Her Melting Point

Mathematics of the Sense

"That's not what I mean. They'll know that we went here to have sex."

"They do," he agreed. "Kadir was the one who gave me condoms."

"Oh god." Jackie pressed her face into the sheet and groaned.

"I didn't have any on me," Alexander said. "I didn't know that I'd run into you."

Jackie stilled, digesting the information, and ordered herself not to read too much into his statement.

He lifted his head and started slowly kissing her lower back.

"Are you gearing up to another round?" she asked teasingly.

"No." He cupped her bottom and squished it a couple of times. "I fancy another go if you're up for it. But not right away. I just love your arse."

She could feel the little bites he was trailing on her posterior.

"I've gained a lot of weight," she blurted out.

He nuzzled her other buttock. "Are you upset about it?" he asked, probably looking for guidance on how to react to this piece of information.

"Yeah," she said, feeling utterly daft for having brought it up.

He rolled onto his side, supporting himself on his elbow, his cheek on his palm.

"You said it last time too." His tone was flat. "That you've got a hang up. I don't know how to react to it. You'll have to tell me if there's something you need." His gaze slowly moved down her shoulder, then her back, her backside and legs; and then he met her eyes again. "I like your body. I like touching it. And how you move."

"How do I move?" Jackie asked.

He reached for her - she was momentarily distracted by the thought of the core strength that was needed for this smooth move - and picked her up under her arms. He plopped her on top of him, and she laughed throatily.

"Ah, this kind of moving," she sing-songed and purposefully squirmed on him.

One of his rare smirks curled his lips.

"This is my favourite kind," he murmured and handed her the third square pack.

***

"I haven't been to a hostel in donkey's years," she said, pulling a duvet up over her chest.

He was relaxed on the bed next to her, on his stomach. "We stayed in one together in Year 11, in Edinburgh, during a school trip."

"Oh right, I remember! It was significantly more naff than this one," she added and glanced around the room. "This is almost a hotel, except no bathroom of course."

"Yeah. Pity. I'd like a shower."

Jackie wondered if he meant a shared one, but she knew by now how easily any sort of even a marginally shag-related discussion turned his mind to considering said activity, and how that instantaneously led to corresponding actions; so instead, she hummed noncommittally.

Jackie stretched her hand and stroked his right shoulder blade, tracing the large tattoo of a lighthouse.

"Does it have a meaning?" she asked softly.

"Yeah."

He shifted closer and pressed his forehead to her thigh. Jackie felt a wave of shame and inadequacy churn in her stomach. Firstly, all tattoos did; that was an idiotic question. Secondly, she'd clearly overstepped, which was additionally intrusive of her, considering the ambiguity of their relationship.

"This is Lange Nelle Lighthouse in Flanders," he said quietly. Jackie stared at his fluffy lashes, lying under his closed eye - she could only see one. "We lost one of our teammates in Syria. He was from Ostend," he continued evenly. "We all got it when we came back."

He rummaged under the duvet, and his scorching hand wrapped around her calf. Jackie swallowed a knot in her throat.

"If I get down and get our food, will you eat with me here?" he asked. "Or do you want yours packed separately?"

Jackie's eyes stung; and she pulled her leg out of his grasp, slid down on the bed, and pressed into him. He immediately hugged her tightly.

"I really like you," she mumbled and sniffled. "And I feel terrible."

He tenderly rubbed her nape with his thumb. "What do you mean? Physically?"

She gave out a shaky laugh. "Are you bloody mental? Physically I've never felt better. I have this surreal reaction to sex with you. Like my crisis doesn't stop. I get the first one, and it just sort of slows down, and then starts picking up again." She stopped in her tracks. "Sorry, that's not what we were talking about."

"I don't mind the topic," he said nonchalantly, and Jackie snorted.

"It's because you're twenty-seven and have the libido of a Shaw's jird."

"A what?"

"It's a small rodent that lives in Egypt and Morocco." Jackie snickered. "It can mate more than 220 times in two hours."

She could feel a chortle reverberate in his chest.

"Blimey. That's a lot." There was a note of admiration in his voice.

Jackie sighed and snuggled into him. "I do want to eat here with you. And I feel terrible because I rejected you before, and then I still slept with you. But I can't– can't stay away from you."

"You have nothing to feel terrible about," he said. "We're both consenting adults. You don't lie or hide anything from me. You can't make up your mind. It happens."

Jackie lifted her face, and he met her eyes.

"Does it happen to you?" she asked in a small voice.

"No. But I'm not normal."

"What?!"

"It's my ASD." He shrugged. "I get stuck. I have no perception of time. Things don't change in my mind. My tastes don't change either." He must have noticed her taken aback expression and added, "I do know that you are different from ten years ago. I fancy you the way you are now."

"That's great," Jackie dismissed, "but, Alexander, what sort of rubbish is this whole 'not normal' thing? No one is 'normal,' that's a load of bollocks!"

He calmly watched her, and she glared at him.

"Alexander!"

"Yes?"

"Just because you think differently, it doesn't mean your process is wrong." She cradled his jaw in her hand, and he leaned into her touch. "You have the most beautiful mind! It's not obvious to everyone, but it's because they are ignorant twats!" she scoffed. "I've seen what you can do, and it's like... music! Remember Silvester?" she asked strictly.

"The determinant identity in matrix theory?" he confirmed with a small confused frown.

"And Euler's totient function, and graph theory; but what I was thinking of was his quote on music. He said that mathematics were 'the music of the reason.'" Jackie tenderly stroked his cheek. "The musician feels mathematics, the mathematician thinks music: music the dream, mathematics the working life. I always tried to show it to my pupils, to make them see the elegance of it! The pure unadulterated beauty of mathematics. And you've got it in you! Your mind is that music of the reason! So, none of this rubbish, alright?"

"Alright," he said - and smiled at her.

Seeing it - his shining eyes, the crinkles near their corners, the dimples on his cheeks - felt like sticking one's face close to a classroom projector and turning it on.

She wanted to tell him that she was probably in love with him; and that she needed time to sort out her thoughts; but also, that she wouldn't be able to stay away from him completely - and then she remembered that he knew it all; and in his mind, in his own words, 'things didn't change.'

"Let's eat," she said.

He pecked her lips, readily rolled off the bed, and started collecting his scattered clothes. Jackie burrowed into the duvet and inhaled lungfuls of his smell.