✾ Bachelor Button ✾
My phone sang its usual birdsong in my pocket. I tugged it out and stared at the screen. The emotionless letters made my heart sink. Won't be home for dinner. Sorry.
Ok. There were worse things. But I still felt anxious seeing that text. Ren and I hadn't seen each other as often as we had before. Sure, I still saw him every day. But we didn't see each other, stop and really talk. Not really since the last time I'd gone to him with tears in my eyes.
Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it was because I was so busy nowadays with work and school. But I still missed sitting on the couch, eating Chinese food, and watching The Office or something dumb like that. I really missed it.
I thought about the blank canvas Ren had once showed me, the promise that lingered between us. It no longer stood in the corner of the living room. I wondered where it was. When had Ren taken it down? Why?
I opened my book up again. Passions of the Soul. Descartes.
"Gratitude is a species of love, excited in us by some action of the person for whom we have it, and by which we believe that he has done some good to us, or at least that he has had the intention of doing so."
I thought of Ren, as always. His name clung to my lips. His voice echoed in my ears. He lingered behind my eyelids, the way he looked so tiny on the sidewalk when he'd called out to me on the night my life stopped stuttering like a broken record and started again. I could always feel his hand in my hair whether I was in class, at home, or walking down the busy streets of New York.
I was curled up in a large chair in the corner of the library, the book sandwiched between my legs and my stomach. I was losing sunlight now, which meant I'd have to find a new study spot soon. I'd strategically placed myself in a warm patch of sunlight when I'd arrived, but my surroundings had changed. I'd watched students come and go, minding their business, perusing the shelves. Some of them searched with intent, their faces glowing with expressions of satisfaction when they found what they were looking for. Some searched aimlessly, walking up and down the library's aisles without really stopping or going anywhere.
I absently fiddled with a curl. What if the reason Ren was being distant was because Sallie had told him that I was gay? I didn't want to believe that. If he knew, would he have talked to me about it? I trusted Ren. Maybe he thought it was none of his business. If he did, he might not have spoken to me about anything. This explanation for Ren's acting like a stranger wasn't probable, but it wasn't impossible. I guess I just didn't want it to be my fault. I didn't want to be the one pulling away. If I was, I didn't know how to stop and fix it.
"Beau!" A French accent. I blinked awake. "Hello, beautiful!"
I held a finger to my lips. "This is a library, Amory."
His shoulders went to his ears and he looked around guiltily. "My bad. I forgot," he whispered, sitting beside me in the opposing armchair.
"How could you forget?" I asked, unfurling my legs and stretching. "You're surrounded by books and silence."
He watched me stretch in that way he always watched me, with a sharp keenness that sliced through the papery air between us like an arrow. No one else had ever looked at me like that. "I always forget where we are when I see you," he said, propping his head on his fist. His hair was tied up, but some of it still ran in wild rivers around the frame of his face.
"Are you ready to learn about Descartes?" I asked, shrugging off the rippling warmth beaming from his eyes. But damn, I did enjoy hearing him flirt with that accent.
"Of course," he said, sitting up comically straight and saluting me. "M'enseigner, Professeur."
I raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
"Teach me, Professor," he translated with a smile, dropping his hand. "But first, there is something I want to show you."
"We came here to study," I said. He took my frown in stride, amused.
"And you have been here for hours, no?" he said.
"Are you stalking me? How did you know that?"
He laughed loudly, and I noticed someone in the next aisle over give him a death glare. "I didn't know, but it seems like something you would do. You read often, right?"
I nodded, thinking of the library I'd left at home. I kind of missed it. My uncle had sent over all of my clothes and various random boxes of stuff, but he hadn't sent my books. I wondered briefly if he was withholding them in an attempt to get me to go fetch them in person, but forgot all about it when Amory's hand slid into mine.
"Come on," he said, pulling me to my feet. I clutched Descartes tightly in my other hand, staring at where he held me as we walked. Amory was crazy, and I kind of loved it. He reminded me of my mom sometimes, full of energy, smiles, and a wildly adventurous spirit. He'd convinced me to study three times now. Each time, he paid careful attention to what I had to say but brought with him a special something to make our time together unique. The first time, he'd brought me a croissant, cold but still good enough to remind me of mom. The second time, a short poem scrawled on a napkin.
I speak the language of the rain.
It whispers drumbeats to me,
And we discuss
The art of falling.
