Domenico’s voice brought him back to reality. “Are you listening to me, Mark? Stop being such a heretic. Go to church and pray to St. Anthony of Padua. He might help you find what you’re looking for.”
Mark couldn’t even bear looking at them anymore, so he stared at the ceiling instead. “I’m not looking for anything anymore.”
Seth snorted. “Whoa! Mark, why so dramatic?”
Mark hesitated with the answer, opening and closing his mouth, but Dom’s inquisitive gaze finally pushed him over the edge. “It’s sucks, okay? Some of the classes are hard, and I’m all alone here, I have to go out for good coffee, I miss your cooking, and no one gets me. Some days I wish I could just punch people, but I can’t.”
Domenico and Seth stared at him in relative silence for so long Mark couldn’t help but feel like it was a form of judgment. A mute ‘I told you so’. But in the end, Domenico exhaled and placed the phone somewhere that provided a view on what looked like a professional photography set, with lots of lamps and a table piled with vegetables on a white background.
“Look, Mark. If we could, we would come and visit, but you know that’s not possible.”
“I… I think I wanna come back,” he said quietly and only then it hit him just how much he missed being around them. He was embarrassed over the childishness of that admission, but on the other hand, Domenico and Seth were not only his de facto parents. They were also his best friends. There was an age gap between them, but it wasn’t all that massive.
“Oh, Mark…” Seth sat down and watched him as if he could peer into Mark’s soul. “Are you sure? Is the photography course not fun? Are you not meeting any cool people? Or is this a birthday meltdown? I know it’s tough, but friends aren’t made overnight.”
Mark drank more of the nasty coffee. “It’s okay, I guess. But the people I meet, their lives are so different from mine. I don’t even know anymore.”
Domenico looked contemplative, staring at the table while gently scratching Seth’s back. “You know this is something that’s not going to disappear. Whether you learn to deal with... the isolation that can come from being the kind of man you are in the UK, in Argentina, or in China, you will have to learn that for yourself.”
Those words only made Mark want to curl up in his mezzanine bed and never crawl out from under the covers. “Maybe I should have stayed in Colombia with Miguel, or something.” Though in truth that didn’t sound so appealing once he said it out loud. He didn’t exactly enjoy the constant danger they used to live in, but the peace and quiet here were unnerving. Nothing felt right, as if every surface was either too hard or too soft to sit on.
Domenico shook his head. “You take that back. For all we know, Miguel might be dead as a result of his revenge crusade. You are only twenty-one years old. You are smart, you have the support of your parents, and there is still so much out there for you. You just need to reach for it.”
“How did you cope then? Any handy tricks?” Mark tried to make it sound like a joke but instead of a smile, his face twisted into a grimace. “How do you move among regular people? It was different in Colombia. I knew who I was. Who am I here? A student?”
Seth sighed and leaned forward, but his fingers kept tangling in Dom’s hair. “When I moved to the USA, I decided to start fresh. I wasn’t even in the family business back then, but it still took me a while to adjust to the thought that I wasn’t being followed, or that I could go to a gay bar. Just enjoy it. Go out, Mark, have fun. You’ve earned it.”
Domenico gave a shallow nod. “You can be whoever you want to be. You don’t owe anyone your complete life story. What happened in Colombia is behind you now, and if you want, just lock that part of your life up. Stop moping around. Just put yourself out there. Distract yourself until all that stuff stops to matter.”
Mark dumped his cigarette in the half-finished coffee. “I tried to ‘put myself out there’, and the girl I like has a fiancé.”
Seth pointed at him. “That’s it? That’s why you wanna come back? Come on, Mark. Lots of fish in the sea.”
“Since when is a fiancé a problem? Stop being so emotional over women. And if you like her so much, the fiancé can be dealt with. You don’t even have to participate if you don’t want to,” Domenico said and poured himself some juice.
Mark smiled even though he knew Domenico’s idea was horrible. “You’re the worst.”
