by Laura Stone
Seth smiled at Oliver, giving his hand another quick squeeze before pulling it back and resting it in his lap. Oliver watched him pull his hand away and wanted briefly to clutch it back and keep it where it had once belonged: in his.
“Well,” Oliver said, trying to buy himself a little time to gain control. He didn’t want to seem a pitiful, needy twit. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to be the, ha, plus-plus one.”
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. In for a penny… “Seth—it’s so great to see you. And it’s amazing to see you onstage. It’s where you should be.”
Seth blushed, smiling bashfully. It gave Oliver quite a thrill to bring on that reaction after all this time.
“So, how are you doing with all of this?” he asked Seth. “The schedule alone has to be brutal.”
Seth cleared his throat and leaned back, still a little pink-cheeked, but looking far more comfortable with the direction their conversation was headed. “It’s a lot. I was used to it in a way, working as an understudy, but it’s not the same. Yesterday we had the two performances, and we’ll do it again on Saturday, so those are the days when I get just worn out.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Seth. I didn’t even think of that. Here,” Oliver pushed his chair back, feeling like a heel. “I can go. You probably need your rest; you don’t need me keeping you—”
“Oliver,” Seth laughed. “If I wanted to go, I’d go. Actually…” Seth stood up then and looked around the room. The crowd was smaller—Oliver hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going; he only had eyes for the man across from him—and each little group was deeply involved in its own conversation. Oliver noticed Emily and Gus sitting at a table alone and felt a surge of guilt for having left them all this time.
Oliver got to his feet quickly. “You want to go, I completely understand. I can only imagine how exhausted you must be.”
Seth smiled at him, his arms folded in front of himself. “What if you get your coat, and we see if Gus and Emily want to head somewhere quieter so we could all talk? Would that be that weird?”
“No! No, not at all.”
That would be perfect, actually.
Oliver took a deep breath and tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing. Seth wanted to go somewhere and talk. They were going to talk and maybe make things okay again. Well, maybe not perfectly okay, but this was definitely a start.
“Coat. Right.” Oliver dug in his pockets until he found his ticket. He made quick work of getting his things and met Seth at Gus’s table. Gus looked up at Oliver and raised one eyebrow a fraction; everything fine?
Oliver gave Gus’s shoulder a quick squeeze. He said, “So! Somewhere else, where we don’t have to fight to hear each other?”
Emily pulled her coat on and said, “The bar at our hotel has nice, cozy booths. We could go back there?”
Seth held her cashmere scarf and her purse while she buttoned her coat. “Love the Kate Spade bag. And that’s fine with me if… ?”
No one seemed to object, so they all moved to the door and the narrow staircase. Then Oliver realized something. He turned to Seth and asked, “Are you sure that you don’t need to say goodbye to them? Um, to Brandt?” He didn’t know what was going on there, but he didn’t want to seem exclusionary or possessive. Just in case Seth had fibbed to spare his feelings.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll see them all tomorrow. We all see plenty of each other, trust me.”
Seth sounded sure, so Oliver took it at face value; he could think about the emphasis on plenty later. He certainly didn’t want to argue with Seth about spending time together. He hadn’t let himself imagine that anything might happen on this trip; the hope of falling back into a relationship would be too painful for him when it inevitably didn’t happen.
But. It seemed as though it was happening. Something was, at least.
* * *
“One day I’ll be important enough to convince the house of Valentino to design a fabulous pair of sensible work shoes so the horror that is the Croc ‘shoe’”—Seth made finger quotes—“can be banished from human history.”
“They are unbelievably comfortable on hard hospital floors, even if they’re unattractive,” Emily said, laughing.
“Emily?” Seth took her hand in both of his. “And I mean this with all sincerity. They are a blight on mankind.”
Gus sat back, a beer in his hands, and gave Seth a small smile—his version of being very amused—and leaned over to kiss Emily on the cheek.
