#stephen's

[comiiical]

[comiiical]

[musicprincess1990]

FYI: Stephen's brand hazelnut hot chocolate tastes like liquid Nutella. You're welcome.

[qzwrites]

Stephen’s

As Written By Harla Browning

Once upon a time, there were two idiot boys who didn't realize they were in love even though they were best friends and lived together and read smutty gay science fiction together.

They worked for a man with a lot of connections and money he couldn't always explain the origin of. The younger boy, who was named Edwards, always called their boss "sir" or "mister" even though the boss told him not to. The older boy was named Max and was much more casual with their boss. This wasn't because he respected him less or was that much older so much as it was because his boss told him to call him Stephen, and Max followed directions and rules. Max was often afraid to make decisions, and rules made it easy to figure out what to do.

Most days, they worked at Stephen's general store. Sometimes they did other jobs around town or travelled to other cities to help some of Stephen's many connections. They lived in an apartment with indoor plumbing and electricity that their boss paid for. He paid for his two idiot employees to live in air-conditioned, electrified comfort while his own family sweated and used fire hazard lamps. Sometimes Stephen's generosity got ahead of his sense; in that way his employees were a lot like him.

The town was on a river, and surrounded by forest. It had a railway station with regular service. The river was too shallow and narrow for big boats to go up or down, but it was convenient for the townspeople to splash around in, and more than adequate for powering water mills. Further out from the town, upriver and down, mountains rose above the treetops.

One thing that set these idiot boys apart from their contemporaries was the depth of the ignorance and fumbling they went through. One beautiful sunset, Edwards, the slightly less idiotic one, confessed his love to Max. Max, who had managed to fall in love with Edwards without ever realizing what was happening, displayed no reaction and led Edwards to believe he had made a mistake and ruined their friendship, even though anyone could have seen the feeling was mutual.

Through the grace of God, or possibly the gay smut they had been reading together, Max realized his mistakes as well as his feelings, and powered through his reluctance to instigate conversations or make decisions to tell Edwards his feelings were requited after all. They kissed, and presumably cried even if they wouldn't admit it, and went on living basically the exact same life but with more kissing. I'm told they pushed their beds together, which was probably overdue since they had been sleeping in each other's arms for months, even before the confessions of love.

It would be tempting to say they lived happily ever after, but since they were utterly foolish idiots, that was unlikely. Suffice it to say they lived happily enough, for a while, and no one ever told them "I told you so" or "finally" or "It's about time" even though many people thought it.

[il-gufo]

St. Stephen's Cathedral. Vienna.

[qzwrites]

Stephen’s end scrap

this isn’t actually a finished chapter but uhhhhhhh the end of chapter ten is upsetting so here, some sort of closure

----

Apparently, it could be really hard.

Max went inside, fully intending to tell Edwards that there was no reason to rush inside and it had been quite a nice kiss, in fact, and he saw no reason not to do it again, to find Edwards in the kitchen, making sauce for the spaghetti very intently, and he couldn’t get the words out.  What did he think he was going to say, anyway?

He stood in the doorway for a long time, thinking maybe if Edwards looked up at him, he’d blurt something out, as he sometimes did, and he could just work from there.  But Edwards never looked up at him.  Even when he put the food on the table and said, “Dinner,” he didn’t look up at Max.  He just sat down and started to eat.

Max sat down across from him and picked up his fork.  He watched Edwards eat, steadfastly looking at his plate as he did so, and he thought he should say something, because after all, this was a perfect opportunity, but Edwards seemed so set on not looking at him that Max started to doubt his reasoning.  Maybe Edwards hadn’t run because he thought Max had a problem with it, maybe he’d run because he regretted doing it.  Maybe he thought it was a stupid, horribly misled thing to do and now he wasn’t looking at Max because he didn’t want to give Max the wrong idea.

Max started to eat.  No point in letting dinner go to waste.

*

Edwards ate faster than he thought he had ever eaten before.  He got up, rinsed his plate, and went into the other room.  Max hadn’t said a word to him since he’d come in.

He grabbed his book from the bedside table and flopped onto the bed to read.  Or try to read, anyway.  He didn’t think much of his ability to concentrate, but what else was he going to do?

A few minutes later, he heard water running in the kitchen.  Max rinsing his plate. He turned the page, although he hadn’t really absorbed anything on the two pages he’d been staring at.  He tried very hard to pay attention to the book and not to Max, who had just come into the room and was heading this way--for his bed, Edwards imagined.  And then they would both be lying on their own beds, reading their own books, as though they were perfect strangers in the same room.  He didn’t think he’d ever had a more depressing thought.

He was startled out of his pessimistic reverie when Max sat on the edge of the bed near his elbow.  He didn’t look up at Max, instead continuing to look at the book.  Except he could see Max watching him out of the corner of his eye and it was more than a little unnerving.

After an eternity that was only about ten seconds long, Max said, “Edwards?”

Edwards looked up at him.

Max licked his lips and for a second, Edwards couldn’t breathe.  Then Max said, “Why--I mean, you just--and then--”  He shut his mouth and glanced up at the ceiling, looking very frustrated.  He looked back at Edwards.  “I didn’t exactly--you didn’t have to--it wasn’t a bad ‘oh’.”

They looked at each other for a moment.  Max made eye contact and Edwards couldn’t look away.  He said, “It sounded like a bad ‘oh’.”

“It was just an ‘oh’,” Max told him.

There was another moment of silence while they looked at each other.  Edwards said, “Oh.”  Max smiled at that, as though he couldn’t help himself, and that made Edwards smile, and then there was another silence, albeit a slightly less tense one.

“So,” Max said, “I don’t actually know...what to do.”

