Page 12

12

Atlas

Having a conversation with Henri takes twice the amount of time it would take with anyone else. He doesn’t say a single thing without thinking about it first. I wait him out, already used to this in the weeks we’ve known one another. When his fingertips brush across the top of my hand and up my arm, I know he’s come to a decision.

“Maybe we could try kissing again,” he says.

“Come down here,” I tell him, and wait as he immediately slides down until he’s lying flat beside me.

Rolling up onto my side, I prop my head up on a hand and look down at him. He looks a little less perfect than usual: hair sloppy and damp, cheeks flushed, and shirt crinkled. I like it. I like it better than the perfectly coifed and polo-shirted version. This is a terrible idea. This is the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had , my brain screams at me as I reach a hand out and touch gentle fingertips to Henri’s cheek. The scruff is nice. The scruff is really nice .

He doesn’t move as I trace my fingers along the line of his jaw, but keeps his eyes on my face. I’m not planning on going after anything below the neck, but I’m not sure he’d stop me if I tried. The way he’s watching me is almost clinical, like he’s cataloguing each thing I do and his own reaction to it. Same, Henri, same.

“Don’t just lie there without moving,” I instruct him, pressing my thumb to his bottom lip so he knows what I’m talking about. “Keep your mouth relaxed, and don’t worry about using your tongue unless you’re feeling it.”

Instead of laughing—which any other sane person would after hearing those instructions—Henri nods solemnly and says, “I understand.”

As though to prove he’s a good student, the moment I lean down to touch my mouth to his, he opens. I keep my hand relaxed on the side of his face, fingers cupped around his ear. I’m trying to keep it gentle and let Henri lead, but kissing him is apparently some sort of magical dick-raiser, because I can already feel myself getting hard. This isn’t even a good kiss, for fuck’s sake.

Scooting my hips back so he won’t feel it if my semi turns into a full-on boner, I melt into the kiss a little bit, trying to let him lead while also moving things along. I told him not to worry about using his tongue, but damn if I don’t want to use mine. I want to know what every inch of his mouth tastes like.

After a few minutes, I pull back enough to look at his face. He hasn’t once moved his hands from where they’re linked together on his stomach, nor has he made a single sound. I honestly can’t tell if he’s enjoying himself or not. Luckily, Henri’s particular brand of honesty doesn’t leave much to the imagination .

“I like this,” he says, and smiles up at me. My stomach makes a strange swooping sensation, not unlike what it was doing when I was last here and wasted. Goddamn this guy for being so goddamn cute.

“I honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell if you hadn’t told me,” I admit. “Most of the time when someone is into it, there are hands and noises involved.”

“I wouldn’t mind touching you,” he says baldly, eyes tracking over my face and down my neck. “But I don’t need you to touch me, if you are not wanting to. What noises?”

“Well, you know…sex noises.” I almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation—me explaining sex noises to a virgin while I teach him how to kiss. “Moaning and stuff.”

“Oh. You were not making noises,” he points out.

“Fair. But I’m also trying to focus on going slow and not eating your face. Also, I don’t need sex noises to prove I’m into this, my dick is doing that for me.”

I watch as his gaze lands on my crotch and ping-pongs back to my face. A slow, satisfied smile crawls across his face.

“You like me,” he says cheerfully.

“No, I don’t like you. I like kissing and hot guys,” I correct, but it does nothing to wipe the smile off of his face. He can tell I’m lying. His own dick has remained dormant, I notice, but I’m not surprised. I don’t consider myself an expert on asexuality, but I’ve got a pretty good read on Henri at this point. A few minutes of lip-lock isn’t going to be enough to raise his flag.

He shrugs, still looking mighty pleased with himself. “I am thinking you like me a little bit.”

“I am thinking you’re getting a little ahead of yourself for someone who kisses like a fourteen-year-old,” I counter, making him laugh .

“I will get better with practice. I am very teachable—Coach Mackenzie has told me so.”

“Oh my god.” I shake my head, unable to hold back a small chuckle. This guy. This fucking guy. “All right, Henri. Let’s keep practicing.”

I give myself a stern talking-to on my way home from Henri’s. I actually am starting to like the guy, despite desperately trying not to. He’s just so damn eager and ready to please. I bet he’d be a damn dream in bed—pliable and willing. Do not go there, Atlas. Fucking is where you need to draw the line, I mentally chide myself. This guy needs to stay firmly in the friend zone, and it’s my job to keep him there. Sleeping with virgins is an emotional mess, and I don’t do emotions or messes.