Seth laughed and tugged on Dom’s ear with his teeth. “Also, the best. He booked a photoshoot for Secret Chef today. I haven’t had carbs in two weeks, and I’ve had no water since yesterday, but check this out.” He got up and pulled up his shirt to show off his ripped abs.
Domenico grinned and put his hand on the bare stomach, rubbing it through Seth’s thick body hair. “I’m going to enjoy the afterparty at home.”
“You two are disgusting. Bye!”
Seth just laughed and not long after, they disconnected. At least the conversation lifted Mark’s spirits a bit. Maybe he should go to church after all?
He went to the kitchen and ended up opening a different pack of instant coffee to check if it was any better. But with the state of his fridge, sooner or later, he would need to get his ass dressed in more than pajama pants and go to the store. Why was dealing with stuff like this so tedious? Just last week, Seth had attempted to teach him how to make the perfect scrambled eggs, but Mark’s efforts didn’t deliver the results he wanted. In the end, the rubbery eggs ended up in the trash, along with the burnt pan.
With a new cigarette in hand and fresh coffee (which turned out only a little less disgusting than the first cup), Mark opened the balcony door and sat down on the cushion he’d left on its wooden floor last night. The fabric felt icy against skin clad only in thin pajama pants, but the fresh air and the sound of a strong beat coming from one of the neighboring apartments made Mark liven up.
He peeked out through the densely ornate ironwork balustrade only to spot that the inconsiderate music came from the open windows of Griffith’s apartment across the small courtyard. Of course. Such a privileged little shit.
In the past week, Mark had very much enjoyed teasing the guy whenever he got the chance, drinking up his delicious portion of revenge cocktail made of equal parts seeing Griff squirm, and knowing that if Mark wanted, he could pluck that flower. Mark wondered if Griff was in the closet, or actually in denial. The way his eyes glazed over at the sight of a bare male chest told Mark all he needed to know. Being the one thing the meddling rich boy salivated over but couldn’t have felt like appropriate punishment.
Without anything else to do, Mark watched the large open balcony door across the yard, frowning when something passed through the room at a high speed. Intrigued, Mark leaned in, pushing his face against the cool metal. And then he saw Griffith.
Stepping from behind the wall and into the stage framed by the balcony doors, Griffith fell forward in a controlled descent, which he broke with both hands. His back muscles bulged, way more pronounced than Mark would have expected from some pretty young thing, but then another detail made Mark’s lips open. Griffith was naked.
No. Not naked—wearing skin-tight breeches that were so close to the color of his flesh that in direct sunlight they matched his skin tone perfectly. Either way, without Griffith’s usual tailored clothing, his whole form was on show, nipples like two cherries over creamy skin when he rolled to his back.
Griff pushed himself up on one hand when the beat became heavier, sending his body into the air. In the blink of an eye, his legs made a graceful twirl that took him farther from the open balcony doors.
Mark gaped, taken by surprise but not stunned enough to remain brainless. He grabbed the binoculars he kept handy in case Charlotte came to visit and put them through a gap in the ironwork.
With a controlled twist of his scooting body, Griffith rose, his form strung as tightly as a violin. As he followed the music with sharp, controlled movements, Mark decided that he didn’t need to go to church after all, beca
use only God himself could have created such excellence, and Mark was here to worship.
Entranced, he watched the dance unfolding in front of him at breakneck speed, greedy to drink up the way the closeted, prudish boy clutched at his own body. His palms slid down the insides of his thighs, head rolled back to expose the white throat only to sharply nod when Griffith dropped to one knee, hugging himself with such desperation Mark wished he could be there with him.
Each time the wild passages took Griffith out of view, Mark moved closer to the balustrade, and his heart tuned in to the rapid speed of the music. He didn’t even need to listen to the words of the song when Griff’s dance expressed the emotion behind it with such sincerity.
When the rhythm eventually slowed down, so did Griffith’s gestures. He now walked against ice cold wind, pushed back time and time again, curling his immaculately white shoulders. Mark was at a loss over this part of Griffith. It blindsided him and left him both salivating and confused.