And now what? He wanted to show me something, but what could be better than a croissant and a poem that made my heart dance and my lips smile?
I followed him for a while, all the way to the back of the library. I was worried that my hand might be getting sweaty because of my nerves. "Over here," he said, still dragging me along. We rounded a corner and ducked into one of the aisles. He held my hand even as he scanned the shelf. His fingers were a bit bony and thinner than mine, his skin paler and rougher.
"Amory, what are you-"
"Here!" he said, pulling a book off of the shelf. "It's the right one," he said, meeting my eyes and holding the book out to me. It was a tattered brown thing without a word on the cover.
"What is this?" I asked, tucking Descartes under my arm and taking it. I dropped his hand, turning the book over in mine. It said 'Dubois' on the spine, but it was scrawled in black marker.
"It's a book of recipes," he said. I cracked it open. Faded yellowy pages were marked up with old type face and hand-written notes. "It belonged to my grandmother back in France."
"Why is it here?" I asked, confused.
"I donated it so that other people could read it, but I want you to keep it. It's what she would have wanted," he said. "She liked sharing happiness." I looked at him. "In the form of food, of course," he finished with another one of his signature explosion-smiles.
"You're giving this to me?" I asked.
"Well, technically it belongs to the library now. But shhh," he said, winking.
"Thank you," I said, aghast. I hadn't done much cooking since mom died, but I seriously wanted to now. I almost asked Amory if he wanted to cook something from the book with me, but thought of Ren and my promise to bake with him. I suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable.
"I think it will get more use in yours hands than it will sitting here," he said, leaning against the shelf. "Besides, my grand-mère wanted to spread happiness, and I think you could use a little."
"You're not wrong," I said quietly, closing the book and stacking it on top of Descartes.
"It's the one with the recipe for your croissant," he added.
I looked at him and smiled. His expression softened and his gaze became distant. "They remind me of my mom every time, you know?"
He nodded. "Sallie told me."
"She was sick for a long time," I said. I wasn't sure why.
"It must have been hard," he said as I leaned against the shelf beside him.
"It was, but not as hard as it is now," I said. "If it weren't for my roommate, I'd probably be dead. Or drifting." That sort of honesty probably wasn't necessary, I realized. I cleared my throat. My heartbeat accelerated. I was just talking to fill space. There was a strange floaty feeling flowing over the stillness the rows of books created.
"Your roommate? At school?" he asked, glazing over my brief mention of my own death. Thank god. He must have felt my discomfort.
"No, I live off-campus."
"Is he...your boyfriend?" Amory asked slowly.
My heart lurched. I shook my head, words pouring out of my mouth a mile a minute. "No. No way. I mean, I'm pretty sure he's straight. And we've been talking less lately, so there is literally zero chance that-"
Amory's hand was back in mine again, warm and gentle. I missed Ren's cold hands. "Calmez-vous, Beau." I'd shut up, staring at my hand in his. He lifted it, holding it gingerly between us like it was a fallen star. "Are you curious?"
"About what?" I asked.
"About what it's like to kiss someone."
My pulse slammed through my veins. My hands were definitely sweaty now. My mouth felt dry. The books were strangely heavy. "I'm...what are you-"
"You are somehow the most beautiful person I've ever seen and the most innocent," he said with such affection that I believed him. His amber eyes burned into me. I felt his gaze rake over me, and I shivered. He laced his fingers between mine until our palms pressed together. My body felt warmer than usual. Despite the dizzying swirly sensation, I didn't pull my hand away. "So, tell me, beautiful. Are you curious?"
Was I? The answer was resoundingly yes. Yes! Echoing from the hilltops, bouncing between the skyscrapers, booming with every beat of my heart. Yes! But...
"I'm..." I stared at Amory, but no words came. My mind felt like a candle submitting to a breeze.
Amory's eyes fell. The explosion of happiness he usually wore like a coat had vanished, replaced by a certain moroseness that looked out of place on him. His voice was hollow. "I'm too late."
"What?"
"You're in love already," he said.
I felt like I was either going to explode or throw up. Maybe both simultaneously. "I'm not. I'm not, Amory. I've never been-"
"I should have known, I suppose," he said quietly, dropping my hand.
"Amory, I'm not-"
"Look at you," he said. He lifted his hand and touched my cheek lightly. My mind went blank for three and three quarters of a heartbeat. "Of course, your heart has been taken."
