"Bring me a flagon of ale, for this night I have been in the midst of Texas!"
"Idiot."
"Should've stopped off in the kitchen on my way back from the bathroom. What about you? Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm all right, thanks. It wasn't me who did all the hard work there, was it?" And I grinned at his reaction, that now-familiar coloring in his cheeks.
"It wasn't such a chore." He rolled his shoulders as he lifted himself off the bed again and left the room for the second time in five minutes.
He soon returned, carrying a soda can.
"Not beer?" I asked. "Or ale, whatever it was you were yammering on about?"
"I never yammer, I'll have you know. And yes, yes. Not living up to the national stereotype again." He set the can down by his side of the bed and pulled the cover up to his waist, mirroring my lazy posture. "I fail at being Scottish."
"So you thought the land of the free and the home of the brave would be better for you?"
He turned his head on the pillow to look at me, smirking. "Not doing too badly so far, am I?"
"How long have you been here?"
A pause before he answered, as if he was contemplating how much to tell me. Just as I was contemplating how much to ask. "Couple of years."
He shrugged, a mere shoulder twitch, given the fact he was horizontal.
"Near enough."
"And?"
"And what?"
"You're on the run, aren't you? That's why you're so evasive."
"I am so not evasive." His lips curved into a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Okay then. Time to stop, Austin.
"I didn't leave the land of the heart attack and the home of the alcoholic under a cloud. Don't fret."
"Uh-huh." A non-committal noise, it could be interpreted as agreement, acknowledgement, a gentle request for elaboration.
"Okay, okay, I admit it. I fucked everyone I could and I got excommunicated for being such a monumental arse-bandit."
"Excommunicated?"
"Extradited. You know. Whatever."
"Look, I'm sorry if I'm being too invasive. It probably seems a bit stupid, asking you shit about your life, you know, when I don't even know your real name. I should shut up now; I'm --- "
"Can I tell you now?"
My mouth went dry. Stupid, stupid, stupid, went round my head. You make no sense, Austin, with this stupid rule of yours. But a desire to try something new, something I'd never done before, didn't have to be labeled "stupid," did it? "Tell me in the morning," I said.
The silence before he replied, though his gaze held mine, seemed eons long. "Okay." The corners of his mouth twitched into the hint of a smile. "Okay." He inhaled sharply, as if about to speak then held it, perhaps thinking again about his words. "It was a man." Pause. "Of course."
I raised my eyebrows. "A man? What was?"
"The reason I came here. A man."
"Oh. Oh. So, you mean like...?"
"A boyfriend. Ex- boyfriend, that is. Things didn't work out."
I took a few seconds to let the information sink in. Of course he'd had lovers before me. There'd be others afterward, too. "I see. So you uprooted yourself for someone? I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"No you're not."
"Pardon?"
"If I'd still been with... him..."
I wondered if he thought the embargo on names applied to everyone connected with him too but it was likely a simple matter of not wanting to talk too much about an ex. Names had power, after all.
"If I'd still been with him, you wouldn't have got a slice of the --- Shit, I nearly said my surname then. I mean, fuck, let me try this again. For the third time, if I'd still been with my ex, you wouldn't have got a slice of my sweet, sweet lovin'."
"And that would have been a tragedy over which I, in my ignorance, would never even have mourned."
"Oh well." James sighed. "It was a bit of an upheaval, but at least I can do my job wherever I am."
"And what is that?" The question seemed natural enough to me, though I still hoped he wouldn't think me too nosy.
"Photography. Freelance. Some portraits. Mostly magazines. Whatever pays the bills."
"So you took the ones hanging in the hall?"
"All my own work. Snapshots, so nothing I'd try to sell. Besides, who'd be interested in old buildings from my home town?"
"You'd be surprised," I said, before biting my lip, wondering if I'd spoken out of turn. I was interested in the sense of walking past the photo frames in the hall on the way to the bedroom, but anything more than that? Why, of course not. "I split up with someone a couple of months back," I blurted out, and wanted to hide as soon as I'd said it. What the fuck was this, an après-sex confessional? Instead, I settled for avoiding his gaze and staring up at the ceiling again.
"Oh?" One syllable, yet more than that. A question.
"Sean Thomas." Names had power, but he deserved none. And some twisted part of me wanted to prove to James, an almost-stranger, that someone with whom I'd been intimate, could be treated casually. My ability to say his name proved my emotional independence. "My grandma always said 'never trust a man with two first names.'"
"So you --- I mean...right. Well. I guess we've both been burned at some point."
"It's just life. Fucks you over for a time, but..."
"You have to get over it and move on." James tapped the cover, drumming his fingers in what could have been impatience, was probably discomfort, maybe a physical prompt for a new line of conversation to spring to mind. "Hey!"
His sudden excitement made me jump.
"Wanna play a game?"
"What sort of game?" Never sign anything until you've read the small print, Lombard.
"It's called 'Mr. Wibbly Hides His Helmet.'" At whatever look he saw on my face then, probably something between shock and hilarity, he waved
