CHAPTER 17 - NERVOUS ENERGY

Part 1

Kai

The pillow Cassandra brought Kai smelled like Bard. Not that Kai truly knew what Bard smelled like, but Cassandra had taken it from his room, and there was a rightness to the scent that matched the faint memory of that night at New World, when they had spoken into each other’s ears. He couldn’t put words to the scents themselves, only what they reminded him of—rain and tears and breath and dreams.

There was an old country song that his father used to croon, half-jokingly, to his mother. Kai sang it now, under his breath: “Send me the pillow that you dream on so, darling, I can dream on it too.” He’d love to hear Bard sing, to let melodies from his lips wrap themselves around him. Shifting on the couch—it was too narrow for him to lie on his back—Kai pressed his cheek into the pillow, thinking of how his own breath fell where Bard’s had and the fabric against his skin had once cradled Bard’s face.

Why? Why was he so sure of his feelings? It wasn’t that Bard was beautiful—though he was—but it was the way he looked that contrasted so much with Kai, his golden-red hair compared to Kai’s black; his pale, luminous skin compared to Kai’s light brown, his slight figure, so slender compared to Kai’s broad chest and shoulders, his arms and legs that were muscled from his fencing practice. And then there was Bard’s quiet reserve, his glib quips that hid how he felt, or his eloquence when he chose to speak earnestly, so different from the clumsy confessions that spilled from Kai’s lips all too easily or the dark silence that hung over him when he couldn’t explain his feelings. It was as if they could nest together in their differences, filling each other’s hollow parts. 

Kai sat up and punched at the pillow thinking of the brief moment when his lips had been against Bard’s—the hesitancy of it when really he wanted to consume him, devour him, make him part of himself. Bard was still there, upstairs. If only he weren’t hurt, if only they were alone, if only....

If only.

Kai lay down again, turning to face the back of the couch, curling up as much as he could. He concentrated on his breath, the way Jude had taught him. Soon, his mind quieted, and in the silence of the dark house, he drifted to sleep with the certainty that he would see Bard in the morning.

Kai didn’t have to wait as long as he thought. A sound in the early morning woke him—the squeak of the armchair’s springs. When he opened his eyes, the thin morning light was behind Bard, silhouetting him and making his hair shine like a halo. His face was in shadow, but when he turned slightly, the light caught in his green eyes, glinting on the flecks of gold and silver. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. The line of his mouth curved pink against his pale skin, still marred by the fading cut, his lips slightly parted. His hands were on the arms of the chair, fingertips pressing into the faded upholstery. 

Kai blinked, bringing Bard into sharper focus.

“Good morning,” Bard said. 

His voice was soft, still tired, something cautiously fond in his tone. Kai almost didn’t want to believe it. But then he felt it—the swell of emotion that was both in him and in Bard.

Kai swallowed. “Hi.”

“Everybody’s still asleep. I hope I’m not waking you too early. I’ve been sleeping so much that it seems I can’t anymore.”

“No, no,” Kai said.”I don’t mind.”

“Would you like some eggs?” Bard asked.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Bard moved to rise, but Kai sat up suddenly.

“No, wait,” Kai said. “I mean...I should do it. You’re still recovering.”

Bard gazed at him. “Your hair is all mussed from sleeping,” he said.

Kai’s hand flew to his head, ready to smooth down the waves and tangles.

“No, leave it,” Bard said. “I like seeing you like this. And I want to do something for you, so...eggs.”

Kai kept himself from blurting out what he was thinking—There’s so much that I wish you’d do for me.

“How do you like them?”

“What?”

“The eggs. Fried? Scrambled? Poached?”

“Oh. Scrambled, please.”

Bard shuffled into the kitchen, limping a bit. He was wearing pajamas with light blue stripes and a burgundy cardigan over them. Kai had slept in his clothes; Cassandra had offered some of Bard’s pajamas, but that had been too much for Kai. The fabric that had touched Bard’s skin, touching his—what would that have made him feel? And any of Bard’s pajamas would have been too small for him—which is what he told Cassandra.

Bard popped his head out of the kitchen.  “Do you drink tea? I suppose you probably prefer coffee, but we don’t have any, not even crystals.”

Crystals? “Um, tea is fine. I’ve gotten used to it, living here.”

They were silent as Bard worked in the kitchen. From the sofa, Kai sensed Bard’s nervous energy, how he busied himself to avoid having to talk—but the words were there, latent. Kai just had to wait. He tried to decide how he should sit, rearranging his legs, putting his arm along the backrest, lowering it. When Bard came in with a tray, Kai was sitting cross-legged with his feet up on the sofa—the way Jude had him sit when they meditated—and he was leaning with his elbow on knee, chin cupped in hand.

