Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Magnus

M agnus was a neat freak by necessity, not by choice. And sometimes he let things get out of hand until he started falling all over the place and giving himself black eyes and split lips before he tidied up again. It was worse when he was younger, not because he felt like being clean, but because his mother was completely out of hand about it.

The chances of Magnus being born blind was—in all reality—a hundred percent. Which wasn’t entirely accurate, but Magnus was a man of statistics, and all the men on his father’s side were born with the same genetic condition.

His mother had hoped. She’d prayed. She’d lit candles at the church and had religious zealots lay hands on her belly.

Magnus was always slightly offended when she told the story of how much she’d begged God to spare him his condition. Why had she cared so much? Why did she mourn him when she married a man just like him who she could see with her own two working eyes did just fine without sight?

His father was a psychiatrist. He had a successful practice in Stockholm. He was well respected amongst his peers, and he had no doubt that all of his children were going to do well in life.

All of his children, it turned out, was Magnus alone because his mother decided she didn’t want to take the chance with any siblings. Magnus also tried not to take that personally, but it was a little hard not to. It didn’t seem to matter how smart he was, or how accomplished. She always boiled his achievements down to what he’d done in spite of his disability.

Not because of his brain. Or his hard work.

No. It was some sort of miracle she liked to write about in long, flowery Facebook posts in both Swedish and English.

She went viral a few times, which had sent him into a rage. The last time, he’d deleted his entire account so he could pretend she wasn’t like this. He did always wonder what his father found appealing about her, but he wasn’t about to ask. Frankly, he was terrified the answer would be graphic, and he had enough childhood trauma involving walking in to hear them going at it to last him three lifetimes.

But some of his mother’s hysteria had stuck with him. The cleaning, for one. If a guest was coming over, he panicked like they were going to immediately start rifling through his drawers and cupboards to find his hidden messes.

The cooking was another. His mother had been petrified he’d never be able to take care of himself or burn down the kitchen if he tried, so she’d sent him to the school for the blind in Paris one summer when he was fourteen so he could learn life skills. That included a culinary education from a French professional.

He’d been bitter at first, afraid he was going to be locked in some dorm and let out only to fumble about the kitchen before being put away again. Instead, his dorm attendants and all the teachers there didn’t give two fucks about what he and the other students did so long as they showed up on time for lessons.

It was his first real time away from home, so he bashed around Paris—literally in some cases. He got lost on the metro and found his way into forbidden and off-limits corners of every monument and tourist trap. He nearly fell down the stairs in the Arc de Triomphe, and was clipped by not one but three distracted drivers when he was crossing the road to the Champs-Elyseé.

He came home battered, bruised, and a more confident man for that one decision his mother had made on his behalf.

And he did learn to cook, which meant he could impress both guests and boyfriends.

And also, maybe, the ridiculously adorable physicist who was coming to his house in the middle of a snowstorm to pick up where their other colleague had left off.

Normally Magnus hated physics professors—not for their lack of skill, but for their complacency in the whole mess that were modern universities. He always held on to a tinge of bitterness because he knew half of his university acceptance letters were because he was blind. They had nothing to do with his marks—which had been stellar his whole career.

Or his field of research—which was still in infancy since technology was only just starting to allow them all to have a look into deep, deep space. But it was the perfect field for him because, sighted or not, they were all going into it blind.

There was no magic portal to open a window to what was out there. It was all numbers and equations and measuring light and sound waves on computers. They all created their own images out of them. Magnus had taken up printing and painting, and if he decided to quit his job one day, he was pretty sure he could retire comfortably on his art hobby.

But Adam was different.

Adam Harvey—a man with two first names, which always made him smile.

Professor Harvey.

Magnus was just a tiny bit obsessed with him. Adam was the first person Magnus had ever asked someone to describe. None of the words made sense to him in a logical way. Yeah, he understood what dark hair and brown eyes meant, but it wasn’t like he could paint a picture.

But for whatever reason, it felt like it mattered.

Maybe because Adam treated him like he mattered. Maybe because Adam was the only person that ever made Magnus feel like he belonged there on his own merit, and not as some diversity tick box performing tricks.

So knowing that Piper wasn’t coming to pick up the notes they’d been working on—knowing that Adam would be there and might actually spend some time with him outside of the lab? He was excited.

And maybe a little panicked.

When he got the text that Adam was less than half an hour away, he frantically rushed into the kitchen of the little rental and began to paw around the cupboards. He was the kind of man who neglected his own nutritional needs when he was deep in a project, so he wasn’t entirely surprised to find nothing more than a box of stale croissants, a basket of fruit—the apples felt okay, the bananas were on the soft side—a packet of crunchy toasts, and a tin of coffee that was far too empty for a couple of scientists.

And he had no time to go to the market before Adam arrived, and no time to arrange a ride—not that one would be willing to pick him up with the snow on the road and more forecasted on the horizon.

He’d have to make do.

He searched the fridge, but the vegetable bins were tragically empty, though his fingers brushed over something he thought was probably milk—he was too afraid to give it a sniff. It might have been juice, but he hadn’t touched it in days.

God, he was a damn disaster.

Then he heard the sound of a car door, and his heart kicked up three notches.

Adam was there. He was there.

Oh.

DingDING !

The sound of the bell startled him. No one had been by since his last supply order which was three weeks ago. He’d forgotten about the obnoxious sound that shook him down to his bones. He raked fingers through his hair and hoped to God he didn’t look like too much of a tragic mess as he trailed a touch along the walls to the front door.

He took a breath.

DingDING!

“H?ll tyst,” he murmured in Swedish, telling the doorbell to shut up. He tried for a smile, but he’d never been good at any kind of poker face. He found the knob after two tries, then twisted it and braced himself against the rush of cold that breezed in past the body he knew was standing in front of him. “Hello, Adam.”

