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It’s unseasonably cold for May in New York, but the afternoon sun slanting in through the windows is warm and soothing across Scott’s back.
A couple of women settle at a table in the far corner and he holds the menu a little closer to his face, his stomach doing flips that make the prospect of ordering anything mildly nauseating. Across the table, Kip consults his own menu, glasses resting low on his nose. The sight of him, adorably studious, calms Scott enough that he doesn’t start when the door jingles open, but it’s a close call.
Just because the cat’s out of the bag and the whole hockey watching world knows Scott’s secret doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly comfortable being part of a couple in public. It’s endlessly frustrating, the way his palms sweat and the way anxiety pulls tight across his shoulders, because Kip deserves this so much.
Scott’s even starting to believe that he deserves it, but old habits die hard.
And Kip is so patient with him. He understands that Scott is still hesitant to share his private life; that his shame is not shame for being with Kip, but for a whole mess of reasons going right back to his parent’s deaths. He’s happy to go to quieter restaurants, to avoid peak hours.
His joy at being able to have any life with Scott outside of the apartment makes Scott feel sick with guilt. So he sips his lemonade, ignoring the rest of the small, eclectically decorated café, and he lets his eyes linger on his amazing boyfriend as Kip continues to peruse the lunchtime entrees. When Kip peeks at him over the rims of his glasses, Scott pushes down a wave of arousal, focusing instead on the rising wave of fondness and love.
“What?”
“Are you even reading that?” Kip nods at the menu still held protectively in front of Scott’s face. His smile and his eyes are teasing, but soft.
He’s subtly checking in.
Scott scolds himself and takes a breath, slowly easing his white-knuckled grip on the laminated page.
“I was just…” He shrugs, disheartened, but determined to pull through.
“…deciding.”
A gulp,
“This is a nice spot. I’m glad you suggested it.”
Kip’s smile turns to the pleased and unabashedly happy expression Scott adores. Triumph wells up, and he risks lowering the menu to the mosaic tabletop.
“I’m so glad you came.” Kip tells him, and Scott all but flushes with the implied praise. This is what all the risk was for: a chance at simple happiness.
These moments together are what really matter.
“Are we ready to order?”
Scott does start a bit at the server’s sudden appearance. He imagines he can see Kip trying hard not to grin, hiding it behind one hand, so he forces himself to act casual. He silences the insidious voice that asks why he can kiss Kip in front of the world, but can hardly stand to be seen with him alone.
He’s just another customer here with his boyfriend, ordering a steak sandwich and a salad with lemon vinaigrette. He doesn’t have to impress, or inspire, or live up to anyone’s expectations.
He gets to have this. He just has to try.
Kip orders a chicken caprese sandwich with parmesan fries and another raspberry iced tea. Then the server is gone with a smile and a nod and nothing bad has happened.
“How did I do?” Scott asks Kip with a rueful smile, only half joking.
Kip takes pity on him.
“You only sounded about seventy percent terrified this time.” He laughs, his chin in one hand, surveying the café. His other hand rests on the tabletop.
There are six other diners, the hostess and their server, rolling up cutlery at a station tucked away in one corner. There are people passing the cluttered windows, on their way to various destinations.
How many might come in? How many people might look over, recognize him, start a fuss?
How many people in the café and the street outside does he really, truly care about?
Just one.
So Scott takes a breath and lays his hand over Kip’s on the table, giving it a light squeeze. They’ve done this countless times at the kitchen island in the apartment, but never in public.
Kip beams. His face lights up from his grin, to his dimples, all the way up to his eyebrows and Scott holds on tighter, just in case it gets any better.
He realizes, when Kip lets out a little chuckle, that he’s being too intense again. Scott can feel his face is screwed up like he’s bracing for a hit and his body is rigid in the little patio chair. Bless Kip for taking it in stride, with gentle amusement and not bitter disappointment.
How can Scott be so bad at this?
But the laughter in Kip’s eyes is kind and fond and he quietly says “I love you.” Just before the embarrassment sets in.
Scott forces himself to relax for the hundredth time.
“I love you too.” He answers quickly and confidently, because he’s practiced that; he’ll never let Kip doubt his love, and Kip’s hand shifts to lace their fingers together.
