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Geno was predictably enthused about the glasses, because he was enthused about everything. There was only one pair, and so after Sid was done filming his part, he had to go down the hall to find Geno, who was having his hair artfully arranged by the makeup lady. He already looked stupid but undeniably good in his grandpa sweater, and it got worse when he slid the glasses onto his face.
“How I look?” he asked, grinning at Sid. “Good, right?”
Jesus. “You look like a nerd,” Sid said, which was true.
“Like sexy nerd,” Geno said, still grinning.
“You’re a sexy librarian,” Rusty said, halfway into his Santa costume. “You work at the reference desk, and you’ve got the whole Dewey decimal system memorized.”
“That’s, uh, that’s a pretty specific fantasy there, Rusty,” Sid said.
“Rusty likes nerds!” Geno crowed, and then yelped as the makeup lady got too aggressive with the comb. He had a tender scalp and was always a baby about it.
Sid was technically done for the day, but he hung out to watch Geno film his bit, goofing around with the bar of soap and giving the camera guys a hard time. He had—okay, maybe sort of a crush on Geno, and also a lifelong appreciation for glasses, and the two were colliding now in a pretty unfortunate way.
It wasn’t, like. A fetish. He didn’t watch glasses porn or anything like that. He just liked how glasses changed a person’s face. Geno in glasses looked like someone who had a bunch of cats and houseplants, who would be interested in the podcasts Sid listened to instead of making fun of him for being boring. Like maybe he would want to spend the night and let Sid make him breakfast in the morning.
He was so screwed. He had known Geno forever, but they’d never been single at the same time before. He kept waiting for his crush to go away, but instead it was just getting worse, and after three months he was starting to feel like he needed to maybe say something to Geno, so he could get shot down and move on with his life.
“Okay, let’s do one last take from a different angle,” the director said.
“My jaw hurts!” Geno complained, laughing. “This soap’s too big, give me smaller.”
“Open wide, G,” Sid said, trying not think about other circumstances under which Geno might complain about an aching jaw.
“You think you do better? Okay, come here,” Geno said to him, holding out the soap.
“Sid’s already done his filming,” the director said.
“One take,” Sid said. “Guess I’m better at acting than you are, eh?”
Geno stared at him, eyes and mouth wide with outrage. “You—Sid!”
Nobody else was looking at him. Sid succumbed to impulse and stuck out his tongue.
Geno grinned and shook his head, and unhinged his jaw once more for the soap.
+ + +
Jen emailed them some of the raw footage a week later, when they were on the plane heading out to Vegas. Sid watched it on his phone as soon as he got the notification. Geno was really cute on a day-to-day basis, and in a playful mood, and wearing those glasses, he was custom-designed to push Sid’s buttons.
He really needed to get over this.
“You watching the Christmas video?” Tanger asked him from across the aisle. “I look great, don’t you think?”
“Hideous,” Sid said, and barely managed to dodge the pack of peanuts Tanger threw at him.
He wasn’t at all ready to play Flower, but he knew the other guys were taking their cues from him to some extent, and he had to keep it together. He managed pretty well until two-touch right before the game, when it hit him all at once. He excused himself and went to find a dark corner where he could focus on his breathing for a few minutes and get his emotions under control.
He was a little surprised when Geno came to find him. Geno was usually pretty oblivious to people’s meltdowns and didn’t offer much in the way of support. Sid didn’t have a problem with that; Geno’s job, as far as he was concerned, was keeping his own colossal emotions in check. But Geno was here now, hovering at a safe distance, frowning, his sleeves pulled down to cover his hands.
“You leave game,” Geno said.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sid said. “Just, uh. Needed to take a breather.”
Geno drifted closer. “You upset about Flower?”
Sid exhaled shakily. “I’m fine. Just another game, eh?”
“I’m upset, too,” Geno said. He tugged on the brim of Sid’s cap and then slung an arm around Sid’s shoulders. “It’s okay to be sad. We play hard, do our best. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Sid said. Geno was so warm. Sid leaned against him, just a little.
“Come back to game,” Geno said. “Horny is cheat, we need captain for yell at him.”
Geno didn’t take his arm away as they walked back toward the two-touch commotion. Sid enjoyed it a lot, too much. His crush wasn’t easing up. He needed to say something. He knew Geno well enough that he was pretty sure Geno would let him down easy and without freaking out, but things would probably be awkward for a while. But Sid refused to pine away foolishly for months. He could handle rejection.
He would tell Geno before Christmas: get it over with, and then go home for a few days to eat his mom’s cookies and feel sorry for himself. And then he could put it behind him at last.
+ + +
Sid had decided to throw a casual holiday party for the team and his local friends. It had seemed like a great idea when he sent the invitations around before American Thanksgiving, but the day before the party, bleary after a late-night flight home from Colorado, he was tempted to text everyone and cancel.
He didn’t, and he regretted it immensely when Geno showed up for the party half an hour late and wearing glasses.
“Wow,” Hags said when Geno came into the den with a plate of food in one hand and a glass of punch in the other. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s not my fault, okay,” Geno said. “I get new contact lenses, they’re not right, I don’t know.”
“So you decided to go all Revenge of the Nerds on us?” Phil asked.
“You make fun? Fuck you, Phil!” Geno said. “It’s hurt my eyes, okay—”
Sid stopped paying attention. The glasses didn’t look much like the ones Geno had worn for the holiday video. The frames were smaller, black and square. But the effect was the same and just as devastating. Geno was wearing an ugly Christmas tree sweater that probably wasn’t ironic in the least. Sid wanted to heavily spike his punch and try to lure him beneath the mistletoe.
