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A stab of panic threatened. He needed Ian, not like water—like oxygen. The way things were between them now, the fragile thread of financial obligation and attraction that frayed as it held them together, was slowly strangling him.
4
IAN
Ian kicked off his shoes under the dim light of the weathered brass lantern that hung beside the front door. He snuck inside, latching the door quietly behind him.
The parlor was empty. Upstairs, Alek’s room was empty too. He climbed the front stairs to the third-story tower. Alek wasn’t there either. Trepidation roiled in Ian’s gut. Alek was prone to worrisome theatrics, especially when left alone for too long.
After checking each of the doors on the second floor, he was about to try downstairs again when he stopped in front of his own room. Alek was in bed, on his side, his body curled around Ian’s pillow. Asleep.
Ian was going to end things with Alek. He’d spent the entire day tasting and testing the words on his tongue. He’d move in with his mom while he finished the Victorian and once the house sold, he and Alek could part ways forever. But the sight of Alek clutching his pillow, the proof that Alek missed him; he couldn’t end things now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.
Ian sat on the edge of the bed, but Alek didn’t stir. He’d always been an easy sleeper, falling under as soon as he closedhis eyes, like none of the things he did could ever keep him up at night.
The bags under Alek’s eyes had become a pair of half-moon bruises since he’d last seen him. Alek breathed faster. His forehead wrinkled, luscious black lashes clenching tight. Alek muttered words in an indiscernible language. Romanian, maybe? But not quite right. Armenian? He had no idea. Alek’s speech was accentless when he was awake. There wasn’t even a hint of the New York from which he supposedly hailed.
Ian wasn’t stupid. He had asked a hundred times already.Why do you dream in other languages?Alek had a different answer for every occasion. He’d worked as an au pair in Czechia one summer so he could backpack through Europe without paying airfare. He taught English to students in Croatia. He went to an antique restoration convention in Macedonia.
How did a familyless loner even become a savant pianist and antique restorer? How did he subsist on a freelance income, yet never worry about money? Alek hadn’t even paid taxes until Ian nagged him about it and then he paid it with little fanfare in one lump sum. None of it made sense because there were huge pieces left out.
He ran his hand over Alek’s forehead, pushed away the hair from his face, and pressed a kiss in its place. Alek’s face smoothed, and with the nightmare vanquished, Ian crossed to the dresser, pulling his shirt over his head. The sight of his underwear drawer left open, the mess Alek had intentionally left for him, brought an automatic smile to his face.
After undressing, Ian joined Alek in bed and spooned behind him, forcing himself to stay awake so he could bask in the warmth that Alek radiated, like his body temperature ran a half degree higher than his own.
When Ian woke next,the bed was cold and Alek was gone. Overhead, the floorboards creaked. On the third floor of the turret tower, Alek sat in his usual place on the window sill with his face turned towards the forest. He was wearing only a pair of drab olive sweatpants, a lit cigarette burning forgotten in his hand. Ian shivered, longing to wrap his arms around Alek for more than warmth.
“This isn’t working,” Alek said without turning.
Ian flinched.
“I thought that if I made you jealous enough, if I pushed, you’d fold, not break. I was wrong.” Alek spoke slowly, likely unspooling the words for maximum suspense. “Can we just go back to whatever we were doing before?”
“I don’t hear an apology anywhere in there.”
“Is that what you need?” He gave the cigarette a flippant wave. “Fine. I’m sorry.”
“If you’re going to say sorry, turn around and do more than half-ass it.”
Alek swiveled and leaned against the side of the window frame, his legs straddling the sill. He took a long drag from the cigarette, like he was only apologizing to humor him and only after he made him wait first. On an exhale, Alek rolled his eyes so slightly, anyone but Ian would have missed it.
“I’m sorry I brought home an assembly line of one-night stands. I’m sorry for torturing you with sleep deprivation tactics that violated the Geneva Convention. I’m sorry I teased you into a perpetual state of blue balls.” Alek lifted a finger for each transgression, counting them off like they meant nothing to him, which was probably true. Then he looked at the three fingers held aloft, bit the corner of his lip, and lifted another. “I’m sorry I threw all your tools outside while it was raining and then put them back in your tool chest without drying them off.”
“You’re such a prick.”
“I know, but you like that about me.” Alek’s jade eyes darkened. He was only a moment away from weaponizing sex to sweep this all under the rug.
“If I accepted your apology, just like that, would you still respect me?”
“Who cares about respect so long as you respect yourself?” Alek ran an aggravated hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Of course, I would respect you. So much, in fact, that I’ll drop to my knees and drain your dick down my throat right now to prove it to you.”
Ian shook his head. “You can’t fuck your way out of this, Alek.”
“I don’t understand. I told you I’m sorry. Why are you still looking at me like that?”
Ian’s blood went hot with rising anger. He reminded himself that Alek was only so feral and ignorant of normal human customs because of whatever secret past he wouldn’t share with him. Calmer now, Ian said, “An apology doesn’t erase the fact that you slept with enough people to populate a small island under the comically misguided assumption that it would make me want to marry you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” Alek paused. He must be rattled. He never stumbled over his words. “I wanted?—”
