Chapter Thirty-One

Maeve

I should probably go.

Jess and Taylor, who I now see isn't her friend but her girlfriend, have just gone up to bed, a process that was quite eventful as Loncey wanted to carry her up but Jessica refused. This resulted in a brief heated discussion but in the end Loncey relented and carried up both Taylor's and Jessica's bags instead. I followed behind with Taylor, and an over-excited Prince who bounded up and down the stairs multiple times as we all climbed them once. Loncey and I waited in the doorway to Jessica's room as Taylor brought in a bowl full of warm water for Jessica so she could have a quick wash and do her skincare.

"I'm sorry, do you have tickets for this show?" Jessica had asked raspily with an arched eyebrow before we'd mumbled our goodnights and fled.

"I like your sister," I'd said after we'd got downstairs and took our masks off. "I fucking hate that she has to deal with all the shite she has to deal with."

Loncey nodded, chewing on their lips. "Yeah, that pretty much sums it up."

And now I should go. We're standing opposite each other at the foot of the stairs, immediately in front of the front door.

But I don't want to go.

"It's late, Maeve," Loncey says. "What time is your flight?"

"Not until late tomorrow night," I say quietly. "I've got the hotel until the following day so I didn't need to be homeless all day tomorrow."

Loncey's lips are back in their mouth again and their expression is thoughtful. Eventually they speak. "I should take you back."

I find my head is shaking perfectly of its own free will. Or at least that's what it feels like.

"I'd like to," I begin, then swallow. "I'd like to see your cabin. And your paintings. I'd like to see them in real life, I mean."

Their eyes open up a little more and it almost looks like shock but as soon as it comes, it passes.

"You have time?"

I give them one of my wryest looks. "It's not like I'm going to go back to the conference centre and join the BDSM Ball or hmmm, what was the alternative, oh yes, the Leather Love-in."

Loncey's smile is lopsided and fuck them, all kinds of cute. "Shame, you would look phenomenal in leather," they say with a wink before they turn and gesture for me to follow.

I'm only a little taken aback at that blatant flirting but, more than that, I'm pleased. Pleased that they're not pussy footing around me. I'm also a little bit pleased that they're flirting with me, even if what they're saying has little merit or meaning. I mean, I'm certainly no expert, but isn't that what most flirting is anyway?

Either way, I'm pleased they have their back to me as they lead me through the house so they can't see my small smile. We leave the house through the back door in the kitchen and a security light comes on as Loncey takes their first step onto a square patio area lined with seemingly countless terracotta pots boasting succulents and cacti I can't possibly name but I pause to admire them in the dim light. I can't help but think how different they are from the plants that fill my parents' garden or the parks in Dublin. I'm no gardener by any stretch of the imagination but I think momentarily, and possibly very stupidly, that I could get used to living in a climate where cacti grow tall and plants stay lush and green all year long.

"You coming?" Loncey turns to ask me when he's reached the door to his cabin.

And that's exactly what it is. With wood cladding walls, one door and one window, and an off-centre slanting grey shingle roof, it's bigger than a shed, but not by a lot. It should look out of place in the back garden of a suburban home, but it doesn't. It looks like it was always here, and when I step inside, I feel it too.

It's small – there's barely space for Loncey's double bed, a small couch under the window and a small kitchenette along the wall opposite the bed – but it's cosy. The ceiling is covered in those canvases they showed me on the phone and I resist the urge to dive onto the bed and stare up at them for hours. Loncey jokes about giving me a tour once I close the door behind me, but even so, I'm surprised when Loncey points to the door at the back of the room, showing me where there's a bathroom.

"So you really live here?" I say, and I sound very disbelieving.

"Well, yeah."

"Since when?"

Loncey looks at the floor which is covered in a worn but striking rug that has lots of reds, oranges and yellows in its abstract design. "About four years ago. I had to move home after… after a break-up and I didn't want to impose on my mom and Jessica too much. I also…" They trail off. "I also kind of needed a project to keep my mind busy."

"So you built it yourself?"

"Yeah," they offer a shy smile, "it's one of the things that made me Internet famous, I guess you could say. I shared the whole process on YouTube. Weekly updates and DIY videos and sharing the highs and lows."

"All shirtless, I assume?"

Loncey huffs out a quick laugh. "Well, you gotta get people to subscribe somehow."

I give them a firm side-eye before finally allowing myself to sink down onto the bed. After only a brief moment of feeling self-conscious, I lie back and rest my hands on my stomach.

"There it is."

"My silly little hobby?" Loncey lies next to me, not close enough to be touching me, but still I feel their body heat.

"No, your art. Your beautiful art," I say in little more than a whisper.

"These are all old now. That one," they point to the left, "that's one of the first ones I did. I can do better now."

"But that's not what your silly little hobby is for, right?" I mimic their tone. "Like you said to me, it's not about excelling at something, more it's about doing something that helps you relax, feel good."