Max, Edwards thought.  He was absurd.  He was completely ridiculous.  “What do you want to do?” Edwards asked.  Internally, he winced.  That had sounded coy, and he did not want to sound coy.  He had to be the one who knew what to do here, and that was just ridiculous, because what did he know about anything?

“I don’t know,” Max admitted.

*

That was a lie. He had realized (very recently) that there were actually plenty of things he wanted to do with Edwards.  It was just that they all sounded horrible and given the last few days’ success rate with people, he was going to keep his mouth shut about it.

*

“Well,” Edwards said, putting his book aside, “you didn’t--I mean”--God damn this was awkward, he’d never been this bad with girls--“I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”  It wasn’t really a question, and he didn’t wait for an answer.  That was okay, though, since Max had already given him one.

And, you know, Max could do a pretty good job of letting him know he didn’t want something, even apparently when it was wanted.  So there was that.

*

Edwards was kissing him again.  He could get used to this.  It was, in fact, very nice, and now Max understood why everyone else in the world seemed so preoccupied with romance, because honestly, if this was the sort of thing it led to, he was about to become preoccupied with it too.

Edwards pulled away and Max resisted the urge to follow.  “Sorry,” Edwards muttered, moving closer to him.  “I couldn’t--”

“If you do that every time, I’m going to hit you,” Max said.

Edwards hesitated, frowning.  “Do what?”

“Apologize,” Max said, leaning in again.  “Stop it.”

Edwards grinned. “Okay,” he agreed as Max put a hand on his shoulder.  Max’s hands were shaking.  Not a lot; he didn’t think Edwards noticed, but he was shaking.  This was all new and exciting and he was shaking.  He would feel ridiculous, except he could actually feel Edwards’s heart beating and it was going about a thousand miles a minute.

Edwards leaned in and their lips met again and this really was fantastic but Max was totally overthinking this and that probably wasn’t a good thing.

Then Edwards pulled him closer and he stopped thinking.

*

Life was extremely strange sometimes.

Extremely strange.

Here Edwards was, sitting on his bed, with Max in his lap.  A day ago he would have said this was a dream, that there was no way this would ever possibly happen, because Max...Max was Max.  He didn’t like people, and he didn’t do well around them, and Edwards was lucky that he even had Max’s friendship, really, because Max was really that bad with people.  He’d lived with him for three months before managing to have anything resembling a decent conversation about a meaningful topic.

And yet, here they were.  Life was extremely strange.

*

They finally decided they had better go to bed, since they still had work in the morning.  Max went to take his bath, and Edwards went back into the kitchen to clean up.  It probably bothered him that it had gone so long without attention.

Max walked back into the main room to find Edwards lying on his bed in his pajamas, reading.  Max laid down next to him and leaned against him to read over his shoulder.  Edwards looked over at him.  Max said, “You’ve read this.”

“That’s why it’s good to read when I’m tired,” Edwards said, reaching across Max to put the book on the table.  Max wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle this, being so aware of everything Edwards did.  Although he had been before.  But that had been different, he thought.  Before he hadn’t been aware that he was aware because he liked Edwards.  He’d just been aware.

He wasn’t making any sense anymore.  That seemed to be a pattern this evening.

Edwards kissed him on the way back to his own side of the bed.

Max leaned over and turned out the light, then made himself at home under the covers. “Good night,” he said.

“Good night,” Edwards replied, slipping an arm across Max’s chest and pulling him a little closer.  Max smiled to himself in the dark.

*

Edwards woke up, and it hadn’t been a dream.  That was enough to make him feel better.  Even if Max decided it had been a mistake or never talked about it again or what have you, yesterday had happened, Max was lying in his arms, still asleep, and this was probably the weirdest feeling he’d ever had in his life.

Well, by some definitions of weird.

Edwards wasn’t sure how long it actually was, but it felt as though Max woke up not much later.  Edwards’s first instinct was to look away, the way he had yesterday, but he fought it.  If there was going to be a problem, he wanted to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

Max’s eyes opened and he smiled at Edwards.  Something in Edwards’s stomach flipped over.  He’d thought he would get used to it sooner or later, but then he’d been stupid and kissed Max and changed everything and now it was just as bad as it had been when this whole thing had first started.

“’Morning,” Max said.

“’Morning,” Edwards murmured.  Max smiled again and wiggled closer, putting an arm around Edwards’s middle.  They laid there for a while.  Edwards listened to Max breathing, though he could feel it just as well.  It was warm and comfortable and really made him very nervous.

“This is nice,” Max murmured into Edwards’s neck.  It tickled.

Edwards looked down at him, but Max was pretty thoroughly buried in his shirt.  This was something he had entirely not expected from Max.

God, this was ridiculous and fantastic.

He jumped when Max kissed his neck.  “Uh,” he said, looking down at Max, who looked up to meet his eyes.

“What?” Max asked, and for a second, Edwards saw him look afraid.  “I didn’t--I thought...”

He looked so uncertain and so unsure of himself that Edwards almost melted a little.  He bent down to kiss the older boy.  “Max,” he muttered, “you’re not gonna screw this up.  There’s nothing you can do to screw this up.”  He kissed Max again.

*

Wanna bet? Max thought as Edwards kissed him again.  He’d managed to screw almost everything else in his life up, why should this be any different?

Well, apart from the fact that he really didn’t want to and Edwards was apparently willing to put up with anything.  It was so hard to be pessimistic when he was tangled up with Edwards, warm and comfortable and kissing him.  Everything seemed alright and possible, and nothing seemed hopeless.  But he supposed most people felt better about how horrifying the world was when an attractive person was holding them, kissing them as though they would die if they ever had to stop.

It was just, you know, the world couldn’t be all bad, if things like this could happen.  More than once, even.

Eventually, Edwards muttered that he had to take a bath and extricated himself from Max’s arms.  Left rather chilly and hungry with nothing to really do, Max decided to get out of bed and make breakfast for the first time in he couldn’t even remember how long.    He was confident enough in his bacon-making abilities to trust himself not to mess it up.  Last thing he wanted to do was serve Edwards a sub-par breakfast.

