It's a traditional restaurant, with a washed-out wooden exterior and unassuming waiters. They don't know him but he's won them over already, with his delicate manners and his sweetness. We get the better table and drinks on the house and he's looking through the window, eyes in the vague. I don't know what he's thinking, I don't want to make a mistake, take him off this lighter feelings he was in earlier. We're given the menus and he's back in the room with me.
"Lots of crabs." His tone is light. I focus. The place is packed and it feels strangely good. In the crowd, I'm only one amongst many, unimportant. There isn't drama, there isn't pain, it's just people having a meal, lazily.
"Well, it's a seafood place, what did you expect?" "Didn't you mention lobster?" His eyes are shining. I smile "I did, it's on the next page, see? So, you want some?" "I don't know, it's expensive, but not very adventurous... What about jellyfish or octopus?" I fake gagging but he grins even more "I'm serious, in Asia, it's a delicacy. I'm sure you can find it in Asian restaurants." "Maybe, Son, but this is not one, so you'll have to restrict yourself." "OK, then, what do you recommend?" I want to have him for dinner, but I don't say it. "We could order two dishes that I like and then share them?" He nods. I don't order alcohol. I want to enjoy this night, make it matter. His lips hold promises, his hands are meticulous, when taking the shells away. I shiver and look away.
He's gone again, maybe on the moon that we can see through the window, big and pale, near the horizon. I put my hand on his and he smiles again. "It's a long time since I came here, you know. I was about that-kid-over-there's age and I'm sure I looked exactly like him, with itchy legs and quite bored... Johnny looks like that sometimes." He sounds carefree now. I dig in his plate and he fights me with his knife, then feeds me himself. His laugh is a clear river, trickling in the staircase to my heart. When I laugh too, he's beaming. "You look better like that, Sonny. I hated what your mother did to you. I'm certain she'll calm down. You're lucky to have a mother who loves you so much." "Sami loves you too." "Maybe..." "And I do too." He looks up. His eyes are two pieces of heaven. "You love me? You don't really know me, though." "In a way, I do. Not the details or the anecdotes or all of your tastes. But I know your character, your strength and needs. I've seen part of your soul and it's beautiful."
I wait for his rebuttal. For his good-manners and fears to tell me he isn't and I prepare my arguments, my tone, to reach to him. But he doesn't fight.
It's a metamorphosis. A flower opening its petals, letting them shimmer in the sunlight. He's happy. Thanks to me. I can hardly breathe.
"I love you too."
He's so open to the world, transparent and seemingly never needing to lie. He's too strong for that. So I believe him. It was worth it, all of it. Just for that moment. I feel life exploding in my body, replacing the remains of the dry, painful sensations that led me to wanting it to stop.
I look at the seaside. There's no beach there, but you can go for a walk still. I want to. With Sonny.
He frowns. He doesn't like it when I look at the sea. I understand and I'm grateful but I want him to stop worrying. So I seduce him.
We're walking hand in hand and he's chuckling and giving me sideway glances, burning ones and I am burning indeed. It's cold and I wish I had one mitten, for my free hand, to even the warmth I feel in the occupied one. "You see, Sonny, that's the Northern Star!" I look up, then back at him "Have you ever seen Northern Lights, Will?" "No, have you?" "Yes, in Iceland. It was... unreal. As if I was watching a painting in movement... Being with you reminds me of it. The awe." His breathing is suddenly difficult and I wonder if he's ok. Then I'm overtaken by a storm.
The passion he puts into it is greater than ever. It's not our first kiss and we've done more but it's the one after our confession. Mine was unfinished, so when I can, I pant "I love you, Will." and it's a fuel for his fire. His gestures are languid and fluid at the same time. He's a lynx, proud and on the prowl, playing with my senses, kissing down my neck. I like giving up, letting him be in charge. This evening is different. It's showing me he's not just broken, that he has vitality and humor (when he pretends to throw me in the bushes and stops just last minute.)
He's growling. I didn't expect that from him. He's so together and in control and respectful. I can't see his face well in the darkness of the fishing port, but there's something wild there and I shiver. And I like it.