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T imi opened his eyes to daylight and was confused for a moment why he felt so light. Then, a figure stirred beside him, and the memories came rushing.

He'd slept with a man, and it was the most astonishing thing ever. Which also meant…what the fuck had they done?

But he remained still, his body, soul and spirit, refusing to return to their default state. Where was the shame and disgust? Where was that uncontrollable urge to shove his bed partner off, down some vodka to numb his senses, and rush into the bathroom for a quick skinning session?

Why was he raising his head, so a slowly awakening Alex could tuck his face into his neck? And why did his chest clench at having his warm body fold into his?

Where the hell was Timi Lawson?

“Hi.” Alex's husky voice came muffled against his neck .

“Hi,” Timi returned.

“We should cross some activities off our list today.”

And as though his neck was controlled by a puppeteer, Timi turned to press his mouth against Alex's smooth forehead. “Hm,” he said sagely.

“Too bad you don't have a piano.”

“I can buy,” he said again, because what was common sense when a naked Alex was saying things that indicated this thing they'd started wasn't ending anytime soon.

Alex snuggled in further, his arms wrapped over and below Timi, caging him. And Timi had never wanted to be imprisoned so badly.

“I'll love to see you make pancakes,” Alex said.

“And I'll love to hear you play Mary had a little lamb.”

So, they showered. Together. Again. Which took longer than necessary, because Alex's soapy fingers wrapped around his dick wasn't a fair move in this battle raging within him.

And if his hands reached out in a frantic desire to return the intense pleasure Alex's strokes were invoking within him, who could blame him?

He was the weakest man to ever live, after all.

Later, Alex appeared in the only cloth item in Timi's closet that wasn't a mourner's delight.

“Why are you so fixated on loud colours?” Timi had to ask, eyeing the purple eyesore he'd endured wearing as the ambassador of the local cloth brand.

“I'm a dull person. Something gotta shine,” Alex said.

Timi scoffed. “Any more brightness from you, and you'll have to call me Bartimaeus.”

Alex sent him a look that indicated Timi's mouth would have been ravaged if they weren't standing next to the LM, before nodding. “You know your bible stories. Impressive.”

“The first knowledge wasn't by choice, the second was for the love of who told them.”

The look Alex gave this time sent a flush of warmth through Timi.

They'd talked into the early hours of the morning. About Alex's sister, their mother's hard time coming to terms with reality, and how long it had taken to clear the debts. Then, about the Witches of the West and the town people not reaching out, despite Timi's face being everywhere.

“I used to be so dark, scrawny and…lifeless,” Timi had said. “You have no idea how good food, peace and skincare can transform a child. In and out. Again, many didn't know Uncle Jude by name, and I kept our relationship off the news.”

However, the chief witch had once traced them to one of Uncle Jude's outreaches in a neighbouring town when he just turned eighteen.

Wielding her deaconess privilege, she tried convincing Uncle Jude to not let the devil use him to stop the successful deliverance of her only son, and Uncle Jude had matched her scripture for scripture.

Timi had watched, marvelling at the duality of religion.

Light and darkness, all in the body of Christ.

Unlike the chief witch, Uncle Jude never pressured him to accompany him to church services or come out for morning devotion.

But sometimes, Timi sat with him in his bedroom, listening to him read from the scriptures and his daily guide devotion book.

Uncle Jude assumed his sermons were what interested him, and Timi didn't let him know what captivated him was the quiet moment between father and son before the world intruded.

The wonderful feeling of finally belonging somewhere.

“You may not be as different from your old self as you think you are,” Alex said into Timi's hair later. “And Uncle sounds really cool. Would have loved to meet him.”

And Timi had kissed his chest. “He may have loved you more than me.”

As they drove out of the gate, Alex asked, “And you, why do you hate loud colours?”

Timi hung his head. “Fire Pass Fire church was a colourful coven. Green, lemon and orange walls. Red, blue and purple robes. Candle fires we danced around were fiery yellow. Even my mat was a combination of red, purple and yellow.”

“My eyes hurt just imagining it,” Alex said. “ I should tone down the colours, then.”

“No,” Timi said hastily. “Only do that because it's what you feel comfortable doing. Your clothes didn't exactly stop me from wanting to jump your bones.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Are they in danger right now?”

