Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

A week after showing Tristan his place, Leo was still on a high on the idea that as soon as the contractors got their ducks in a row, Tristan would be moving in with him. Was it wrong to hope the roof would collapse so that he'd have to stay longer? Probably, but a part of him couldn't help hoping—the part that wasn't in charge of his finances, obviously. Even at work, when he should have been, well, working , more often than not he found himself thinking of Tristan, spending much longer than he should have on homewares and furniture websites, like an anxious bird looking for exactly the right nest decoration to impress that other bird—the one with the really fancy tail feathers.

Leo blinked at his screen and at the display of garishly sequined cushions he was somehow considering, glad he'd caught a moment of self-awareness before clicking to add them to his cart. Tristan liked him for him, not for how many sparkly cushions he could fit on his couch. At the same time though, he liked that being with Tristan was encouraging him to step outside his comfort zone. Contemplating new cushions that weren't beige might not seem like a huge deal for most people, but for Leo? Earth-shattering stuff.

He clicked out of the webpage before anyone walking past noticed that it had nothing at all to do with his job and forced himself to concentrate on his work again. He'd barely been at it for half an hour when his phone buzzed with a call, and Tristan's name appeared on the screen.

Leo flushed with warmth as he answered. "Hey."

"Hey there."

"Hey," Leo said again, and smiled dumbly at his co-worker Aaron. He didn't even realise he was doing it until Aaron gave him an odd look. Leo turned in his chair. "Um, how's it going?"

"Well," Tristan said, "that's what I'm calling you about."

Something in his tone sharpened Leo's senses. "What?"

"Well, Jason the mould guy was just here taking pictures or something, and the builder's guys were here, too, measuring something, and they were all having smoko out the front or whatever it is that people with jobs do, and when I went downstairs to see if anyone wanted a cuppa, there was this other guy there. And I asked who he was, and he gave me his card. Hold on." Cloth rustled. "Gary Hooper-Maddings. Property valuer."

Leo frowned. "I already had it valued."

"That's what I said," Tristan said. "And I thought maybe he was with the bank, because you said something about getting a loan, so I asked him, and he said he was doing the valuation for pre-sale. Pre-sale, Leo."

"But I'm not selling," Leo said. "And I didn't hire a valuer."

"Well, that's why I thought I'd better check in," Tristan said. "Since I'm not aware of bands of travelling property valuers who go from house to house doing inspections just for shits and giggles."

"Shit," Leo said.

"And giggles."

"No." Leo scrubbed a hand over his hair. "My fucking parents . It's got to be them. I told them I'm not selling, but of course they think they know better."

"So I should tell this guy to fuck off?" Tristan asked.

"He's still there?"

"No, I already told him to fuck off," Tristan admitted. "I just thought I should check if that was the right thing to do."

Leo laughed despite himself. "You're the best."

"I know," Tristan said. "Come over for dinner tonight and look at all the fluro paint markings Davo One and Davo Two have left all over the walls, and I'll prove it to you."

"Who are Davo One and Davo Two?"

"The builder's guys," Tristan said.

"And they're both called Davo?"

"Well, they both answer to Davo, so I can only assume," Tristan said airily. "Anyway, I'm making fettuccine carbonara since that's our thing now."

"Is it?"

"Either that or Korean barbeque tacos, but I'm less likely to fuck up fettuccine." He hummed. "Marginally."

"Marginally less fucked-up fettucine sounds incredible," Leo said earnestly, and Tristan laughed. "See you after work."

"See you then, babe," Tristan said, and ended the call.

Leo made it to Newtown just before seven, a bottle of wine tucked inside his messenger bag. Tristan met him at the door like a 1950s sitcom housewife—if 1950s sitcom housewives had worn harem pants slung so low on their hips that they were almost indecent, bare feet and nothing else. The light caught Tristan's nipple piercing in a way that completely short-circuited Leo's brain and left him standing slack-jawed on the doorstep.

"Well, I've been slaving all day over a hot stove," Tristan said.

"Uh-huh," Leo replied, unable to get anything more coherent out since Tristan was in the process of putting his hair up in a messy bun. All Leo could compute were those bare arms, those long, dexterous fingers and the glorious way all Tristan's muscles shifted under his skin as he moved. The snap of the hairband startled him back to reality. "Sorry, what?"

