As the film tumbled toward its tumultuous end, a thread of punk rock clashed with midwinter bells. Justin hunted for his phone, moved a pizza-box, ducked under the blanket. “Aha. Found you.”
“An unsuccessful escape?”
“At least I can summon it back when it runs away…it’s how I always find your phone…oh.”
“Oh?”
“Um.” Justin peered at the screen, peeked up at Kris. Even his hair seemed flatter. Less vivid. “David. Apparently he sent me three messages already.”
Kris had managed to thoroughly forget the existence of Justin’s boyfriend. From his expression, so hadJustin.
“He’s never happy when I don’t answer…how is it already so late…Kris, I’m sorry, I should go…”
“Did you have a date, then?” Daggers to his heart. Twisting. Carving out bits and leaving him airless, trying to learn how to speak around a stab-wound.
But, he thought, Justin had chosen to stay with him. Even if there’d been a date.