Page 84 of Playing By Ear

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

“Are you sure you want rid of them?” Jamie ran a finger over a Dickens novel’s gilded cover. “These books mean a lot to you.”

“That’s why I have to let them go. Books are for reading, not for having. It’s selfish to hoard something other people could enjoy.”

A cold possibility wrapped itself around Jamie’s spine. This wasn’t about the note or Jamie’s dead relatives. “Perry, what’s going on?”

Perry picked up a copy of Sunset Song and held it in his lap, pressing both thumbs to the front of its leather cover as though they might trip a secret latch. He took in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly.

“Intellectually, I know RP is a gradual disease. A few rods and cones die each day, not enough to notice. But then some days it’s as if an entire group of them decide to hold hands and jump into the abyss together, and that’s when can turns to can’t.”

“Can’t…” Jamie looked from Perry to the stacks of books. “Oh God.”

Perry traced the gold-embossed title on the Gibbon novel. “I can look back to yesterday and remember it was a bit harder t-to read than the week before. But it was still possible.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jamie didn’t know what else to say. What would he want in Perry’s place? A useless question, because as a sighted person he could never truly know what it was like. “What can I do?”

Perry set down the book, then reached out his hand. Jamie took it between his own. It wasn’t enough, so he shifted closer and pulled Perry into his arms.

Perry let out a ragged gasp, his face pressed against Jamie’s neck. “I’m all right,” he whispered, even as his breath grew jerky. “I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will be.” Jamie stroked Perry’s hair, weaving his fingers between the soft, dark waves. “But you don’t have to be fine right now. Not with me.”

Perry’s embrace tightened, flooding Jamie with a brand-new sensation. He had plenty of experience being wanted, and even more experience being unwanted. But as far as he could remember, he’d never been needed.

He closed his eyes and clung on, feeling muscles and bones shift beneath his palms. It seemed impossible that this otherwise perfect body contained two tiny parts doomed from birth.

Perry sniffled. “It’s silly to make a fuss over this,” he said, though his embrace stayed tight. “I’m not dying. I can adapt. Things will just be different. Not worse, just different.” Still he clutched Jamie close. “Being blind’s not something to mourn, any more than being gay.”

Jamie wondered which well-meaning person in Perry’s life had told him this. “You were born gay, you weren’t born blind. You’re losing something you love, and it’s okay to be sad about it. It doesn’t mean you’re ashamed of who you are. Of course you need to grieve.”

The g in that final word clogged his throat, and by the time his tongue had rolled the r, his sinuses burned as though someone had lit a match under his nose.

Fucking hell, not now. Not when Perry needed strength.

“Are you—” Perry let go and looked at him. “Please don’t cry on my account.”

Jamie shook his head, blinking like mad. “I’m not crying.” As soon as he said it, it was true. Technically.

“Oh no.” Perry put a hand to his own chest. “Of course. Your father. I’m an absolute idiot. I shouldn’t unload on you like this when you’re dealing with⁠—“

“Unload all you want. It’s not a competition. One grief doesn’t have to be bigger than the other.”

“But I want to be here for you with—through—your father’s…”

“You can be here for me.” It made Jamie dizzy to say so. “And I can be…for you. I can be for you.” An awkward sentence—I can be for you—but it was exactly what he meant. “If you need. Or even if you don’t need, but you just want.”

“I do want.” Perry’s eyes fixed on his. “I do need.”

He kissed Jamie, and in that kiss there was no doubt he meant want and need in every sense. Suddenly the inches between them seemed too vast a gulf.

Perry reached around Jamie’s lower back and pulled him close. Books toppled, one pile demolishing the next like dominos. Still they kissed. All that mattered was the heat of contact and the solace it brought.

“Take me to bed,” Jamie whispered against his mouth. “Or the couch or the floor. Whatever, just fucking take me.”

Perry gave a low growl, then dragged Jamie to his feet and led him in a near run to the bedroom.

“Lights okay?” Perry asked, flipping on the bedside lamps with the door switch.