Page 55 of Topped

“Lie to me.”

He stopped and looked at me, the forced smile cracking, falling away from his face like a broken mask, leaving uncertainty behind. “I’m not.”

“Really? Because it feels like you are,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like I was accusing him of something. Because if he thought that, he’d only get defensive and it’d all go downhill from there.

Quickly.

“Look,” I continued, keeping a firm grip on his hands so he couldn’t run away. “I know it’s hard to be open with people sometimes, or to ask for things for yourself, but I’m not going to judge you. I promise. You don’t have to hide things from me.”

A hollow, broken chuckle slipped from Rupert’s lips before he could stop it, his gaze falling onto the pavement somewhere over my shoulder. He tried to pull away but my grasp was too tight. “Of course I do. Everyone hides things.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on the person, I think, and who they’re around.”

He shook his head. “No, Milo. You know that’s not true. Everyone hides pieces of themselves, especially from people they like. Some people are just better at it than others.”

“Sounds fucking exhausting to me,” I said softly.

“It is. But it’s the only way.”

“To do what?”

He paused, chewing his lip. Then he shook his head again. “Can we please just go? I don’t want to be late.”

“We don’t have to be there by a set time,” I said. “Doesn’t matter if we miss them hitting the button.”

“Of course it does,” Rupert said, his words sharp and biting, cutting deep into my skin. “I told Norman we’d be there for the switch on and he’ll look for us. We’re already late.”

“Hey, hey, woah.” I let go of his hands and held mine up defensively. “It’s okay. We can go, but I thought this was for us? Why does it matter if Norman sees us there or not?”

“Because it’s polite.”

“So? Fuck polite. Who gives a shit what anyone else thinks?”

Rupert stared at me like I’d suddenly grown three heads. “You don’t? No, wait, don’t answer that. Of course you do. You run a business, you have to care what people think.”

“No, I don’t,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. Once again, the situation was unravelling and I had no idea what the fuck was happening. It felt like I was standing on a wobbling platform that kept tilting precariously. And my balance had always been shit. “Look, sweetheart, I have no idea what’s going on or why you’re having a go at me, but if you’re trying to push me away, I’m telling you now, it’s not going to work.”

I folded my arms and levelled the sternest gaze I could muster at him. “You may think you’re stubborn, but I’ve never done a damn thing I’ve been told in my life. I once spent two hours outside, in the rain, in February, in nothing but my pants just to prove I could.”

“That’s not stubborn, that’s ridiculous!”

“Probably. But either way, you cannot out-stubborn me, Rupert. I am the king of stubbornness.”

“You’re the king of being dramatic,” Rupert said, but despite his glare there was a tiny flicker of something in his eyes. Something I instantly recognised because I’d felt it too.

Choose me, it said. Pick me, please. Notice me. Don’t give up on me, even though I’m hurt and I’m scared and I cannot ask for what I need.

Please, it begged. See me.

“Maybe I’m that too,” I said, unfolding my arms and taking a tiny step towards him, crowding his personal space until there was nothing left between us but atoms. “Either way, you won’t be able to get rid of me. Because we both know you don’t want that.” My fingers lightly caressed the side of his jaw, stubble prickling my skin.

“I like you, Rupert, I promise. If you ever really, truly want us to break up, then that’s fine. But right now, I think you’re just lashing out at me because you’re tired and you’re scared and everything feels like too much all at once. You’re worried about everything—me, us, getting orders out, Christmas, Norman, that you won’t like the food on offer at the market but you think I want it so you’ll force yourself to eat it anyway to make me happy. And I get it, really I do.”

“Do you?” Rupert asked, a tiny note of pleading in his voice as he tentatively wrapped his arms around me.

“Yeah, I do. Look, I don’t have a diagnosis, but I’ve always been labelled the weird one, the difficult one, the one who’s too loud, too much, too everything. I forget shit all the time, I fidget, I change topic three times in a two-minute conversation, I get weirdly fixated on things, then drop them in a month. And I figured, I don’t know, maybe my brain and yours aren’t that dissimilar? Two sides of some neurodivergent dodecahedron. That doesn’t mean I’m calling you weird or difficult, by the way, but I’m just saying I get it, because when I’m around you, it makes me feel like I’m not the only person who’s like this. We’re different, obviously, but it’s not a bad thing. But you can’t be too much for me, okay? Because if you’re too much, then I definitely am. And I can’t allow you to be more trouble than me. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“But what if…?” His bottom lip wobbled slightly, and I felt him trying to clench his jaw under my palm. He was trying to be so strong, but he didn’t have to be.