“Sorry,” Darren said, “but it’s just so easy.”
“You’re awful.”
“Mm.”
Jayden dared to slide a hand over onto Darren’s leg, resting it just above his knee as the band returned to their instruments and began to mess around with a couple of chords, warming back up. The denim was warm; the way that Darren simply let him, without comment or even a look, was calming, and as the music started back up, Jayden found himself rubbing circles into the worn cloth with his thumb, and wondering if Darren’s skin was the same kind of rubbed-down smooth as his jeans.
* * * *
They left at ten. Milzani’s was on the south side of the town centre, nearer to the housing estates than the pubs and clubs, and as they passed the empty bus stops, Jayden dared to slide his arm into the crook of Darren’s elbow and squeeze.
“Thank you,” he said. “They were pretty good, actually.”
“Surprisingly,” Darren said. “I usually avoid the live mike nights like the plague.”