Lewis

Felix stood at the front of our door, looking as smiley and as pleasant as he always did whenever he was in the presence of fresh faces. If it’d been just me, without Art, he wouldn’t have given us this news so lightly.

He raised his hand to the ceiling of our front patio, revealing the source of the buzzing noise I’d been hearing for the past few days. There, in the tiny nook that connected the porch upstairs and our lower level loft, was a barely visible wasp nest.

They were common in the summer, and a total nuisance. Sometimes they could be easily avoided, though in other times professional help was needed.

My cousin was telling us this, reassuring us that all would be fine. “I’ll have an exterminator come and clear out the entire house. But for now, I advise you two to not spend so much time in your living room. Just until this problem is resolved.”

Art agreed, “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Felix gave me a look. The sort of look that asked if I was okay with it too.

I most certainly was not.

“ . . . yeah.” I lied. “This is no problem. We’ll be fine.”

There was a tiny issue that I was now faced with. I never imagined that I would have to come to terms with it, and all because of wasps.

Felix waved away a few moths that’d collected in the bright light of our porch. We’d come back from our ‘date’ a lot later than I intended. Now we were back home, with Felix of all people greeting us at our front door.

It was good that he was there, though. I was finding it hard to accept that Art was going to be living with me, even after all this time of reflecting on it.

“They made their way into my living room somehow last year.” Felix glared at the nest. “It’s better to avoid rooms closest to them.”

“Thanks . . . I got it.” I tried to make my voice as enthusiastic as I could, but I could barely do that on a good day, much less this one.

Felix exchanged looks with both Art and I, and then pressed his lips together like he was uneasy about something. Was he catching on to our act?

After a second, he shifted back to his usual self. “Then I’ll bid you two goodnight.”

Art reached out his hand to me, and I responded by hooking my arm in his. The way he did things with me so naturally, was a sign that he must’ve been quite a touchy person. I was the opposite.

My fake boyfriend smiled innocently. “Goodnight.”

I stared up at him, watching the dimples in his cheeks deepen as he continued smiling. It should’ve been a sin to be so attractive. But I would never say that aloud, nor to him either.

Felix looked at me suspiciously, so quickly I could’ve missed it, before he left our front porch to depart in the direction of his own loft. It made me a bit nervous.

Once he was gone and out of sight, I let go of Art and breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, because I realized that we were . . . yes, alone with each other again.

Art watched Felix’s departing figure as I brought out my keys to open the front door, all the while avoiding the bug problem above my head. Those damn wasps were really going to give me the most stressful night of my life.

I was thankful that most of Art’s things were already in the apartment. All he needed to do was unpack, but other than that, we would at long last be roommates.

“Lewis—” He called.

I turned, holding the door open only slightly. “Can I . . . have some time to clean up?” I asked him, though it came out more like a plea. “Two minutes.”

He took a step back, “Of course.”

“Thank you.” I spared no moment in dawdling.

In an instant, I closed the door behind me, unintentionally slamming it. Without much thought as to what I was doing, I flicked on the lights and kicked off my shoes, though I did not venture further into the loft.

My back pressed against the thick door as I slid to the floor, sitting on the ground dejectedly while my hands pressed at my hot face. I had my eyes closed as I did this, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality before me.

Silently, without being too loud, a small whimper escaped my lips. I couldn’t help but unleash all that I’d bottled up throughout the day, even if that meant doing so at my front door, with my fake boyfriend just on the other side.

The fact that we’d gone on a date was reason enough for me to feel lost, considering I never thought it would happen, ever. He also confessed that he was nervous, which was incredibly confusing because—I didn’t think I could ever make him nervous.

Or was he referring to this fake dating thing we were doing?

I rubbed my eyes, thinking over all of this. “Fuck.”

I’d said that I would be fine, though actually going through with the plan was proving to be quite straining. With the wasp nest situation, it was clear that Art and I would have to share the bedroom. And if we had to share the bedroom, then we would have to share . . . the . . .

Oh my gosh, there’s only one bed.

The thought of it caused me to feel more anxious. Everything was against me, and I recognized that it would continue to torment me for the rest of the summer, just like those predatory wasps.

