchen when his phone buzzes on the counter. He and Ilya both glance at it at the same time. It’s a message. Shane picks up the phone and scans the screen. “Dinner invite from my mom,” he says.

“Me too?” Ilya questions. His face is neutral, but he can’t hide the hope in his voice.

“You too,” Shane grins.

Ilya smiles, matching Shane. He’s clearly pleased. “I like your mom. She’s kind.” He thinks for a moment. “Your dad is, too. I like him also.”

“They like you,” Shane assures him.

He observes Ilya. For a brief moment, his train of thought forces him to wonder how it must be for him to know he’ll never speak to either of his parents again, and that the door to both of them is sealed shut forever. It’s a painful consideration, even if the relationship, at least between Ilya and his dad, was not an easy one. Shane hates the permanence of death. His mind tries to reject it because it’s the ultimate loss of control. He hates that he’ll never meet Ilya’s mom.

“What are you thinking about?” Ilya asks, bringing Shane’s focus back to the here and now.

Shane shakes his head slightly. “Just… I’m glad you like them—my mom and dad. I never really let myself picture a world where we’d be talking about spending time with them. Casual dinner plans. It’s nice.”

Ilya’s replying smile is genuine, if a little restrained. Shane realises he’s probably thinking about his dad, and how, if things were the other way around, this dinner would not be possible. They’re lucky, Shane knows.

He’ s lucky.

Not only because his parents have been supportive of his new—and unexpected relationship, but because of the way they raised him, the way they’ve loved him all his life. As he’s learned, not everyone is born into a family such as his. Warmth spreads through him as he begins to contemplate the future. He doesn’t doubt that Ilya will have the chance to share in his family’s love now, too.

~ Ilya

Ilya stands on the front step of Shane’s parents’ house with a too-large bunch of sunflowers in his hand. First, he’d picked roses, then peonies. Then he’d spotted a flash of rich orangey-yellow that instantly made him think of sunshine.

“She likes anything, trust me,” Shane had reassured him. “Whatever you get will be great; she’ll love them.”

“I want it to be right,” Ilya replied brusquely.

Then he apologised for being snippy. He didn’t want to admit that he was anxious because he didn’t know why he was. He’d already met David and Yuna; he’d been in their house just a week earlier, plus there’d been the flying visit from David. But he’d never brought flowers to his boyfriend’s mother before. Unfamiliar territory often left him irritated, but now, more than anything else, it feels like nerves he’s experiencing. And that’s almost worse.

Yuna comes to answer the door, her smile never faltering. David is behind her, looking just as welcoming. And they don’t seem to be acting, Ilya thinks. It’s not fake. They don’t hate him for ambushing them the last time he was here, or worse, for corrupting their son. Yuna takes the flowers, and she seems genuinely pleased. She leaves for the kitchen to put the bouquet in water. Shane follows his dad into the sitting room. They chat about this and that.

Ilya zones out a little. He wanders the room, never straying too far from Shane while taking in the atmosphere of the home. He looks at the artwork, at Shane’s baby pictures. He didn’t get the chance to do this when he was here before. He tries to calm himself.

It’s going well. It’s all fine.

He’s standing in front of a group shot of the Hollander family on a beach somewhere, noting that Shane’s freckles seem particularly dark in the photo, when Yuna approaches. She looks directly into Ilya’s eyes. She’s assessing him, he assumes.

“Thank you for coming back.”

Ilya dips his head. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Yuna’s gaze holds something Ilya hasn’t seen for a long while—the warmth of maternal love. “You’re welcome,” she tells him, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “I’m glad you’re here.”

It’s all she really needs to say. She moves away again, allowing Ilya his space. He takes a moment to think about his own mother and how she’ll never have lines on her face. Shane comes to stand next to him. Ilya grasps Shane’s hand, and Shane squeezes.

* Syd stops everything when she feels movement, holding completely still and trying to count the kicks. When the spell of activity is over, she looks up and catches Carm across the kitchen watching her (he’s been watching her the whole time), with the tiniest smile on his face.

* Carmen tries to get Sydney to eat nonstop, but she can never tell him what she wants. He gets frustrated, suggesting ever more elaborate dishes, and reminds her how important it is for her to eat. She has to tell him as kindly as possible to chill out about it, still guiding him in the way she always has.

* They go to antenatal classes, and it hits him just how much stress Nat was under, being pregnant the entire time that The Bear was being renovated/opening. Syd encourages him to talk to Nat and maybe even apologise for not acknowledging her sacrifices sooner. When he does this, Natalie’s eyes well up, but she brushes it off the very next second, saying there’s nowhere else she’d have rather been.

* Richie, Marcus, Luca, the Faks, etc., become super attentive to Sydney in the kitchen. Carmen struggles with this to begin with. This is his thing, his baby—he should be the one giving Syd all the attention. But he soon realises that it makes Syd happy to feel as though she has her family around her, caring for her, and he can’t ask for more than that, especially as some of them had been so vocal about him patching things up with Claire.

* Carmen starts asking Richie questions about bringing the baby home, early fatherhood, etc. At first, it’s just small enquiries, like which brand of diapers to buy. Richie never withholds information or acts like he knows it all. He simply steps into the role of older brother, happy to finally have his place in the family. Despite everything he and Carmen have been through, he finally gets to represent Mikey.

* Carmen permanently avoids cigarettes and makes a concerted effort to stop yelling. Everyone appreciates this (especially Sydney).

* Syd struggles with baby names. She wants to honour the people who aren’t with them anymore—Mikey, her mom—but at the same time, she wants the baby to have a name all of its own. Carmen reassures her, completely happy to let her take the lead on this, and certain that the right name will come to her when she’s ready.

* When Syd starts to get too big and achy to pull her usual shifts, she gets upset. If she’s not there in the kitchen, holding it all together, she worries that things will fall apart. Carmen never suggests she stay home; he just makes the office as comfortable as possible for her, realising that nothing could keep him away from The Bear, so he can’t expect her to stay away.