Fawned

Chapter 24

$100. Was that all his body was worth?

He slid his hands down to his knees, tempted to pull them onto the chair with him. "I needed the money."

A minute went by without a word from Gil, and Barnaby was still too cowardly to look up. He caught glimpses of passersby from the corner of his eye. He wondered if even they resented him for using the mini study area to Not Study.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Barnaby locked up. Gil sounded softer, somehow. Forgiving. "You would've turned me down?" But that wasn't all. Because that could've implied that Barnaby was reluctant going through the whole encounter. He shrugged, voice barely above a whisper - "And it's not like...I didn't want to be touched. I did. I was just as...sad and lonely as I am now." He wanted to laugh it off, but knowing how easy it was to trigger that lump in his throat, tried to swallow it down instead. "So, yeah. I went to you because I felt like I had to, but you made me want to stay."

It wasn't too long before Gil let out a sigh, "But the rest of it...Coming back. He never paid you for that?"

Barnaby's head shot up before he could remember his fear. If he was going to convince Gil of anything, it had to be that. Looking right into his eyes, he said, "No. I never thought...anything like that would ever happen. Uhm—"

He had proof. He started rummaging through his backpack for his phone.

"What're you doing?"

"I can show you," Barnaby insisted, "I still don't have a lot." He logged into his bank app.

"Stop."

Barnaby froze.

"I don't want to see it."

Demanding words. The blond hesitated before looking up again.

Gil had shifted to the edge of his seat, a troubled knit in his brows. His eyes had become smoldering greys. A sign of passion, Barnaby hoped. "I believe you."

The boy gulped.

It was exactly what he'd wanted to hear. It should have solved everything.

But then, he judged the distance between their chairs, and they didn't seem any closer. He couldn't say Gil's arms looked any more inviting, either.

He had to force his spine upright. Gil believed him, but the weight on his shoulders persisted.

It wasn't the fact they met on a bet, and it wasn't Raul's birthmark that drove them apart.

He tried to sound as meek as possible (not that it required much effort), not knowing how else to phrase the question, "Why did it matter to you? Whether I was being paid or not? You...got what you wanted either way."

"Barnaby," Gil groaned. He placed his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. There was a strain in his voice, as if consciously controlling his volume as he continued, "What I wanted was for it to be mutual. That's the— That's why I'm upset. It wasn't about money or about sex for me." The more he spoke, the more that control wavered. He glanced at Barnaby in glimpses. "At the end of the day, man...I just wanted someone around who gave a shit."

He remembered that. He remembered, as long ago as it felt, sitting in Gil's car, their agreement. But then he remembered Gil's confession that led to it, wanting someone he could relate to. Someone who wouldn't judge him.

I wanted someone to give a shit, too.

"What about Raul?" Barnaby peeped, "He seemed to care about you. Like he's really looking out for you."