Looking for Group

by Alexis Hall

  Except that just made Kit giggle again.

  “No, it’s really good. We had it when I came here with Tinuviel’s parents.”

  “The girl from your course? I thought you were just friends.”

  “We are. She’s got those sort of parents. They’re academics. They’re really weird.”

  Kit reappeared, his eyes glinting. “Did they order the merlot as well?”

  “No, they had the prosecco, but it’s slightly out of my price range.”

  “Oh.” He looked a bit flustered. “Were you going to pay for this?”

  Drew wasn’t sure he’d actually thought about it, but in his experience, dates were things you paid for. Unless you dated Tinuviel, apparently, because something something patriarchal assumptions something something commodity model of sex something something. “I guess so. I mean, I don’t have to. I mean, um.”

  “Well, how does it usually work?”

  “Normally the guy pays, but I’m starting to see the limitations of that model.”

  Kit thought about it for a moment. “Well, why don’t we split it?”

  “That doesn’t seem very . . . special somehow.”

  “I don’t see how the way you pay for it is what makes it special.” He smiled across the table. “But if you like, I could pay for your food and you could pay for my food.”

  Drew was pretty sure that was a silly idea, but it seemed like the best compromise they had. “Okay,” he said. “So shall we start with the dough balls?”

  “Do these dough balls have cocaine in them or something?”

  “Actually, I think they might. I really like them. Also it’s a sharing thing.”

  Kit’s eyebrows quirked mischievously. “Are we going to order a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs for a main?”

  “We should. I spent all day sourcing a fat Italian stereotype with an accordion.” This won him a laugh. “No, but seriously,” he went on, “the pasta’s usually a bit crap. They call it Pizza Express for a reason.”

  They both had pizzas in the end. Drew normally went for the American Hot, but he changed his mind at the last minute because chili and dating didn’t really mix, and just had the American. Kit ordered something complicated with chestnut mushrooms, a cheese that didn’t sound like cheese, and truffle oil.

  Drew’d been managing the enormous menu for so long that he felt a bit naked once it was taken away. Now there was nothing between him and Kit except the table and the flower, and he was worried about staring. The truth was, he liked looking at him, and he was getting used to looking at him, and he was still getting used to liking looking. Kit had this one piece of hair that wouldn’t quite stay with the rest, and curled down over his forehead. Drew kind of wanted to brush it back up, just to see it fall down again.

  Shit, he was meant to be talking. “Uh, so, how was the masqueraid?”

  Kit’s eyes brightened. “I love Greyhallow. Have you ever been?”

  Drew shook his head.

  “Oh, it’s amazing. As far as I know, it’s got no connection to any plot or anything. It’s just Count Greyhallow is a mad wizard who has invited the PCs to his house, and wants to test them to see if they’d make suitable heirs. You can only get in by doing this crazy long quest chain, which gives you five gold pieces and an invitation to Greyhallow Hall.”

  “Let me guess. Bjorn’s the one with the invite.”

  “A couple of people do but—” Solace smiled “—Bjorn likes to make a big thing about letting everybody in. He’s got this speech about how back in the day there used to be instance attunements and you couldn’t just wander through the front door with your welfare epics.”

  Drew smiled back. “And you had to slash-walk to the instance uphill both ways at five frames per second in the snow.”

  “It’s like you were there . . .” Kit glanced up hesitantly from his glass of water “ . . . except I missed you.”

  “I missed you too. We were playing board games.”

  “What were you playing?

  “Arkham Horror. Do you know it?”

  “No, I don’t have much opportunity for board gaming, except at the guild meets or when I visit Jacob in Germany. Last time we played Carcassonne with his kids.”

  Drew wasn’t sure what to make of that. He’d known Kit wasn’t particularly sociable, but he couldn’t imagine having so few friends you couldn’t make up the numbers for a two-to-six-player board game. “You should join us next time.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Well, that had been easier than he’d expected. It was sort of a consensus amongst his friends that they tended to scare people away, but then Kit hadn’t met them, so maybe that explained his willingness to spend time with them.

