by Amy Lane
Crispin managed not to grimace. “Water sounds great,” he said with sincerity. “Someday you’ll have to tell me what Germans have against ice.”
Luka’s marvelous laugh rolled over the table. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, his eyebrows arching wickedly. “I’m not German!”
Crispin gaped at him, and he gave an eyebrow waggle before striding back into the crowd.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nick muttered. “Now that’s going to be bothering me for the rest of the night.”
“His German does sound odd,” Link murmured, and they all stared at him. “I took it in high school,” he said with a shrug. “Sue me. But you’ve all heard him—he’s fluent. It’s just that it sounds… you know. Different.”
“I took Spanish in high school,” Crispin said with a sigh.
“And you speak it really badly,” Ray reminded him. “Remember when you tried to talk to my in-laws?”
“Oh God.” Crispin hid his face in his hands. “Your father-in-law gave me that homemade Dominican rum….”
“That’s okay. You fell asleep in front of the toilet after one Solo cup. They were so impressed with what a lightweight you were they said they knew their daughter was with a man who wouldn’t drink too much. It worked out really well.”
The table hooted with laughter, because yes, they’d all been there, and the night rolled on.
The beer tent filled and the music played. People danced and sang, and the DJ played the Devil’s Wheel with the giant merry-go-round that dominated a corner of the tent. Everybody wanted to ride—the object being to hang on as the wheel spun faster and faster—except for Crispin. The good news was, they’d all seen him throw up enough after a few beers to listen when he said it wasn’t a great idea. He was about to stand up to go cheer them on when Luka swung a long leg over his bench again.
“We can watch from here,” he said softly, looking at Crispin sideways. “Do you mind?”
“No.” The crowd in front of the wheel had gotten quite thick, and Crispin was feeling a tad bit dizzy as it was. “Just looking at that thing could get me sick.” There had been carnival rides in the square as Crispin and Cam ran through the streets looking for the beer tents. Cam had gotten all excited, but Crispin had been unimpressed. The big tower thing that dropped people from the top was not on his list of things to do.
Luka laughed—but not loudly. “So, you do not really follow sports—”
“I do now,” Crispin insisted. He’d learned to enjoy rooting for teams, watching games at people’s houses including his own, the celebration of the win.
“But you do not really follow them for you. And you do not really drink. You do not speak German—what are you doing here?”
Crispin bit his lip. “I… well, Link said we should go. He came last year with his parents and in-laws and stuff, and said it should be a boys’ trip, so… you know.”
“Is Link the big blond one?” Luka asked, his voice neutral. “Are you in love with him?”
“No! I mean, yes he’s blond, and no I’m not in love with him. He’s just… you know. The guy who suggests things.”
A great roar came up from the Devil’s Wheel, but all Crispin’s friends were still riding in the center, looking smug.
“How did you end up with these men, pretty boy—that’s all I’m asking.” Luka turned away from the crowd, away from the roar, and fastened his eyes on Crispin, and all Crispin could see was this beautiful young man, looking at him like he mattered.
“We all work at an accounting firm together,” Crispin said, but that was the short answer, and Luka’s nod told him to go on. “Okay, so one day—I remember because the whole office had the flu but our department—there’s ten of us, five women too, but they don’t like sports—anyway, one day—”
There was another roar from the wheel, and Crispin looked up in time to see Nick go rolling down the padded slope of the wheel, followed by Cam. They got up, dizzy and laughing, and started to teeter back to the table.
“One day what?” Luka prompted.
“Well, Link got up around lunchtime and said, ‘Guys, I gotta get out of here. Who’s on for burritos anywhere but here?’ And Nick and Ray and Cam were already his friends, so I assumed he was talking to them, and they all stood up and he just looked over at me and said, ‘Crispin, you too. Move it.’ So we started having Freedom Lunch Fridays, you know?”
“Crispin? That’s your name?” Luka’s odd accent rolled over it, made it lovely.
“Yeah,” Crispin murmured. “Crispin Henry.”
“Mm…. So, Freedom Lunch Fridays led to….” He made a gesture for Crispin to continue.
