9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Emil

“Um, hello?” I say, blinking at Christian, who’s standing at my door.

My door. Here. At my apartment.

“Hi!” he says brightly. “Can I come in?”

I step aside, and Christian sweeps into the room, looking around quickly before holding out a small paper bag.

“Here. I stopped by a pet store, and they said if you had a crab, it was probably a hermit crab. And that…he? she?…would like dried shrimp.”

Shocked, I peek inside the bag. “You got dried shrimp for my crab?”

Christian grins, and I finally have the wherewithal to take him in. He’s wearing maroon-colored joggers today and a sleeveless white shirt. His hair is tied half-up in a bun, and fuck . Apparently, hot is Christian’s default.

“Um, thanks,” I manage. “He does like shrimp.”

“Perfect. Can I meet the little fella?”

“Oh Lord,” I mutter. “Please, please don’t let this influence your opinion of me.”

Christian gives me a strange look. “Why would it?”

I sigh, long and low, before walking over to Arthur’s terrarium. With a flourish of my hand, I say, “Christian, meet Sir Arthurpod, His Royal Cuteness, Burrower of Sand and Creator of Dreams.”

Christian’s grin is slow. “Sir Arthurpod. Because he’s an arthropod?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

“And what was that next part? His royal…”

“Cuteness,” I fill in.

Fuck my life .

“And, uh…”

“Burrower of Sand and Creator of Dreams,” I finish quickly. “Don’t even ask. The last one was Alex.”

With an expression I’m hoping is amusement and not concern for my sanity, Christian leans down and looks inside the tank. Arthur is barely visible, blending in with the sand and rocks around him. “Hi, Sir Arthurpod. Nice to meet you.” Turning to me, he asks, “Does he like to be held?”

“No,” I say with a snort. “He’s prickly and guarded. Just like me.”

Christian’s eyebrow wings up.

“Here,” I say, grabbing the package of dried shrimp. “He’ll come out if we feed him.”

Sure enough, once I drop a bit of the shrimp into his food bowl, Arthur starts to move. Christian hums and then lets out a surprised laugh as Arthur scurries across the sand.

“Holy shit,” he says. “How freaking cute.”

“You think that’s cute?” I ask. Arthur is investigating the shrimp now, his legs moving rapidly as he picks off almost imperceptibly tiny pieces to bring to his mouth.

“I mean, yeah,” Christian says, squatting down in front of the glass. “Look at him. He’s tiny and orange and adorable, but his eyes mean business. He’d probably kick my ass given the chance. Will he always be so small?”

“Uh, no,” I answer, honestly surprised that anyone but me finds Arthur adorable. “He’s young, so he’ll get a bit bigger still.”

“How long do hermit crabs live?”

“Upwards of fifteen to twenty years in captivity if they’re cared for properly,” I tell him.

His eyes meet mine, wide. “Jesus. You could have him when you’re forty. What else does he eat?”

I sit on the floor next to Christian, watching him as he watches Arthur. “Lots of things. Meat, fruits, veggies. Shrimp is a favorite of his. And he really likes coconut and melon. Hates broccoli.”

Christian huffs a laugh.

“He needs calcium, too, for his exoskeleton,” I say.

His eyes meet mine, soft as he blinks at me. “Does he prefer to be alone?”

I get the feeling he’s asking about more than Arthur, but I answer for my crab. “They’re social, actually. I’ve been meaning to get Arthur a buddy, but I wanted to get settled with him first, and…I guess I’m a little worried, when I do get another, they won’t get along.”

Christian hums. “Won’t know unless you try.”

Guess so. But trying is the scary part.

“Want to watch some TV?” Christian asks, popping up.

“Uh, what?” I say, thrown.

“TV,” he repeats, shooting me a grin as he walks over to my couch. He sprawls out on top of the cushions, laying his head in his hand and making himself at home. “We’re on the fifth episode of Life. Have you watched it yet?”

It takes me a second to answer him. “You…you want to watch it together?”

“Yeah, Specs,” he says, his smile making my pulse accelerate. He pats the cushion in front of him. “If you want to.”

Slowly, I get to my feet and walk his way. “You’re nearly too tall for my couch,” I mumble.

“I’ll manage,” he says, scooting back so there’s room for me in front of him.

Heart pounding, I sit down, hoping Christian doesn’t notice how awkward I feel. “You, uh, really like David Attenborough, huh?” I say, grabbing the remote.

“The man could narrate my shopping list, and I’d eat it up,” he says, making me laugh.