Bard set the tray down on the table, hesitated, and then sat down on the sofa next to Kai. A tingle ran up Kai’s arms, and it was as if his body moved without him willing it—turning toward Bard, his knee nudging Bard’s thigh, the air that touched their shoulders touching. What would happen if he just threw his arms around him now? What would happen if he put his fingertips on the side of his neck? What would happen if he kissed him?

“Shall I be mother?” Bard asked, picking up the teapot.

“What?” Kai felt his face flush.

“I mean—should I pour our tea?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Thanks. I drink it plain,” Kai added, noticing the little pitcher of milk.

“Plain? How novel.” Bard poured, his wrists peeping from his cardigan sleeves, and then handed Kai the cup. “Eat your eggs,” Bard said, and Kai obeyed, grateful to have something to do with his hands.

Bard put three spoons of sugar in his own tea, and then filled it to the brim with milk but managed to bring it to his lips without spilling a drop. His chin and jaw had two days of stubble, catching the light from the window, and once Kai’s gaze drifted to Bard’s lips he found it difficult to look away. After he took a sip, Bard set the cup down and then slowly, as if thinking through each step of the movement, reached over and rested his fingers on the back of Kai’s hand, the one around the cup, and kept his gaze there for a moment. He swallowed hard, and then lifted his eyes to meet Kai’s. The green of them was so luminous, their expression so earnest that Kai struggled not to drop his cup.

“Thank you for staying,” Bard said, and his voice was low and sweet and warm in Kai’s ears.

“I couldn’t leave,” Kai said. With the mug and plate in his hands, he couldn’t grasp Bard’s as he wanted to, couldn’t bring Bard’s fingers to his lips.  “I had to be where you are. To know you’re OK. I couldn’t stand the thought of not being under the same roof.”

“Neither could I,” Bard said, and his cheeks lit up pink, all the way up to his eyes and out to the tips of his ears, which his coppery hair brushed. “I slept so well, knowing somehow, that you were here. I came downstairs hoping, hardly daring to hope, and there you were.”

Kai laughed to cover his discomfort. He never did well with compliments. “Snoring with my mouth open, no doubt.”

“Not at all,” Bard said. He curled his fingers around Kai’s hand for a moment and then withdrew his touch. Kai’s stomach lurched. He set down his mug and munched on his piece of toast, unsure, his hands trembling.

“I don’t know what to say for once,” Kai said. He licked a bit of butter off of his fingers. “That night at New World, we talked about so much, but now—it’s like my brain is...I don’t know, it’s just a whooshing sound in there.”

Bard smiled, just a small curve in the corners of his mouth. “Well, what do you propose we do instead of talking?” he asked. There was a tremor in his voice.

Kai felt his eyes go wide and the questions again began to tangle themselves up in his mind. Could he mean...? His voice, was he as nervous as Kai was? Was he as certain as Kai was?

And then, before he could think about resisting the impulse, Kai’s arms were around Bard’s waist, and Bard’s eyes were looking into his as Bard nodded slightly, barely perceptibly, giving permission. And then Kai’s mouth was against Bard’s, and he was warm, so warm. He felt the cut on Bard’s mouth, and the rush of feeling—his compassion for Bard’s pain, his anger at Roger Fox—made him dive deeper into the kiss, his lips pushing Bard’s open. Their teeth clashed briefly and they both pulled back a bit from the kiss, finding their way to finding their breath, finding a rhythm and motions that were almost drowsy, as if they could remain here on the sofa as long as they liked, without anyone to interrupt them.

Bard had placed his hands on Kai’s forearms, but he began to work them around to his back, pressing his own body closer to Kai’s. His chest, the delicacy of his fingers’ touch—each point of contact was a thrill, a sharp shiver up Kai’s spine. He could smell Bard’s skin, the scent he had breathed in all night with his face against his pillow. When Kai let out a quiet moan as Bard’s hands found their way to the nape of his neck, and tugged the ends of his hair between his fingers, Kai was startled, as if the sound had been snatched out of him. Bard answered with a hum against Kai’s mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out as if to take a quick taste of Kai’s bottom lip. It was too much. Kai pulled away with a gasp to catch his breath. His lips felt swollen, bruised. He bowed his head, forehead against Bard’s, both of them rising and falling as they breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Bard said. “Was that...Did you not like it?”

Kai laughed. “How could you ask me that? It’s just that I...I’ve never...Did I do OK?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with this, either,” Bard said, “but I’d say yes. You did more than OK.”