*

They walked to the store maybe a little later than usual, laughing and smiling, and if they were touching each other’s arms more than before and standing a little closer, no one noticed.

No one apart from them noticed, Edwards amended in his head.  He was certainly noticing, and he’d be shocked if Max wasn’t doing the same.

They walked into the store, and Harla was hunched over the counter, scribbling away at something.  Edwards didn’t think he’d ever actually seen Harla at work.  Apparently, it wasn’t going well; she was frowning at the paper something fierce, and started to scratch something out as they walked through the door.

“’Morning,” Edwards said to her.  She jumped and looked up at them. 

“’Morning,” she said before she bent back to her paper.

The morning went by largely without incident.  Customers came by and the three of them helped them and then went on with whatever busywork task they had assigned themselves, or reading.  Writing, in Harla’s case.  She appeared to be having a great deal of trouble with whatever she was writing.

Midway through the morning, after he had finished cleaning the windows, and while the store was empty of customers, Max sat down at the piano and started picking out melodies again.  He didn’t sing again, but Edwards did when he knew the words, and after Harla’s initial bewildered looks, she even joined in on the refrains to a few of the folk songs.  She also seemed satisfied with Max’s choice of classical music, humming along and bobbing her head.  Her voice wasn’t anything spectacular, but the music at least seemed to cheer her up from the morning’s intensity.

The first time a customer walked in, Edwards saw Harla look as though she was considering asking Max to stop, but then Mr. Thomas named the piece and complimented Max on his playing and Harla gave up.

The day wore on, and several people who didn’t ordinarily stop by drifted in, having heard the music from the street.  Edwards was surprised to see that Mr. Orlando’s plan had not been as far-fetched as it seemed.

Harla left to get them lunch, piece of writing momentarily laid aside.  Edwards finished up with the last customer that seemed as though they were actually going to buy something, and waded through the crowd of kids (and a few adults) to get to the piano.

[qzwrites]

Stephen’s part ten

soooo this is the last chapter i finished. sorry about my 8yo unfinished wip lmao

also my god i had no idea what i was doing with Zach and Tristan in this story. I made them up for this though, so that’s understandable.

----

Shortly after noon, Harla came back with several paper bags of food bearing Rio’s logo and a carrier with three drinks.  “At least I can count,” she said, setting it all down on the counter.

Max rolled his eyes and opened one of the bags to look in.  “Ooh,” he said. “Thanks!”

She grunted noncommittally and pulled the food out of the other bags, separating it all out.  She pushed some towards Edwards and Max and started unwrapping her own lunch.

Max glanced at Edwards, but he appeared to be concentrating on his food.  Wow, Max thought.  This was unspeakably awkward.

Ha, unspeakably, because they weren’t talking, right?  Ha ha.

...He really needed help.

*

The shop was quiet after they finished eating.  Harla was reading and Edwards was frowning out the window and Max had no idea what to say to stop feeling so awkward.  He never did.  Time passed slowly when they were all there, sans customers, not speaking.  He understood why Harla was being so quiet and introspective--at least, he was pretty sure he did--but he had no idea why Edwards was being all...frowny.  He’d been acting weird since he saw his sister.  Then again, Max supposed, that was fairly understandable.

Then Zachary and Tristan came in, as they did every Monday.  “--No,” Zachary was saying, “I’m telling you, that’s the funny part of the joke, I’m not going to explain it just because some dumb bitch doesn’t get it.”

Edwards cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder at Zachary, who rolled his eyes.  “She’s an idiot anyway,” he continued.  “I mean, yeah, she’s a fox, but she’s--”

“--Crazy like one too,” Tristan finished, considerably less enthusiastic than Zachary.  He looked up at Max.  “Our usual, plus I need an extra shaving kit.”

Zachary said, “Rhys thinks he’s hit puberty.”

Max pulled out their orders, thinking how he really didn’t need to know that sort of information about Tristan Stable’s little brother.  Or any member of Tristan’s family, really.

“Oy, Harla!” Zachary called.  Max glanced over to see Harla look up, seeming confused and probably irritated to be interrupted.  “Whatchoo readin’?”

“A book,” Harla said.  “Nothing you’d be interested in, since there aren’t any pictures.”  Funny, Max thought.  She reacted to almost any problem with even more biting comments than usual.  He’d have to keep that in mind.

Zachary snorted. “Reading is gay anyway.”

“Stable,” Edwards said, turning from the window, “if you’re looking for a fight all you have to do is ask.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Shut your mouth is what it means,” Harla said.  “I don’t know how much clearer he could be.”

Edwards frowned. “Harla,” he said.

“What?” she asked.  “You’re the only one allowed?”  Allowed to do what, Max thought, looking from one to the other.  They were staring each other down.  Max felt a twinge at the thought that they were sharing something with each other he wasn’t in on.

“Well,” Tristan said to Zachary, “looks like they need their girl time.  We should leave.”

Edwards blocked their way to the door and glowered down at them.  Everyone looked short next to Edwards, but it still caught Max by surprise sometimes how short people were.  Or rather, how tall Edwards was.  “If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head,” Edwards all but growled, “you will be banned from this store.”

“Do it,” Tristan said, entirely too calm for someone so close to Edwards’s anger.  “Go ahead.  You know you couldn’t handle the thought of my mother and his sisters going hungry because of you.”

Zachary sniggered and said, “Yeah, what’s a sentimental fag gonna do?”

Edwards punched him in the mouth.  Oh shit, Max thought, scrambling over the counter as Zachary stumbled.  Tristan hit back at Edwards, but Max got there in time to catch his arm.  Zachary had already recovered and was going for Edwards and Max could hear Harla shouting but honestly, at the moment, there were more important things to take care of.