I start episode five of the nature documentary and set the remote down, having no clue what to do with my arms. I end up resting them on my knees.

I have never in my life been so hyperaware of my own body. My limbs feel too big. My breaths loud. Why am I so nervous? This man has seen me shove a tentacle up my ass.

“Specs,” Christian says softly, startling me as his hand winds around my waist. I tense, and he freezes. “Sorry, I—”

“No!” I blurt before he can let go. “No, it’s fine. I, uh…” What did he say to me that one time? “You have my permission to touch.”

I nearly cringe, but Christian just chuckles, his fingers planting more firmly against my stomach. “Come here,” he says.

When I don’t move, not sure what he means, Christian gives me a little tug. My back meets his stomach, and then he tugs again, guiding me to lie down in front of him. I let him mold me like clay until we’re all but connected from chest to crotch. When he gives my top leg a shove and fits his own over mine, locking us together like puzzle pieces, I let loose a breath.

Christian’s hand returns to my stomach, fingers resting over my shirt. “Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say on an exhale, my voice quiet.

“Okay,” he repeats.

Slowly but surely, my tension starts to unwind.

Yeah, this is okay. Kinda nice, actually. Weird but good.

Before long, my head is in the crook of my elbow and my breathing has evened out. Christian is a warm presence behind me, and for a while, I forget about studying. I forget about reading and the papers I have to write. I watch one of my favorite shows with someone who’s quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

And I let myself simply… relax .

“Emil. Emil . Hello?”

Rebecca’s waving hand has me jolting back to awareness.

“Shit, sorry. What’d you say?” I ask, adjusting my glasses.

She looks at me curiously. “You were just completely zoned out. What were you thinking about?”

“Uh…”

The memory of my neighbor’s hand and how, when I jerked off this morning and caught him watching from his window, I imagined it was his fist wrapped around my cock instead?

“You really don’t want to know,” I mutter.

“Don’t wanna know what?” Henry asks, returning from the restroom and plopping into the booth next to me. Our younger brother looks between me and Rebecca.

“Whatever had Emil’s face going all…” Rebecca rests her chin in her hands and bats her eyelashes.

“That was not my face,” I retort.

“Was, too,” Rebecca says. “I bet you were thinking about boys .”

I groan, and Henry goes, “Ew.”

“What?” our sister says, looking at Henry. “I’m sure your face goes all schmoopy when you think about boys or girls you like.”

Henry shakes his head, taking a sip of his soda. “Nope. Don’t care about all that. Sex makes people stupid.”

Rebecca shoots me a look, eyebrows raised.

“Henry,” I say slowly. “I’m sure Mom and Dad have already talked about this, but if you’re sexually active—”

“Like I said, ew ,” Henry cuts in. “Not interested. Pass the ketchup?”

Rebecca passes the bottle, eyes meeting mine again. Henry is fourteen, and I know he already started going through changes a couple years back. He’s well into the early teenage years of rampantly running hormones where sex might be on the mind. It was on mine when I was his age.

But maybe, for Henry, that’s not the case. I wonder if our parents have thought to talk to him about the spectrum of asexuality.

I mull it over as my siblings bicker about Thanksgiving this year and whether Dad should cook ham or turkey.

When we leave the diner, it’s early afternoon. I drive my sister back to her boarding school where Henry and I picked her up from a few hours ago. Rebecca doesn’t live far from home. It’s only a two hour drive, and she could have opted for a weekday-only boarding option. But, overachiever that my sister is, she decided on full-time so she could enroll in extracurriculars on the weekends.

I’m just glad she didn’t choose a school further away. It would have made an impromptu visit like this much harder.

When I park the car, Rebecca leans over to give me a hug. “Thanks, Emil.”

“What for?” I ask, patting her arm.

She leans back into her seat with an exasperated look on her face. “For coming, you doof.”

Oh. Well, I don’t tell Rebecca I was a little worried about her after our phone call. She looks good, though. Happy. Even if she is missing home at times.

“No problem,” I tell her. “We’ll see you at Thanksgiving?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she says, turning to look into the backseat. “See ya, little bro.”

Henry waves a hand, gaze never straying from his handheld game.

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Later.”

“Take care, Bec.”

I watch Rebecca head into her dormitory before easing the car out of the parking spot. Henry keeps playing his game.

I often wonder why my parents waited so long between having me and Rebecca. Julian is the oldest of us at thirty-one. Eloise is next at twenty-seven. That puts four years between the two of them, as well as between me and Eloise. But there’s a seven-year gap from me to Rebecca. And only two between her and Henry.