When dancing, Griff stood tall, his face expressive and honest, so unlike the ice prince mask he tried to put on every day. His whole body moved in precise waves, each muscle moving exactly the way Griffith wanted it to, each deep breath expanding the lean chest.
Mark hadn’t even noticed when the lively song melted into a melancholic one, and the longing it expressed was painted all over Griff’s pretty—no, beautiful—face. Laid out on the wooden floor, he moved his hips up, thighs spread, eyes closed. How had Mark missed this side of Griff? He wasn’t just some stuck up law student. There were layers there for Mark to peel.
Every motion of his body was a symphony with the bittersweet lyrics and resonated with what Mark was feeling as if Griff’s dance was the physical manifestation of the connection Mark yearned for so desperately.
Griffith curled up into the fetal position, for a moment remaining still, but when he rolled over, his firm muscles dragged him all the way up. He spun in place, one arm up, the other hugged across his body. It was like watching a completely different person.
Before Mark could breathe again, Griffith disappeared from sight, only to fly through the air with his legs forming a perfect split. A moment passed, and he was back, taking two long leaps toward the door, only to push himself up and pirouette through the air like a bird that just caught wind under its wings for the first time.
Mark’s brain chose this moment to remind him of how he’d tried to impress Griffith with a handstand. Sure, Griffith’s thirst had been painted all over his face, but it was Mark who was now truly amazed by so much more than a tight, gorgeous body barely covered by the skin-tight pants. The kind of skill Griffith was presenting meant commitment, hard work, and endless hours of practice.
Time and time again, Griffith jumped, twisted, spread his arms, and the smile that bloomed on the flushed face like an expression of relief made Mark’s heart rattle. In this moment, Griff was freedom incarnate, and Mark longed for nothing more but to slide his hands up the lean stomach, to the slender neck, and to kiss the panting mouth. He wanted to feel like that too.
As if there was nothing weighing him down.
During the long minutes of watching Griffith, he’d forgotten all the gloom he’d confessed to Domenico and Seth, and by the end of the routine he felt like he could be the one soaring across the room without worry.
Griffith’s dance was a drop of blood in the water, and there would be no turning back. Mark’s gums throbbed with the need to sink his teeth into the pale flesh.
He got up and clapped, the dumb feud of the past week completely forgotten. If he were invited—and he wouldn’t be—he would gladly take Griff on that floor and watch his body writhe so beautifully while they fucked.
Griffith only noticed the applause once the music died down, and it was as if a butterfly had once more turned into the graceless caterpillar, his movements getting stiffer by the second. He opened his mouth to speak, but when yet another track started, he shook his head and rushed out of Mark’s sight.
Mark slouched against the railing, unable to hide his disappointment while he stared at the empty window. The music went silent, leaving Mark with the vague background noise of the city and the singing birds, but before he could leave the balcony, Griffith reappeared, dressed in a huge sweater made of coarse-looking wool.
So he’d hidden his body from view. Would he also close the window without a word? Mark had no brain capacity left to do anything but stare back at this vision of a boy, who apparently had way more to offer than beauty. Mark had felt so confident when they first met, but now it was him who seemed unworthy of an audience with the prince next door. No amount of coffee could quench this new kind of thirst. At least Griff wouldn’t see that from afar.
Griffith rested his hands on the balustrade and looked Mark’s way with a neutral expression. “Will you laugh too?” he asked out of the blue. “Go on, I don’t care.”
Right. Feud.
Mark took a deep breath. Griff didn’t deserve mockery for the sake of it. “No. Even an asshole can appreciate art when he sees it.”
The snotty boy had no answer, and he stared at Mark from across the courtyard, with those delicious lips slightly open. “Oh. Good. I practice every day.”
“Where do I get my matinée tickets?” He smiled, unable to take his eye off the piece of sunshine packed into the form of a boy whose face was glowing from the recent activity.
