Page 15 of Doors & Windows (Liam & Jonah’s Story)

Liam’s competency, the rare, earned confidence in his movements, stoked an unexpected reaction in Jonah. The stirring of desire, bordering on a devotion reserved for worship, took him by surprise. But in the safety of Liam’s distraction, he let his eyes wander.

Appreciating Liam’s aesthetic appeal was nothing new, but allowing himself to consider a physical relationship as something attainable gave it new life.

He watched, enamored, as wiry muscles flexed and shifted under pale, freckled skin.

When Liam reached up to stroke a silver lining onto the highest cloud, his shirt lifted to reveal a dimpled lower back.

It was suddenly impossible not to remember how that part of him felt under Jonah’s palm. How it felt to slip his hand lower.

Jonah let out a long, slow breath through his nose . Painting , he thought. Focus on the painting.

It was less than an hour later when Liam lowered his hands to his sides, took a step back, and stared up at the wall for a long, silent stretch.

Jonah watched, eyes torn between the art and the artist, and waited for the declaration.

Finally, Liam tossed his brush into a mostly empty tray and turned back to Jonah, one arm gesturing widely.

“Ta-da,” he sang.

Jonah pushed himself up, leaning back on his hands.

There was never any doubt in his mind that this mural would be beautiful, but what Liam delivered was even better than he imagined.

Spindly branches blooming with yellow and white flowers stretched up and out from the bottom corner of the room.

In the middle of the largest branch, two small birds sat side by side, facing away from the viewer, their feathers painted in a depiction of iridescence in the false light.

Liam’s raw talent was evident, but even more than that, his dedication to the vision was woven into every brushstroke.

It was undeniable from even a glance Liam cared about this piece—about what it meant to him as a new artist making his way in the world, and what it meant for the newborn babies who would sleep beneath the glow of his pastel sky.

“I…” Jonah shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say. ”

Liam ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “If you’re looking for suggestions, might I recommend, ‘Liam, your artistic genius is boundless and incomparable.’ ”

A smile spread slowly over Jonah’s face. “‘Liam,’” he echoed obligingly, “‘your artistic genius is boundless and incomparable.’”

“Wow, thank you. That is so kind of you to say.” Liam sank down next to him, twisting his torso in both directions in a ripple of pops and cracks.

“They’re going to love it.” Jonah nudged a water bottle in his direction.

He’d been so focused in those last couple of hours that he’d hardly paused for a sip.

Now, he drank like a man in a desert, head tilted back and stray rivulets trickling down his chin, over the smooth column of his throat.

Jonah followed the droplets down to the damp neckline of his shirt and swallowed.

“Will you take a picture?” Liam pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to Jonah. “Gotta commemorate the moment or whatever.”

Jonah gladly took the phone and shuffled back toward the doorway to get the full mural in the frame.

Liam scooted the other way, closer to his painted wall.

He had his knees bent and loosely spread, both elbows resting on them to throw up twin peace signs.

His smile was big enough that his eyes were nearly shut.

Jonah took the photo, then several more. Just to be sure.

He made sure to send them all to himself as he stood. Crossing to Liam, he traded the phone back in exchange for an outstretched hand, pulling Liam to his feet. Their hands lingered longer than strictly necessary, so Jonah used it to his advantage, maintaining his hold to tug Liam forward.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s not every day we get to watch the sunset from a private beach house.”

They returned to the terrace off the main bedroom where they’d eaten lunch. Jonah filled his lungs with a gust of sea breeze, held it, then let it out.

“It feels like you can breathe easier out here,” he said. “Like the air is lighter.”

“Definitely cleaner than that good ol’ New York City smog,” Liam agreed. “What do you think these people do for work to afford a place like this?” He leaned against the opulent granite railing that separated them from the drop overlooking the beach.

Jonah sidled up beside him, close enough that their arms were in constant contact. He squinted at the horizon. “Definitely in the mafia, right?”

Liam sighed, dramatic and wistful. “Something to aspire to, I suppose.” He turned toward Jonah, nudging the toe of his yellow high-tops, now speckled with paint, against Jonah’s work boot. “Thank you, again,” he said. “For landing me this opportunity. I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

“I already told you. You earned it yourself.”