*

As amusing as it was to watch Max and Eddie pound on those assholes, Harla didn’t think Stephen would much appreciate them hitting customers or trashing the store because oh my god this place was getting trashed.

*

They’d gotten better since the last time Zachary had been stupid enough to make Edwards mad.  Well, it had been nearly four years, so he’d hope so, but honestly, Zach and Tristan made such a good team Edwards wasn’t sure he’d have been able to take them without Max’s help.

Right now, unable to escape Zachary’s headlock, Edwards wasn’t sure he could take them even with Max’s help.

*

They finally backed off, satisfied that they weren’t going to win.  Tristan grabbed their bags and pulled Zachary away before he could say something else stupid.

Max looked up at Edwards, who seemed torn between anger and exhilaration.  Edwards looked back down at him, cheeks flushed, hair flying away from his ponytail.  They’d just healed from their scuffles last week, and now they were both covered in cuts and scrapes again and that was a heck of a shiner Edwards had there.  Zachary had a mean right hook, apparently.

“What the hell is the wrong with the both of you?” Harla demanded.  Max quickly looked at her.  She was standing in front of them, hands on her hips, looking for all the world like an angry mother about to deliver the scolding of a lifetime.  “I mean honestly, at least take it out to the porch if you’re going to fight with the customers.  Eddie, I appreciate your integrity and the way you stand up for your principles, but you’re at work and you need to act like it.  Jesus, all you had to do was kick them out, not try and break Zachary’s jaw.  And you!” she said, turning back to Max. “Instead of trying to break it up, you jump in?  I know you were trying to help Eddie, but if one of you could maybe think for a second you wouldn’t be bleeding down the front of your shirt.”

Max frowned. “What--”

“You have a nosebleed!” Harla said.  “You mean you honestly didn’t notice? God, can you two do anything without me?”  She stomped off.  Max tilted his head back and glanced at Edwards.

Edwards shrugged.  “I thought you noticed.”

Harla came back a moment later clutching some rags.  “Here,” she said, thrusting one of them at Edwards.  “Put that on your eye.”  Edwards took it and did so.  Harla turned to Max and pulled his hand away from his nose.  She wiped up the blood on his face with the other rag.

“You know,” Edwards said, “steak is traditional for this.”  He indicated the rag he was holding on his eye.

“I’m not going to waste good meat because you’re stupid,” Harla said. “It’s bad enough wasting good ice.”  She handed the rag to Max and he held the cleaner side under his nose.  Harla looked from Max to Edwards and said, “Come on, we have to get you cleaned up. Stephen won’t mind if we close early.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Edwards asked as though the very idea was preposterous.

“I am now,” Harla said, heading back to the staircase to get her book.  “Or else Max will bleed all over everything.”  Max tilted his head back again.  Harla shooed them out and locked up.

*

Victoria was on the porch, sewing something, when they got there.  She immediately jumped up and started mothering the boys, heedless of the fact that she was only encouraging bad (if entertaining) behavior.  Harla sighed and went to get a spare shirt for Max.

She came back, clean shirt in hand, to see Edwards and Max sitting on the porch, glasses of lemonade in front of them.  Edwards was holding a small steak against his eye and Victoria was wiping Max’s face with a damp cloth.  Harla rolled her eyes and tossed the shirt at Max. “Change into that while you wash the other one,” she said. “Unless you feel like walking back to your place in a wet shirt.”

“Thanks,” Max said.  “Sorry.”

“You are not,” Harla said.  “Victoria, can I take the boys away or are you not done with them yet?”

“Oh,” Victoria said, standing up, “of course.  Did the mailman find you alright?”

*

Now that, Edwards thought, was a pained look.  It hurt even to look at, forget about how she must have felt to look that way.

*

Harla smiled as though it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do.  “Yes,” she said.  “Thank you.  Come on, guys.”  Max glanced at Victoria, who looked confused, and then stood and followed Harla back into town.

*

They passed Mr. Orlando on the way home to their apartment.  Max was carrying his damp but thankfully stainless uniform shirt, wearing the shirt Harla had handed him.  Edwards was still holding the steak to his eye.

“Woah,” Mr. Orlando said.  “You two look terrible.  Is that why the store’s closed already?”

“Yes, sir,” Edwards said.  “It was all my fault.  I’m sorry.”

Mr. Orlando shook his head.  “Not a huge problem,” he said.  “Not as though we won’t make up the business.  See you tomorrow.”  Then he walked away.

Edwards turned to look at Max.  Max shrugged.  “I have no idea what’s going on at all anymore,” he said.  “I’m about to give up on it all.”

“Well,” Edwards said as they started walking again, “don’t do that. Let’s go see Mr. Harris, I know he’ll be open now.”

*

Max had yet in his life to enter a bookstore without buying anything.

*

“Jesus,” Edwards said as they climbed the stairs to their apartment, “don’t you have enough to read right now?”

“No,” Max said.  “Those comics won’t be in until at least next week and you definitely don’t have enough to keep me until then.  Besides,” he added as they reached the landing, “this book has automatons.”

Edwards shook his head.  Max was so simple.  He opened his mouth to say so when Mr. Hill’s door swung open.

“Oh, hello boys!  Store closed today?” Mr. Hill asked.  Edwards nodded, staring.  He knew it was rude but honestly this was weird.  “I was just about to head down to the deli myself,” Mr. Hill went on. “Thought maybe I’d have a big sandwich for a late lunch.”

“Mr. Hill,” Max said, “are you wearing a skirt?”

“Why, yes,” Mr. Hill said.  “Yes I am.  Have a nice afternoon, boys!”

Edwards watched him go, then turned to Max and said, “This day.”

“This day,” Max agreed as they walked the rest of the way to their apartment.