As hectic as this was, I had to go through with it sooner or later. I couldn’t keep Art waiting out there. He would definitely find it strange if I took too long.

Gathering my wits, I got up from the ground tiredly, limbs aching from the fact that we had done a lot of walking and dancing.

Before I could open the door, I recalled that moment in our date.

We . . . danced with each other. He held me in his arms.

Once more, I hid my face in my hands, eyes squeezing shut. None of this did anything to help me calm down, but what else could I do?

Art

Lewis swung open the door after a couple of minutes inside. His bangs were parted down the middle, like he’d messed his hair up on purpose, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. It was a new, messy side to him that I’d never seen.

“Welcome.” He said, voice hoarse. “Sorry for the mess.”

I looked over his shoulder into the loft. It wasn’t nearly as messy as he made it out to be, besides the various boxes I still had laying around from my absence.

He rested his body on the door as I made my way inside, registering all that I was seeing. When I got to the living room, I dropped the black backpack I was holding onto the hardwood ground with a thud.

My roommate shut the door quietly, watching me from afar. I guessed he was waiting for my reaction, but at the moment I couldn’t say anything.

This was undoubtedly the nicest loft I’d ever been to. I never attempted to live in places like this, since I didn’t have much money. It honestly shocked me how well Felix had fixed up the place, though I wasn’t surprised by how much care was taken to keep it in it’s original style.

The single loft was spacious enough, with impressively high, opened ceilings, even in the bedroom. The kitchen was open as well to my right at the entrance, while the dining room sat next to it in a small nook.

Farther ahead was the bed and bath, with wide, floor to ceiling windows and a small patio with equally open, paneled windows that led to the enclosed garden and fountain in the back outside. The entire place felt empty now, but with time it would grow to be cramped, especially with two people living inside.

I couldn’t help the growing grin on my face, “It’s great.”

“Smaller than what Theo told me, but I can live with it . . .” Lewis looked like he would scold Theo for that. “But yeah, my aunt kept this place alive. Felix did the rest.”

The fact that many members of his family lived in the same building was worrying enough. Lying to his own blood felt like it’d make this whole situation a lot harder to experience. With Lewis, I wanted to make this process as easygoing for him as I could, though I wasn’t sure if that would be possible.

He went into the kitchen to reach over the counter, flicking on the low light and illuminating the rest of the loft partially, enough to see where I was going. It was late, and our neighbors were most likely asleep by now.

That was when I remembered one important thing.

Lewis was already in the doorway of the bedroom when I abruptly said, “Oh . . . we have to share the bed, don’t we?”

Not exactly the best way of going about that. Two people who hardly knew each other, sharing a bedroom, with one single bed, for months—

I hadn’t given it much thought before, surprisingly.

“The wasps . . .” Lewis said. I could barely hear him.

Ah, the wasp nest that Felix had talked about. I’d experienced the same thing a handful of times in my own home growing up. They really could come in through any crack in the wall.

It sounded impossible to sleep on the couch, or in the living room in general. The sofa was small to begin with, but the bed . . .

How many times was I going to remind myself of that?

Lewis and I eyed each other for a second. That was when I knew we were thinking the exact same thing. I mean, I was fine with anything, even sharing a bed, but Lewis could’ve had an issue with it.

Reading my mind, he slumped where he stood, hands on the doorframe, “I’m sorry about this—”

I shook my head, abandoning my spot in the living room to stand beneath the doorway with him, “No. I’m alright with this, Lewis. Honestly.”

He didn’t look like he believed me. “Art, I don’t mind sleeping with you—” His eyes shut tightly as he reconsidered his words, “I mean—I’ll share the bed. Though . . .”

“I’m fine.” I promised, as he continued sulking. “But only if you are.”

Lewis studied my face, searching for any signs of doubt. I only stared back, waiting for him to believe me. I appreciated that he was concerned and cautious. It was a good first step for us. Honesty and communication were going to be very important in this relationship.

Fake relationship.

“ . . . I am.” He eventually said, turning his back to me. “I don’t mind, either.”