Oliver was sitting back against the padded, curved banquette in the hotel bar, soaking up the conversation. It was easier for him to listen and let the others carry the weight while he reacquainted himself with grown-up-Seth.
There wasn’t a huge difference—it was little things. He was looser-limbed, as if he were far more comfortable in his own skin than he had been back in Kansas. That made sense. He was still funny, still quick and sharp. He was maybe a hair taller, almost as tall as Oliver now. His shoulders were definitely a bit broader, his chest deeper. He was… more. Handsomer, cleverer, more talented. But in some ways he was, well, less. He was less nervous, less stiff, less cautious. Oliver assumed that living in a city where he was now not only tolerated, but celebrated, had a lot to do with that. Gone were the days of looking over his shoulder in fear while trying to keep his eyes on the future.
“The future is now,” Oliver muttered to himself.
“Hmm?” Seth asked, turning his bright smile toward Oliver; it warmed Oliver’s whole being, that happy, relaxed smile. He never thought he’d be in its glow again, and yet here he was.
“Oh, nothing,” he hummed.
Emily and Gus had a silent conversation of significant looks during all of this; Gus took a last pull from his bottle, set it down carefully and said, “Well, gentlemen, the hour grows small. Emily and I are going to turn in, I believe.”
“Oh, but it’s only just after midnight!” Oliver said, his heartbeat picking up. It was what he wanted, to have Seth to himself, to talk openly and repair the damage done all of those years ago, but now that he was confronted with the possibility, he found that he was terrified.
The couple waved and walked away, hand in hand, to the bank of elevators opposite the bar’s entrance. Oliver was fairly certain that everyone within a five-mile radius could hear his heart pounding. He and Seth looked at each other; Oliver quickly dropped his gaze, smiling. Seth looked a little nervous, too; he had that lovely tinge of pink high on his cheeks and started to fidget with the cocktail napkin on the table.
It was oddly comforting to Oliver, the old familiar gesture. Plus, if Seth was nervous, then he didn’t feel blasé about their meeting again. Which meant that this meant something. What that something was, had yet to be determined.
“Would you like another drink?” Oliver asked, pointing to Seth’s nearly empty glass and buying himself a little time. Seth sighed, visibly relaxing as he exhaled.
“Yes, thank you.”
He could do this. He could be relaxed with Seth, who seemed happy to be with him. Somewhat nervous, too, but that was to be expected. And Seth was the one who offered to go somewhere where they could talk. That was definitely promising. Oliver needed to chill the hell out and stop worrying so much. Maybe Seth was even a little excited to be here with him, since he was the one who wanted to spend some time together. Huh.
Oliver hopped up and tried to play it cool as he walked over to the bar. He became oddly aware of his body; was he moving stiffly? He realized that he had really tight-fitting trousers on and worried that it might look as if he was trying to show off or something. But that was ridiculous; Seth wouldn’t think that, wasn’t thinking about Oliver in any lascivious way.
It was just that he was pretty sure Seth was watching him—as if the force of Seth’s gaze was heating his skin.
He could do this. Be nonchalant. Relaxed. Use a little of the ol’ heel-toe and not think about the unlikely prospect of Seth checking him out. Even if it did seem like the old days
, before they’d become sexually active, when he could feel Seth watching him, trying to pick up cues for how they could behave. And maybe, back then, Oliver had purposefully done things to try to bring that particular topic to the table. Like maybe playing sexy music while maintaining a casual expression in their dorm rooms. Like pretending it was no big deal that Seth was laying on his bed—on his bed—watching him.
Jesus, why was he wearing such fitted pants? And why was he thinking about the past? The painful past, he reminded himself. The one in which he’d shattered their dreams for the future. Well, that thought worked to bring his mind out of memories he didn’t need to revisit tonight. He could calmly bring drinks back to the secluded table where Seth was waiting.
And he wasn’t here to flirt; he was here to make amends and regain a friendship. An important friendship. The most important of his life. One that had also featured kissing.