Liam didn’t push back. Instead, he wet his lips, fingers trailing along the balcony rail until they brushed Jonah’s elbow. “Can I kiss you?”

Jonah nodded. He wondered if it showed on his face, what it meant to him—the asking. The waiting for consent. The gentleness with which he treated him.

The kiss didn’t stay gentle for long, though, and Jonah didn’t want it to.

He lit up when Liam made a high, desperate sound against his mouth, his hands sliding into Jonah’s hair.

His fixation with the new length made Jonah want to keep growing it out, letting it run wild in a way he never had, if only it would keep Liam clinging to him like this.

Next time , the words echoed again in Jonah’s memory.

Liam kissed him like there was a future ahead of them, one where their two paths twined seamlessly together.

The thought opened up around him like a brilliant light.

It opened beneath him like a bottomless pit.

He didn’t understand how both of those things could be true at once.

Liam pulled back, keeping his fingers light at the nape of Jonah’s neck. “What’s wrong?”

Jonah shook his head. “Nothing.” It should have been nothing.

This was the most perfect moment, the most perfect day.

Jonah’s anxious melancholy had no place here, but it was too late; it’d made its home anyway.

“Nothing,” he repeated. “Just… earlier. You said you wanted me to cook you dinner next time.”

Liam frowned, beginning a careful retreat. “I mean, you don’t have to—”

“No, that’s not...” Jonah closed his eyes, shaking his head again. He caught Liam’s hand as it pulled away, twisting their fingers together. “You said next time .”

The crease between Liam’s brows deepened, which made sense, because Jonah wasn’t making any sense. His thoughts were getting tangled in his throat like they always did, coming out wrong, out of order.

“You said it so easily,” Jonah clarified. “Like it wasn’t…. It was just a given. That there would be a next time. ”

“I’m sorry.” Liam’s voice was suddenly unsteady. Uncertain. “I didn’t mean to assume.”

Jonah couldn’t watch him suffer a moment longer. “I didn’t know if you’d still want this.” The truth burst out of him. “Want me .” When he dared to look up again, clarity had dawned in Liam’s eyes.

“Jonah,” he whispered.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Jonah added quickly. “I know it’s not reasonable to expect… I mean you deserve—”

“Jonah. This is about what happened in your room?” He waited for Jonah’s nod. “Have you really been worried this whole time that I was thinking this way?”

Jonah eyed him, heart in his throat. “Have you really not ?”

“No. I haven’t,” Liam said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that night, but not in the way you’re worried about.

” He looked down at their intertwined hands, dangling between them.

“The opposite, really. The conversation went a little differently in my head, but I was hoping to talk to you today about this.” He squeezed his hand. “About us .”

All at once, the steady thrum of a promised next time was replaced with the cadence of that one syllable.

“Us,” Jonah echoed, desperate to taste the word for himself.

“What we have has always been real to me,” Liam said. “But I want to be able to define it. I want to call it something real, too.”

It was everything Jonah wanted. It was everything he feared.

These two truths stood in tandem, hand in hand, each one nonexistent without the other.

He was being offered the love of Liam Cassidy, and the risk of losing it.

Jonah had never been taught how to hold something precious like this; it felt slippery in his fingers.

In his limited history, love was a fleeting thing, never his to hold for long, always caught on a condition.

Liam had already spent the better part of a year teaching him how to swallow love in smaller doses, and even then it had been beyond the scope of his understanding. He didn’t know if his body could hold this much at once.

“You want to be my boyfriend?”

Liam smiled, wry and nervous. “We can talk about labels. But I want a relationship with you, yes. A romantic one. If that’s what you want, too.”

Want wasn’t a big enough word for it. Words were rarely big enough when it came to how he felt about Liam.

“I want to be fair to you,” Jonah said. “You’ve never been in a relationship like this. You deserve…” Better. More. “Liam, what happened the other night…”

“If this is about sex,” Liam said, uncharacteristically blunt, “and whether or not you think that’s on the table right now, or ever… Jonah, that’s not a big deal.”

White static filled all the spaces inside Jonah’s brain where a response might have formed. He pushed the words apart and back together again, trying to make sense of them.