"God, it's annoying when someone does that." They chuckle to themself, and the bed moves slightly with it.

"What?"

"Uses my words against me."

I roll over onto my side and prop my head up on my hand so I'm looking down at them. "I lied to you last night."

"You did? About what?"

"About ballet. I said I'd looked up lessons. I didn't tell you that I actually already took a lesson. Last week."

They exhale loudly enough for me to hear it. "Oh. I don't think that's lying. That's just withholding information."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to admit that I found it so hard."

"Really?"

"Really. I sucked. And my feet hurt like hell the following day, not to mention I could barely sit down without crying."

"But did you enjoy it?"

I look at them for a second. "Yeah, I did."

They roll over and mirror my position. "I'd like to see you dance one day."

Their comment silences me. It's the first time one of us has even hinted at us seeing each other again, at this time in Las Vegas together not being when our friendship begins and ends. I'm silenced not by shock that they want to see me again. I'm silenced by the huge relief it brings me.

"And I'd like to watch you paint," I tell them. "Maybe you could do it now?" I nod my head towards the darkness outside the window and squint up at the sky. "It's nighttime now, and I can see some stars."

"I don't have any canvases. Jessica and Taylor took up painting recently too and they've cleared me out," they explain with a soft smile. They seem anything but annoyed by this fact.

"Then paint me," I say in a quiet but firm voice. I can't explain where the idea comes from, I just know it's what I want, what I crave in fact. And that feeling, that craving, is another sensation I can't explain.

"You?"

"Paint my back," I say and I sit up. I pull my top over my head. Just as my hands move to unclasp my bra at my back, Loncey's hand lands on my shoulder.

"Maeve," they say, softly and so gently. "Is this… is this what you want to do? Like really?"

I look over my shoulder and blink at them. "It's not sexual, is it? You're just going to paint the night sky on my back and then you're going to take a photo of it so I can see what it looks like."

"Of course it's not sexual, but still, I…"

"Show me, Loncey. Show me how it's not sexual. How it's just you and your art and your stars."

"And you." Their hand travels down my arm, making the skin both warm and cool in its wake. "It's you and me and the stars."

My mouth goes dry. My stomach feels like it's plummeting, and my silly traitorous eyes drop to Loncey's lips. I've never wanted to kiss someone more. To have that connection with them. To have us joined. To have us as exactly that, an us.

I turn my head away for fear that this thought, this strange sort of desire – and fuck if I'm not accustomed to using that word – can be detected on my face. With my back still to Loncey, I unclasp my bra and slide it off my body.

Once free from the material of my bra, my nipples harden and although it's not cold in Loncey's cabin, a rush of goosebumps prickles across the skin of my chest. Determined to not cower or hide myself from them, I keep my shoulders back as I turn and move so I can lie face down on my front. I gather my hair and tuck it under my shoulder so it's out of the way.

Loncey hasn't moved. I'm also not even sure if they're breathing because the cabin is suddenly completely silent. This lasts so long I have the gut-twisting thought that they're about to tell me to get up, to get dressed, to stop flaunting myself about like a common whore, and a sharp heat climbs up my neck and reaches my cheeks.

But then Loncey speaks.

"Maeve?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I…" They pause and I hear their breath then. I hear how it changes. "Can I tell you that you're beautiful?"

With my head resting on my folded arms, I close my eyes. I'm shocked when I have the sudden urge to cry. I get called beautiful one hundred times a day by one hundred strangers on the Internet, but this is different. This is Loncey.

And because it's me, I make a crass joke of it.

"Sure look, I mean, if you must," I say.

The bed shifts then as Loncey moves and because I don't lift my head and I keep my eyes closed I have no idea what they're doing, where they're going.

"Can I touch you, Maeve?" Their voice comes from somewhere behind me, deep and low and serious.

"Yes," I reply, momentarily embarrassed by how breathless I sound.

Suddenly I feel a weight on my backside. It's Loncey. Loncey's sitting on top of me. Fingertips stroke the top of my back, along the winged curve of one of my shoulder blades, and I realise they're sweeping rogue hairs out of the way.

"You're beautiful, Maeve. So very beautiful that sometimes it almost hurts to look at you, to be in the same room as you."

I squeeze my eyes tighter, not at all surprised when this forces a couple of tears out and onto my arms.

"I'm going to go and get my paints," they say in a low, calm voice. "Please don't move."

"Okay," I manage to say, and it's a small word but it feels almost miraculous saying it.

A few seconds later, Loncey's weight is gone and I hear the door close and feel the air in the cabin still. I finally open my eyes and roll my head to the other side so I can look out of the window. From this angle I can't see much of the night sky but I can see the horizontal smile of a crescent moon high above me. I keep staring at the moon as I wait for Loncey to return, and I wouldn't say I have a conversation with its curled form but I feel like we engage in something, like it offers me some reassurance, that it tells me what I already know.

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.