“Hey. It’s good to see you.” Adam’s voice was a low rumble with a hint of nasal, probably from how cold it was.

Magnus quickly stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture past his body. “Come in before you freeze your balls off.”

Adam choked on a laugh. His cologne was mixed with the sharp scent of winter air as it rushed around Magnus’s face, and he felt the urge to grab him and bury his face in Adam’s neck. Which, he was pretty sure, the man would not appreciate.

His cheeks were warm as he closed the door and grimaced when his foot slid into something wet.

“Shit. Sorry. I’m dragging snow inside.”

Magnus hopped on one foot to remove his sock. He couldn’t stand the feeling of wet fabric on his feet. He misjudged his own balance and nearly fell, but two strong arms caught him. The smell was even stronger now, and he felt the warmth of Adam’s presence almost profoundly in spite of the fact that the poor man was still thawing.

He felt like the fool in the middle of a romance movie. The bullshit blind-guy inspirational kind around the holidays that made all the sighted people swoon. He’d take all the stereotypes if it meant he got a bit more of this, though .

“Thank you,” he murmured, finding actual words. He shifted away from the wet spot and braced his ass against the wall so he could take his other sock off. Luckily the tiles were heated. It was a rather luxurious rental.

“Nice digs,” Adam said after a beat.

Magnus’s brow furrowed. “Digs?”

“Uh, place to live. Sorry, I’ve been watching a lot of crappy ‘80s movies and the slang has been sticking.” Magnus could hear the embarrassed smile on his face. His fingers tingled with the urge to touch Adam’s cheeks and see if they were flushed.

“Ah. Yes, I wanted something nice over the holidays since I was going to be spending it on my own.” Did that sound like a one-man pity party?

Adam laughed quietly. “I know that feeling. Only I’ll be at some half-empty university auditorium filled with people who are disappointed to see me instead of Piper.”

Magnus didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good at this kind of banter. He wanted to tell Adam that he’d travel a thousand miles and walk uphill in the snow if it meant spending a bit more time with him. But that sounded a bit too much considering they weren’t even really friends.

Or…maybe they were? He was a terrible judge of social situations.

“Can I offer you coffee?” he asked instead. “I don’t have any food here. I needed to go to the shops, but it’s hard to get a hire car to agree in this weather.”

Adam sniffed. Was he crying? No. His nose was running from the cold. And they were still standing in the foyer. Christ, he was the worst host!

“Want me to drive you?”

Magnus quickly shook his head and turned, feeling for the wall. “Don’t be silly. You drove all this way, and?—”

“There’s a storm coming in, like, two hours if you’re lucky. Do you have other socks? I saw a little market on my way in. It won’t take more than half an hour.”

Ah, twist his arm. Magnus tried not to smile. “Only if you let me cook you dinner.”

“You can cook?”

Magnus’s stomach twisted in the worst way. “Blind people are capable of feeding themselves, yes.”

He heard Adam scoff—not the reaction he was expecting. “So not what I meant. You’ve been in labs plenty. You have to at least smell the tragedies that we all bring in when we’re not eating take out.”

That was fair. It made sense that most of the guys didn’t get the forced culinary education the way he did. Their mothers were likely far less worried about them burning the house down—which was ironic considering they were the most likely to do it.

“I studied cooking in Paris when I was in high school,” Magnus told him. He started toward the bedroom and heard Adam following him.

“What? Like, Le Cordon Bleu?”

Magnus laughed so hard he almost lost his direction as he felt the wrong wall for the doorknob before correcting himself. “No. It was a school for the blind, but I did learn some French cuisine while I was there.” He reached into the top drawer of his dresser, then used his foot to find the bed before sitting.

So far so good. He hadn’t made a fool of himself.

Mostly.

“So you’re going to make me foie gras?” Adam asked.

Magnus turned his face toward Adam and lifted a brow. “Is all you think the French eat?”

“I mean, I figure they also eat McDonalds and shit. But yeah, that and snails, right?”

He was helpless against his grin. Why did he like this man so much? Was it his stark, unapologetic honesty? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Leaning forward, he swept his hands along the ground, searching for his boots. “I’ll, ah…I’ll show you…” Where the hell were they?

“Can I help?” Adam asked. His voice was softer now. Hesitant. “I don’t want to be rude. I mean, I know you can find your own shoes, but…”

Magnus laughed quietly. “Yes, please, or we’ll be here until the storm comes. I wasn’t thinking when I took them off earlier.”

He heard Adam walk close to him, heard a gentle thud that was likely a knee hitting the floor. Then his boots were pressed against the back of his right hand. “These are nice. Designer?”

“Coach,” Magnus said. He wasn’t much into designer things, but he knew the reputation. “They were a gift from someone I no longer speak to.” Charls. A once-lover Magnus thought might make a life with him who, it turned out, had a fetish for sucking someone off ten feet away from Magnus without him knowing.

That discovery had been particularly painful. And the last relationship he’d had. It was why Adam terrified him. People always let him down.

“Yeah, I know that look,” Adam said as he righted himself. “Ex-boyfriend, right? Bad breakup?”

Magnus carefully put his boots on, then pushed to his feet. “Obvious, am I?”

“I haven’t dated much, but I’ve dated enough to know that expression. Cheating?”

It was more than that, but yes. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” He sounded it, and Magnus felt awful because he hadn’t meant to make Adam feel bad. It was just something he had no desire to revisit. It was a mistake. He’d learned his lesson.

He wouldn’t do it again.

He reached out and after a second, found Adam’s arm. “Come on. Let me grab my cane, but you can guide me to the car and I’ll tell you all about the delicious meal I’ll make that has absolutely no duck liver or snails at all.”