Leon, Leon (BoyxNB romance)

Chapter 14

By the time I pulled my eyes away from the desk, the room had gone dark, the table lamp the only main source of light in the room, apart from the small bursts of light from passing cars that casted shadows on the room and the dim hum of the lampposts that lined the road.

“Hey,” he said, wiping his hands on the butt of his jeans as he walked back into the room. “My mother asks if you want to stay for the dinner meal.”
“Oh, um, sure,” I smiled. “As long as you want me to. And she does, too.”
“Of course I want it,” he said, “And she cooks too much all the time. You will help us.” He chuckled. “I will tell that to her now, therefore I will not forget.” He stepped partially out of the room, so his foot kept the door wedged open a little. “Mamãe! Callum fica para o jantar. OK ?”
I heard a voice from down the stairs. “Mas Baptiste-“
“Não se preocupe! É bom, é bom, Mamãe.”

I could still hear her voice, but it was muffled as he shut the door. “It is all good,” he smiled.
“Good,” I said. “But woah, I couldn’t understand any of that.”
He raised his eyebrow, walking slowly over to the bed. “I did not think you can understand it.”
“Oh, fair enough. Is it some weird kind of Belgian French or something?”
He started laughing, and lay back on the bed, his arms over his stomach and his hair out like a starfish. “No, no, it is not special French. It is Portuguese, Callum. Mamãe is from Brazil.”
“Oh,” I smiled, looking down in slight embarrassment. “I feel really stupid now.”
“It is ok, do not worry. Portuguese is similar to French. It is like, hm... the child of French and Spanish, I think. I understand that you were confused.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That makes me feel slightly better.” Hold on. “Wait, wait. You can speak Portuguese too?”
“Not well,” he smiled. “I only use it to talk to my mother. I went only to Brazil once, and I could not understand them then – I think I know less now.”
“Oh, ok. But still, that’s still impressive. No idea how you don’t get them all mixed up. So only your dad is Belgian?”
He shook his head. “Papa was from Morocco. But he hated it there – he went as soon as it was possible. He lived in France, and Switzerland, for a little bit of time, but he always said that his home was Belgium. Because it was the place he met my mother, and created a family.”
“I think that’s right. Your home should be where you feel comfortable, right? Not just where your parents are from or whatever. Um, look, you don’t have to answer if you’re not happy to talk about it, but... why the past tense?”
“What?” He looked over. “Oh, you mean why is it ‘was’?”
“Yeah, yeah. Only if you’re okay with speaking about it, though.” He waved his hand.
“It is ok, do not worry. He... um... he died, a few years ago. I do not know a better word for it in English, but that is it.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry... how, if it’s ok to ask?”
“Of course. You will sit with me?” He said, moving across on the bed. I perched on the corner awkwardly, placing my hands on my lap. He turned to face me, so one of his legs was brushing the side of my thigh, his toes touching my knee. “It was the cancer,” he said. “The cancer of the chest. He died when I was twelve years old, but I do not know for how much time he had it. He was very... private, therefore he did not talk about the majority of his problems. It is hard to try to guess when the cancer started. I did not know he had pain, until the time he went to the hospital. Maybe he was always ill, and had the pain.” He had gotten quieter, clutching the duvet with his hand. He looked up at me, his hair covering some of his face.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
He nodded. “I have never talked about him in this way, in the past. Many people did not ask me about him. They were scared to talk about any things like that. Although, with honesty, I did not think I wanted to talk about him, too, however now I am not sure about it.”
“Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m happy to,” I smiled. “Like if you ever need to get something off your chest – you need to describe something that’s happened, or how you’re feeling, I mean – I’m here for you. I think it can help too, sometimes, right ? Like, I know teenagers tend to say that they prefer to be alone and that nobody understands them and shit like that, but I think just being honest and open about stuff is good to do sometimes.”
He nodded, showing a little of his teeth as he smiled from one side of his mouth – I assumed the other was still sore. “Yes, I think that too, Callum. And I think that you are very intelligent, although I know that you do not think that.” He smiled more. “I have a French test for you.”
“Aw, really ? I thought this was our resting time.” I stuck my bottom lip out.
“It is only one,” he said. “And it is important. It is a test for the words you learnt earlier. To describe people, right? It is a very important thing to learn, and you can use the majority of the words about other topics, also.”
“Alright, well, what exactly are you making me describe?” I asked.
“Me,” he said, simply. “And do not be scared if you do not remember some of the things. I will tell you them again, therefore you will learn them twice, and know them double well. You understand me?”
“Yeah, yeah. So, do you want me to describe like, what you look like, or the things you like, or...”
“It is the same as the time before,” he said. “Whatever things you think that are important. The things that are important to you and to me.”
Great, you couldn’t just have made this simple, could you? You had to have also a personality test to gauge what I think of you. Nice one, Leon. “Um... Leon est une personne différente, il n’est pas comme les autres personnes que je sais.” I looked over at him, hoping I hadn’t cocked up too much already. He just looked back, as if to say, well go on, then. “Je ne sais pas pourquoi il est différent, pour je. Cependant, quand je suis avec il, je...” I looked over. “What’s ‘I feel?’, like an emotion.”
“Oh, ah, Sentirse. But you need to say ‘je me sens’ so it is correct.”
“Ok, uh, quand je suis avec il, je me sens que je suis intelligent, et amusant. Il ne pense pas il m’aide, mais avec il, j’ai plus confiance, et je me sens heureux. Et je me sens bien, maintenant, parce que je parle avec il.”

