“Oh!” Ejiro blushed, slamming his sketchbook closed. He glanced at the clock and winced. It was nearing midnight already. How long had he been drawing? “Sorry about that, I’ll—”
He stood, indecisive for a brief moment. He didn’t feel like sleeping just yet.
He headed toward the door, switching off the lights as he did.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Goodnight.” He gently closed the door behind him, and headed in the direction of the kitchen.
He waved at Eddie and Alistair, who were busy chatting on the dining table, dirty plates, cups, and a half-finished bottle of wine in front of them. It seemed like they’d cooked a meal, the countertop and sinks a mess. Ejiro wrinkled his nose. They had a cleaning service come in a few times a week, but Ejiro still didn’t think that meant they should leave the place looking like a gutter.
Outside, someone who Ejiro vaguely recognised as Noah was doing laps in the pool. Noah didn’t notice him, so Ejiro didn’t feel too bad not saying hi as he headed straight for the little secluded nook at the end of the veranda.
Not unlike when he was with Sophia, so far, Ejiro still hadn’t felt comfortable enough to completely relax around the other men, wearing his “extrovert” mask whenever he was in their orbit. It was—pardon his language—bloody exhausting pretending to be cool and interesting and funny, laughing with the other men when one of them teased him or cracked a joke, even if he didn’t find it funny. He knew that if he was his usual quiet and reserved self, the other men would think him weird or dull or whatever, and he’d rather not face that kind of ostracism when he didn’t have Ajiri or Blessing or the rest of his support network here to have his back.
When he’d discovered the nook at the end of the veranda a few days ago, apart from the “confession” room, it had become his secret place of solace when he wanted to essentially hide away from the other bachelors and recharge.
His heart dropped to his feet with painful disappointment when he realised someone was already there. The person was seated facing him, their knees pulled up to their chest, so he couldn’t just turn around and leave without seeming like he was specifically avoiding them.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know someone was here. Do you …” He paused with surprise when he registered that the person was Obiora. “Sorry,” he said again, nervous for reasons he couldn’t quite discern. The sketchbook in his hands, filled with small but elaborate sketches of Obiora’s facial features, burned damnably. “Uh, I’ll leave you—”
“No, it’s fine,” Obiora said. He smiled, a soft, honeyed thing so unlike his usual grins and smirks that Ejiro felt his heart pound. “Plenty of space for both of us.”
Ejiro hesitated. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“All right.” Ejiro echoed his smile, moving until he was perched on the opposite corner of the “n” shaped sofa.
Obiora was playing with something in his hands, uncharacteristically quiet. Ejiro was so used to him constantly teasing and grinning that seeing this greyed out version of him was a little worrying.
“Um … are you … okay?”
Obiora blinked, like he’d been far away for a moment, then his eyes cleared. “Hm? Oh. Yeah. I’m just … thinking.” He seemed to brace himself, before waving what was in his hands—a locket with a chain—and saying, “Just reminiscing. The game today has me going down memory lane.”
It took a moment before Ejiro understood. “Oh. Oh.” His heart twisted with empathy as he remembered the vulnerability Obiora had tried desperately to hide. Ejiro clutched his sketchbook, preparing to stand. “I—are you sure you don’t want to be alone? I completely understand if you do.” And even if it meant losing his alone, recharge time, he honestly meant it. Obiora seemed to need it more.
“Sit down, Ejiro. Seriously. Don’t worry about it. I like your company.”
For some reason, the last sentence made Ejiro feel flustered. “Oh, okay. All right. If you’re sure.”
Obiora looked amused. “I’m sure.”
Ejiro decided to focus studiously on his sketching. The vulnerability clung visibly to Obiora like a tangible aura, making Ejiro feel strangely untethered. He opened the page to where he’d left off, where he’d been trying to capture Obiora’s eyes, their intensity when …
Oh.
He glanced up surreptitiously. Was it wrong to do this? To draw him when he was sitting right there, drowning in memories, obviously upset? It felt almost voyeuristic.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Ejiro startled so hard he nearly dropped his sketchbook. “What?” he gasped, voice high with surprise and confusion.
Obiora laughed. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he repeated. Ejiro didn’t think he’d missed seeing that awful smirk on Obiora’s lips until he saw it returned, even though it was just a shadow of his usual cocky quirk. “I know you’re thinking it, so I just helped you out. Get it out of the way and all that.”
Ejiro could feel a flush heat up his neck. “What? No. I didn’t—I mean, yes, I am sorry for your loss, but I’m not—I mean—”
Obiora laughed again. “It’s all right, Ejiro. Stop panicking. It’s honestly been years; I don’t mind.”