Inside, Max hung his shirt in the window while Edwards changed out of his uniform and into something less ridiculous and itchy.  Everyone had an eccentric neighbor, he reflected, folding his vest and putting it into his trunk.  It was a law or something, everyone has to have at least one neighbor that makes them feel normal by comparison.  Mr. Hill just happened to be that neighbor for most of the town.  He finished putting all his clothes away and went into the kitchen to grab a cookie.  He took a bite of one and headed for the door.  Then he stopped and peeked out at Max, who was lying back on his bed, reading another comic from Edwards’s bookshelf, newly bought book featuring automatons sitting next to him.  Edwards smiled and grabbed another cookie.

He handed it to Max, who only looked up and smiled before going back to his book, nibbling on the cookie.

Edwards flopped down on his bed to stare at the ceiling while he finished his snack.

*

Max finished another issue and stretched.  He’d been reading all afternoon, now, which was nice, apart from how he had spent all yesterday doing the same thing.  But the stories were interesting, and most of the art was pretty decent, and he had to admit that Edwards had good taste in reading material.  It was all the right mixture of ridiculous and believable, which was nice.

He looked around.  Apparently, sometime during that last issue, Edwards had left and gone into the bathroom, which Max had not noticed at all. Those things were almost as engrossing as the spy books.

That was not the problem, however.  Max had to pee, and Edwards was still in the bathroom.

Well, Edwards took his baths in the mornings, so he couldn’t be that long.  Max picked up the next issue of the comic he was reading and waited.

Max finished that issue and looked up.  Edwards was still in the bathroom. “Uggh,” Max muttered, standing up.  He walked over to the bathroom door and raised his fist to knock.

But what was he going to say?  Honestly.  Talking to people while they were in the bathroom was weird.  Some of the kids his parents had fostered used to do that, and it freaked him out.  He’d never gotten the hang of having to share a bathroom anyway.

But he had to pee!

Forget it, Max thought, heading out the front door.  He’d just see if he could use Mr. Hill’s.  He walked down and knocked on the door.

Moments later, Mr. Hill answered it.  “Oh, hello, Max,” he said cheerfully.  He was still wearing the skirt.  It went down past his knees.  Thank goodness for small favors.  “What do you need?”

“I was wondering if I could use your bathroom,” Max said.

“Sure,” said Mr. Hill, ushering Max inside.  “That door right there, my boy.”

“Thanks,” Max said, hurrying over.

You know, now that Max thought about it, Edwards had been spending more time in the bathroom lately.  Hopefully, he wasn’t getting sick or anything. That would be obnoxious, because really, the likelihood of one of them getting sick without the other getting sick as well was pretty low.  Maybe he was spending more time on grooming himself.  Though if he was, it wasn’t doing a lot of good, because Max hadn’t noticed a difference.  Maybe Edwards was just looking for some privacy.  They did spend an awful lot of time together, after all.  Max didn’t mind, oddly, but he could see Edwards needing some time to himself. Though why he’d spend that time in the bathroom instead of, say, taking a walk, Max couldn’t fathom.  And Edwards wasn’t one of those people who read in the bathroom, so that couldn’t be it. There simply was no excuse for this, in Max’s opinion.

...And now Max was in the bathroom, thinking about Edwards in the bathroom.

Max did not often dwell on Edwards’s bathroom habits.  Honestly.  It wasn’t something he thought about a lot.  There were more important things to worry about, like food and books.  They’d never really had problems with the bathroom, since Edwards bathed in the morning and Max bathed at night.  A few times Max had waited a short while to use the toilet.  It just was not something he thought about until it became a problem.  Of course, once it was a problem, it was one of the most annoying problems ever.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” Max said on his way out the door.  “Sorry to bother you.”

“Not a bother at all,” Mr. Hill said.  “I mean, when you gotta go...”

“Right,” Max said, closing the door behind him.  He went back to his apartment, grabbed another comic, and forgot about the whole thing.

*

There were only so many past-times in a town like this, and most of them would have involved leaving the apartment.  Given that Edwards currently looked a mess and would have to leave Max alone (because there was no way he could convince Max to come with him anywhere now that he was reading), that didn’t seem like a very good option.  So he ate another cookie and picked up a comic Max had just finished.  He’d read it six or seven times before, but it was a good one.  After he finished the comic, it was time to start making dinner, so he got up and did that.  Max wandered into the kitchen as he was heaping food onto plates.  He poured them both glasses of milk and set them at the table as Edwards was sitting down.

“This comic is depressing,” Max said, and sat down as well.

“I always thought it was funny,” Edwards said, tearing his bread into pieces. “We didn’t get noodles today.”

“This is good too,” Max pointed out.  “And okay, it’s funny sometimes.” He cut off a piece of the pork and went on, “But in a depressing way.”

Well, he did have a point.  It was one of the thinkier comics Edwards owned, actually.  Edwards shrugged and took a bite.  “You don’t have to read it, you know.  You could just stop.”

Max raised an eyebrow at him.

Edwards shook his head and smiled.  “Never mind,” he said.  “You just go on reading and complaining.  I don’t mind.”

“What a stupid idea,” Max muttered, picking up his milk.  He rolled his eyes at Edwards over the top of the glass as he took a drink.  “Stop reading it, I’m so sure.”  When he lowered the glass, though, he was grinning, and Edwards couldn’t help but grin back.

*

Max woke up in the morning, and Edwards was still in the bed.  That hadn’t happened much lately, and it was nice.  Edwards was all warm and stuff.  Max decided he was just going to lie there, wrapped around Edwards, until Edwards woke up or he absolutely had to move, whichever came first.

After a while (time was so fluid when he first woke, and lounging in bed all curled up with another person did not help matters any), he realized that Edwards was awake.  He opened his eyes and turned to smile at the other boy.  He saw that Edwards was already looking at him, and his eyes widened when he saw Max looking back at him.