  Just then, the dough balls arrived and conversation ebbed for a bit while they tucked in.

  “I think you were right,” said Kit. “These probably do have cocaine in them.”

  And Drew smiled, feeling like he’d given good date.

  “So how come you were in Germany?” he asked, a little later as the waiter was clearing away the starter. “Was it a gap year thing?”

  “Oh, no, I go out there most summers.”

  He blinked. “Just to see Jacob?”

  “He’s one of my best friends. It’s nice to meet up, and he’s got a family, so he can’t travel as much.”

  “Isn’t Ialdir like fifty?”

  “First off, he’s forty-five. Secondly, so what?”

  Drew nearly said, Haven’t you got any friends your own age? but realised at the last minute that it was probably the worst thing he could possibly say. And Kit was already sounding a bit defensive. “Sorry,” he tried. “It’s just my parents are in their forties, so it feels a bit weird to me.”

  “Isn’t that more about them being your parents than how old they are?”

  “I guess.” He wasn’t sure he did guess, but he wanted to be supportive.

  Kit folded his elbows on the table, and leaned forward a bit, looking at Drew intently. “You sort of learn in school that you’re only supposed to hang out with people who are exactly the same age as you, but actually, if you’re not into the things everyone else is into, you can’t really live like that. So I just sort of got used to not. I like Jacob, we have stuff in common, and he’s always been really kind to me. He was the first person I met who didn’t make me feel weird.”

  “You’re not weird.”

  “I know I’m not.” He smiled a bit. “At least, I think I’m not. But I’m aware that I don’t do the things that people think I’m supposed to do.”

  Drew wasn’t sure he completely got it. He hadn’t exactly been lying when he said he didn’t think Kit was weird, but he did think it was a bit unusual to hang out in Germany with a guy whose kids were closer to your age than he was. On the other hand, it struck him as kind of brave to know people would think that, and to do it anyway. And he’d probably made Kit explain himself enough for one evening. “So, uh, what’s with the opera?”

  It wasn’t exactly a seamless transition, but Kit seemed to go with it. “Greyhallow is full of these scripted fights that are pretty awesome, but also pretty gimmicky. It must have been hell to actually raid, but it’s brilliant for tourism, and there’s some crazy drops. I got this staff once with a whole octopus on the end. I like to get it out when I’m RLing and the raid isn’t behaving.”

  “I could make a tentacle joke right now, but I’m just too sophisticated.”

  “Don’t worry, Dave’s got you covered.”

  Their waiter emerged, and set a pizza down in front of each of them, before producing an enormous peppermill and brandishing it threateningly until they both insisted they didn’t want any.

  “Anyway,” Kit went on, “the opera is basically one of three random scenarios all based loosely on bits of actual theatre. At least I think they are. They’re pretty weird.”

  “Which one did you get?”

  “Koblencrantz and Gildenbold Are Dead. Have you ever done Trollheim?”


  “Isn’t that the really crappy raid that was all just trolls?”

  “Hey, it had a dragon at the end.”

  “Oh, that’s fine then.”

  Kit laughed. “The third or fourth boss was Gragthar the Slave Master. He had this big swarm of kobold minions who would run around and jump on people and sometimes explode. It’s the one with the famous YouTube clip of that champion charging a huge mob of kobolds, shouting his name, and then blowing up the whole raid.”

  “Wait, is that ‘many kobolds handle it’?”

  “No, that’s the other one. So this event is basically two of that guy’s minions wandering through a compressed version of the entire Trollheim raid, constantly missing it. You have to DPS them while they walk, and every so often a boss from another bit of the instance will spawn, and the tanks will have to pick him up, and the raid will have to cope with all those mechanics, while the kobolds walk past.”

  Drew frowned over his pizza. “And the point of that is?”

  “We never worked it out.”

