A Breath of Innocence

by K. A. Merikan

  Mark should resent him for it, but he couldn’t. He wanted a piece of that life too. He wanted his days to be sweet, delicious, and topped with whipped cream.

  They walked past a fenced-off green area between the somber facades of Georgian buildings, talking about silly nothings, because Mark didn’t want to push when Griff was still very clearly nervous about being out with him, constantly exhaling in exasperation or laughing way harder than Mark’s jokes warranted.

  But instead of feeling awkward, Mark simply enjoyed himself, watching Griffith scrunch his nose in that cute way that made him look a bit like a chipmunk. If it were anyone else, Mark might have put his arm around his shoulders, but he refrained from doing so since Griffith had only come out to him and might be uncomfortable with PDA.

  Mark was surprised but also flattered when Griffith led him into The Ivy, where he’d even booked a table for them. The ceiling in the first room was twice as tall as the one in his apartment, which was already high enough to comfortably incorporate the mezzanine. As the hostess led them through the art deco interior with bright yellow and blue upholstery and a checkered pattern on the floors, it was the large spherical lamps that captured Mark’s attention. Paired up with images of sea voyage high up on the walls, they added a bit of steampunky flair to the decor. The tall windows let light flood into the main room, but the woman walked them down a couple of stairs into a much cozier interior that resembled a conservatory.

  They were sat by a floor-length window that offered a view of the greenery outside, and on a chilly day like this one, the setting offered a glimpse of the past summer. Only once the hostess was gone did Griff take off his coat, unveiling a pink button-down with a print of dachshunds in a darker shade of the same color. He offered Mark the sweetest smile and folded his hands in his lap. He seemed about to say something, but his phone beeped, and he pulled it out of his pocket with a wide smile.

  “Looks like I earned my free dessert,” he said, tapping something. When Mark frowned, Griffith cleared his throat and explained, “It’s Flawr, an app that logs your visits at various public places and businesses. You can get rewards if you frequent them, and your friends can see where you’ve been. It’s really cool.”

  “I need to get that. What’s your user name?” Just a tiny bit of light stalking never hurt anyone.

  Once they exchanged the details, Griffith stilled all of a sudden, staring at Mark, his whole posture stiff.

  “So... this is nice,” he said in the end. “Not too many guests. I think we might have gotten here in this odd time between breakfast and lunch. I mean, I love brunch just as much as anyone, but you can’t always drink in the middle of the day, am I right? Do you like breakfast cocktails?”

  “You mean like, vodka in my porridge?” Mark laughed and shook his head, still amazed that here he was, in the United Kingdom, at a fancy restaurant, with a handsome guy, and he didn’t even have to look at the prices to know he could afford to dine here.

  Griffith chuckled and gently nudged Mark’s leg under the table. “No. Like a Mimosa. Or a Bloody Mary.”

  That description reminded Mark of Seth’s drinking habits. “Nah. I like to stay sharp. Like your shirt.”

  Griffith blinked and looked down at the slim-fitting garment. His face lit up like a lantern. “You do? This is the first time I decided to wear it. It’s a bit... flashy, so I haven’t so far, even though I like it. Do you think like this sometimes?” Before Mark could answer, Griffith did it for him. “Of course you don’t. You always do your own thing, don’t you? It must be amazing.”

  "It's Sunday. Live a little. I'm more of a melt-into-crowd kind of guy, although it’s not easy with this on my face.” He pointed to the eyepatch, the bane of his existence. But between looking like a pirate and showing what was underneath the eyepatch, he’d always choose the former. “If you like the shirt, you should wear it. It suits you.”

  Griffith leaned forward, as if he feared the two ladies brunching at the table next to theirs were eavesdropping. “I’m not sure what image I want to project. I’m going to be a lawyer, and I need to be taken seriously.”

  “Will you be wearing one of those wigs in the future?” Mark picked up the coffee cup as soon as the uniformed waiter put it in front of him. He could have this kind of life. Why not? Hadn’t he earned it with tears, sweat, and hard work? Dom and Seth were basically restaurant junkies in Buenos Aires and kept bragging about considering their outings ‘business expenses’, since Seth would always leave with recipe inspirations.

