Currents

Twenty-eight ~ Attraction

Twenty-eight ~ Attraction

I followed Brent up the wooden steps that led to his front door until he paused and turned to me.

"Um," he said, wringing his hands together and scuffing a toe back and forth over the porch slats. "It's not exactly... Well, it's not like your place."

Clearly nervous or embarrassed, an emotion rarely ever visible on his face, I did my best to reassure him and lighten the mood.

"You wouldn't have had a right to judge me two months ago if it was."

Forcing a smile, Brent shoved the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Rather than stepping inside, he moved away from the entrance and gestured for me to walk through first.

I took a couple of steps towards the centre of the room, my eyes scanning it. Just like a studio flat, the house opened up into one main area, with the bed against the far wall, a small kitchen tucked away in the corner, and a door hanging off its hinges which I assumed belonged to the bathroom.

Although simple—probably containing the minimum number of possessions needed to make it habitable—there was something tranquil about it. Something different. Maybe it's true that the grass is always greener on the other side, but who needs avocado slicers, anyway?

My footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as I wandered towards his bed. Three photos sat on the table to its right. From the picture in his hut, I recognised the smaller boy. His brother. In this shot, he stood beside a much younger Brent, their arms around each other as they smiled into the camera.

I'd noticed Brent's aversion to smiling, or showing emotion in general, but seeing how happy he looked all those years ago tugged at my heartstrings. The two adults present in the other pictures were likely his parents, both dark-haired and tanned. Apart from the familial resemblance, these photos had something else in common: they were all taken on the beach.

When I turned to ask Brent how long he'd lived here, he still lingered in the open doorway, one hand running over his jaw, the other clenched by his side.

"What's wrong?" I asked, taking a few steps away from the photographs in case my overt curiosity made him uncomfortable.

"I'll understand if you want to leave."

My eyes swept over his body, assessing his tense posture. His problem wasn't with the photos or my nosiness, then. He'd kept the door open in case I didn't want to be here. Even with all the progress we'd made, a part of him still worried I'd judge.

"Brent, shut the door. I don't want to leave."

After pausing for a few seconds, he turned and tugged the door shut. It clicked, generating another echo that bounced off the walls.

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his and squeezing. "Thanks for inviting me back."

"No need to be polite. We both know why I invited you back."

Shrugging, I pulled my hand free, running my fingers over his wrist, along his forearm and then around the straining muscles of his bicep.

"It's easy to get caught up in the moment," I said. "But having someone in your home, a place private to you... That's different."

I extended my arms over his shoulders, looping my hands around the back of his neck. With caution that suggested he still felt insecure about it, Brent settled his own hands on my hips.

"I love your home," I said, hoping that being explicit would ease any remaining doubts. "Please trust me."

His chest inflated before he released a long sigh, his eyes landing on the photographs. Sensing the shift in the mood, I lowered my arms from his shoulders and wandered across the room to give him some space.