Timi leaned towards him, bringing their faces dangerously close. “Keep making that face, and we'll make headlines the next minute.”

The rest of the journey continued in relative silence.

Being Easter Sunday, Timi gave Suleiman and Dagger the day off. His driver had taken the offer with delight, but Dagger had sent a message.

He had been expecting the question ever since he and Alex became close, and he'd been needing less and less of his bodyguard's services. It didn't help matters that Dagger was aware Alex could beat him in a fight, or that Alex's protectiveness seemed to top his.

Timi couldn't contain a smile as replied.

To play house with my lover before reality sets in, he didn't add.

At Platinum Beats store, they settled for a black Yamaha AIRUS. Alex, who couldn't believe Timi had spent that much on an instrument he may never play, especially after insisting on sending a huge sum to Mr. Joshua, refused Timi also paying for the pancake ingredients.

Timi may have lost most of his money, but he still had enough on reserve, including all the properties Dozie was yet to sell. When he explained this to Alex, the man shrugged, saying, “I don't care.”

The right thing to do was wait in the car while Alex shopped in the busy mall, but having escaped the stubborn reporters lurking a street away from his estate's gates, he'd become confident in his smooth operator moves.

Covered in black from head to toe, he drew attention alright, but the stares were from bewilderment more than curiosity or recognition.

And most of them were sadly aimed at the tall man walking beside him.

All wondering how anyone could be that beautiful.

Acute possessiveness had no business coursing through him, but Timi had begun coming to terms with every strange emotion the man dragged out of him.

He's mine, his whole being yearned to say. But was he? Could he ever be?

Back home, he gave Esther her own day off.

She stared at him. “You wan cook?”

“Fry pancakes, Esthie.”

That only increased her horror. “Uncle Timi, we still never replace the fire extinguisher the last time you try cook Indomie o.”

“The smoke alarm works just fine.”

Looking completely unimpressed, she turned to Alex who was watching the exchange with a small smile. “Oga Alex, abeg add repainting and new tile for the May budget.” Then, stumped off mumbling about her office being desecrated again.

The two years of shuttling between Iya Fati's kitchen and the restaurant dining area had exacerbated the idea of cooking.

However, with Alex, he couldn't help but acknowledge the brilliance behind producing a delicious meal.

It was genius really. Determining the right amount of sugar, milk or baking powder for the measured flour, gauging the amount of water or oil needed, whisking everything to smoothness, and the entire mechanics behind flipping.

Alex flipped using only the pan, and when Timi tried, the flat dough either bent to form a pie, or flew out of the pan to land on the counter behind him.

Alex laughed throughout his failed trials, and that was the best part of the whole experience.

While they levelled a tower of pancakes, sausages, scrambled eggs and diced strawberries, Alex told him how Saturday mornings used to be reserved for his pancakes.

Even his father, who barely interacted with the family, had no choice in the matter.

They sat at the dining table, with Oyin cracking her dry jokes, his mother laughing dutifully, and his father grunting in response.

“And you?” Timi asked.

Alex twisted his nose. “Someone needed to show her she is…wasn't that funny.” His eyes dimmed. “It's one of my best memories. ”

And Timi had to bite his lips from suggesting they resumed the tradition. Not only was hinting at a continuation of this surreal moment gormless, but shooting was also starting in two days. If he could catch a complete six-hours sleep, he would pour the gods some gin.

He placed one of the mangled pancakes on Alex's plate. “Now, when you think of those mornings, you'll remember my amoeba-shaped pancakes.”

If memories were all they could have, then he would insert himself into every one their time together reminded Alex of.

Later, Alex launched the piano he'd installed. He played Mary had a little lamb as promised, then pelted out a perfect rendition of Fur Elise. And while Timi gaped, he went on to play other famous short pieces as perfectly as a talented pianist would.

“I had a piano teacher for many years,” was his explanation.

“Is there anything you can't do?” Timi asked.

“I can't design buildings. I can't act, can't write stories or poems, can't socialise, can't—”

“Are you seriously going to list out the things you can't do?” The fact that they were all the things Timi could do didn't escape him.

“If you can't handle the answers, don't ask.”

Timi shook his head, too overcome with pride for the man seated behind the expensive organ. “How about I sing, and you play?”

“What song?”