  Griffith rolled his eyes. “Oh, those. They look so dumb. They’re really worn more like hats, I guess, because you can see people’s own hair just sticking out.”

  “You could make it work.” Mark bit his lips not to laugh at the vision of Griffith dancing in one of the long gray wigs.

  Griffith smirked. “You make it sound like I could make anything work,” he said but kept his gaze on the menu.

  “Maybe that’s what I mean.” Mark nudged him with his foot under the table.

  Making such playful gestures without any threats looming in the background felt alien to Mark after years in El Encanto. Back then, he would start those kinds of interactions with one objective—get people out of their pants quickly and efficiently. Rinse and repeat. But Griff was sweet, innocent, and a little bit silly, and Mark wouldn’t use any dirty tricks.

  Griffith cleared his throat and glanced at him, his eyes two icy blue pools above the menu. His eyelashes were so pale the bright light coming through the windows shone right through them, revealing him as an ethereal being from a different world altogether. “So... you told me you say those kinds of things to both men and women...”

  “I only recall saying them to you.”

  Griffith moaned. “You know what I mean.”

  They needed to halt their conversation when the waiter came over to ask about their orders, but once he was gone, Griffith cast a shy glance Mark’s way, drawing patterns on the table with the tip of his index finger.

  If it was up to Mark, he’d gladly have Griff as takeout.

  “I know, I know. Is that a problem?”

  Griffith shrugged and rubbed his arm. “No. I mean... I don’t want it to be.” But the question communicated by his gaze was clearly ‘will it’?

  Mark wished they’d asked for a booth instead, so that they could sit that bit closer and assure one another with touch. “I’m trying to understand the question. Are you afraid I’m not gay enough? Or are you wondering if I’m more into women?”

  “The second one.” Griffith chewed on his lip and leaned back, going quiet again when the waiter put down their drinks.

  “I don’t know. I go through these phases sometimes. But I like who I like. And to be fair, I have more experience with men. They’re usually much easier.” He smiled but regretted saying that as soon as it came out. Would Griffith be disgusted if he knew just how big of a slut Mark used to be? Was it bad to mention that he’d slept around with ‘easy’ men?

  Griffith blinked, and then leaned over the pot of tea, as if he had an insistent urge to smell his Earl Grey. “So... say you are with someone for a while, and then you go into another of those phases? What happens then?”

  Mark had never been with anyone long enough to experience anything like that, but he knew his feelings nevertheless. “If I choose someone, I’m with them. It’s not a question of their gender. If I’m invested, I wouldn’t run off with someone else because I happen to have a craving for pussy. The same way someone shouldn’t run off just because they think another person might give better head or something, right? People aren’t a build-your-own-adventure.”

  Griffith grabbed the glass of complimentary water and chugged it, getting so flushed his face was the color of his shirt. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.”

  Mark swallowed and focused on his coffee. Was he being rude? Was he too frank? Was his language too vulgar? “No, it’s okay. I’m an open book. Maybe a bit too open.” He was a book wit
h secret compartments for guns—that’s what he was.

  Griffith took a deep breath, holding on to the empty glass with both hands. “I just... I never talked about all this to anyone. Tell me if I’m prying. I don’t want to be rude.”

  Griff was a virgin. It was so painfully obvious Mark didn’t even care to ask. He exhaled.

  “You want to know. That’s fine. We all have to start somewhere, right?”

  Griffith’s shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back into the bright yellow seat. “Where did you start?

  Mark should have expected this question. He’d dug the hole himself. Mark was grateful their order came so fast, because when the waiter approached, he was offered a few more seconds to think through his answer. The meal was fruit and whipped cream galore, and Mark’s plate even included a tiny pot of dulce de leche.

  His fifteen-year-old self would have laughed at Mark knowing what dulce de leche was.

  “I was an early bloomer,” he said in the end, but his mind raced. The story of his first time wasn’t an option. He was a vase that had been shattered to pieces and then hastily put together. To the untrained eye, he now resembled a fancy work of art, and no one would be able to tell that he was trash unless they looked really closely.