“Oh,” Edwards said.  “Good morning.”

“’Morning,” Max said.  “Did I wake up earlier than usual or did you just decide not to make breakfast this morning?”

“Uh,” Edwards said.  “Neither.”  He squirmed away from Max and got out of bed.  “Omelettes sound good?”

“Sure,” Max told him, confused and a little disappointed.  It had been kind of nice to just--

Oh god.  He was a cuddler.  He’d spent his whole life eschewing socialization and human contact, and it had left him with a deficiency that he was now trying to make up for.  He was going to spend the rest of his life being all clingy and physical and craving hugs like some sort of drug addict and no one was going to want to be around him anymore, which would of course only make the cravings worse which would only drive people away faster and it was a huge, never-ending, self-perpetuating cycle.

...okay, he obviously needed more sleep.  Or more something, anyway.  He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  He could hear Edwards pulling things out of cabinets in the kitchen.  A few moments later, he heard eggs cracking.  Max smiled to himself and went to dress.

He sat down at the table just as Edwards was shuffling the omelette to a plate. Edwards set the plate in front of him and it smelled so good.  One of Edwards’s amazing omelettes, smothered in cheese, exactly the way Max liked it.  “You are too good to me,” Max said, grabbing his fork.

“I don’t know about that,” Edwards muttered, turning back to the stove to finish getting his own food.

Max cut off a piece of his omelette and took a bite.  “Mmm,” he moaned as Edwards sat down across from him.  “This is delicious.”

Edwards stood up.  “Know what,” he said, “I’m going to go take my bath and then eat,” then he rushed out of the kitchen.

“Your food will get cold,” Max commented, but Edwards was already gone.  He shrugged and went back to his omelette.

*

“No,” Max was saying as they walked to the store, “I mean this dream was really weird, like I was glowing and you were--Hey, Harla’s not here yet.”

Edwards looked up from the ground.  The door was still closed and he couldn’t see Harla even coming down the road.  “Huh,” he said.  He looked over at Max.  “You still have your key?”

Max pulled his keyring (with only two lonely keys on it) out of his vest pocket. “Yeah,” he said, walking to the door.  “Funny, though,” he said, unlocking it, “her not being here.”

“Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Orlando had another fight,” Edwards suggested, frowning.  He hoped that wasn’t the case, but it didn’t seem too unlikely.

“Or maybe,” Max said, opening the door, “she just decided to leave us on our own, so we’d be busy and not have time to fight.”

Edwards followed him inside and flipped the sign in the window to open.  “You think it made her that angry?”

Max shrugged. “I think it’s a little more likely than Stephen and Victoria fighting.”

“I don’t know,” Edwards said.  He frowned out the window for a second, then shook his head.  “You don’t know what it does when--I mean...” He knew exactly what he meant to say, what he wanted to say, and it just wasn’t coming out right.  That felt like it happened way too much lately.  “I just don’t think it’s impossible.”

“Right,” Max said.  “But I hope not.”  Edwards looked up from the window and saw that Max was smiling at him, reassuringly, as though he actually understood what Edwards had been trying to say.

Edwards smiled back.

*

Harla came in an hour or so before lunch.  She made fun of the bruises that were starting to show and look worse, and then told them that they got to stay late today and clean the shop from top to bottom.

“Since when are you the boss?” Edwards asked, putting a hand on the counter, sounding resentful--but he was smiling.

“I’m the boss’s niece,” she said.  “And anyway, the reason you have to stay all late today to clean is because my uncle bought a piano.  For the store,” she added.  “Not for our house, which would make so much more sense.”

Max stared at her.  He glanced at Edwards and found that Edwards was staring at her, too.

“He what?”

“And so at lunch, you need to head over to the train station to help get it here,” she told them.  “And then you’ll have to do all that cleaning stuff that I’m sure will have to happen once you’ve rearranged the store to my uncle’s satisfaction.  I’m going to go home and read now.”  She turned around and headed for the door, then stopped and looked over her shoulder.  “Oh, Max, could you bring the third book tomorrow?  Thanks.”  And she turned and walked out the door.

Max looked over at Edwards, who only shrugged.

Edwards opened his mouth, Max assumed to say something, but someone walked through the door.  Max looked over and it was Amory Channery, walking into the store with none of her usual swagger.  She walked in subduedly, almost dejectedly.

“Good morning,” she said, looking pretty much everywhere but at one of the two of them.  “Salya sent me for a hammer.  I--ours broke.”

How do you break a hammer, Max thought, but only pointed to the shelf and said, “They’re over there.”

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly Max wasn’t sure for a second if she had, in fact, said anything.  She went over and picked one up, then walked back to the counter.  She didn’t flounce, and she didn’t grin with ridiculous enthusiasm at Edwards, and Max started to feel bad for yelling at her.  Honestly, it didn’t make much sense in hindsight.  She had just annoyed him so much.  And now she was rather pathetic.

She paid and left without saying anything more.

Once she was out the door, Max said to Edwards, “Wow.”

“At least she wasn’t throwing herself at me,” Edwards muttered.

“She wasn’t doing much of anything,” Max said.  “Now I kind of feel bad for yelling at her.”

Edwards laughed. “Don’t,” he said.  “Please don’t.  I mean, that was pretty sad, but it was still better than...before.  Thank you again, by the way.”

Max felt a little guilty for smiling at that, but dammit, Edwards looked so sincerely grateful that he couldn’t help himself.  “Sure,” Max said.  “Anything for you.”

*

He really wished Max wouldn’t say things like that.

*

“What?” Max said.  Edwards had just had this look on his face, like he’d had a sudden cramp or something.

Edwards shook his head and smiled.  “Nothing,” he said.

Well, maybe he’d been wrong.