"I said I've been slaving all day over a hot stove," Tristan said, leading him down into the kitchen, where a bunch of takeaway bags from Gio's immediately called him out as a dirty liar.

Leo raised his eyebrows. "Sure you did."

"I actually did, but it turns out I'm a terrible cook, so Jack very kindly suggested I get delivery instead of, and I quote, ‘murdering your boyfriend with food.'"

"Oh, wow." Leo blinked around at all the bags. He counted at least four bags, all of them stacked with containers. The whole house smelled of garlic and everything that was good about the world. "This must have cost a fortune!"

Tristan waved his hand. "It's fine. Oh, and Harry and Jack are at Ambrose and Liam's for the night, so we have the place to ourselves for at least a few hours. Usually I'd suggest that means we can fuck in the living room, but I've been sitting here smelling this food for the last half hour, and if I don't eat it now, I might die. "

They ate in the living room, sitting on the floor with their plates on the coffee table. They left the lights off, and the only illumination was from the strings of fairy lights stuck around the windows. It was surprisingly effective. The soft lighting made the house look much nicer than it actually was—charming instead of decrepit. Faint music played in the background. Something instrumental.

"This is nice," Leo said, then realised how inadequate those words were. "I mean, it's perfect ."

Tristan's happy smile was beautiful. "I'm pretty new at this boyfriend stuff…"

"You're doing amazing." Leo kissed him and smeared carbonara sauce on his lips.

Tristan laughed and swiped it off with his tongue. "Harry said I shouldn't order anything with garlic for a date, but frankly he gets all his tips from romcoms, so he can't be trusted."

"I love garlic."

"Same."

They kissed again. Leo thought that all kisses ought to be carbonara-flavoured, and also that maybe he'd had a little too much wine if he really thought that was a good idea.

"Want to tell me why your parents sent a property valuer?" Tristan asked.

"Ugh." Leo helped himself to another piece of garlic bread. "My parents are…painfully middle class. They think that Uncle Jimmy was the devil."

"Because he was gay?"

"No, because he was the wrong sort of gay," Leo said.

"Ah." Tristan grinned. "Am I the wrong sort of gay, too?"

"God, yes," Leo said. "You're so… You're not boring . You're not the least bit apologetic. They'd hate you." He realised what he'd said a second later. "Oh God, that sounded awful, didn't it? I just mean they hate the idea of anyone like you existing, because you're so loud about it." God, he really had drunk too much wine, hadn't he? "Not that there's anything wrong with you!"

"I like tipsy Leo." Tristan topped up his glass. "He's very uninhibited."

"Uninhibited!" Leo exclaimed. "That's the right word. For you, I mean. And it's a good thing."

"I'm a fabulous gay butterfly who spreads colour and joy throughout the world, and people like your parents would prefer it if I was a boring brown moth, is that it?" Tristan said.

"Yes! And…ugh, I'm so tired of being a boring brown moth, Tris." He blinked. "Not that…not that I could be a butterfly. I don't like it when people look at me. But there are other sorts of moths, right? Apart from those dusty brown ones."

Tristan caught his hand as he reached for his phone to google it. "I like tipsy Leo, but maybe he should switch to water after this one."

"That's a good idea." Leo sighed. "I think that's why Jimmy left me the shop and the house, so that I could get out from under their thumb. Except I didn't even really know I was stuck there. Not until…not until I met you, and Wei, and Harry and Jack, and Miss O'Jenny and even Orlando."

"You think Jimmy was giving you an escape?" Tristan smiled and squeezed his hand. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"I wish I'd known him better."

"He was great," Tristan said. "Totally crazy, but in the best way. He was the most glorious butterfly, if you crossed it with a fighter pilot or something. Wait. No. A wasp? I feel like this metaphor is getting away from us."

"A Siamese fighting fish," Leo suggested.

"Sure, why not?" Tristan shifted Leo's wine slightly out of reach.

"I wonder what he'd say about Mum and Dad sending a valuer." Leo sighed.

"He'd tell them to go fuck themselves, probably."