“Well, I was in the car and we were heading to lunch and they started talking about the Kings game—that’s basketball—and Ray said he had six tickets. And then he said, ‘So, Crispin makes five, and my girlfriend makes six, anybody mind?’ and we didn’t. It was like, you know, I was supposed to be their friend from that moment on.”
Luka looked at him thoughtfully. “Mm. That is… different,” he said.
“What he’s not telling you,” Cam slurred, stumbling over in time to hear the story and looking very much drunker after his stint on the wheel, “is what happened the three weeks beforehand.”
The crowd let out another howl, and Ray went tumbling down the hill, leaving Link sitting in the center, eyes closed, apparently holding on to the wheel with his asscheeks alone. The announcer called winner, and the wheel started to slow, and Nick and Cam both belched.
“They’re gonna need to get so sick,” Nick muttered. “God. I’ll go help them—Cam, you tell the story and then come help me. Crispin, stay here. You didn’t sign on for this.” With that he shambled off, and Crispin gave a short, happy laugh.
“I did sign on for this,” he told Luka in complete veracity. “I’m such a lightweight. They’ve held my head plenty of times.”
“But not this time,” Cam said. “Anyway, the part he’s leaving out is that the whole office was sick—”
“I said that part,” Crispin interjected, embarrassed.
“Yeah, but did you tell him that you made little tea and vitamin C packets and put them at everybody’s desk? Or that we all had little individual portions of chicken soup, except Cleo, who’s a vegan, and she got vegetable stock? And you put, like, two gallons of orange juice in the work refrigerator—like, every day for two weeks he did this. And nobody got sick. And he’s not the manager or anything, and we couldn’t figure out who was doing it. We’d show up in the morning, feeling a little tired, a little like today was the day we went home like the other half of the office, and there would be our little vitamin packet and our chicken soup and our orange juice, and we were all okay by the end of the day. So Link kept trying to get there early to see who was putting stuff out, and it was always out when he got to work. The soup would appear later, but we never caught anybody. So we had Lucy—”
“Really?” Crispin asked, because he hadn’t heard this part.
“Yes! Lucy stayed late and ratted you out, and we realized that you’d been keeping the whole office healthy. You were, like, the stealth vitamin C gnome, and Link said that anybody who would do that for our entire department must be a really awesome guy and we were going to get to know you better.”
Crispin laughed a little. “I didn’t know that,” he told Luka, not able to keep his embarrassed smile a secret. “That’s really sweet.”
“It is,” Luka said softly—but he was looking exclusively at Crispin. “You are a good friend.”
Crispin smiled shyly at him, and Cam stood, a little steadier on his feet. “And it’s my turn to be a good friend and make sure Link gets to the bathroom before this whole thing goes south. Luka, be nice to him—he’s our favorite.”
Luka laughed like he was supposed to, and Crispin shook his head.
“Link is totally the favorite,” he said.
“I’m going to agree with your friend—”
“Cam,” Crispin supplied. “Nic
k has the darker skin and the big hair, and Ray has the slicked-back black hair and the mustache. And you know Link and Cam now.”
“And Crispin,” Luka said, his generous mouth compressing to a sweet little bow. “Who is here following friends just because they are friends, and who follows sports for the same reason.”
Crispin sighed into his beer. “Makes me sound like a jellyfish, I guess.”
“No. What would you have everybody do if you were the leader? What would we be doing if you were Link?”
“Mm….” Crispin had thought about it a lot, so it wasn’t that hard to answer. “Link thinks big, you know. Brave. I might have taken us to Italy to see the churches, or France to see museums. If we were home, I’d take us to see musical theater, or get everybody to read the same book.” He gave a tiny smile. “Boring stuff.”
“Not to you,” Luka said, and oh my God, his hand… his hand spread over Crispin’s knee, and Crispin had to fight for actual words.
“But probably to you,” he gasped, trying to still his breathing before he got spots in front of his eyes.