He started to let his hand fall, but on instinct I grabbed his wrist and held it close. I met his eyes. "I'm not in love, Amory," I said. I can't be.
A love dead before it even really began was too cruel a fate. I can't. I can't.
His eyebrows knit. "If I were a better person, I wouldn't let you believe that."
"Wha-"
Amory's lips were on mine. My brain shut off. My mind went blank. I became someone else, teleported to space, grew a second heart to beat alongside the first one, but even louder. I was keenly aware of the smell of books as Amory kissed me. His lips were soft and gentle. His hand rested heavy on my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek.
And then I felt his tongue touch my lips. The books in my hand thunked to the floor along with my heart. I was empty of me, a shadow-man filled with an explosion of stars. Thank god for my ribcage, or the whole of everything would expand more and more, beyond my chest, eclipsing the library, all of New York, and the whole world. This is it. This is what it's like!
And then...I locked my jaw shut, my knees wobbling as I rocketed back against the shelf. I touched my face and my fingertips came away wet. I was crying.
"I'm sorry, Beau," Amory said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that."
"I can't..."
I looked at him, watching him blink and breathe. Everything had collapsed. A black hole had formed in my chest, devouring all the stars instantly. All that was left was the emptiness a child sees when he squeezes his eyes shut tight for fear of seeing monsters in his room at night. "You're in love, beautiful," he said. He kissed me on the forehead. "I'll see you in class. Please, take care of yourself."
I watched him go, standing weakly in the aisle. "Wait," I called after him. He turned to look at me, his face shrouded in sorrow. "Your book," I said, holding up his grandmother's recipes. I felt as compassionate as a stone. But in that moment there was only enough room in me for one person's pain; I couldn't take his on, too.
He shook his head. "Keep it, Beau. You need it more than me." He smiled one last time. "I'm hoping we can still be close." And then he was gone.
I'm not sure how long I sat there. At one point, a girl with stick straight black hair and a snobby looking face passed by, giving me a weird look as she did. I couldn't blame her. I was just a guy sitting alone in an aisle, crying. I wiped my tears with my sleeve. What just happened?
I touched my lips softly. I could still feel Amory's kiss on them. For some reason, that made me deeply, confusingly, profoundly sad. I regretted it. Why had I done it? Why hadn't I been honest?
Denial, denial, denial. It echoed in my ears. Behind its steady, blunt rhythm, I could hear something wild, something boisterously stampeding towards me. I'd surely be trampled.
I wanted to scream, but I was in a library so I held it in and just let my lungs tighten and tighten and...
I wanted to see Ren. God, I wanted to see him. I missed him so inhumanly badly. But he'd said he wouldn't be home. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking slightly. Got a date?
I sent the text and leaned my head against the shelves. I wanted to talk to him. If texting him was as close as I could get, it would have to do.
My phone sang, and I quickly set it to mute. I eagerly read the screen. Yeah. Dinner date with my mother.
My heart lifted. I was glad he was talking to his mom. I wished I could talk to mine right about now. She would probably have a lot to say. I could practically hear her crackly voice now, just the sort of sound that fit in among rows of dusty books. "If you didn't want to, then why did you?" she would've said.
"I don't know, mom. I did want to."
"Well, why are you so sad, then?" Always the voice of reason. Why was I so sad? I knew. I probably knew. I definitely knew.
Sort of. Maybe it was no longer a sort of.
I texted back, tears welling up again. Oh, wow! Good luck! Tell her she did a good job making you.
My heart flickered in and out, and my universe expanded. I sent it before I could revise it to make it seem less weird. I hoped he didn't actually tell his mom that. Still, I didn't regret it. If he saw it and smiled, that would be enough for me. I could touch him from across the city. Enough for me, I thought. But...it wasn't. God, it wasn't.
My heart broke. Such a hold he had over me, and I'd been resisting it for so long. Why not perfect Amory, with his sunshine smiles and warm hands? I just wanted Ren's sad, lonely expressions--the ones he let slip when he thought I wasn't looking--and his frigid, comforting touch. I wanted those tattoos, the little smirks he always gave me, even the silly blank canvas mocking me from wherever he'd hidden it. I just wanted Ren.
It was no longer sort of.
I was stupidly, wretchedly, entirely in love with Ren Amano.