Bryan
caught his wrist. “Please. I’m sorry. Sit down.”
“Fuck.”
Phiz pulled at the ends of his hair. He was still frowning but he sat again.
“Good
god, all we do is apologise. I was out of order. I shouldn’t have said that to
you. Not in that tone, anyway.” He didn’t mean it either: he didn’t mean to
scorn or snap at Phiz. Phiz was living proof to Bryan of all the different
people out there, and Bryan wanted to spend more time with him. But Phiz was
just very disturbing. Unsettling.
Phiz
laughed softly. “Yeah. Look at us.” They both did just that—met each other’s
eyes again.
And
suddenly Bryan knew it was more than wanting to spend time with Phiz. He wanted
him. Wantedhim. The ruffled student look. The sly/shy smile. The
tension in his body, the fidgeting, the fizz. His humour; his vibrancy;
his company. He wanted the honesty that was developing between them. The
internet had taught Bryan an amazing lot about alternative lifestyles over the