“So,” Sean says after falling silent for a little while. They’re still joined at the hands, and if Mike has any say in it, they’ll stay that way for as long as possible.
“So,” Mike says.
“It’s almost the end of summer.”
“Is it?” Mike says, frowning slightly. He didn’t realize that much time had passed already.
Sean chuckles and squeezes his hand. Mike maybe loves him a little bit more for not yet letting go, even though their hands are clammy. “Sure is, big guy. And I was thinking.”
“Don’t strain yourself too much.”
“A peach. A real peach.”
“Someone’s gotta keep the ego in check.”
“And you think it’s gonna be you?”
Mike blanches a little, not meaning to be presumptuous. He averts his eyes and gives a weak laugh, trying to play it off, trying to deflect. He says, “I didn’t mean—”
“I want you to,” Sean says quickly, like he’s afraid he won’t get all the words out in time. “Mean it, I mean.”
“Yeah?” Mike says, and he sounds a little breathless.
“Yeah,” Sean says.
Mike clears his throat and tries not to show how smug he feels. “Okay,” he says. “I… uh. I can. Keep your. Ego. In check?” Because what were they even talking about now?
The corners of Sean’s eyes crinkle slightly. It’s one of the first things that Mike ever really noticed about him, how he doesn’t even need to smile with his mouth, it can be around his eyes, and Sean’s amused again, amused by Mike, and Mike likes it, likes these little moments when it’s quiet and everything is okay. Sure, there might be a bit of unease crawling through him, and sure, there’s that voice whispering in the back of his head, Are you sure it was a dream? and Are you sure it wasn’t a ghost? and You’re forgetting something, something important because there was a woman crying and your palms itched, but he ignores it. He ignores it because he doesn’t want anything to distract him from this moment. He’s lying on his back, his hand is in Sean’s, and the corners of Sean’s eyes are cri
nkling. He’s amused, and they’re so close to each other that Mike can feel his breath on his face, can see individual lashes as Sean blinks slow and heavy. So yes, he ignores the uneasiness because he wants nothing to do with it. He wants nothing to distract him from right now, which has been three years in the making.
“You do that,” Sean says. “You keep me in check, okay?”
“Yeah,” Mike says hoarsely.
“Yeah.”
It’s perfect. Everything about this is perfect, and he can barely breathe.
Sean says, “So, since it’s almost the end of summer. There’s that thing they do every year coming up in a couple of weeks.”
Mike’s throat is a little dry, but he swallows through it. The Amorea Women’s Club puts on a social with food and music and dancing, and it’s never really been Mike’s thing. It’s loud and gaudy, but as a business owner in Amorea, he’s expected to wear a tie and show up with a smile on his face. He didn’t escort Sean for the past couple of years; they’ve met there and they’ve eaten and watched others dance, and even though Mike tried to push himself to do more, to pull Sean out onto the dance floor, to hold him close and sway back and forth, he didn’t. He didn’t really know why, but there was always something that held him back.
But he’s tired of that. He’s not like that anymore. He’s different now. Things are different between the two of them. They’re on their first date and it’s going well, and maybe Mike’s thinking about daring to kiss Sean at the end of the night, on the lips or on the cheek, he’s not quite sure yet. He wants to do this right, doesn’t want anything to mess this up. Maybe it’ll be a little forward of him, but he thinks that Sean will be okay with it. Because sometimes Mike catches Sean staring at him like he wants to kiss him too. They’ll both blush and look away, but it’s been happening for a long time, and it’s been happening more and more.
“The fall harvest thing,” Mike says.
“Right,” Sean says. “A big to-do.”
“You should go,” Mike says quickly. “Um. With me. If you want. We could go. Together?” And he curses himself internally for sounding like some fumbling kid. He’s thirty-six years old, goddammit, and he weighs two hundred and seventeen pounds. He could lift Sean like it was nothing, skinny thing that he is, with one arm, even, but he’s punctuating his words all wrong, and he wants to start over.
Before he can, though, Sean’s nodding his head and biting his lip and Mike thinks, Wow, look at you, just look at you. Gosh, wow.
“I’d like that,” Sean says. “If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, yes,” Mike says. “I want that,” and he’s squeezing Sean’s hand tightly, like he’s afraid that maybe this is a dream, and he doesn’t want it to be, even if it’s a good dream.
“Good,” Sean says. And Mike watches as he scoots just a little bit closer until his head rests on Mike’s shoulder. Mike turns his own head slightly until his nose is in Sean’s hair, and he breaths in deeply, smelling soap and Brylcreem and coffee and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.