*

“Sir,” Edwards said.  “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Mr. Orlando said, patting the piano they had just finished putting together, “this is a sensible business move.”  Max and Edwards exchanged a glance, then looked at Mr. Orlando skeptically. “Really!” Mr. Orlando said.  “It’ll attract people to the store and once they’re here, they’ll buy things.  They’ll stay longer and buy more things.  And,” he added with a smile, “it will keep my employees entertained enough so they don’t decide to quit.”

Edwards looked over at Max.  Max was staring at the piano, fingers twitching every so often as though it was a nigh-insurmountable task to keep himself from attacking it to create some sound other than Mr. Orlando’s rather justifying explanation.  Edwards turned back to Mr. Orlando and said, “But wouldn’t your wife like a piano at home?”

“Actually, she was the one who suggested getting one for the store,” Mr. Orlando told him, leaning against the back of the piano.  “When we came back with Harla and found you two in the park.  She thought it was a lovely idea, to have the two of you making music when there wasn’t anything else to do.”

“Oh,” Edwards said.  He looked over at Max again, who was still staring, fingers twitching, at the piano, though possibly with more intensity than before.  “It’s really too nice to keep in the store,” Edwards said.  The corner of Max’s mouth spasmed.  That, Edwards thought, turning back to Mr. Orlando, was entirely too entertaining.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Orlando said, waving his hand.  “I know you two will take care of it.”  He glanced at the watch on his wrist and said, “Oh, I’d better be going.  Have fun,” he told them as he headed for the door.  “Go ahead and keep any tips anyone gives you.  Bye!”

And he left them standing before a beautiful new piano, completely alone in the shop, in a silence that bordered on reverent.

Max finally looked away from the piano and up at Edwards.  “It’ll be completely out of tune,” he said.  “And it’s new so the sound will be all funny.  And there’s still all this mess to clean up...” He gestured half-heartedly at the packing and bits of crate scattered around.  He looked back up at Edwards, but had apparently run out of words and excuses.

“Max,” Edwards said.  “Go.”

Evidently that was all he needed; Max dashed to the bench and sat down and lifted the lid over the keys and delicately tapped out a note.

The sound it made was horrendous.

Max giggled like a child on Halloween who’d just been given extra candy.

He didn’t seem to notice when Edwards burst into laughter.

*

Max stretched, slowly bringing his arms back behind his head and arching his back, and then dropped his hands suddenly on the keyboard.

“Jesus!” Edwards exclaimed.  Max looked over his shoulder at him, grinning. Edwards set his book on the counter and walked over.  “Does that mean you’re done?”

“Basically,” Max told him.  “Might have to do some fine-tuning over the next few days, but yes.”  He danced a little in his seat, and was immediately glad that Edwards was the only one here to witness that. God, he was so excited.  It was irrational, really.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t played lately (though not in over a week), and it wasn’t like he could play this one anytime, either--only while they were at the store (which they were most of six days out of seven), and if he did play it, it probably meant other people would want to listen and talk to him (but Edwards would be there), and...

Edwards smiled and said, “Well?”

“Right!” Max said, and turned back to the keys.

*

He spent the rest of the afternoon playing songs, running through all the keys, playing ridiculous compositions that Edwards had never heard played before because he’d never known anyone who thought they were good enough to attempt them.  Usually after he finished one of those songs, he would play a folk song that Edwards had a pretty good chance of knowing the words to.  Once or twice when Edwards didn’t know the words, the customer he’d been helping did.

They’d had a fairly busy afternoon, in fact, but Edwards didn’t want to interrupt Max’s playing.  People were generally patient enough to wait a few minutes while he helped someone else, particularly now that there was entertainment.

*

It was past closing time when Max finally asked Edwards what time it was. Edwards had done most of the cleaning up himself by then, and Max felt a little guilty for not helping.  He really hadn’t been much of a help today at all, sitting around with the piano, amusing himself while Edwards did all the work.

He said something to Edwards about it when he took the broom to sweep up the bits of packing still scattered around the piano.  “Don’t worry about it,” Edwards said.  “I didn’t mind.”

They finished cleaning up as the sun began to set.  Edwards went about, locking up, and Max couldn’t help himself.  He sat back down at the piano to play one more thing before they left.  He’d spent all day jumping from song to song as he remembered them--and it turned out he remembered more than he thought he did.  It was nice not to have an audience demanding this song or that song, leaving him free to go from classical numbers into old folk songs into popular music. Edwards didn’t seem to mind him skipping around.  He hadn’t complained at all.

He started playing.  This song wasn’t terribly complex, but it sounded wonderful and it was one of his favorites.  No one else was there, so he could even sing the lyrics.  This was one of the few songs he actually liked to sing--as long as people weren’t around, anyway.

“When you’re weary,” he sang, still quietly, “feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.”

God, he loved this song.

“Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.”

He played through, getting louder as he sang, but he was sure Edwards wouldn’t mind.  He thought his voice might have even gotten a little steadier toward the end, but that was probably wishful thinking.

“If you need a friend, I’m sailing right behind.  Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind.”

He shamelessly belted out the last line, knowing he probably sounded horrible but damned if he couldn’t help himself.

“Like a briiiidge over troubled water, I will ease your miiiiiiiiind!”

He played the last note, and it lingered in the air as though the song itself didn’t want to end.

“Wow.”

Max jumped and spun around.  “Oh, Edwards,” he said, heart pounding.  “Shit, warn a guy.”

“Sorry,” Edwards said.  He was smiling in an almost blissful way.  “That was beautiful.”

Max grinned and stood up. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s such a great song.  We should get going.”

“Well,” Edwards said, smile widening into a more familiar, mischievous grin, “if you’re finished.”

Max shook his head.  “Don’t say that.  I could stay here all night.”  He stretched.  “I am famished, though.  Did you grab those noodles?”