  It took a while, but Drew eventually stopped worrying about Making Conversation and just let it happen. They talked a lot about HoL, and the friends they had in common and a bit about friends they didn’t, sometimes about books, sometimes about university, all the time finding little points of similarity, difference, and connection. He learned other things too, like all the blues in Kit’s eyes, and the way he sometimes hid his smile behind his hand when he was nervous.

  At Drew’s suggestion, they split a cheesecake for dessert, and laughing, Kit nudged the last decorative strawberry across the plate with his fork.

  “I was going to use my nose,” he said, “but I remembered I wasn’t a loveable cartoon dog.”

  There wasn’t really a good response to that, so Drew picked up the strawberry by the bit of leaf and held it out.

  Kit eyed it apprehensively. “I’m sure this would be great in a movie but I’m probably going to mess it up.”

  “It’s a strawberry. How badly wrong could it go?”

  “I could get it stuck in my throat, the nice old lady over there could give me the Heimlich manoeuvre, and I could spit it into your face.”

  “Wouldn’t it be worse if she didn’t give you the Heimlich manoeuvre and you just died?”

  “If I was dead, I’d be a lot less embarrassed.”

  “Look.” Drew mocked scowled across the table. “If we’re talking about being embarrassed, I’ve been sitting here, holding a strawberry for about five minutes now, while my boyfriend talks about spitting in my face.”

  Kit gave a little moan. “Oh God, I’m hopeless at this.”

  “And I have way overhyped a piece of garnish.”

  Blushing slightly, Kit leaned forward, and took a neat bite of the strawberry. They’d dithered about it for so long, that Drew thought it had become a joke. Except it totally wasn’t. There was something weirdly intimate about it, just in offering, and being accepted.

  Also it was, honestly, kind of sexy.

  Having Kit that little bit closer. Being able to see tiny details like the flicker of his light-gold lashes, and a faint suggestion of shadow following the line of his jaw. How close his lips were to the tips of Drew’s fingers.

  Flustered, he ate the other half of the strawberry and put the leaf back on the plate.

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “Boyfriend?” said Kit, who was still a little bit pink.

  In the midst of all the excitement, Drew had forgotten about that. “Uh. Is that . . . Was that . . . uh.”

  “No, it’s nice.”

  And Kit put his hand over his mouth, and smiled.

  After they’d awkwardly paid for each other’s food, which would have been really faffy if Kit hadn’t turned out to be good at mental arithmetic, they tumbled out onto King Street, where they stood about for a bit, shuffling.

  Still slightly strawberry dazed, Drew went for it. “So, like, last time we were on a date, neither of us wanted to go home, but then we had to raid, so we kind of had to. There isn’t a raid tonight. So . . .”

  “So . . .” Kit slid his hands into his sleeves. “Do you want to come back to mine?”

  “Yes.” Wow, that sounded way too eager, but Drew realised he was, in fact, quite eager. And if they went back to Kit’s, then he wouldn’t have to invite Kit back to his, because his was a state. He’d left most of his T-shirts (and some of his pants) all over the floor, and Tinuviel tended to wander in without knocking or, in one extreme instance, wearing clothes. And Drew was pretty sure any or all of those things would seriously kill the mood.

  They got on a bus, and off again twenty minutes later outside the University of Leicester Botanic Gardens.

  “You live in a garden?” asked Drew.

  “In a house in a garden with three hundred other students.”

  “Classy.”

  Drew hadn’t actually been this far out of the city centre like . . . ever. It was a little bit like going home to his parents’, because it was quiet and leafy, and it made him feel quite distant from his regular life on campus. But not in a bad way. The sun was just on the cusp of setting, so the light was mellow and the shadows were long and golden. And then Kit took his hand, and they walked together under the trees.

  Here and there, they wandered past groups of students lounging on the lawn with plastic cups of beer or playing a late-evening game of Frisbee. If he hadn’t been out with Kit or raiding, it was the sort of thing Drew might have been doing with his mates. But it didn’t seem like the sort of thing Kit did, and Drew couldn’t decide whether he felt bad for him.

