"What else?"
He looks up at me through his lashes.
"You really want to know?"
"Sweetheart. I'm asking."
He takes a breath.
"...I didn't know I liked men until I was nineteen."
He says it quiet, like he's never said it out loud before.
"Nineteen."
"I think I knew before then. I just—I couldn't afford to know. There was no version of my life where it was useful information. Nobody was going to come find me about it. Nobody was going to ask. So I folded it up. Then I got to college and I was sitting in a dining hall and a guy two tables over laughed and I couldn't eat for an hour, and I thought,oh."
I sit very still. "And then?"
"Then nothing. I was working and going to school. I didn't know how to be near anybody. I'd never let anybody close enough to find out." He takes another sip of wine. "I think that's why the bond—when it started, with you guys—I didn't fight it the way I think I would have if I'd had any practice fighting that kind of thing. I didn't have any practice at all. I didn't have anybody to compare you to."
I take a sip of my wine. If he was closer, I would cup his cheek. Caress his neck.
Fuck, I just want to touch him when he talks.
"God, I’ve never admitted any of this before." His eyes are bright in the candlelight. "It’s nice that you keep asking. It feels like somebody finally cares."
I reach across the table.
He puts his hand back in mine without looking down.
I am in so much trouble with him.
I've known I was in trouble for months. But sitting at this table, holding the hand of a man who has just told me he didn't fight the bond because he'd never had practice fighting anything close to it, the trouble clarifies itself into something I can hold in one hand.
I'm going to spend the rest of my life giving him things he hasn't had.
Good.
I can’t fucking wait.
The duck arrives. Henrik pours us each a second glass of wine without being asked, leaves the bottle, and disappears.
Max picks up his fork. Cuts a small piece. Puts it in his mouth.
He stops chewing.
He sets the fork down quietly, closes his eyes for one beat, and when he opens them he looks at me like I've personally arranged for the duck to be what it is.
"...okay. I get it."
"Mm?"
"Why people make such a big deal about places like this. I always thought everyone was being dramatic."
"They're not being dramatic."
"No. I see that." A small private smile at his plate. "Christ, Atlas. This is really good."
