Page 9 of Sunshine Boy

Rahul felt an odd pang of jealousy while he watched Dennis. He’d been named after Ron’s father. He wouldn’t have to grow up being made fun of for his foreign-sounding name. Dennis Field was a perfectly English name. His skin was only lightly tanned, unlike Rahul’s own deeply bronzed complexion. He wouldn’t have to put up with alienation for his otherness. He was being raised by two loving parents, in a middle-class home, in a middle-class neighbourhood. He went to a good school. He’d have every door open to him when he came of age and joined the world. How easy his life must be. What would Rahul’s life be like now, if he’d been born as Dennis instead of Rahul?

“All right there, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” a cheeky cockney voice said.

Rahul looked up at Julian and couldn’t help huffing out a small, surprised laugh. “What?”

“Sitting over here by the fire, looking all serious and stoic and intellectual.” Julian sat down across from him, crossing one leg over the other. The dog at Rahul’s feet yipped in protest at the intrusion and scuttled away. Julian’s cheeks were a little rosy from the four of five mulled wines he’d had and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a smooth, white triangle of skin.

“I’ll have you know I am an intellectual, sir.”

“Right, right. You’re a regular scholar.”

Rahul was about to quip back when he realized Julian was fidgeting with something in his hands. A little gold package, no bigger than a pack of cigarettes.

“What’ve you got there? Is that for my mum?”

“No, ah, actually…” He looked suddenly shy, his head dropping so his fringe fell over his eyes. “It’s… well… Here.”

He pushed it into Rahul’s hand and crossed his arms, as if to prevent himself from taking it back. “Merry Christmas,” he breathed out in a rush.

Rahul suddenly couldn’t swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. Julian had gotten him something. For Christmas. He couldn’t remember Julian ever getting him anything for Christmas. For his birthday, yes, but never Christmas. There was something so… sacred about Christmas. Not in a religious way -- neither of them had a religious bone in their bodies -- but in a special, formal, familial way. There was just something too precious about the holiday to acknowledge it with each other. But Julian was reaching a hand across that barrier, extending an olive branch to the idea of making them, their relationship, whatever it was, something precious, too.

Rahul stubbed out his cigarette and pressed his palms to his eyes to stop their stinging, then began to unwrap the small parcel. It was surprisingly neatly wrapped in a shiny, foil paper. It revealed a small, brown box with white lettering, inside of which was a small, rectangular, green bottle with a black cap. He shot a look at Julian, but the other man was biting his thumbnail and looking determinedly at the fire.

“It’s cologne, innit,” he mumbled around his thumb.

“Cologne?”

Julian’s shoulders shrugged jerkily. “You don’t have any but you’re, like, sophisticated or whatever. Seems like you should. Anyway, I thought you’d like it.”

Rahul blinked down at the bottle, his eyes most definitely not getting foggy with tears. He absolutely would not cry over a stupid bottle of cologne, thank you very much, and how dare you suggest it.

He popped off the cap and inhaled. It smelled like wood and fresh tobacco.

“Thank you,” he said after several seconds, his voice a little too rough. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything.”

Another jerky little shrug. “S’ all right. I didn’t expect anything.”

There was something so resigned about the way he said it, like he truly believed he didn’t deserve for anyone to give him anything, that made Rahul want to close the distance between them and wrap his arms around him. Instead, he touched Julian’s black-clad knee and squeezed. When Julian looked up at him, Rahul made sure to smile as warmly as he was able, and he repeated “thank you” with as much meaning as he could muster.

* * *

Rahul’s mother sent them both home with covered dishes of food. Rahul was grateful that Julian would be able to eat for a week. He felt particularly bad, knowing that Julian had used what little money he spent on himself to instead buy Rahul a Christmas present. It made the gift all the more precious.

Rahul walked Julian home, even though it was several blocks out of his way. Since dinner, things between them had become so easy and companionable, Julian so relaxed and himself again. He wanted to stretch out this time together before the spell broke and the uncomfortable silences returned, along with Julian’s grim mood.

He stood with Julian outside his flat, holding the food for him while Julian fished his keys out and unlocked his front door. Once Rahul passed the food back and they stood in front of each other, awkwardly shuffling their feet, Rahul wracked his mind for something he could do or say so the night wouldn’t end. Not yet. Maybe he could ask to come inside, have a drink and --

“Are you happy?”

Rahul blinked, finding himself suddenly off-balance. “Am I… Wait, you mean, like, with Henri?”

Julian frowned, as if he hadn’t thought that far ahead, and shifted his plate of food from one hand to the other. “Yeah -- well, no, not just that. Like, with everything. Are you happy?”

Julian looked quite earnest, so Rahul felt he owed it to him to give this the proper amount of thought. He looked inward and he brought Henri to mind. Henri who had promised to liberate him from the shackles of unrequited love. Henri who was patient with him, clever, and so very beautiful. But then he let his thoughts drift to the bottle in his coat pocket, smelling of wood and tobacco, purchased with painstakingly saved money and given nervously by a fire. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips.

Julian nodded, as if that were the answer he’d been waiting for. He didn’t have any spare hands, so instead he touched his boot to Rahul’s shoe, the echo of an earlier gesture. “Good night, Rahul,” he said quietly with a tentative smile. “Merry Christmas.”

Rahul’s own smile turned down into a frown as the door closed, putting an end to what had been a wonderful night. A night that had made him happy.