  “This is a really cool place to live,” he said.

  Kit nodded. “I really like being so close to the Botanic Gardens. There’s this willow tree I like to read under. And sometimes I bring my laptop.”

  Drew gave his hand a squeeze. “Don’t you ever want to hang out with people from your course or anything?”

  “I sometimes have lunch with my lab partner, and I go to the occasional party, but I don’t really feel I’m missing out.”

  And now Drew couldn’t decide whether he felt bad for himself. “Oh man, I always feel like I’m missing out.”

  “When I first got here, I had this serious freak-out because I thought I was doing it wrong. I was so convinced it was going to be massively different to school, but it wasn’t. I was still the quiet guy who didn’t have many friends, and there were still the popular kids who seemed to be having this amazing time that I just couldn’t be part of.” They’d come to a sun-dappled corner of lawn that nobody seemed interested in. “Do you want to stop for a bit? It seems a shame to miss the sunset.”

  Drew surveyed the area critically. “Well, there isn’t a rock and I’ve left my fishing rod in a fictional universe.”

  Kit’s laugh seemed louder and brighter under the clear sky.

  They got settled on the grass, side by side, Drew’s arm and leg gently brushing Kit’s.

  “Anyway,” Kit went on, “I wound up having this really intense Skype conversation with Tiff and Jacob at about three in the morning, and they kind of talked me down, and told me that nearly everyone spends university worried that other people are having more fun or getting more sex or finding the work easier than they are. So the guys playing Frisbee are looking at the guys in the library thinking, ‘Crap I wish I was that into my course.’ And the guys in the library are looking at the guys in the bar thinking, ‘Why can’t I fit in like that?’ And the guys at the bar are looking at the guys playing Frisbee thinking, ‘Why am I wasting my life on beer and boring conversations, when I could be doing activities and having experiences?’”

  Drew wasn’t sure if that made sense or was complete bollocks. “But what if they are having more fun, or getting more sex, or finding the work easier?”

  Kit shrugged, and Drew felt it, and that was weirdly comfortable. “So what if they are? There’s nothing you can do about it, and it’s nuts spending your life feeling miserable
because you think you should be doing the things you think other people are doing, just because you think that other people are doing them, whether they’re doing them or not.”

  “I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it like that before.” He turned his head and so did Kit, and suddenly he realised how close they were. They stayed like that. “I really like talking to you,” he blurted.

  A little tinge of pink crept over Kit’s cheeks. “I really like being with you.”

  They angled their heads, nudging and edging at the distance between them. Drew’s attention wavered from Kit’s eyes—paler in the fading light—to his mouth, and then back again.

  “Um,” said Kit, his breath fanning soft and warm and faintly strawberry-scented over Drew’s lips, “I really hope you’re about to kiss me.”

  “Good.” And he did.

  There was a brief moment in which all Drew could think was kissing a boy, but then that went away, and it was just kissing, and then kissing Kit.

  Who seemed to like it too.

  Drew had that nervous am I doing this right feeling he sometimes got with girls, but then he half opened an eye and saw Kit’s hand was waving about between them like he didn’t know what to do with it. He caught it, and their fingers got all muddled, and so they were both sort of holding each other. And Drew stopped worrying, and instead let himself disappear into Kit, and the idea that he was the first person ever to do this with him. To learn the shape of his lips, and the way his mouth tasted, and feel the tickle of his hair and the slight roughness of his jaw.

  And that made him worry again. Because you didn’t want to mess up something like that.

  Then Kit made this sound, shocked and happy and slightly muffled. Which made Drew feel kind of awesome, and next thing he knew, he was pushing Kit down into the grass, and Kit was going with it, and they were tangled together in all the ways.

  Still kissing.

  Kit was warm under him, sharp in places, not in others, hip bones grazing Drew’s, lean runner’s legs holding him tight. There was something reassuring—and, honestly, kind of hot—about that strength. About the unexpected ways they fit. And how natural it felt.