By the time I get back to the house, it’s barely past ten and I’m starving. Per usual, the only edible things in the kitchen are junk or frozen foods. I opt for the junk and bring a half-eaten bag of chips up to my room.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I’m just deciding to poke my head into Nate’s room when my phone rings. Thinking it might be Henri, I pull it out of my pocket with more excitement than I’d care to admit. The name on the screen isn’t Henri, though. It’s Dad, which goes to show that anybody who plants an expectation, reaps a massive disappointment.

I consider sending it straight to voicemail or ignoring the call completely, but I still love my dad and miss him, even though it makes me the biggest idiot on planet Earth.

“Hey.” I pick up on what would probably have been the last ring, and try hard to modulate my tone. Dad hates it when I sound petulant . Whatever the hell that means.

“Hey. Just calling to check up on things. How are classes?”

“Fine. I really like my ceramics class.” I squeeze the phone tightly in my fingers, pressing it hard to my ear as I step into my room and close the door behind me.

“That doesn’t sound like something you can make a career of,” Dad responds immediately, and I have the sudden urge to put my pillow against my face and scream.

“I guess not.”

“How about anything else? You’re taking a couple computer classes, right?”

Right, Dad, because all Asians are good at math and should work in tech, I think acidly. “Yeah.”

“And? Do you like it?”

“Not really,” I answer, unable to keep the petulance from my voice. Oh well, I tried. “I don’t want a job at a desk, Dad. You know that.”

His huff of impatience is so familiar to me, I almost laugh. Sitting down on the floor, I put my back to the bed, tip my head against the mattress, and close my eyes. I can’t number the times I’ve told my dad that I don’t want to do work similar to his, and each time has gone ignored. I don’t know why he expects a different answer every time he calls, like he’s expecting a different son to answer the phone or perhaps hoping that I’ve gotten a lobotomy and changed my entire personality. I have the sudden, gut-clenching desire to still be in Henri’s dorm.

Ridiculous, Atlas. You’re being ridiculous.

“Well, you’re going to have to decide what to do sooner rather than later. You’re going to run out of general study classes, and what then? Sell ceramics?” He chuckles at his own joke, and I think I might hate my father.

“Yeah, maybe,” I retort, because I love riling him up and also because people do make ceramics and sell them for a living.

“Your mom also wanted to know whether you were planning on coming home for Christmas break? We’re painting the house. If you’re going to stay at school, we’ll tackle the guest bedroom over Christmas,” he continues, ignoring what I said.

My mouth tastes sour at the mention of my room being the guest bedroom, and my stepmother being my mom. He knows I hate it when he calls her that. He knows it. Just once, I’d like him to listen to what I say and not use it as ammunition against me.

“I’m staying here.” I hadn’t actually thought about my plans for break yet, but if he’s giving me an out, I’m damn well going to take it.

Propping my phone between my shoulder and ear, I stand up and open my tiny window. Lighting up a cigarette, I take a deep inhale, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes. Henri’s voice in my head telling me smoking is bad for me makes me smile.

Dad gives up on trying to entice me into family talk, which means we’ve officially run the gamut of things we can chat about.

“I’ll put some more money in your checking account. Send me a text if you need anything else.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I mutter. I can’t wait for the day when I can earn my own money and cease being a leech on a family that I don’t belong in. A family that doesn’t want me .

“Have a good rest of the week,” Dad says, already sounding distracted.

“Say hi to the boys from me,” I request quickly, not wanting him to hang up before I get the words out. It’s not my stepbrothers’ fault that I’ve got a fucked-up relationship with my dad and their mom.

“See you,” he says before disconnecting the call, making me wonder if he heard me at all. Whatever. I’ll just text the boys myself to make sure the message is received.

Finishing off my cigarette, I’m just going to put my phone down when I notice a text message from Henri that came through while I was on the phone with Dad.

Henri

Thank you for coming over. I enjoy spending time with you. You forgot to take your owl picture, but I shall bring it to class for you.

No matter how hard I try and fight it, I can’t help but smile. I hate people that smile at their cellphones like idiots. I hate that Henri is turning me into one of those idiots. This is exactly how it starts; pretty soon I’ll be too attached to him to survive it when he inevitably leaves me.

Atlas

i left it on purpose because i don’t want it

Henri

But I worked so hard!

Atlas

if you give that to me i’ll just throw it away

Henri

Atlas

oh my god i can’t with you right now

bye henri i’ll see you in class

Dropping my phone onto my bed, I gather my shower kit and my pajamas, going across the hall to the bathroom I share with Nate and one other roommate. It’s not until I’m standing under the water that I realize what he did. Without meaning to, Henri hijacked my bad mood and distracted me enough to have me grinning at my phone and forgetting all about my dad.

Next time I see him, I’ll give him another lesson in kissing to show my appreciation.