Yield Under Great Persuasion

by Alexandra Rowland

“Had to bargain with Idunet, like I said,” Tam explained breathlessly. “Told him I’d do that to you if he helped me find shelter. That was the night I slept in the abandoned cottage.” Lyford wheezed incredulously again and raised his hands in the position of prayer used to offer thanks for divine blessings and miraculous abundance. “You’re welcome,” Tam said, though Lyford had probably meant the gesture for Idunet. Lyford wheezed softly. As he lowered his hands, Tam added, “We can go again if you’d like to.” Lyford whipped his hands back up.

Tam gave him a withering look. “Welcome to doing stuff, Lyford.” “Nicolau.” “Neeeeeee-co-lau,” Tam simpered. “See? I can do it. I’m doing it, I’ve done it. Fuck off.”

Because Nicolau was the only one patient enough to fight his way past all of Tam’s thorny hedges. Because Tam wanted so badly to be loved, and Nicolau wanted so badly to love him, apparently.

He looked as small and hurt as Tam had felt at age nine with that marrow smashed on the floor. How many of Nicolau’s marrows had Tam smashed over the years?

Gods, what was this shit? Who had he become? Someone who got to sleep in, that was who. Someone who got to be cuddled(?) and kissed(???) by someone who knew damn well that Tam was awful and liked him anyway. It truly felt like there was supposed to be a catch. Like this was some kind of scam or con or trick, and any moment now, the truth would be revealed, and something important would shatter on the floor, and—

“Not a fucking word.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were looking at it.” “It’s a nice color on you,” she said. Her cheeks had gone pink. He bundled the baby onto his shoulder so he could give her mother a single warning finger. “I said not a fucking word. I’m embarrassed. I am humiliated. I do not want to be caught dead in Nicolau’s fucking brocade bullshit. Don’t tell anyone.”