Flaming

It’s the first time Tiger has ever let him pet her.

Little breakthroughs, Zakary decides, smiling. “Maybe I should listen to the signs,” he says, thinking of Jonatho’s words from last night.

When Jonatho arrives in the kitchen in just his navy blue boxer-briefs, he decides to pitch in, and before Zakary knows it, they’re making breakfast together. The apartment fills with a delicious, intoxicating aroma. They eat at the couch, letting Tiger keep her space at the table by the window, and talk about their excitements regarding the play opening tonight. Jonatho has no worries. Zakary is excited to watch from the wings and listen to the reactions of the audience—a private pleasure of his. “You’ve certainly made my stay here memorable,” admits Jonatho when they finish and have taken their dishes to the sink. “I wish we could have done this earlier on. The truth is, you caught my eye from the start, but … I didn’t know the first thing about you, let alone whether or not you were even into guys. Especially a … slightly older guy like me. I just assumed I wasn’t your type.”

“Not my type?” Zakary finds that funny as he sets down his plate, letting it clink with the glasses in the sink. “Who wouldn’t find you attractive? I’m just some techy dude from Texas working in the wings and keeping to myself. You’re a mastermind of your craft whose every play is the next big thing of the theatre scene. You’re going to win a Pulitzer someday, I just know it.”

“I like how much you believe in me. More than I believe in myself, sometimes. Let me return the favor.” Jonatho comes right up to Zakary and slips his hands around his waist. They are still just in their underwear, exposed to each other otherwise. “You’re more than just ‘some techy dude’ from Texas. One day, that red will grow out, and it won’t be your flaming hair that’s the excuse for your confidence. Whatever’s inside you right now, it was always there.”

Without any words to express how he feels, Zakary dives in for a kiss, and Jonatho is there for every exquisite second of it.

It isn’t until the morning has rushed by that the two of them seem ready to face reality, lying on the bed, naked once again, half-cuddled together. “As much as I want to spend all damned day here,” Jonatho says with a wistful sigh, “I really should get to the theater and make sure everything’s coming together. Oliver had that look in his eye last night. We didn’t even do a complete, uninterrupted run-thru yesterday. I’m not used to empty-house dress rehearsals. The actors will have no idea how to react to an actual audience. Will they know when to pause for laughter? Are we even ready to open?”

“Everything will be fine,” Zakary tells him reassuringly. “I’ll be there tonight and make sure all the set pieces are in place and the stage manager Becky hasn’t totally lost her mind.”

“Thanks for this. For last night. For today. For being exactly what I needed.” Jonatho eyes him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this comfortable around someone and … had meaningful conversation with something that isn’t the furniture around my flat.”

Zakary laughs. He already feels used to Jonatho’s peculiar quirks, such as carrying on discussions with inanimate objects and apparently hearing their responses. “Well, as long as you don’t talk to my bed and learn every dirty thing about me, I guess it’s okay.”

Jonatho grins. “Who says I haven’t already?”

Zakary bites his lip and shakes his head. He could thank Jonatho for a number of things, too, but he decides to give him another kiss instead. The seemingly simple act turns into a cuddle, and then the pair of them are wrapped up in sheets again and forgetting the world.

The world certainly doesn’t forget them, however, when they later find opening night upon them, accompanied by an unfortunate surprise.

7

The Climax Scene

Zakary enters the theater through the back door dressed in his all-black stagehand attire. His heart jumps with excitement, though it’s difficult to tell at first whether it’s for the opening of the show, or because he can’t wait to see Jonatho again. Sure, they just saw each other that morning and spent all night together, but after only a handful of hours apart, Zakary craves Jonatho’s lips on his lips, hands on his body, and sweet words in his ears. Every second spent away from him aches.

But the playwright isn’t what Zakary encounters upon entering the theater doors. He finds everything—and everyone—in disarray. From the wings, he spots the lighting board operator on the stage having a heated discussion with the stage manager Becky, who seems rather unraveled as she keeps jabbing a finger at her clipboard with a phone tucked between her shoulder and ear. Other crew members are running around backstage, muttering to each other in scandalized tones, though Zakary doesn’t pick up a word of it. He pokes a head in the dressing room, but only Emilio is there, his head in his hands as he mutters to himself, sounding stressed. No, it doesn’t seem to be the “usual” opening-night jitters and worries that has everyone stirred up. Something else is going on.