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I bent my knees, raised my legs up onto the second chair, and started to wriggle my upper body around so that I was nestled into the chair I was sitting in. My natural restful position turned me into Terzo, who mumbled a soft c'mere before wrapping both arms right around me so that I was tucked up against him, cheek and palm on his chest.
'If we get caught …' I started to say, but a yawn cut me off, and he chuckled.
'If we get caught, I will shoot the perpetrator an Emeritus death glare before they have a chance to disturb the hardest working man I have ever met.'
Relaxed this way, his body was soft and warm. Very alive. His breath, his pulse, every little gurgle or rumble inside him ran through me, too. My last vague, waking thought was that the fire would burn out soon without us to keep an eye on it – but that lying with him like this, it would hardly matter at all.
And It's Your Fault, chapter 22
*
Terzo had been surprised when Copia hadn’t refused his offer of assembling a sort of library bed. He wasn’t sure he was being serious even as he’d dragged the chairs together: if all he’d done was amuse Copia before they left for their respective student digs then that would’ve felt like a good job done, but when Copia agreed to try to get his head down right here, right now, in the library – their library, as Terzo had come to think of it – with him … he’d had to force his attention onto the dusty shelves around them to keep it away from what was happening inside his underwear.
And that was how he’d ended up here, lying across two squashy armchairs while the fire he’d been tending all night still crackled in the fireplace even as it simmered down. That was how he’d ended up holding Copia to his chest. Their bodies were tucked into one another as though they’d been moulded to fit into this strange little set-up. Terzo had thought better of remarking upon that, but he was thinking about it an awful lot.
Copia seemed to have drifted off almost immediately. Terzo had been sleepy, too, until he’d had Copia wrapped in his arms. Now, his body was so alert he was half-expecting some angry wild animal to burst through the door. That was what those instincts existed for, wasn’t it? Not … this. You were not supposed to feel so edgy about something as dull as a nap.
Except that this wasn’t just a nap, and he knew it. To Copia it may have been. But to him …
‘Copia? Are you asleep?’
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and Copia’s deep, steady breathing. His heartbeat was dull, too: there was no work to do at the moment. It was probably not a state this body was used to. It felt almost like an honour to be able to share this with him, even as Terzo’s own heart pummelled at the bottom of his throat.
‘Good. I mean … I’m glad you’re getting some rest. You deserve it.’
Terzo smiled before he realised that Copia couldn’t see him.
‘Actually, I do have a selfish reason for being glad you’re asleep, too. Sorry.’ He cleared his throat as softly as he could manage, holding Copia as steady as possible to protect him from the tremors this sent racking through him. ‘I – erm – I do have a confession to make, and I think that having a practice run, so to speak, when you are right here with me but can’t hear me might not be a bad idea.’
He’d had countless practice runs inside his mind. There’d been a few attempts spoken aloud, too, sometimes in front of a mirror so he could make sure he kept his face even and diplomatic throughout, but he was aware it was far easier when done this way. Facing Copia would be another matter entirely: a matter he was nevertheless ready to try. More than ready, in fact. Keeping the secret within him was becoming painful. Every time he and Copia spent time together, he was left feeling as though he were drifting just above the ground rather than walking along it.
It was just that he wasn’t sure Copia was as ready to hear this as he was to say it.
It was there, though. Terzo was sure of it. He didn't think it could be anything else.
He’d had notions of this sort of thing being wildly passionate: eyes across a crowded dance floor the way it was in so many of the films he’d watched when he was young, and things were supposed to escalate from there. Were they not? That was how it had always started for him, at any rate – but then again, it had always finished for him, too. None of the people he’d enjoyed any kind of time with had been there forever, and it wasn’t until he’d made a real mess of his relationship with Izzy that he’d realised the idea of a relationship that he’d been chasing wasn’t a relationship at all, but a sensationalised infatuation. People were beautiful. He could accept that, and he could also accept that this was what had driven most of his advances in the past.
But he knew, now, that there was a lot more to it than that.