"I wish I could tell them to go fuck themselves, but I don't think I'm that brave. They even talked me into going to one of Dad's political dinner thingies. Said it would look good on his diversity card to be seen out with his gay son."

"Are they really that awful?"

"Yes!" Leo sighed again. "No? I don't know."

"Do you need them for money?"

"No. I mean, look, I own a house now and everything."

"Okay."

"What?" Leo squinted at him.

Tristan shrugged and smiled.

"You're…" Leo gestured at him. "You're looking at me like you're waiting for me to figure something out." The drunk penny dropped. "Oh! You're waiting for me to realise that I could tell them to go fuck themselves, and what's the worst that could happen, because I am finandually—financially independent!" He gasped. "I could tell them!"

Tristan laughed. "There it is. But only if you wanted. Because you are brave enough."

"Am I?"

"Yup." Tristan said it like there was no room for argument.

"Because I don't want to do the things they want me to do," Leo said. "I don't want to be just like them. I don't want to bring home a boring boy. I want to bring you home." A thought struck him then. "I should take you to their fancy dinner! As my boyfriend!"

Tristan raised an eyebrow, and a wicked smile formed. "No," he corrected. "As a Bad Boyfriend. "

Leo gasped. "I couldn't!" He blinked. "Could I?"

Tristan smirked. "I mean, they'd never ask you to go to any more boring dinners."

"God, you're right ." Excitement stirred in his gut. His parents would never forgive him. Except Leo's life was already full of things they'd never forgiven—his brief emo phase when he'd dyed his hair black, that time he'd tried karaoke at his cousin's wedding, the time he'd had a party when they were out of town and the police had been called about the noise—and he was used to them bringing them up, even years later. What was one more thing? And maybe, this would be a big enough thing that he'd actually shock them into realising that he was his own man. If not, well, fuck it—at least he'd have earned their disapproval this time. A part of him wondered if this was like the fettuccine kisses—an excellent idea when he was drunk but probably not in the cold light of day tomorrow—but another part of him didn't care. "Jimmy would approve."

"Jimmy would a thousand percent approve."

"That's not a number."

"Leo, babe, I know."

And in that instant, as tipsy as he was, Leo knew that he wouldn't change his mind about horrifying his parents with Tristan acting as the best—worst?—Bad Boyfriend who ever existed. Because as Leo laughed, throwing his head back, his body shaking with joy, he knew that there was nothing more important in life than moments like these.

"I don't see why you're upset," Leo's mother said impatiently at their regularly scheduled Friday dinner. "We were just trying to help . Obviously, you're not capable of arranging an assessment yourself or you would have done it. And from what he saw before that rude tenant kicked him out, Gary said even in its current state you're sitting on a small fortune."

"That's just it, Mum. I've had it valued, to secure the loan for the repairs. You do know I'm an actual adult, right?" It wasn't how he normally spoke to his mother, and the flame of defiance that seemed to have taken up residence in his gut flared brightly with the unaccustomed thrill of it.

"No need for that tone," his father said. "Your mother's looking out for you, that's all." He peered over the top of his glasses at Leo, a move that normally would have had Leo squirming and apologising, except now all he could think of was Tristan saying " You are brave enough."

He decided now was as good a time as any to change the subject. "By the way, I'm free for Lillian whatsername's dinner."

" Kingsbury, " his mother said, her mouth set in disapproval. "Please take the time to at least learn her name. We want to make a good impression. That's why we're bringing you. It will cement us as allies." She frowned. "Is that the word? Allies?"

Leo breathed deeply through his nose and didn't bother to point out that talking to their own child hardly made someone an ally. Instead, he said, "I wondered, would it be all right if I brought a date?"

His mother tilted her head as she twirled the stem of her wine glass. "Since when are you dating? You never mentioned it before now."

"It's recent," Leo hedged, "but I'd like to bring him to dinner."

His mum nodded her approval. "That would work nicely. That way people can see that you're gay, and we won't have to find ways to slip it into conversation." She hesitated. "Is he…he is the right sort of person, isn't he?"

Leo thought of Tris, his nipple ring and his skimpy kimonos and the way he did that thing with his tongue that made Leo's spine melt. "Yeah," he said and smiled. "He's perfect ."