Ian waited for more. He wanted more. He wanted so much more to be said. That this display – all of it – wasn’t some kind of gesture of mutual isolation and awkwardness. That this guest ached to hold his hand, touch his face, hold him with the same intensity as Ian’s pounding heart: relentlessly and mercilessly. He didn’t want to assume, though. Project his own cloudy thoughts onto this kind of adorable man for his own sanity.

The slightly taller man drew in a breath and turned away, scratching his head.

“No. I don’t think I do.” It echoed like taunts, sweet and tantalizing. Ian’s mouth fell dry. When the guest glanced back at him, his knees wobbled again. He smiled, worn and warm and small. “High praise.”

“...I guess so.”

Breathless, Ian’s thumbs traced over his fingers, sending gentle shivers through him. “Right...uh. Dream house.” He coughed, grimacing at such an ugly sound, before he managed to continue, “I guess I’m a bad architect, but I... don’t really have an idea of my ‘dream house’. I’ve thought about it, tried to plan it out, but it just...escapes me. It comes out differently every time. But I kind of like that.” He paused, watching the guest intently as if waiting for some silent agreement for him to stop talking, but Ian continued, “I know it has to have a studio so I can work, but that’s really it. I know how it’s supposed to feel, but...” He wanted to say the styles emulated in it but couldn’t risk potentially alienating the guest any further than he already had. Ian shrugged, glancing at the darkened windows to the outside world. Something in his heart ached with quiet desperation for solitude and peace with someone.

“Where would you build it?”

Ian inhaled, relieved and surprised at the question. Touched at it, even. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter where it is. Middle of the forest, city center, on a boat, whatever. It’ll be a home for me and my...whoever decides to settle down with me.” He let out a puff of air, smirking. “At least two cats and a dog, but that’s just me.”

“What, no kids?”

He shrugged, suddenly desperate to come off as uncertain. “I don’t know. Kids are the big question mark in my life. I like other people’s kids, they’re fine, but I don’t know if I want my own.” He smiled, turning away. “If I met the right person, I wouldn’t oppose it.”

“Scandalous.”

“Is it? I don’t...”

The guest shrugged.

Ian nodded his head. “What about you?”

“Bold of you to assume I have kids.”

“What? No, I –” Ian laughed. “No. Do you have a dream home or something of the like? Don’t let me take over the conversation.”

“I’m fine with it. It isn’t boring, but...” The guest shrugged again. “Not really.” He grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah,” he said. “Makes sense. Everything is temporary, right?”

The guest shied away.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean – ”

A second later, he relented with a sigh. “I...don’t have one. I mean, I did, or...maybe I did, once upon a time. I don’t remember. I just...I don’t want to get myself hyped up for something that might not happen.” He shrugged. “Things change, and I don’t want to...fixate myself on this one thing. And, and then when it doesn’t happen, that’s just disappointing, isn’t it? Who knows, too – in 20 years, we could be underwater. The world could be irradiated to Hell and we could be hiding underground.”

“Very post-apocalyptic.”

“It’s my aesthetic,” he said.

Ian narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

“No. That was a joke. A-are you serious?”

“I don’t know with you. I did just meet you, basically.” Ian glanced down, steady breaths settling between them. He glanced over his shoulder to find few people paying attention to him, and, relieved, Ian’s eyes returned to the guest. “You didn’t have to explain your...dream thing to me. Some people just don’t have an idea. It’s okay.”

“I did,” he said, eyes narrowed in confusion, insistence.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t know why, but I did. I did.”

Ian smiled. “Thanks. I get where you’re coming from, but I think it’s...kind of sad.” His stomach twisted, and he stammered frantically, “There’s nothing wrong with that – I get where you’re coming from. I said, but I like that hope. It gives me something to work towards, something to believe in.”

The guest hummed his response, eyes unfocusing on a distant spot. Uncertainty crept through his motions as he fiddled with his sleeve ends and brushed down his pants. His stare lingered on the windows outside, and he cleared his throat. “It is kind of sad... isn’t it?”

His heart fell. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have said – ”

“It’s okay. I get it.” He met Ian’s eyes, his mouth parted open for a second. “I...appreciate the honesty, even if you did try to backtrack.”

Ian clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t trying to offend.”

“I know. You don’t strike me as someone who tries to.” His shoulders rolled forward, a shade of blue washing over his face. “I guess I’m just used to it. The...sadness. The...” He pursed his lips, humming. “...heaviness.” And then nothing. The guest’s eyes turned glossy, hazy as they fixed on a distant point in the floor.

“...you okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered too quickly. He wiped his face, shaking his head. “I...need air.”

“Oh. Okay. Want company?”

“No, I d – not because of you. I need a moment.”

“Too much socializing?”

“No. I – yeah, a little. I’m out of practice.”

“Don’t you talk to people at...wherever you work? What do you do again?”

The guest stared, his brows pulled into this look of hesitation and hurt. “...receptionist. At a hotel. But,” he continued, stammering, “but don’t tell me I should be seasoned. I try with them. I – ” His voice turned to a higher pitch, and the death in his eyes was diminished by a too-wide smile, “ – sound like this, and always seem happy to see them –” and seamlessly transitioning back into a normal tone and expression, “– but it’s fake. None of it matters.” He looked at Ian. “I don’t feel like I’m trying with you.”

‘God, you’re not making this easy, are you?’ The sentiment was gold, bright and warm, making Ian smile. It left him breathless. “Yeah.”

“Okay?”

He nodded, leaning forward. “Find me when you need your sister off your back again?”

The guest scoffed and smirked. He watched him, nodding slowly. He pressed past Ian, his arm brushing against Ian’s shoulder. The wind slammed the door shut, bringing a moment of quiet over the restaurant before the lull of chatter continued.

Ian glanced away, his hands tingling warm. Where the taller man had touched him hummed, and that craving to close the distance swept through him at such speeds it left him dizzy. His smile fell the longer he realized the guest was not returning, and Ian, disheartened, returned to his table.