Nope, no, he wasn’t going to set himself up for hope and want because as soon as he did that, Seth would say that he’d been waiting for years to tell Oliver just what he thought of him, tell him off and then leave him shattered, in pieces. So. No more thinking about his past relationship with Seth in any sort of sexual context.
It was just… Seth was sitting there right in front of him, being handsome and debonair and so very him that it was hard to remember how much time had passed.
Oliver carried back their drinks, trying to look around the room and not blatantly stare back. Because he had seen as he turned around that Seth was staring at him. God, he hoped his sweaty palms didn’t cause the drinks to slide out of his hands and crash to the floor before he could get to the table.
“So!” Oliver said, forcing a bright, totally-not-thinking-about-how-hot-you-look-when-you-come smile on his face.
“So,” Seth replied, tilting his head to the side as if Oliver were some amusing new creature he just discovered. “So… tell me what you’re studying all the way over in England?”
“Bullying.”
Seth looked taken aback. “Bullying? You’re studying bullying,” he said in a deadpan voice.
Oliver laughed nervously. “Well, yeah. That’s obviously an over-simplification—”
“Oh, yes, obviously,” Seth laughed.
“But that’s what it breaks down to. I’m trying to figure out why people… hate us.”
If Seth had looked shocked before, it was nothing to the gobsmacked expression on his face now.
“So, remember how I started that petition my senior year?” Oliver asked, nervous about treading dangerous waters. Seth nodded. He cleared his throat. “My first year at college, I sat in on a lecture about LGBT kids and bullying and how societal norms condition that response. It all just clicked. How much I hated how you were treated back in those days.” He chanced a look at Seth’s face to gauge his reaction. Seth still looked bewildered, so he powered on. “I knew what it was like, too; you knew about my troubles.”
“Troubles,” Seth murmured. “They were more than that, Oliver.” He looked as though he was beginning to pull himself together. Oliver couldn’t tell if he was fascinated or disappointed.
“I… people listen to me. I don’t mean to sound full of myself, you know better than anyone that that’s not true. I thought that if I could learn why people behave like they do, I could, well, help them not. Because—”
“Because they listen to you,” Seth finished. He blinked rapidly for a moment, took a long sip from his cocktail and exhaled slowly. His face was still remote, but there was something burning in his gaze. Oliver didn’t know how to interpret it just yet.
“And? Have you figured out why they act that way?” Seth asked.
Oliver gave a small smile. “Well… because they’re assholes?”
Seth barked a shocked laugh, apparently caught off guard. They both laughed for a moment. Seth smiled at him—a real smile, not a polite small talk smile. He said, “Your parents sure spent a lot of money on an education for you to find that out. I could have saved them tens of thousands; I’ve known that for years.”
He hummed happily and sipped his drink. Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off of him. It was surreal; here he was with the boy he’d loved, now a man who was still so much like old Seth, but… better.
“So are you looking for a specific therapy for bullies? Or a magic pill? Tolerance pills—I like that.”
Oliver laughed. “No pills. Right now I’m studying how people in peer groups behave when confronted with their own prejudices. It’s pretty interesting, actually.” He sat back, feeling happy and a little proud; he loved what he and Moira were working on. “Oh, my partner is just dying to—”
“You have a partner?” Seth asked lightly, even as he started to close himself off with his arms crossed tightly.
“Oh, yes. My research partner, Moira?” Oliver said. “She’s Irish. You’d like her; she’s spunky. Tells it like it is. Sometimes I think she’s the illegitimate love child of John Waters and Kathy Lee Griffin, even though that’s impossible.”
“That sounds dangerous, honestly.” Chuckling, Seth relaxed his arms’ tight hold on himself. He reached forward, wrapped his long fingers around his drink and toyed with it.
“She’s sweet, though,” Oliver said. “Really sharp girl; I couldn’t do this without her.”
Seth regarded him for a moment with that faint smile still on his face, as if he was remembering something that had made him happy. “Is it hard?” he asked, quietly.
