Harold was reading in bed, the pale lamp shadowing the room, yet giving the older man a soft glow, almost a halo. John was probably tired, but Harold was always the source of light in any room. That thought was followed by a desire to say it out loud.
What would Harold do? Would he try to puzzle out why John would say such a thing? Would he make a cutting remake to deflect the tenderness? John found himself holding his tongue; again. He was supposed to be trying to be more open.
Right about the time John had resolved to say what he was thinking, Harold lifted his gaze over to John in mid shirt removal. Harold looked at John's open shirt then quickly looked at his book and said, "Miss Morgan seemed hostile to you the morning after my lesson in jury tampering. Do I need to have another conversation to reassure her about our arrangement?"
John's face soured and he threw his shirt on the floor to his side of the closet in Whistler's tiny apartment on 72nd Street. "No. Zoe and I are not having sex anymore. I told you that."
Harold sighed, "I understand what you said, but that was before…." Harold's voice dropped off. "In any case, I did try to make myself scarce. I do hope she doesn't find me an impediment."
"How could she? You have been over accommodating even when I asked you not to be. Leaving us alone in that house in the 'burbs, and then booking us a room in your hotel while you worked the books. One would think you were trying to tell me something with all the accommodating you've been doing."
Harold was a bit taken aback by the harsh tone. John was usually so solicitous to Harold, usually seeing the wisdom of Harold's point of view. "I just want to make sure you're as content as possible John. I know that recent events have strained our time together. I wouldn't want you to go lacking on my account."
John sat on the bed and tried to grab Harold's hand, but Harold casually moved it away. "You are grieving the loss of Sameen and worried about Root. So am I. I don't expect you to take a break from crying every night in order to service me. I had hoped we could find comfort in each other."
Harold looked scandalized, "I am not cry-" He closed his mouth with an audible click.
John smiled sadly, "You were going to say 'I am not crying every night', but you remembered you swore to never lie to me. I feel you leave the bed, I hear you go to the bathroom, Harold. The running water doesn't drown out your sobs like you think it does."
Harold threw back the covers and stiffly left the bed. He limped to his reading chair and sat down. He removed his glasses to rub his tired, red rimmed eyes.
John walked over to kneel at Harold's feet. This time John grabbed a hold of Harold's hands and took no rebukes. John placed the glasses on the side table, then said, "Your eyes are always red with black circles under them. I am a detective, Harold. Why do you need to hide this from me? I had hoped we could grieve together. My therapist says I need to open up, that love is part of living that-"
Harold had a particularly smug smile on his face prompting John to ask, "What?"
Harold said, "Your therapist? Iris? Is that what this is about?"
John stood up in a huff and went to the window, "I really wish you would believe me when I say I want no one else: just you."
Harold sounded tired as he said, "I would like to believe that John, but a normal male such as yourself has desires. Many times my body or my mind won't cooperate. I know that we aren't exactly rocking the mattress every night. I can't always keep up with you. I honestly do not mind if you stray. Sex is not always about love. Sometimes it is simply a biological function, a physical need."
John turned toward Harold and said angrily, "First of all, not every man needs to have sex every night.
John placed a hand over his heart. "Idon't need to get laid all the time. I'm not some tomcat or rutting ram in heat. Second, I would rather chastely hold you all night then have a vigorous hour rolling in the hay with Zoe. And Third: I don't chase every skirt in a desperate attempt to reassure myself that sex with you doesn't make me less of a real man."
By this time John's voice had risen in surprising volume. This was nearly shouting for John when he said. "I'm not Nathan!"
The very millisecond the words left his mouth John wanted to snatch them back, but it was too late. Harold's entire body went ramrod straight. His mouth pinched into an unhappy line. Harold's entire attitude was closed for business. John had essentially ended any free discourse between them.
John crossed the room trying to apologize, but Harold made it swiftly to the bathroom first. He firmly closed the door and locked it, shutting John out physically as he was shutting John out metaphorically.