“No,” Luka said, that kind smile amping up a notch. “I love the theater. And I love traveling—I love seeing everything, yes? The museums, the castles, the clubs, the beaches, the history, the military, the marketplace. I went to university in New Zealand and learned history, because it is what I love—”
“Is that where you’re from?” Crispin interjected, wondering if they could solve the mystery of his gorgeous accent.
“Fiji,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Did your friends have a bet?”
Crispin laughed. “No! But we did notice your accent is… well, from everywhere, I guess!”
Luka tilted his head back and laughed. “Yes, indeed. My family was from Fiji, and they emigrated to New Zealand. My parents passed away in a car accident when I was still in… mandatory schooling. I think you call it high school. Anyway, I went to college and learned history, and when I was done I decided to travel the world. So I graduated—young, you know. Five years ago? I was twenty-one. And I sold all my possessions but three boxes worth, put everything I could into suitcases, and I have been traveling ever since.” He looked around the beer tent and gestured like it was the world and he owned the whole of it. “I make half my yearly income working Oktoberfest. It takes much skill to hold that many steins, ja?”
“Ja,” Crispin said, feeling inadequate. “That’s it? You just travel? You have no home?”
A faint sadness crossed Luka’s face then, a lightly bitten lip, eyes that darted when they had been so steady. “The world is my home.”
And a giant void opened up in Crispin’s chest. “The world is really big,” he said, leaning back from the emptiness at his feet. “And I am really small. I need something smaller to call home. A little corner to hide in.” A spasm of regret made his stomach clench. “A tiny life,” he finished apologetically, lifting his tankard and finding it empty.
“Not so tiny,” Luka told him. The hand squeezing Crispin’s knee was warm, solid—intimate. “You and your friends ended up here, yes?”
Crispin nodded, heartened a little. “Yeah.”
Luka gave the sort of sigh someone makes when they have to get up. He leaned a little closer. “My break is over—and your friends are returning. The tents close in another two hours—can you wait for me?”
“Sure.” Crispin had no intention of leaving—if nothing else, the guys had to sober up a little before they walked back to their hotel. “Uh, what am I waiting for?”
Luka’s wide, generous smile had already proved to be a sucker punch to the gut, but this—this slow, sly smile with the sideways eyes and the tiniest nibble to the lower lip—proved to be lethal. “You will see where I sleep, yes?”
Crispin’s mouth fell open, and Luka laughed his quiet little laugh.
“I will give your friends directions—where are you going tomorrow?”
He floundered and came up with Link’s itinerary. “The castle, I think.”
“Nymphenburg?” Luka sounded excited about it, and Crispin racked his brains.
“The one with the statue and the museum—”
Luka’s laughter reminded him of what, exactly, a castle was.
“Nymphenburg,” Crispin muttered, embarrassed. “I’m pretty sure that was it.”
“There are three choices of castles in Munich alone,” Luka said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “But Nymphenburg is an excellent choice if you can only see one. Your friends can get you in the morning from my place if you like. You’re coming back tomorrow night?”
Well, yeah—that had been the plan. Three days sightseeing, two nights drinking in the tents, one day buying kitschy tourist things at the local shops, one night going out to a nice restaurant, and home. Five days in Germany—Oktoberfest, off the bucket list.
“Yes,” Crispin said softly. “And the next.”
“And Sunday?” Because the tents were closed Sunday.
“I think Link has reservations somewhere.” Crispin found courage he never knew he had. “You… you could come?”
“That would be marvelous,” Luka said, just as soft. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners, and he licked his lips. “I think I like this plan. I’ll be back with more beer for your friends—and some water for you.”
He stood and ruffled Crispin’s hair, then strode off through the crowds, which were growing thicker again now that the Devil’s Wheel had run. Crispin watched his long, lithe form disappear into the milling bodies and wondered what he’d done.
“What’s up?” Cam asked, sinking down slowly onto the table and looking a little less drunk than he had. “Did you scare him off?”
“He’s coming back,” Crispin said, and now that Luka was no longer there, with his sweat and his gorgeous voice and his sly, merry eyes, Crispin found his blush all over again. “He, uh, is coming back with more beer, and, uh, some water for me.”
