God, he was really getting in too deep. As he and Sophia explored the ancient parts of the city, getting lost, forgetting about the cameras, all Obiora could think about was how Ejiro would react to everything.
Ejiro had practically almost fallen off the water taxi during the tour yesterday. He’d done that thing with his hands that he usually did when he was itching to draw—cracking his knuckles, squeezing his hands together against his chest, sometimes even mock sketching the scenery in the air, distracted and completely unaware, his eyes glazed as he tried to picture putting whatever was in his head on paper.
It made Obiora try to see how the world looked through Ejiro’s artistic eyes, and it really was fucking beautiful. Their dessert at a small ice-cream and bakery by the canal was the icing on the cake; the view, the sights and sounds, Obiora wished desperately that he could somehow capture the image for Ejiro.
There had to be a way they could capture it. They had to. When this was all over, what would Obiora have to remember these moments? Because he knew it now like he knew how to breathe—when he and Ejiro eventually went their separate ways, there was no way Obiora was going to be able to ever forget about him.
OBIORA WAS GOING TO DO something reckless.
After his date with Sophia, when he returned to the house, he did so to find most of the men chilling on the spacious veranda of the big house, eating finger foods, drinking, and just chatting in general. The only people missing in the gathering were Jin, Tyler, and Ejiro.
Ejiro wasn’t in their shared room, and neither was he in the dining nor living areas. Obiora went to the kitchen and saw the sliding door leading to the balcony slightly open, letting in a soft, cool evening breeze.
As if on cue, his heart began to race as he approached the doors, sliding them fully open and stepping out. The balcony was a small thing that stretched out to meet the fence that separated their accommodation from the house next to theirs. On the left, it held a small, round, black wooden table with four chairs, potted plants sitting at the four corners, spilling vines of green through the metal railings.
Ejiro was in the seat that backed the house, a furrow in his eyebrow as he sketched furiously onto his notepad. He didn’t notice Obiora’s presence at all. From where he stood by the sliding door, Obiora could vaguely make out what looked to be the canal taking shape on the paper.
Then Ejiro made a frustrated sound and slammed his sketchbook shut, dumping it on the table along with his pencil so carelessly both items slid across the smooth surface and nearly landed on the floor, only hanging onto the edge by sheer miracle.
“Ahn, ahn, what did the poor sketchbook do to you?”
Ejiro startled at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him and smiling automatically when he noticed it was Obiora. That smile made Obiora feel like he was flying.
“Let me not even get into it,” Ejiro replied with a groan. His smile faltered a little, then falsely brightened as he asked, “How was your date?”
Obiora shrugged. “It was all right.” He didn’t want to talk about Sophia; he didn’t want Ejiro thinking he had even an inkling of interest in the bachelorette. “What were you working on that’s got you so frustrated?” he asked, taking the seat next to him.
“Oh, you know.” Ejiro tried to wave him off. Obiora waited him out. Ejiro sighed. “It was the canal. It was—during the sunset yesterday, it was so beautiful. I just really wanted to capture it on paper. But my imagination—the one time I absolutely need it to work—is being uncooperative. Like, I understand the risk, but I wish Ameri would at least let us take pictures.”
Obiora felt a pang.
And then he made his decision.
Maybe it was the melancholy feeling of getting to see a mere glimpse of Venice but not really experience it. Maybe it was the wistfulness in Ejiro’s voice when he’d admitted the day they’d arrived, how much his twin and her girlfriend would have loved it here. Maybe it was the fact that what was waiting for Ejiro after all this was a confrontation with his mother about going back to Nigeria. Perhaps it was because Obiora himself was going to have to go back to work for his father, when he really, desperately, didn’t want to.
It was something in the air, the tension and growing attraction between them.
It was the dreadful fact that their time together was quickly running out.
It was all that and more, that had Obiora blurting, “Let’s do it.”
“Let’s do what?” Ejiro asked incredulously. “Take pictures?” He laughed, like Obiora was joking.
Obiora stood. “No. Well, yes. Something like that. Grab your sketchbook, come on. We probably have about an hour before the sun completely sets.”
Ejiro’s eyes were widening. “What—what are you talking about?”
Obiora grinned, wide and devilish. He grabbed the railing and neatly swung himself over it until he was standing on the fence separating the two buildings. The concrete was just wide enough for him to balance comfortably.
“Obiora!” Ejiro gasped, stumbling out of his seat. “Are you mad?”
Obiora laughed a little. He didn’t think his heart had ever raced this fast. “Maybe. Come on, Ejiro. We’ll be there and back in the blink of an eye. None of the guys are going to miss us.”
“No.” Ejiro shook his head. “What? You must be joking. Get back here right now.”
“Ejiro.” There must’ve been something desperate in his voice, because Ejiro paused and looked at him, his eyes so, so bright, yet so terrified.
Obiora held a hand out. “Come on. When next are you going to come back here? Be honest with yourself. Don’t you want something—something more than what we’re confined to?”
