Swift as a Coursing River | Ongoing

27. Unknown terrain

They both make two bowls at the pottery workshop and they get to paint them, too. A crease forms on Vincent's forehead as he peruses the paint colours and selects a brush. He paints with pursed lips and drawn brows, the same focus he had when playing clarinet. He must look like that too, when he works on a watch, putting together all that tiny machinery. He's never seen Vincent work, but he'd like to. Vincent's focus transforms him, as if he has honed all his intensity to this precise laser beam.

Naturally, Vincent has an artistic vision and paints finely detailed yellow and orange flowers on his bowls. It's just as bright as Edwin would expect from him. Vincent seems like a person who likes spring, the explosion of life and colours that can't be contained. Maybe Edwin should buy him flowers for a future date, after all.

"That looks beautiful," he says, and Vincent thanks him. He doesn't lean over to kiss Edwin's cheek again. Edwin stares for a few seconds, waiting for it, before he turns back to his own bowls. He's sticking to an overall light grey and a dark green stripe at the rim. Hard to mess that up, even for someone who hasn't painted since the last time he finger-painted with his children.

When they step outside, Edwin feels light. The night air is crisp and prickles his awareness of Vincent's warm body. This was a great first date. The right choice. His own date idea had been indoor climbing, but as soon as Vincent had suggested pottery, he hadn't even mentioned it. It would have been fun, but it's not first date material. They wouldn't have been able to talk as much. Maybe Vincent only likes running, and he would have hated climbing.

Still, Edwin had worried. That he would hate pottery, that he'd fumble and he'd be too tense to hold a conversation. And he did fumble, and of course Vincent was better than him, but it wasn't so bad. They also talked and joked and it's true what he'd said when Vincent asked: he had fun. He doesn't want this evening to end. He wants to keep talking, to cuddle or kiss or everything.

Standing on the sidewalk outside the building, Vincent asks: "Would you like to come home with me, darling?" He's smiling and he's gorgeous, with the shadows drawing lines on his face, his dark eyes pooling even darker, his brightly-coloured clothes looking brighter. He's wearing pastel colours, which make his dark brown skin glow.

"Yes," Edwin says. He's not sure what he's saying yes to, what is implied in 'coming home'. He doesn't really care. He'll take whatever's on offer.

They take the tram and at this hour of the evening, the car is half-deserted. They both have a seat, next to each other, and nobody sits across from them. Their hands brush. Vincent is talking about jewellery, about watches, and it settles over Edwin like sunlight warming up his skin. He moves his hand, touches Vincent's palm and Vincent doesn't pull his hand away. Edwin holds their hands between their legs, inconspicuous for other passengers. A thrill runs through him, knowing that he's holding a man's hand, in public. He could have done this with Ellen and now he's doing this with a man.

Vincent asks him something and he listens to the reply with such attention that Edwin's skin tingles, from his hand up through his arm, down his body. He's talking about the book he's reading, but he's barely aware of what he's saying. Vincent nods, smiles, jokes. He doesn't read books, doesn't like reading — only the occasional comic or graphic novel — but he always asks what Edwin is reading, how he likes the book.

They get off and Edwin lets go of Vincent's hand when they stand up. He doesn't grab Vincent's hand again while they walk to his apartment. Somehow, the desire in Edwin's veins thrums all the more for it.

"Do you want a drink?" Vincent asks, taking off his coat.

"Sure, thanks."

Edwin sinks down on the couch while Vincent goes into the kitchen. He stretches his back while he listens to the tinkling of glasses. Those chairs were definitely not meant to sit on for several hours. This couch on the other hand ... It's an old couch, worn, but it's very, very comfortable. He likes sitting here with Vincent, watching movies or meandering in and out of conversations.