“You’re done drinking already?” Cam laughed. “I mean, none of us even booted—we’re good to go until the tents close.”
“I, uh,” oh God, “I think he wants me, uh, sober.”
“Sober?” Cam’s almond-shaped eyes grew wide, and his mouth—as generous as Luka’s, with more pillow to the lips—formed a little O. “You, uh, need your judgment for something there, Crispin?”
Crispin couldn’t look at him. “He, uh, seems to think I, uh, want to see where he’s staying,” he mumbled.
“Oh,” Cam bit his lip. “Crispin, are you sure?”
“I’ll probably sleep on his couch,” Crispin mumbled. His entire body was screaming that no, he didn’t want to sleep on Luka’s couch, he wanted to sleep on Luka, but saying it out loud felt like tempting fate.
“Right.” Cam rolled his eyes and then sighed. “Look—I’m just buzzed enough to say this, so bear with me. Why now? Why this guy? I mean, we meant it when we said we were worried—you’re not doing this because we decided to make you a project, are you?”
“No,” Crispin said automatically—and then he thought about it. “No,” he said with more conviction. “It’s just… you made me think. I’ve had one relationship. And… and it hurt. I mean, my foster parents died and he left. And that was it. And I thought, at least I’ve got some decent memories, right?”
“But they’re fading?” Cam asked, voice quiet and sober and everything Crispin had ever wanted from a friend. He thought maybe it was worth memorizing scores from every sport known to man just so he could have someone here to talk to, right now, at the crux of what felt to be a monumental change in who he was.
“They weren’t that good in the first place,” Crispin admitted. Luka came striding past at that moment, hands full of steins, that great smile on his face. He paused for a moment to wink at Crispin before continuing on to whoever needed beer now.
Cam didn’t laugh. “You’re planning to make new ones with him? Just to be sure.”
Crispin shrugged. “So, it’ll last three days. It’ll be like… like a fant
asy, right? So I remember how it’s done. Like jumping in the deep end when you haven’t been swimming for a while.”
“That’s usually how you drown,” Cam snapped, and the others gave him sharp looks as they returned to the table.
“Are we drowning in beer?” Link asked. “Because I’m just getting started.”
“No,” Cam muttered. He looked at Crispin. “You tell them.”
Crispin felt his eyes widen. “No,” he said, feeling stubborn. “I can only sound brave in front of one of you at a time.”
“What are you talking about?” Ray asked fuzzily—next to Crispin he really was the worst at holding his alcohol.
“Crispin?” Cam’s mouth had a mutinous slant—he wasn’t going to let this go.
“Luka,” Crispin said, wondering if his ears would just burst into flame and if it could be any less painful. “He, uh, wants to, uh….”
“Show you his etchings?” Nick said dryly. “Tonight?”
“And, uh, maybe the rest of the time I’m here.” There. They knew. They’d wanted him to have a life, and he was now the sort of man who would have an affair after a single meeting. So there. He was brave. He was adventurous. He was—
“You’re that desperate?” Link asked, head cocked.
“Have you seen him?” Crispin burst out. “I mean… have you seen him? That’s not desperate! That’s… that’s like having the motherlode drop into my lap! That’s an embarrassment of riches right there! That’s—”
“Are my boys ready to drink some more?” Luka said from behind Crispin. “I have more beer for everyone!”
There was a moment of quiet, and Crispin nodded at them all, making eye contact. Yes, yes, please be nice to this nice man who promised to make Crispin feel like the center of his world, even if it was just for a weekend.
“Yeah!” Link cried, just a beat late. “Another round!”
Everybody cheered, and Crispin smiled at them happily. Luka took their money—Cam was buying this time—and bent down to put a hand on Crispin’s shoulder. “Does this mean they approve?” he asked. His perceptiveness was warming.
Crispin regarded his friends over his water tankard. “It means they won’t hunt you down with torches and pitchforks,” he said, noting their eyes on Luka were a little more speculative, a little more assessing than they had been when Luka was just a really great waiter.
