Tim and Wes

Chapter 4 - Big Biceps nᵒ1 or Steel Arms nᵒ2?

I'm scribbling little superheroes on the sheet of my notebook. A Captain America full of steroids has his ass kicked by a black Iron Man. The literature class has not begun yet, but I'm already bored.

I look really calm outside, but for real I feel melancholic. It is Tuesday morning and it's raining outside. Wes stepped into my room Friday afternoon and went out Sunday late in the night. It has been a terribly long time since I last saw the face of my idyllic boyfriend! I know it may seem weird, but between 'sex-all-night-long' and 'not-even-seeing-for-one-second', I find that the transition is hard.

I want to see him... I pout and rest my chin on the table. I'm missing him. We didn't really chat during these two days, but he is a good company. (I don't say this because I love him! I'm perfectly objective!)

I lift up my head. He comes in the room, still half-empty, and puts his bag in the front row. Noticing him, my shriveled heart accelerates to 200 beats per minute. He's so beautiful, my lovely footballer! He's sexier when he lies around bare-chested, but with a t-shirt, it's great also...

I start. As if my gaze has called him, he lifts his eyes up towards me. Does he know I often peek at him secretly? Does he feel my eyes constantly burning the back of his head?

Surprised, I see him taking his bag back. Where is he going? No. Is he coming towards me? He climbs the stairs of the lecture hall, his iris don't leave me.

"Can you give me a bit of a room ?"

I turn as red as a beet.

"We... shouldn't be seen... together' I stutter. 'You will have problems."

He sighs.

'If some day one of my buddies bumps into us, we could say we're friends. If people notice us in class together, it will be more credible, right? (That's not wrong...) And hardly anybody knows you are gay –except your girl friends or your exes. No risks.'

In front of such a good case, I can't object. Besides I really want to spend the next hour with him. I get up.

"Ok, but sit on my right. I like to be next to the window."

He raises no objections and sits. I take my place back and watch him unpacking his stuff. The fact he joined me surprised me. He told me Sunday night that we would see each other Tuesday during the lesson but I could never imagine that he wanted to spend time with me.

"I'm sorry, but during the next hour I won't really have a chance to chinwag with you" he says. "I'm not being rude, it's just that the explanations of the teacher are hard and I need to focus on them."

I stare at him for a second.

"Tell me Wes... I have been asking myself a question about you for a long time. (He has a quick, anxious look at me while he gets out pens from his knapsack.) You're doing a normal degree course and a sport program cause you're grant holder, right ?"

"Yes... So what?"

"Well, what are you doing in literature class?"

He lines up his notepad with a half-gnawed pencil.

"I just follow this course as an auditor. (Honey, I already know this; what I'd like to know is why?!) Since high school, I've always loved books. It has always fascinated me to discover all the hidden messages from authors, metaphors which reveal others, or subtle allusions... But when I read alone in my own corner I don't get everything. (He runs his hand through his hair.) I prefer when a teacher helps me to decode everything properly."

"Fascinated?" I repeat skeptically.

"What ? Don't you find it interesting?"

"No. Rather boring."