I exhaled, unaware that I’d been holding my breath before his reply. Usually, I took things pretty lightly, but this time around I saw that maybe I needed to change that habit.

This fake-dating was stressful, though admittedly . . .

It was interesting.

Lewis

Compared to me, Art was the most helpful one between the two of us. So far, all I’d done was become more awkward, while he breezed through this like it was nothing.

I admired that side of him, and I envied him for it too. Even now as he scrolled through his phone nonchalantly, on the bed—our bed, after taking a shower . . . in our shower, I was jealous at how easily he agreed to this.

Discreetly, I glanced at him from the corner of my eye while I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, drying my hair. His own hair was darker now that it was wet, like mine. No longer was it that nice shade of light brown. The waves and curls had also disappeared, and were now plastered to the side of his face and forehead.

He really looked good with straight hair. Really.

I bit my lips, forcing myself not to venture into such thoughts.

It was useless to think about that. I had the whole day to remember just how much I liked looking at him. Now it was time for a good rest.

Throwing the towel onto the nearby rack, I placed my hands on my hips and grimaced. I was aware that I wouldn’t sleep peacefully, not with him at my side, but it was something I had to get used to.

I braced myself for the challenge as I stepped into the room and crawled on the other side of the bed. He was on the right, while I stayed on the left, closest to the wall. The place was the second smallest room, while the first was the bathroom.

It was quiet for a while, until Art broke the silence by locking his phone and placing it on the bedside table. I hadn’t seen him do that, though I heard him.

My face was planted into the pile of pillows on my side. I couldn’t see very well without my glasses anyway, so there was no point in looking.

“You used to wear glasses.” His voice reached my ears, despite being so faint. “Do you still use them?”

How . . . had he known?

His question was enough to make me look up, which was a bad decision because he was way too close for me to remain calm. “Y-Yeah—I do, sometimes.”

He moved so that he was laying on his stomach too, hands supporting his chin as he gazed at me through his wet hair. “Has anything else changed?” He said faintly again.

I focused my attention to the pattern of the bedsheets, fingers tracing the material. “Not much.”

Art hummed in response. “Really?”

“I think I did change, but things keep reminding me that I’m still . . .” I cut my words short, not wanting to say the last of that sentence.

“Have I changed?” He asked, saving me from doing so.

This time I did look at him, and I actually gave in and smiled. It was such a simple question, though with recent events, it was clear that how I viewed him had changed. He was different from what I could recall in high school. I only hoped he thought the same of me.

I took a pillow, embracing it, “You have. Very much.”

He gave me a smile of his own. It was endearing. “I think you’ve also changed, Lewis.”

Our distance had diminished as we laid there. A great part of it was my fault, since I was struggling to see him. Without my glasses it was hard for me to focus on him.

I brought myself back before we could get any closer. “I’m . . . I’m glad to hear that.”

He examined me, disrupting the gap I’d made. He was close enough for our noses to touch. Again, my fault because I’d chosen not to wear my glasses.

Art nodded once, “Your eyes, too. They’re almost grey.” He pointed out. “I never realized.”

“It's a family trait . . .” I let him know, but I stopped.

It was clueless of me to forget that we were in the middle of a ruse. I was his fake boyfriend, therefore I would have to play this role through. And if I was going to do that, then I should’ve known that this was as good a time as ever to—to kiss.

'Practice.' I thought, thinking back to what he said early today.

We both said that we were okay to do it. I had no idea what urged me to say yes, but I believed it was because I wanted to see how far I could go with this act.

He tilted his head, leaning in as I shut my eyes and parted my mouth, waiting patiently for him to do it—to kiss me.

For a while, I waited, and I waited . . . but . . .

I opened my eyes, and saw that he had returned to his original spot, on his side of the bed, no longer looking at me. “I guess I’ll realize a lot more, as we carry on.”

“Of—of course.” I cleared my throat.

Hurriedly, I dug my face into the pillows for the second time.

Why had I thought that he would kiss me? Why? He would never kiss me unless I told him I was ready for it. He would never—

No, he would, one day, though today . . . was not that day.

I stole a glance at him once more, sighing.

Damn.

I really, really like kissing.