  Griffith poured them both some tea, as if he needed to pretend that the form of this lunch was equally important as conversation. “Oh. I bet your dads gave you way more freedom than my parents.”

  “You could say that. I worked with them from a very young age, so I guess I had to grow up quickly. How about you?”

  Griffith sighed and cut a piece of his waffle. “It used to be pretty normal. I went to this fantastic boarding school. I had lots of friends, and we spent so much time together. But then everything changed because of my older sister. She was the black sheep of the family, but honestly, now I think she was just seventeen and a bit dumb, always talking about guys, going to clubs with a fake ID, and all that jazz. Dad could never say no to her when she begged.”

  Mark nodded slowly and stuffed his mouth with the waffle. It was so fluffy yet crispy that for a moment he could forget about Charlotte and think of only cream and banana. But that only lasted for so long. He thought back to the unbearably tense time while she was his captive. He imagined Griffith in her place, pulled out of the life he led here, drugged, kidnapped and taken to a place that to him would have seemed like another planet, populated by creatures that only resembled humans in their form.

  But Griffith had no idea what was going on in Mark’s head and went on. “Long story short, she suddenly vanished. I was out with her, at thirteen, in this strange city, and she left. Disappeared for weeks. Our parents were certain she’d been kidnapped for ransom, but no one ever contacted us. In the end, it turned out she met some guy she fancied and just went off with him for some crazy love affair that didn’t even last two months.”

  “Oh. What did she say about the guy?” Mark’s head was about to explode. Did he even want to hear this?

  Griffith shrugged, eating his waffle. “That he was this hot bad boy, but she left him when he cheated on her, and that was that. In any case, nothing has ever been the same after that. Dad pulled me out of school, because Mum was scared for me, and I was homeschooled since then. I didn’t have it easy making new friends, and my former school was far away,” Griffith said.

  At least now Mark knew for certain that Charlotte had kept quiet about what had really happened in Colombia. It was for the better in terms of her safety, even if the burden must have been hard to carry. Mark’s load was heavier anyway.

  “So now that you’ve been let out of the cage, you can fly freely?” Mark poked Griff’s hand with his fork.

  A mischievous smile brightened Griffith’s face, and he tapped Mark back. “Trying to spread my wings. It’s a process.”

  “I’m more than happy to help if you wanted to go to a gay club, needed a wingman? But I can’t promise I won’t be there just to thwart your plans and snatch you for myself.”

  Griffith froze for a moment, but then chewed on the waffle and finally looked up, watching Mark with that brilliantly blue gaze. “Um... thank you. I think I want to get used to... being gay first before I go to a club.”

  Mark had to pretend he didn’t hold his breath for a bit too long. He’d worried Griff was about to say he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Mark could only push a skittish fawn so far.

  “Absolutely. Take your time. These waffles are the best ones I’ve ever had.” A little white lie, because Seth made the best waffles. These on the other hand were a strong second place.

  The conversation only went better from there after they’d gotten rid of Griffith’s insecurities and talked more frankly about school, the people they met, and their new lives in Bristol. When at ease, Griffith was sweet and charming, always eager to throw a double entendre Mark’s way, as if just to tease him. His fingers were those of a musician—long and slender, pink at the joints. If Mark could, he’d have kissed them every single day. But when they finished their second pot of tea and shared chocolate truffles for dessert, it was time to go.

  Griff was so lovely when blushing that Mark ended up teasing Griff about the bill, but they split it in the end. On the way back to their building, Griffith kept stealing glances at Mark and each one was a ball of fuzzy warm feelings pooling in his stomach. He still remembered how those pink lips trembled when they’d kissed. No matter how much Mark tried, it was hard not to imagine Griff’s face reddening with excitement or the little whimpers he’d make when fucked. Because Mark was pretty sure that at least at first, Griff would be a lip-biter, embarrassed of the exact sounds Mark wanted to hear.

  When they reached the stairs, where they would have to part, Griff was eager to keep conversing as if he didn’t want to let go of his date just yet.

