Theo didn’t seem to be listening; his focus was turned inward, and he was mumbling about burning down the house.
“Enough about the gasoline, you dumbass pyro,” Auggie said. “Hey, cut it out. Fine. I’m staying. I’ll get some blankets and sleep on the floor.”
“No,” Theo said, flopping back onto the mattress and patting the open space next to him.
“You will cut my balls off in the morning.”
“Right here,” Theo said, slapping the mattress again.
“You made it perfectly clear, about eighteen times, that nothing’s going to happen.”
“I will burn this house—”
“Oh my Christ, ok. Just shut up already.”
Auggie kicked off his shoes, turned off the light, and crawled onto the mattress. He was at the very edge of it, one arm hanging off, the exposed springs cold against his fingers. The sleeper’s frame creaked as Theo wiggled, and a moment later, Theo’s hand landed on Auggie’s belly. Through the cotton, the touch was hot and heavy.
“Go to sleep,” Auggie said.
“I want to look at you.”
“You are looking at me, perv. Go to sleep.”
Theo tugged on the shirt, though, until Auggie rolled onto his side. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the lines of Theo’s face, the glitter of his eyes.
“You are funny,” Theo said, like he was testing a piece in a puzzle.
“Nice try, but I remember you watching my video.”
“I watched all of them. You are really funny. And you’re a good dancer. And you’re smart. And you’re a good person.” Theo’s breath hitched, and in a rush he added, “And you’re cute.”
Auggie’s eyes burned. “Go to sleep, Theo.”
“I want to kiss you.”
Blinking furiously, Auggie said, “You’re drunk.”
Theo’s hand cupped Auggie’s face: a strong hand, bone without much padding, the calluses rough on Auggie’s cheek. “I want to kiss you.”
“Not tonight. Maybe another time.”
That seemed to satisfy him. His thumb skated back and forth over Auggie’s cheekbone, and then he grinned and rolled onto his back and fell asleep.
Auggie didn’t fall asleep, though. He stayed up in the darkness, wrestling with the thing trying to crack his breastbone, until dawn slipped through the curtains.
22
Theo woke to a chain of memories: mistake after mistake after mistake. The inside of his mouth seemed like the clearest register of those lapses in judgment: it tasted furry and brown. And then there was the headache splitting open the back of his skull. And the low, throbbing heat in his hip and knee, which told him he’d really screwed up his leg last night. Drinking too much, Cart, dinner, the kiss. Auggie. Everything with Auggie was a blur, but Theo remembered, vaguely, coming home and finding Auggie still in his house. After that, things fractured.
Then he felt the wet bedding and realized he’d peed himself.
“Oh shit,” he muttered, plucking at the sheet, trying to figure out how—and why—he’d managed to make up the sofa sleeper.
“Ice packs,” Auggie said from the opening to the kitchen.
“Oh,” Theo said, at first overwhelmed by relief that he hadn’t, in fact, peed himself. Then he noticed that Auggie was in the same clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. In Theo’s kitchen. In the morning.
“Oh shit,” Theo said again.
For a moment, Auggie looked confused. Then he laughed. When Theo winced, he zipped his lips, and he added in a whisper, “Calm down, nothing happened.”
Groaning, Theo buried his head under the pillow.
Auggie’s footsteps padded away.
The smell of hot cast iron and carbs floated in the air, and Theo’s stomach gave an ominous lurch. When footsteps came padding back, he fully intended to tell Auggie that this was wildly inappropriate, and as much as he appreciated whatever Auggie had done for him last night, this was out of line, and the best thing right then would be for Auggie to go home. He had the whole scene recorded in his head. He got ready to press play.
“Water and ibuprofen,” Auggie whispered, and glass clinked against the coffee table. “And your stomach probably feels like shit, but I made pancakes, and I’ll fry some eggs when you’re ready. You’ll feel better after you eat.”
Fuck the pre-recorded scene, was Theo’s last coherent thought before he drifted off again.
When he woke, he felt a tiny bit better. Enough that he was able to get the pillow off his head, swallow the ibuprofen, and drink the full glass of water. He sat on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands, and decided he would never touch a beer again. No champagne, either. Never again. He thought of Auggie. Thought of facing Auggie like this, still messed up from the night before, and wondered if this was the grown-up version of the walk of shame. He could crawl out the window. He could live in the woods. Just give up the house, grad school, all of it. God, that sounded so much better.
Auggie’s footsteps sounded tacky against the unfinished boards. He leaned in the opening to the kitchen, grinning. “I can hear you thinking all the way in the other room, so I’m going to save you the effort: totally inappropriate, won’t ever happen again, hope it doesn’t affect our professional relationship, etc. Did I pretty much get it?”
Theo rocked a hand from side to side.
“Come eat,” Auggie said. “You can yell at me after.”
Somehow, limping heavily, Theo made it to the kitchen table. Streamers hung from the ceiling; a limp banner over the back door said HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE SON.
“Where’s your cane?” Auggie asked as he brought over a plate of pancakes and fried eggs.
“Upstairs, I guess.”
“I’m going to get it. Don’t freak out.”
After a moment, Theo nodded. Auggie had already been upstairs the night before—he must have gone upstairs, because someone had made up the sofa sleeper. And that meant Auggie had already seen the wreckage of Theo’s life. Had already seen how fucking pathetic Theo was. Big deal if he went up there again.
“Leaning
