Noah

The next few hours pass by like drifting leaves. I can sense my mother’s gaze on me now and then, and I know I’m withdrawn, but I can’t help it. All my thoughts are occupied with the earlier conversation. More than once, my eyes drift to Taylor. Of course, he is freaking great with the kids visiting the booth. Animatedly, he explains the tasks again and again, never tiring of the endless questions. He makes the children laugh and joins their excitement when they find the solution to the riddle. I keep in the background, clearing away old riddle sheets and putting pens and UV-lights back in order, while Taylor's mother, Rosaline, talks with the parents or interested older students, giving me time to wallow in my thoughts.

I wasn’t aware of the vast difference between Taylor’s and my childhood memories. I probably should have expected as much. After all, while my memories are of him, joyful and fond, his memories are of gloomy, quiet, and prickly me. In contrast to his sunny disposition, which only grew stronger with age, my withdrawn behavior worsened after my father's death and was later only intensified by the realization that I am gay. I know my faults, yet I never undertook any measures to change them either. Still, I never meant to hurt him. My protectiveness for Tay is now rearing its head with a vengeance, targeted at none other than myself. And I have no clue what to do about it. 

Rosaline’s approach disrupts my spiraling thoughts. She clicks her tongue. “Yet again, Taylor manages to make a mess out of himself.”

I follow her gaze to Taylor. He is sitting at the fingerprinting station, helping kids with the stamp pads. Somehow, a few black streaks have gotten on his cheeks, which can probably be attributed to his ink-covered hands. He is in his element, making the kids laugh and participate with big eyes and curious questions. He is sunshine personified.

“He is an adult now, and I still have to hand out wet wipes like in kindergarten,” Rosaline continues wryly. 

My protectiveness comes back with fierceness. “You can’t expect him to stay immaculate when playing with children. And it just shows his dedication to give these kids a great time.”

Rosaline looks as surprised at my harsh tone as I feel. I clear my throat and point at the booths around us. “I mean, look, compared to others, this booth is bustling with people. And it’s definitely not because of the perfectly aligned flyer stacks.”

Rosaline examines me with an unreadable expression and she is about to say something when I’m saved by my mother joining us. 

“Rosy, did you have a break yet? How about we leave these boys to look after the booth for a while and get something to eat?”

Tay’s mother is thankfully distracted, yet while they gather their things and leave, she shoots me one last profound glance. I make a mental note to avoid her for the foreseeable future to eliminate any chance of this conversation continuing.

With a heavy sigh, I return to the Sisyphean task of sorting the UV lights. 

By the end of the afternoon, Tay is not the only one with his hands full of ink, and as soon as the university president's speech is announced in the afternoon, my mother sends us to get cleaned up. The remaining crowds are all moving towards the big auditorium, while Tay and I head for the nearest bathroom. As soon as Taylor sees his reflection in a mirror, he yelps. “Why didn’t anyone tell me I had ink on my face?!”

He hurriedly begins to rub it off. Before I can warn him, his inky hands have made it worse. He groans, and his forlorn look prompts me to move. I take a bunch of paper towels and hold them under the stream. “Come here, Picasso.”

“You consider yourself funny, you are not,” Tay says flatly. Nonetheless, he steps forward and tilts his face towards me, eyes closed. I swallow. For a few seconds, I don’t move until Tay makes an inquiring sound that pulls me back. I start dabbing at the worst spots and try to find my voice. “You are right. How could I compare you to an abstract masterpiece? It looks more like the result of a malfunctioning printer.” 

Tay huffs and opens his eyes, and all of a sudden, we make eye contact from very, very up close. Tay and I both still, captured by an invisible force that seems to crackle between us. He licks his lips. My eyes drop to his mouth.