I looked back at him, after a little while or silence, and I realised he had buried his head into his duvet, his hair covering the side of his cheek. I contemplated what to do, for a minute, then chucked all of those ideas out od the window to do what my heart, stupidly, wanted.

I brushed the hair out of his face with my fingertip, feeling the skin underneath. It was dry, like some kind of powder, and I felt little bumps under my finger, although I couldn’t see them. He jerked back from my touch, and for a second I was afraid I had done someone seriously wrong – but as he looked back at me, his cheeks pink, he smiled widely, sitting up and putting his head in his hands.
“Callum is a kind person,” he said, quietly. “And he is very funny, although he uses the word for ‘he’ in place of ‘him.’ Him in French is lui, also, ok? It is, ‘avec lui,’ and ‘pour moi’. Anyway, he helps me also, because he teaches English to me and does not laugh when I say some of the things wrong. He is also different to the other people, because with the majority of the people I talk to, I do not think that I... am honest, but towards him, I think I can do that, because I think that he says true things to me also, and always says things that make me feel strange, and embarrassed. But it is in a good way.” He looked up, a little more nervous. “And, I think that I can say more honest things to him, in the future?” He looked up at me, as if asking for permission. I smiled, and nodded. “Also, in the future, I want to know him better than now.” He paused. “And... and also, if he wanted this thing, I want to-“

I heard a loud sound come from downstairs, and as I looked back over to him for an explanation, he looked almost paralysed, his eyes wide.
“No,” he said, quietly. “No, he is not here so early. He is never here yet, he...”
“Leon, it’s alright. Calm down, ok, buddy?” He looked up at me. “Tell me what’s going on, ok? Who is downstairs?”
“Baptiste,” he said. “It is my brother. I think that... you need to go.”
“Oh, um, ok.” I said, getting up. “I am sorry if... this is my fault? You know you didn’t need to say I could stay, if it wasn’t cool. I’m not going to be offended or anything-“
“It is not a problem from you,” he said. “But you need to go, quickly. My brother is not...”
“Mamãe!” A deep voice. “É uma noite divertida, siiiim?”
“Come on,” Leon said. “I’ll come with you. Maybe if we sneak out the back door, he won’t notice us.”

Nothing’s ever simple, is it? There’s always something.

Cheers, generic cosmic forces, I thought. Whatever the fuck you are. Can never give me a break, can you?