“Oh,” Edwards said, “right.  Hang on.”  He dashed into the back room again.  He could wait until tomorrow to pay for the noodles, he knew Stephen didn’t mind if they did that, but he just had to take care of it now.  Max shook his head and looked at the piano again.

No, if he started again, he’d be here all night.  He went to wait outside.

*

They didn’t usually walk home at dusk.  Usually it was significantly brighter or much darker.  Edwards had always liked how the town looked at sunset. It didn’t look exactly the same at sunrise, and it was completely different during the day and night.  Dusk had a different atmosphere. If it wasn’t for how excited Max still was from playing, the walk would have been quite relaxing.

But Max was being ridiculously talkative, going on and on about music and things, and asking Edwards if he knew this song or that song and had he ever heard that song he was playing earlier because he wasn’t sure he’d remembered it right.  It certainly wasn’t relaxing, but it was still nice.

They climbed the stairs up to their apartment, and Max lowered his voice as they passed Mr. Hill’s door.  Edwards happened to look up as he was going for his housekey, and paused.  “Look,” he said, walking to the railing at the end of the balcony.

“What?” Max asked.  “Oh.”

*

He went to stand next to Edwards at the railing.  They were looking out over the woods behind their building--no one had ever cut down the woods behind this neighborhood, so this was basically on the edge of town.  Over the treetops, the river was barely visible, with more woods on the other side.  At this height, the only thing visible of the surrounding villages was occasional pillars of smoke rising from the canopy.

That wasn’t what Edwards was looking at, though, Max knew.  Edwards had grown up in this area, and the sight off all those lush trees surrounding everything, covering hills and most of the nearby mountains, was commonplace.  It had taken Max a while to adjust, but Edwards was used to it.

So he was staring at the sunset.  He had to be.  What else was there to look at?  It was a nice sunset.  The last bits of the sun were just visible over the trees, and the light had painted the surrounding clouds and sky with rich colors.

Max glanced at Edwards.  They were normally inside when sunset was at its most beautiful, changing out of their uniforms and cooking dinner and so on.  But it wasn’t like they couldn’t see the sunset, and it wasn’t like they never did.  Yet for some reason, Edwards seemed enchanted by tonight’s.

Max heard Edwards sigh, and say a moment later, “Do you ever watch the sunset and think about how lucky you are to be alive?”

Max thought about it a second.  “Not really,” he admitted.

“Too bad,” Edwards said.

They stood in silence for a minute or two.  Max wasn’t sure, as he wasn’t the human timepiece.  It was a nice sunset; he’d seen better.  He did have to admit that the sunlight shining off the river where it bended was particularly nice, but it was, after all, only a sunset.

“Max,” Edwards said finally, “have I ever mentioned that I love you?”

Max turned to stare at him.  “Uh,” he said.  There seemed to be no clarification coming.  Edwards was still staring out at the sunset. “No.”  Edwards still didn’t look at him.  Max turned back to the sunset, confused, saying, “And I don’t know what that means.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look at Edwards and then there were lips pressing against his.  Edwards’s hand was on his shoulder and his lips were warm and soft against Max’s, and it really felt very nice and wow, so many of the books he’d read made so much more sense now, especially the ones aimed at juvenile girls (growing up, it had sometimes been hard to find things he hadn’t already read, and he got desperate), and he could feel the blood pounding in his ears and his heart pounding in his chest, and this really was the most singular sensation.

Edwards pulled away and simply looked at Max.

And it all clicked in Max’s brain, why Edwards had been acting all defensive at Zachary and Tristan, and what Harla had been trying to insinuate, and why Amory had irritated him so and made Edwards so uncomfortable, and why Edwards had argued so much about Nero, and why he’d acted so bothered by the fact that Max had never liked anyone, and why Max was so willing to listen to Edwards’s advice, and honestly it all made him feel a little stupid, and he said, “Oh.”

Edwards pulled his hand away and took a jerky step backwards.  He looked away. “Sorry,” he said.  “I--I’ll go start dinner.”  And he went to the door and unlocked it so quickly that Max could only classify it as fleeing.

Max stood there for a bit longer, confused.  As though it wasn’t enough to have just figured this out--which really did make him feel stupid, because how many times had he read about this sort of thing?  It was as though every book ever written had to have a romantic subplot, and a number of them had described what it was like to fall in love in rather a lot of detail, and he really should have known this was happening--Edwards had pretty much run away.

He frowned and looked at the window to the kitchen.  The curtains were drawn, as they usually were, so he couldn’t see inside, but he knew Edwards was probably at the sink by now, filling a pot with water for the noodles.  Maybe Max had looked angry or upset somehow.  He had often been told he looked angry when he wasn’t feeling angry at all. When he was younger, people had constantly been asking him what was wrong, when nothing was wrong apart from people asking him what was wrong all the time.  If Edwards had thought he was upset, then running away seemed like a perfectly logical step to Max.

He sort of hoped that was the case, because the only other reasons he could think of for Edwards’s flight were not very nice reasons.  They either didn’t make sense or were very, very depressing in light of what Max had just realized.  All of the reasons that made any modicum of sense ended with Edwards deciding he had made a mistake in kissing Max--which, now that he thought about it, didn’t make that much sense either, because Edwards had apologized before running away, so the only really likely explanation as far as Max could see was that Edwards thought he’d offended Max or something, and left to avoid, or at least postpone, the inevitable (from Edwards’s perspective) awkwardness.

Max looked over at the sun and realized when he couldn’t see it any longer that he’d been standing out here, thinking about this, for at least five minutes.  Edwards probably thought he’d left or jumped off the balcony or taken some other equally ridiculous action.

Well, he was reasonably certain there was no real problem, so he would simply go inside and talk to Edwards about it.  How hard could it be?