Page 26

26

Atlas

Hands shaking slightly, I clean up our station. Henri, despite the apron, has managed to get clay on both his pants and his polo shirt, as well as up his forearms. Not to mention, what I smeared all over his face and into his hair. I want to take him home, stand him in my shower, and clean off every inch. Then, I want to lay him out on my bed and cover the same ground with my mouth.

Pump the brakes, Atlas, you’ve only just started to figure things out , I think, trying to talk myself down.

Silently, we leave the building walking side by side. I don’t grab for his hand, still a little unsure about exactly where we are, and needing explicit words to explain what he needs.

“Henri,” I whisper, as he leads me across the lawn. It’s dark, and the campus mostly empty.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me exactly what you want? Like, are we…” I trail off, leaving that sentence for him to finish. I have a fe eling I know what he’s going to say, and the possibility leaves me a little queasy. You want this, I remind myself sternly.

“Well, I think that is maybe up to you. I have not made it a secret, what I want.”

“Together,” I fill in.

“Boyfriends,” he adds slowly, as though he’s testing the word to see if it can hold our weight.

“Okay,” I agree, fighting back the flash of nerves. “Okay.”

Henri, probably hearing the abject terror that one word holds, slides his hand into mine and squeezes my fingers. Once we’re seated in his car, I point him toward the exit we’ll need to take to go back to my place.

“Do you remember where it is?” I ask him, knowing he only came over a handful of times. Most of our time together was spent tucked away in his dorm.

“If you wouldn’t mind directing,” he requests, so I do.

Nate’s truck is the only one in the driveway when Henri pulls in. I can see the light from the television filtering through the front window as we walk up the step, and let ourselves in. Nate’s sprawled out on the couch, remote resting on his stomach and face turned toward the TV. He glances over at the sound of the door and breaks out into a wide smile. I don’t fool myself into believing it’s because he’s excited to see me.

“Vas!” he exclaims, proving my theory correct.

“Hello, my friend,” Henri greets him, inclining his head slightly. “How are you this evening?”

“Good, good. You guys kiss and make up?”

“Yes,” Henri says without hesitation. It shouldn’t be possible, but somehow Nate’s smile grows.

“We’re going upstairs,” I interrupt. Eyeing Henri’s dirty clothes, I sigh. “Nate, you got any sweats that he could borrow that aren’t covered in clay?”

Nate looks like he might faint with happiness. Walking over, he slings an arm over Henri’s shoulders and pulls him into his side. “I would love to lend you some clothes, Vas. Spending the night?”

“Stop. And no touching,” I snap, shoving his arm off of Henri. He merely laughs and gestures us to follow him as he walks up the stairs. We hover in the doorway as Nate fishes through his closet. He selects a few things, tossing them over his shoulder at Henri, who catches them easily.

“Thank you. I shall wash them and bring them to practice, yes?”

“Whatever works.” Nate shrugs. “I’ll be downstairs. You guys have fun.”

He bumps Henri’s shoulder as he passes and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at me. I scowl at him, waiting until he’s back down the stairs before turning to Henri.

“You go first,” I offer, feeling ridiculously awkward. This is my house. It was my idea to come back here, and this is my Henri—no reason at all to feel nervous. And yet, the eggshells are scattered about, and I’m doing my best to walk tentatively over them.

“I shall be quick,” Henri promises, and slips into the bathroom.

I wait for him in my room, sitting stiff on the edge of my bed. He’s as good as his word, the shower cutting off mere minutes after it turned on. I stand to meet him, just as he turns the corner into my bedroom.

“Nate is making a joke,” he tells me, and points to his chest. The shirt Nate loaned him has the motif of a riderless horse and the words Save a horse, ride me emblazoned across it. I pinch my lips together to keep from laughing at the put-upon expression on Henri’s face.

“No collar, either,” I point out. “It’s unnatural, at this point, seeing you in anything but a polo shirt. Who even are you?”

“I am a cowboy,” he replies solemnly, once more pointing at Nate’s shirt.

“Jesus.” I breathe out hard, grappling with the visual of Henri on a horse, tight jeans gripping those impressive thighs. “Now that’s a thought. I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

Grimacing, I snatch up my clothes and skirt past him toward the bathroom. That sounded like I’m expecting to come back from the shower, and find him naked and waiting for me, stretched out on the sheets. God, fuck this awkwardness. Why can’t things just be exactly the way they were before I screwed everything up?

Cranking the heat on the water, I scrub all remnants of clay from my skin. I also take a minute to wash my hair and say a prayer of thanks for how lightly I grow body hair. No manscaping needed, so I’m in and out of the shower in under five minutes. Standing in front of the mirror, I do a quick visual inspection of myself, decide it probably can’t get much better, and walk back across the hall.