He hadn’t scouted Copia out. He hadn’t spotted him in a lecture theatre and been mesmerised by his thoughtful green eyes, or by the way he swept his hair from his forehead when leaning over a notebook he was writing profusely in. He’d met him by accident, he’d just happened to be in the same bookshop as him and he’d just happened to be trying to buy the same book as him because they’d just happened to be starting their PhDs at the same university. No planning or conniving or stalking had been required to get him to this point, yet here he was: lying across two ancient, squashy armchairs in the cosiest library he’d ever seen, with his best friend snoozing in his arms.
This was what it was all about. He knew. He’d always been told he’d know, and he’d realised of late that everyone who’d told him this had been right. It wasn’t a sweeping slow-motion realisation with the beautiful Romeo and Juliet love theme playing in the background, it was everyday. Mundane, almost. It was inherent in the way they were with each other. They understood one another, inside and out. They could offer criticism and honesty as well as encouragement. If not for Copia, Terzo would have had no idea his issues with the written word had a root cause, and that he could therefore use strategies to support himself. Their existence side-by-side felt natural enough that Terzo didn’t need to force conversation all the time, and he’d never imagined he – Terzo Emeritus – would be able to sit quietly and get on with his work, but that was just one of the good qualities Copia brought out in him. It wasn’t a conscious change to impress anyone, more a latent skill that had been coaxed to the surface by someone who understood how to do so in a gentle and patient way.
He was sure he had this right. But every time he imagined sitting Copia down and speaking about it with him, the Copia in his head turned away with an awkward laugh. He’d noticed Copia avoiding such situations – Hell, what had just happened was the perfect example. Copia had initiated the most blissful, tender kiss ... then he'd seemed mortified about it. Terzo had tried to get him to open up about his motivation for it, but Copia had closed up immediately.
But he was fast asleep on Terzo's chest even so.
Terzo took a deep breath.
‘I love you.’
It hadn’t been anywhere near as difficult to say as he’d imagined, but somehow, the fact that Copia did not respond almost pained him. Terzo pressed his lips together. What he hadn't imagined was the burning that smarted in his eyes, and the lump that arose in his throat.
‘See? I’m crying now and you didn’t even hear me. It’s for the best that I get this out of the way, then, clearly … because I think you really hate emotion, Copia, don’t you? Especially when it comes from me. And … and I would say you, too, if I were being extremely forward. Which is why I am so scared to tell you. I think you’re too scared to hear it. Even though I suspect you feel something for me, too.’
It was coincidence that Copia moved then, but Terzo smiled. He’d disturbed his hair, and a little lock of it had flopped over his forehead: Terzo swept it aside with two fingers. It felt arrogant to presume things about Copia’s feelings, but he also knew he’d come to know Copia well enough by now to know that he lived in denial, and was motivated to do only the things he felt he was supposed to do. He wouldn’t want to be derailed from this trajectory. Loving Terzo would be difficult, and it wouldn’t fit in with his life plan – so he wouldn’t allow it to the forefront.
But Terzo guessed it was there. He wasn't sure he would feel this himself so acutely if something wasn't bouncing back.
‘It’s in everything I do with you,' he said. 'I've never known anything like it before, Copia. Even things like just ... just sitting with you, in here, in silence ... it's like home. Or the way I think home is supposed to feel.'
This was certainly the way he dreamed home would feel for him, one day. He blinked, squeezing a tear from the corner of his eye to roll down his cheek and drip off his chin onto his collar. This version of home wasn't completely beyond the realm of possibility, at least. He hadn't been able to have a proper conversation about their spontaneous, tender kisses, but he had managed to persuade Copia to relax enough to fall asleep in his arms. That was something.
'Lucifer only knows when I'm going to be brave enough to say it to you when you're awake,' Terzo said, with a soft chuckle: and a sniff. How embarrassing! He was talking to himself. That was all that was happening here. It shouldn't have provoked such a reaction.
All the while, Copia's deep breathing indicated he hadn't heard a word Terzo had said. It was probably for the best. For now.