Oliver considered the answer before speaking. “Yeah, but—yes. It’s hard, but it’s challenging. I like it. I mean,” he leaned his weight onto his forearms at the table’s edge, “don’t get me wrong, I never sleep, and I perpetually feel like I’m a week behind; I never have any free time and sometimes I just want to yell at people for being so stubborn. But… I really like it. I feel like I’m doing something that can be useful.”
Instead of appearing focused on something far away, Seth’s smile warmed as Oliver spoke and his bright eyes stayed solely on Oliver. It was as if Oliver were pulling him into what was now, what could be now: the two of them enjoying each other’s company, supporting one another. The way it used to be, but it could be so much better. They were older, smarter, more aware of themselves. Oliver was, at least; he thought that Seth was, too.
Seth said, “I’m glad. You sound like you love it.” He rested his chin on his hand and leaned toward Oliver at their small table. It was only a few inches, but it seemed to Oliver as though he’d moved a huge distance. He said softly, “I’m really happy that it’s fulfilling you, Oliver.”
“I think it is. I like the mental exercise it offers, for sure. It can be incredibly frustrating at times, dealing with prejudices and unable to say anything; makes me feel like I’m thirteen again.”
“Ugh, that would be awful. It helps that I am, obviously, free of any and all prejudices. I hate everyone equally,” Seth said with a grin.
Oliver felt warm all over; every nerve was standing on end in the best way. He was more aware of everything around him, the air, the sounds, the feel of his clothes on his skin, even. He was sitting and talking with someone who had always made him feel better, had always been there for him. They’d been each other’s rock, their comfort, and in so many ways, Seth had been Oliver’s inspiration.
Oliver felt as if his body couldn’t contain all of the joy that was building inside of him, as if it radiated from his skin, his gratitude for this moment, this conversation, this man.
“I really missed you.” Oliver sighed, and immediately went still. He said quickly, to cover his embarrassment, “You know, how funny you are.”
“They don’t have funny people in England?” Seth leaned forward against the table, his eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me that public broadcasting has been lying to me all along?”
Oliver exhaled, unable to wipe the happy grin off his face. “Well, I think we can both agree that there’s no one quite like you anywhere.”
“True, true,” Seth pree
ned. He laughed a little, as if self-conscious, and shifted in his seat.
A huge weight was beginning to lift from Oliver; this could work. They could laugh and joke and enjoy each other’s company as they had in the past. He could do this.
Seth tried to hide a yawn.
“What are we doing? Seth, you need to get some sleep, I’m so sorry.” Oliver braced his hands on the table and prepared to push back and get to his feet.
“No, it’s fine!” Seth leaned forward, and folded his arms on the table. “So. Cambridge is filled with the humorless; please tell me you at least dress for dinner. If I find out it’s anything less than Merchant and Ivory described, I’ll be heartbroken.”
Oliver laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Then I won’t say another word. I’d hate to crush your spirit by telling you how rare brocade waistcoats are on campus. At least in my department, people dress for work. It’s not like at Brandeis, where everyone rolled out of bed and showed up to class.”
Oliver mentally cursed himself for bringing up his undergraduate school, the cause of their breakup. Seth seemed to take it in stride, even if he pulled back slightly. Oliver didn’t think it was a conscious act on his part; Seth just shifted in his seat, sat straighter in his “protect myself for what comes next” posture.
“I can’t imagine you going to class in flannel pants, Oliver, I just can’t.” Seth shook his head, amused.
Oliver was grateful that he didn’t look angry or upset. Just relax. Don’t make problems where there aren’t any. He said, “Well, that’s good, because I didn’t. I’m still an Andrews with an image to uphold, after all.”
Seth’s eyes flicked to Oliver’s neck and then back to meet his eyes. His gaze was warmer, more intimate. “Still dashing as always, I see. I never did send your mother a thank you note for teaching you how to pull together an outfit,” he said, grinning. “I was shocked by the lack of real knowledge about ties in the theater. Shocked. Don’t even get me started on the fabrics; these boys buy poly blend.”
