“That doesn’t mean it might not still hurt,” he retorted, looking away.
Obiora was quiet for a moment. “You’re right,” he whispered.
He flicked open the locket in his hands, the sound drawing Ejiro’s attention. For a moment, Ejiro felt painfully curious. What did she look like, this person that Obiora had so—and in so many ways still—obviously loved?
He felt like the question might be rude or too invasive, so he swallowed it down and focused back on the drawing in front of him.
His hand itched. He glanced up at Obiora again from underneath his lashes, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw that look on Obiora’s face, something gentle and loving and achingly sorrowful it made Ejiro feel—just … feel.
Before he could tell himself what a bad idea it was, his hand was moving across the page, sketching furiously. The tight curls of Obiora’s afro; his firm, defined jaw; the barely-there dimple in his cheek, hidden underneath an artful layer of stubble; his thick, almost bushy eyebrows; his eyes, so dark and intense—deep unfathomable depths Ejiro felt he could get lost in. He kept going back to them, a frown furrowing his forehead as he tried to get the intensity in those eyes just right.
He tried to be covert each time he glanced up at Obiora so he wouldn’t notice, and from the unchanging look on his face, it seemed he didn’t.
Then his lips curled up slightly at the corners, and he didn’t look in Ejiro’s direction when he said, “Are you drawing me?”
Ejiro wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He swallowed the guilty lump in his throat, his hand frozen mid-sketch. “No?” he squeaked.
Obiora laughed. He finally looked at Ejiro, his eyes dark. “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”
Ejiro gripped his pencil. “Sorry,” he said, voice thick. He cleared his throat. “For … I mean, I should have asked.”
“It’s okay. Now you have my permission. Knock yourself out. I could even pose if you want?” Obiora winked.
Ejiro snorted, though the wink made him feel strange. Fluttery.
God, Obiora was so obnoxious.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“If you say so.” He grinned.
Their eyes locked. Ejiro’s heartbeat stuttered. His eyes, almost without his control, dropped to Obiora’s lips, which he hadn’t noticed were surprisingly full, soft-looking and the palest of pinks—
The sound of the back door sliding shut startled him into looking away. That had to be Noah, turning in for the night. Ejiro shook his head with a confuddled frown, clutching his sketchbook like it’d reorient his suddenly disorganised feelings.
“So, you’ve won another date with the bachelorette.” Obiora’s voice was teasing.
Ejiro felt like he’d been doused with cold water. The mask he hadn’t even realised he’d taken off instantly sprung back into place in the form of a smile so fake his face could have cracked with it.
“Yup,” he said with false cheer. “I can’t wait.”
“Is that right.” Obiora raised an eyebrow. Ejiro panicked, wondering if Obiora could see the mask for what it was.
“Mhm,” he echoed, carefully not meeting Obiora’s eyes.
He was excited. He was. Mostly nervous, yes, but still a little excited. Just a bit.
“We’re friends, right?”
Ejiro’s heart began to race again. “Huh?”
Obiora was smiling, flashing that irritating dimple, some of the life back in his expression. “Cause if we’re not,” he continued, like Ejiro hadn’t responded, “I’d like to be.”
“Oh.” Ejiro suddenly felt shy. When last had someone actually asked to be his friend? It felt … surprisingly good. “Yes. Right. I suppose we could be.”
Obiora laughed at the stilted, overly formal response. “Thank you for the ringing endorsement.”
“Oh shut up.” Ejiro blushed.