My mom told me they were happy with three kids. That they didn’t want to try for more. Until they did.

I couldn’t help but wonder, especially when I was young, if that was because of me . If, maybe, I turned out not to be what they wanted from a third child.

Realistically, I know that’s not the case, only my insecurities talking. My parents love me. They’ve never asked me to be anything I’m not. But rationality and feeling don’t always go hand in hand.

“Hey, Henry?”

My brother doesn’t look up from his game. “Huh?”

“Do you think, one day, you might want to date?”

I see him shrug a shoulder in the rearview mirror. “Dunno.”

“Are there any genders you’re interested in?”

He shrugs again. “They’re all okay. I just think kissing and bumping parts is a waste of time. All Tyler talks about anymore is girls and boobs, and it’s so stupid. He used to be fun.”

I hum, suppressing my laugh. “You’d rather just play video games, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I nod, wondering if Henry might be ace. Or maybe he’ll start wanting those things in a few years. He’s young still.

“Just so you know…” I tell him. “If you ever have questions about kissing or dating or any of that, you can ask me, okay? However you feel about it is okay, and I promise there are other people who think the way you do, too. You don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to just because other kids are doing it.”

“I know,” he says, rolling his eyes. But then he adds, quietly, “Thanks, Emil.”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling… I don’t know. Proud, maybe, of my baby brother for being his own person.

Henry and I lapse into silence, and I turn the radio on while he keeps himself busy with his game. The two-hour drive back to Las Vegas passes relatively quickly, and as soon as I pull into our parents’ driveway, Henry bursts from the car and runs inside. I follow at a more subdued pace, chuckling as the front door slams into the wall and bounces nearly all the way closed again.

I shut it once I’m inside and peek into the living room. “Mom?”

“In here,” she says, followed by, “Henry, use a glass!”

I follow the noise into the kitchen. Mom is pulling a glass out of the cupboard as Henry bounces on his feet. She takes the orange juice carton from his hand, shooting me a smile as she pours him a cup. “You boys have fun?”

“Yep,” Henry says, snatching his drink and disappearing from sight. Footsteps bound up the stairs a moment later.

Mom shakes her head lightly. “Thanks for bringing him with you.”

“Of course. We had a good time,” I assure her. “Did your auction go okay?”

My mom works for an art gallery downtown and has since I was a child. Every once in a while, they host events for the public—pop-up shows, charity auctions, and the like. My mom is the one in charge of making sure the events go off without a hitch. She’s still dressed in a black-and-white wrap dress and heels, telling me she likely beat us back by only minutes.

“It was great,” she says, putting the orange juice back in the fridge. “I dare say we had a record turnout.” She lets out a big gust of air before leaning against the counter, as if this is the first time all day she’s had a chance to slow down. It probably is. “How’d Rebecca seem?”

“Good,” I tell her, although I’m sure my mom has made her fair share of calls to Rebecca to check in. “She has a few friends already, and she likes her classes. I think she’ll be fine.”

My mom nods, sighing. “Good. That’s good. And, uh, you have that research thing, right? How’s that going?”

I open my mouth to tell her about it when Henry yells down the stairs. “Where’d my chips go?”

“Back in the pantry where they belong,” Mom calls back.

“Did you move my headphones?” he asks.

Mom lets out a breath, pushing off of the counter and heading out of the room. Her voice gets quieter the further away she walks. “They’re in your desk drawer, Henry. If you’d cleaned your own room like I asked, you’d know exactly where to find them.”

Henry retorts something I can’t quite make out, and I nod, looking around at the empty kitchen.

“Yep,” I mutter. Seems about right . Raising my voice, I call out, “See you guys later!”

“Bye, hon,” my mom calls back.

Slipping out of the house, I close the front door and head to my car. There’s a pinch in my chest as I buckle in, but I brush the sensation off. It’s not disappointment if it’s expected, is it?

My phone pings with a text, a welcome distraction.

Christian: Where are you, Specs? It’s Saturday, which means you should be on your second energy drink by now, doing your smart brainy thing while I (not at all creepily) stare at your ass. Have you been kidnapped? Are you listening to David Attenborough without me?

A smile creeps onto my face, my pulse kicking.

Me: On my way home now.

After only a pause, I add…

Me: Should I cue up the next episode?

Christian’s response comes through before I’ve even turned the ignition.

Christian: I’ll bring the popcorn. Can Arthur eat popcorn or should I bring him regular corn?

Christian: Never mind. I’ll bring both. Hurry your ass up, Specs!

Grinning, I start the car and head for home.