Henri’s seated in almost the exact spot I vacated when he’d come in—perched on the edge of my bed, back straight, and palms resting on his thighs. He looks over when I walk in.

“This feels strange, does it not?” he asks immediately. I sigh, relieved.

“Yeah, it does.”

“I have some thoughts,” he says. I snort, taking another pass at my hair with the towel before tossing it onto the dresser. When I sit next to Henri, he immediately puts a hand on my leg. “I think, because it is too late to be driving home, I should be staying here tonight. And perhaps we might kiss again, and I would really like to hold you, and we could talk a little more if you wish.”

Checking my phone, I note that it’s not yet 10 p.m. “You’re right. Way too late for you to drive home. You’ll have to stay. No more talking though, because I think I’m going to have an allergic reaction if we continue.”

We crawl into bed, sliding below the sheets and wordlessly rolling onto our sides to face each other. Without even making a conscious decision to do so, I reach a hand out to slide my fingers into his hair. He groans at the contact, leaning forward and kissing me.

“Atlas,” he whispers, rolling me so I’m on my back and he’s on top of me.

“I missed you,” I whisper back, eliciting another groan.

“Ich habe dich mehr vermisst,” he says, barely getting the words out before his mouth presses against mine with greater urgency.

Fuck it . I slide one hand under his shirt and up his back, refamiliarizing myself with the softness of his skin and the planes of his muscles. He rocks against me, the movement so gentle it’s barely movement at all.

“Atlas,” he repeats.

“Go on,” I tell him. Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the feel of his hair and the weight of him, pressing me down as he rocks his hips. I catch a whiff of his hair when he kisses a careful line across my cheekbone.

He still smells like lemons.

I barely sleep through the night, constantly waking up and reaching across the bed to make sure Henri was still there. He was.

And there he is now, still sleeping peacefully despite the morning light filtering through my small window. One of his legs is resting between mine, hair rough against the inside of my thigh. His bare shoulder is just visible above the blanket, which is pulled up under his chin and held tight in a fist. I hadn’t expected open wheel night to go the way it did, but I sure as hell don’t have any complaints.

Regretting that we can’t laze around in bed all day, I put a hand to Henri’s hair. He comes awake almost immediately, one eye slitting open and a quick smile on his lips. Happy to see me , I note, and relax a little bit. It’s going to take some getting used to on my part, being given so much selfless affection and feeling as though I deserve it.

“Good morning, B?rchen.”

“Morning. Sleep okay?”

“I did, yes. I slept very well. I have not slept this well in many months.”

Chuckling softly, I tuck a hand under my cheek to raise my face off the pillow.

“Laying it on a little thick,” I tease, even though he’s right. Everything—including sleep—is somehow better with him around.

“I have class this morning.” He sighs, rolling over to grab his phone from the pocket of Nate’s sweats, which were tossed to the floor last night.

“German class?” This earns me a sharp nudge with his toe. I toss my leg over his hip to spare my calf, still idly threading my fingers through his hair. “I have class, too. Not until nine, though, so I think we’ve got a little time. You’ll probably want to go home and change, though?”

I’ve never seen Henri go to lecture in anything other than his polo shirts and khaki pants. If he wears Nate’s borrowed clothes, everyone in his classes would probably die from shock.

“Yes, I suppose I should. I texted my friend Zeke that I was not going to be home last night, but he is probably waiting for me this morning. He is likely wanting to hear what happened. We are very similar, him and I. He understands when I tell him that you are the only one for me.”

“I have no idea what to do when you say things like that,” I admit, shifting in discomfort. It’s not even the words that bother me, it’s the way he says them with utter conviction.

“I will tell you. Here is what you do: you put your hand like this”—he demonstrates by placing his palm against my cheek, fingers curled gently around my ear—“and you kiss me, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat softly, as he leans forward to do just that.

“And then you say: Henri.” He stops, and it takes me a long moment before I realize he’s waiting for me to repeat his words.

“Oh, right. Henri?—"

“You are the most handsome of men. The smartest. The most skilled at hockey.” Another pause.

“You are the most handsome, smart, and skilled at hockey,” I repeat obediently.

“And then you kiss me again! Simple,” he exclaims, before muffling my laughter with his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Sitting up, I stretch and bend over him, reaching for my shirt. Something bangs against the wall I share with Nate, followed by a muffled curse. Henri laughs.

“Nate is fun. I am not sure I could be living with him, though. You are a brave soul.”

I walk Henri down to the door in my shirt and boxers, resting a shoulder against the wall to watch him slip his shoes back on. Rising back to standing, he steps close enough for me to put a hand on his hip and squeeze.

“Together?” I ask.

“Together,” he repeats. “Always.”