  “We should definitely go. My treat if you drive us there. Just imagine seeing this kind of performance in a real palace garden. Ballerinas dancing between the trees, artificial snow, old-timey fireworks... it’s going to be fantastic!”

  “You could be my prince on a white horse if you took Percival.” Mark laughed and poked Griff’s hand, but ended up hooking their pinkies.

  Griffith looked down at their hands, but instead of letting go, he pulled on Mark, as if this were a contest. Mark wouldn’t let this chance go to waste. The setting was perfect. Private, with no one around, with their mouths still sweet from waffles.

  He let Griff pull him in and gently kissed the soft lips that he craved more than even Seth’s baking. His heart skipped a beat, and it was as if this time it was him coming alive, awaking to a possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of this beautiful boy.

  The sharp intake of air that accompanied Griffith’s whimper tickled his tongue. The sweet, warm lips opened, letting him in. A low electric current streamed between their mouths when Griffith kissed him back, letting Mark push him against the wall.

  A tropical storm raged inside Mark. He pushed his hand between the folds of Griffith’s coat and ran it up his chest, briefly feeling the collarbone before taking hold of that perfect jaw. It was then that Griffith suddenly turned his face away, gasping as if he were only now coming up for air.

  “That’s... we shouldn’t be rushing things.”

  Mark licked his lips and stepped back, breathing that bit harder. The flush he so craved to see painted Griff’s cheeks a rosy color, and apart from adoring every single white-blond hair on Griff’s head, Mark was now positive it would be impossible to keep his thoughts PG.

  He’d been too busy caring for Griff and cleaning his vomit yesterday to ogle him, but the image of Griff spread out on his bed in just a pair of patterned briefs now came back at full force, as if to push him.

  “Sure, feel free to stop me whenever. It’s a… challenge to control myself around you.”

  He couldn’t take his gaze off the blue eyes which, while tense, seemed so full of trust and innocence Griff could compete with a puppy.

  Griffith bl
ushed so prettily Mark couldn’t wait to capture it on film. “Okay, if you insist.”

  Mark chuckled and pushed his hands in his pockets, because the risk of putting them on Griffith instead was too great. “I asked if I could photograph you dancing, and it is Sunday, my regular matinée time. Or are you too tired?”

  It was as if this was the question Griffith had been waiting for all along. “No, I’m still on a sugar high from those waffles. And it’s been over an hour since I finished eating, so the timing’s perfect,” he said, animated like a kid about to enter a giant toy store.

  “Let me go grab my kit then. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” Mark smiled widely, already excited about seeing Griffith dance from up close, not from a balcony.

  And who knew, if the timing was right, if Griff felt comfortable, maybe Mark would get to indulge his camera in shots of a more risqué nature?

  Chapter 12 - Griffith

  Griffith burst into his flat with the heat of Mark’s kiss still a lingering presence on his lips. He could barely breathe, but when he called out Nisha’s name, it came out loud and clear. When it got him no answer, his feet carried him to the kitchen where on the refrigerator he found a curt note. Nisha was out on a spontaneous date. Good for her.

  For him... Griff wasn’t sure if this was so good, since now there would be no one to chaperone him and Mark. No one at all.

  Cogs screeched when they fell into the correct place in his brain, and just as fast as he’d run upstairs, he now rushed into the bathroom for the quickest shower in human history. The water was cold at first, but there was no time to waste, so Griffith grabbed the liquid soap and proceeded to clean himself while his body shivered and teeth clattered in the icy stream cascading down his back.

  He was technically clean, and it wasn’t like he’d excessively sweated during lunch, but if Mark was to take photos, maybe he’d like to come close, or position Griffith’s body into angles that worked better for pictures. And if by any chance Griffith were sweatier than he’d thought, it would be an embarrassing experience for them both. Also, since it was just the two of them, who knew—maybe they would kiss again. Maybe they would hold hands and sit close to one another on the sofa? Maybe Mark would like to stay and watch a movie together, since he didn’t seem to have any plans for the rest of the day.