Now Scott’s probably grinning like a love-sick fool, but he finds he cares less and less as the seconds pass. They leave their hands entwined as the server brings their food, Kip’s fingers tightening, steadying, when Scott goes still and his eyes become riveted to floor.
The warmth in his cheeks is soon replaced by the comfort of easy conversation as he forgets where they are. They eat and discuss the pros and cons of reading a good book before bed, the merits of the latest crime drama and the café’s myriad decorations from an art history standpoint.
They trade bites of each other’s sandwiches and pass each other napkins, and the massive, loud world somehow narrows to the two of them eating together.
Scott marvels at it. Is this what it’s supposed to be like, he wonders, watching Kip pick at his fries before stealing one for himself.
“This is nice.” He hears himself say.
“I’m so sorry we couldn’t have this-before…”
Kip takes a thoughtful sip of his iced tea, nodding his acceptance of Scott’s apology.
“That’s the joy of being out- not just out for lunch, like out.” He says, cracking a smile.
“There’s a lot of good, even if there’s some bad.”
Scott stares at his empty plate and contemplates this, a bit weary of the whole balancing act. His public life is still a mess, but his private life is so good lately. He has Kip; everything else can sort itself out.
Kip clears his throat.
“I got you something.” He says simply, reaching into his pocket.
Scott wants to protest, but he secretly loves Kip’s love language of little gifts and favors. He wants to protest that Kip never accepts all of the gifts he is certainly due in return, but he obediently takes the little velvet bag from Kip’s outstretched hand.
Kip’s face is excited and earnest, so Scott makes quick work of the drawstrings and the cello pouch inside.
The lapel pin slides out, looking tiny in his large hand. It can’t weigh hardly anything, but it carries a weight that Scott is very familiar with; a weight he’s carried for years.
“Kip-I…” He tries to collect his spiraling thoughts, looking down at the enameled pride flag. He’s caught somewhere between terror and a want so deep that it aches in his bones, just like the first time he saw Kip in the smoothie shop.
“You don’t have to wear it.” Kip assures him hurriedly, reaching out to touch his arm.
“I just wanted you to have something to remind you that you’re not alone.”
He gives Scott a tight smile and launches into a speech Scott can practically hear him rehearsing in the mirror.
“You have a community now. I know you’re in the spot light and they’ve set you up as some- gay hockey figurehead; that’s gotta be lonely- but you need to know that there are people working together for all of us. There are lots of people out there ready to support you.”
Kip curls Scott’s hand around the pin, holding it in both of his own and Scott wonders, in a shell-shocked way, if someone told Kip those same words a long time ago when he was struggling.
“We’ve carved a space in the world for people like us. That’s a space you’re allowed to take up. You’re not the exception just because you’re a hockey player.”
It seems so impossible that Kip with his supportive father and his friends and his friendly neighborhood gay bar would need this explained to him. He’s probably been to the pride parade and-
Oh.
Oh.
“Yeah,” Kip nods at him, his eyes crinkling.
“Yes, you’re included.”
It takes a lot of effort not to cry in the golden afternoon sun, in a tiny café over the crumbs of his lunch. Scott Hunter just manages it.
He’s forgotten how many other people are in the restaurant. He doesn’t stiffen when the door jingles to admit someone else. He passes the pin back to Kip, whose face falls minutely before Scott is pulling at the collar of his shirt with a shaky hand and leaning across the table.
“I’ll probably just drop it.”
Kip fastens the pin on Scott’s collar with a flourish and a teary smile of his own. When the server comes with the bill Scott keeps his hands on the table, leaves the pin uncovered where it shines in the sun.
He buys them each a piece of dessert to go and he signs the bill with a flourish.
“Maybe I could get a patch.” He tells Kip later over bourbon pecan pie. The collared shirt is somewhere on the bedroom floor, but Scott had retrieved the pin once their passion had cooled, setting it on the dresser with reverence.
Kip lifts an eyebrow and licks whipped cream from his spoon in a very distracting way.
“For my hockey bag.” Scott clarifies, setting his plate aside.
“To take up some space.”
Fin.