Angelo, on the other hand, needed Yuri like he needed a chocolate teapot.
Still, he had come, and was trying in his very small way to make things better. And that, for some strange reason, only made Yuri cry harder. Hard enough for Angelo to finally notice what he was doing.
Yuri expected him to try to stop the tears but instead, Angelo laid his hand on a section of Yuri’s back that didn’t hurt and stroked the intact skin slowly and softly. “That’s it,” he said. “Let it all out. Let it go. I’ve got you. I'm not going anywhere.”
“No. Where are you going to sleep?” Yuri couldn't bear the idea of Angelo sleeping next to him. Not like this. It was a mockery of what he so desperately wanted.
“On the floor, obviously.”
Yuri shook his head, his face buried in his pillow. “No.”
“Then I'll call Philippe. He can watch you.”
“No!” Yuri turned his head to the side so he could see some of Angelo sitting beside him on the bed. Philippe's first phone call would be to Yuri's parents. Yuri would be sent to hospital, like it or not, everything would get out, and it would be humiliating for everyone. No. Philippe couldn't know. “Fine. You can stay.”
“Good,” Angelo said, “because I'd already planned on it.”
8
Angelo Takes One for the Team
Angelo spent the night on Yuri's floor, not sleeping much but thinking furiously. After Yuri had cried himself out and fallen into an exhausted sleep, Angelo pondered how to keep his stupid, reckless boy safe. With several ideas, but no conclusions, running through his head, Angelo also fell asleep.
The next day he arranged for Yuri to watch videos of his lectures, FaceTime with his tutors, and have projects postponed until he was better. As the days went by and Yuri recovered—his skin turning from aubergine to a sickly yellow-green with patches of crimson, pink, milk white, and faded violet—Angelo stayed with him as much as possible.
Even after Yuri was capable of moving about without stiffness or pain, Angelo refused to go away. Soon, he spent more nights in Yuri's room than his own, sleeping on a thin pallet laid out on Yuri's floor.
“You can leave, you know,” Yuri said one day. “I'm completely healed. I can fend for myself.”
His skin was mostly healed, not completely, but Angelo let it pass. “I've made a decision,” he said.
“Hm?” Yuri thumbed through something on his mobile as he sat next to Angelo on the room's undersized sofa.
“We should start dating.”
Yuri dropped his mobile. “What?” he squeaked, then reached down to pick it up.
“We're almost twenty-three. If we're to become officially engaged before thirty, I think it would look good if we were exclusive beforehand. I want everyone to know we're a couple. Like, for real.”
Yuri looked suspicious. “But we're not a real couple. We're never going to be a real couple.”
“The world doesn't need to know that.”
“What about all the women you've dated? It's obvious to everyone we're only getting married for diplomacy.”
Angelo shrugged. “I could be bi. I think it would be great press to give everyone a romance.”
Yuri goggled at him. “When did you get your brain transplant? You are not the Angelo I know and… never mind. It doesn't matter. We can't do this, because if we do, that means no more lady bits for you and I don't think you're ready yet for a sex-free existence.”
Angelo gave him a disgusted look. “Don't be an utter twat. I know what I'll be giving up, but it's past time. We'll both graduate in a few months.”
Yuri bit his lip. “I've already arranged to do a postgraduate degree in history. I'm not done with my education.”
“Right then. I hadn't thought about it, but going further with economics would probably be a better use of my time than getting a job somewhere or going back home.”
“You don't have to stay here. We don't have to commit to anything just yet. We have time. Lots of time. So much—”
“I'm going to be your husband,” Angelo said, “sooner or later, like it or not. What's the point in putting it all off?”
Yuri raised one finely shaped brown eyebrow. “So you're cool with not having sex again for like… ever? Or kissing or holding hands, even? Because I'm not. I'll go mad. I'm not ready yet. It's way too soon.” He looked at Angelo like he was an animal caught in a trap, terrified and half-crazed to escape in any way it could, even if that meant chewing through a limb.
Angelo rubbed Yuri's shoulder tentatively. “I know,” he said soberly. “I've been thinking about it for days.”
The idea of Yuri putting himself again into the hands of Francis, or someone like him, terrified Angelo. It didn't matter that Yuri was gay and Angelo wasn't. Someone needed to protect Yuri and that someone was Angelo. Would always be Angelo. Yuri was his curse and his cross to bear and his inevitable destiny. And despite years of resentment and irritation and anger, that still made Yuri his.
Yuri relaxed his stiffened posture enough to slump against Angelo. “Angel, it's a really stupid idea. We'll keep going on as we are. We've got years to date and 'fall in love.' No point rushing it. You'll have to pretend your whole life. Be discreet when you need to fuck someone. You won't be allowed to fall in love, and if you do, you'll never be able to act on it. I get you're feeling overprotective and cave mannish, but you don't need to be. I'll be way more careful next time. I'll find someone who can hurt me, but not hurt me. Those men exist. I know they do. Let me find one and live before my freedom is completely gone.”
Nervous fear dumped adrenaline into Angelo's bloodstream. It made him want to do something—anything—to make things better. “I can do that,” Angelo burst out, licking his dry lips. “I can be that man. For you. For