He wouldn’t. But he really wanted to.
He was a terrible host that evening. Geno’s sweater was probably really soft. He had taken off his shoes when he came into the house, and his socks had reindeer faces on them, Geno’s long toes stretching out the red noses. Sid kept the punch bowl filled and set out more food when the trays got depleted, but otherwise he was a distracted mess. He kept going into the laundry room to give himself a few minutes to calm down. His guests were going to think he’d picked up a stomach bug.
Geno was in the kitchen the third time Sid emerged from the laundry room. He flashed Geno a tight smile that probably looked more terrified than happy and sidled on through to the living room. But Geno followed him, and sat down on the sofa beside him, and stretched out his arm along the back of the couch, behind Sid’s shoulders.
“Okay, Sid?” he murmured, and knocked their knees together. “You quiet tonight.”
Sid forced a smile. “Fine.” Geno’s glasses really complemented the shape of his face. He looked like a good person to curl up with in front of a fireplace to drink some hot chocolate and maybe exchange a few chocolatey kisses.
He was tormenting himself. He needed to stop.
He sat stiffly beside Geno for a few minutes, holding himself carefully still so that his thigh or shoulder wouldn’t accidentally brush Geno’s. Geno was sitting really close. He didn’t move his arm away. Sid drained his glass of punch and said, “Refill,” and made his escape.
He drank enough to get giggly, which was always embarrassing, but at least it helped the night go by faster. People started to trickle out at a reasonable hour, because they had a game the next day, and Sid started cleaning up in the kitchen to hustle the stragglers along.
“You need help?” Geno asked, and Sid turned to see him in the doorway, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, a stack of dirty plates in his hands like he was Sid’s hot and thoroughly domesticated boyfriend and wanted nothing more than to help Sid clean up after their joint holiday party.
“I, uh,” Sid said. He was too drunk for this. “I’ve got it. I’m fine. Thanks. You don’t need to help.”
“Hmm,” Geno said. He came into the kitchen and started scraping the plates into the trash. “You sure you okay?”
“Yeah,” Sid said, and then, “No.” He only had three days left before his self-imposed deadline. He might as well get it over with. “Geno, uh. I have something I need to tell you.”
Geno set down the plate he was holding and turned to face Sid, slouching against the counter. His legs were so long. He raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”
Sid’s stomach felt tight. His heart was pounding, and he felt it mostly in his belly, the artery there throbbing heavily. This was going to be so fucking embarrassing. He was grateful for the punch. “I, uh. I’m interested in you. Romantically. And I just need to tell you so I can get over it.”
“What?” Geno said. He straightened up. His face looked—
Sid ducked his head. He couldn’t bear to watch Geno’s expression. “It’s only been a few months, I haven’t been—I didn’t want it go on too long. I won’t be weird about it. But I thought I should tell you, in case I’m a little weird about it.”
“It’s glasses?” Geno asked.
Sid risked a quick glance at him. He didn’t look mad. Maybe he was smiling a little, but that wasn’t possible. “What?”
“You like glasses,” Geno said. “That’s why.”
“No,” Sid said. “I mean—I like the glasses.” His face was so hot. He was thirty, for Christ’s sake. This shouldn’t be so difficult. “But it’s not just the glasses.”
They weren’t standing too far apart. Sid’s kitchen wasn’t that big. Geno took a few steps and then he was right there. Sid felt like he was underwater, everything slowed down and refracted as Geno reached toward him and put one big hand on Sid’s shoulder. His thumb brushed the side of Sid’s neck.
“I see you look at me,” Geno said. “When we make Christmas movie. And maybe I wonder a little.”
Sid squinted at him. “Did you wear glasses tonight just to fuck with me?”
“Maybe,” Geno said. He smiled. His thumb moved again, and this time Sid couldn’t tell himself the touch was accidental. He raised his other hand and cupped Sid’s jaw. “Sid,” he said, hushed.
Sid didn’t know if there were still other people in his house. He didn’t fucking care, not when Geno was looking at him like that. He tilted his face up and hoped his expression conveyed exactly how desperate he was for Geno to kiss him. Geno was too tall for him to take matters into his own hands.
Geno breathed something that might have been Russian and bent his head, angling down toward Sid in the perfect position for kissing. But a kiss didn’t come. Geno hovered there, breathing against Sid’s lips, his long fingers so careful on Sid’s face.
Sid was shaking a little. He lifted his chin that last little bit and pressed their mouths together.
“Sid,” Geno murmured, and Sid hooked one arm around Geno’s neck to hold him in place so they could kiss for real, slow and soft. Geno’s lips were full and a little rough and nothing had ever felt this good, nothing.
When they broke apart at last, Sid turned his face against Geno’s neck and clung to him. Reckless joy welled up inside his heart. “I never thought, uh.”
Geno held him tight and close and pressed kisses against his hair. “I never think. Oh, Sid.”
“Let’s go on a date,” Sid said. “After Christmas. I’ll take you out.”
“Okay,” Geno said. He drew back and touched Sid’s cheek. His expression was as open and awed as Sid had ever seen it. Christmas had come early, and maybe every day would feel like Christmas for the rest of Sid’s life.
It was too soon to say any of that. He pressed a kiss to Geno’s jaw. “I won’t even make you wear the glasses,” he said.