Griffith gave a short laugh and scratched his nape. “Never. It’s just a hobby now.”
What Mark would give to slide under that oversized sweater and press his face against the sweaty skin. He couldn’t even explain what he was feeling, overwhelmed and unable to gather his thoughts.
“Will you dance at the Halloween party? Nisha invited me, but I’d hate to ruin it for you, since you detest me and all that.” He flashed a smile, desperate to get one in return more than he’d like to admit.
Griffith blinked and chewed on his lip. “Well... we are neighbors, and Nisha already invited you. What’s the harm, right?”
Griff had no idea how much harm there could be. Mark would gladly ruin him. Every time he blinked, he could still see Griff dancing under his eyelids. It was as if he’d suddenly tasted popping candy through a crack in an exterior made of liquorice.
“You should learn to say ‘no’ if you don’t want something.”
Griffith’s body twisted slightly, as if he were flirting already without meaning to. “Oh, I know how to say no. But I’m a good friend. And a considerate neighbor. You can come to the party as long as you act like a gentleman.”
Mark had some of his lukewarm coffee to cool off. “You afraid Nisha will fall prey to the big bad wolf?”
Griffith shifted his weight. “Nisha won’t be alone,” he said in the end, as if he didn’t know how to or didn’t want to continue the flirting.
Mark could just eat him up raw, crunching the long fingers, sucking on the two cherry-like nipples, and finish off with chewing on the elfin earlobes.
“How about you? Are you inviting someone?”
Griffith shrugged, but his body language was already telling Mark that his prey was about to get away. “We will see,” he said and retreated inside his apartment.
Mark took a deep breath, but his heart wouldn’t stop its relentless beat.
He had to get his shit together. The fuck was he doing ogling Charlotte’s brother as if Griff were a meringue with marsala wine cream? This lunacy needed to stop.
He went back into his apartment and picked up his phone from the counter. He hadn’t called Charlotte yet, but it was about time he found the balls to do so. If she didn’t want to talk in person, maybe he could explain over the phone.
Pacing around his empty living room, he listened to the beeping of the empty line. Each sound had him choking on air, but when something crackled, and the fist thing he heard was a soft inhale, he was grateful the wall was so close.
“Charlotte Elswood,” she said in the same melodic voice she used when she had whispe
red into his ear back in El Encanto.
“Charlotte, please don’t hang up. I need to talk to—”
The beep signalling she turned off the connection broke his heart. Was he really so despicable? So unworthy of five minutes of her time? After what they’d been through?
He quickly rubbed his eye, because he wouldn’t be crying like a baby over this kind of stupid shit. Maybe she needed more time. He could give her that. They hadn’t spoken in years, so what were a few more weeks?
And maybe if he did go to Griff’s party, she would be there?
And if she had other plans, he’d at least have some fun. Hadn’t Dom and Seth told him to enjoy himself and stop being such a complainer? There was no harm in getting to know Griffith as long as he kept his hands to himself.
Chapter 5 - Griffith
Griff shouldn’t have gotten the shirt with the dachshund print. Yet another fancy purchase that he wouldn’t dare wear in public. If only it were a cool blue, maybe even white, but baby pink? What had he been thinking?
Exhaling deeply, he glanced into the mirror with longing. He needed to stop making such unplanned purchases, even if Nisha agreed they looked good on him. Free to wear a whole rainbow of colors, and any trim she dreamt of, she didn’t fully understand that for a guy being stylish meant one thing only. Moving a step beyond what was deemed appropriate put him at risk of being stereotyped. There was no denying that Griffith liked guys, but he was not a stereotype, and he didn’t want everyone to make up their mind about his character the moment they saw him. Or worse yet—make assumptions about his sex life.
When he was still a kid, there had come a time when Mum made sure to teach him he couldn’t just wear whatever he wanted, that it was better to stay within the safety of classic combinations. Plain blue shirt and dark blue trousers? Way more acceptable than the pink dachshunds prancing all over his chest.
A Breath of Innocence Page 5
