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Three a.m. was invented for overthinkers, creative types, the depressed, and alcoholics.
Long-term covert studies of four women—my mother, two sisters, and Léa—had cemented my belief that homosexuality was much simpler.
His silver had sat comfortably next to my own familiar forest green, untroubled for once, flat as a mill pond.
“She passed away nine months, one week and four days ago. Suicide. I was an only child and my father died young, so we were very close. That French teen, the boy with his mum, listening to your talk. They reminded me of how close I was with her. And I… I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. And then choked. A painful sound I could hold back no longer. “For finding me.” “Shh, mon chéri. You were missing. Of course I would find you.”
Nico’s family had farmed oysters since a crazed, starving fool had first prized open a shell and decided the piece of soggy snot floating inside might be edible.
I love you, I mouthed against the narrow column of his neck. I wanted a chance to love you even more.
I wanted to feel everything with him. The love of course, and the fun sexy times. Putain, I wanted plenty of those. But I wanted the pain, too. The days when his skies clouded over, and his oceans turned grey and choppy. When his canvases were filled with ugly jagged lines or ripped to shreds before the paint had even dried. When he needed someone to hold him in their arms ready to catch his fall. I wanted to be there for all of that too.
Oh, fucking merde, he hadn’t even needed to say hello when I opened the door. He had me the moment I heard that sweet sound filling my ordinary little kitchen.
“Hi,” I said. “Nice to meet you. I’m silver.” A sweet chuckle escaped his throat. “Hi, silver. I’m green. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.”
“Ssshh,” he soothed. “Come to bed, Charles. Let me take you to bed and love you and kiss you and stroke you. Let me love the colours out of you. Until there’s only us. Until only silver and green remain.”
“Charles,” he began. “I’ve told you I love you, like a million times in the past half hour. And you’re asking me if we’re exclusive? I’m not planning on doing this with anyone else, like, ever.”
“What colours do you see now, Charles?” As his whispered words ghosted across my cheek, the bare blank canvas rippled, as if his breath blew life into it. Bit by bit, like a shy new dawn peeking over the horizon, a lush emerald-green, hung with hundreds and thousands of brilliant silvery stars unfurled. Until none of the white was left. “I see us, my love. Only us. And we’re beautiful.”
