Irritated again, Gabriel shoved the blankets aside and swung his feet onto the floor. He took a deep breath and listened.
Yes. There it was. The soft, pacing footstep of James in his own room, sleepless as ever.
Gabriel was shuffling, bleary-eyed, to the kitchen in the morning when he caught sight of James darting out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, moisture dewed in the hollow of his spine and on the tips of his short brown hair. The caduceus tattoo, which he’d glimpsed on their first meeting, was strikingly dark against James’s pale skin, the central staff and wings tinted golden, one snake in solid black while its twin was a bold outline. Three red poppies were entwined around the foot of the staff.
More compelling than the tattoo was the way the towel clung to James’s waist, thighs and the shape of his arse which, Gabriel noted, continued to be fabulous.
Gabriel cleared his throat, as though that would clear the sudden desire from his system. ‘Tea?’ he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.
James turned, revealing the firm musculature and fine swirls of hair of his chest and abdomen, the solid strength in his biceps and shoulders. Gabriel’s mouth was instantly dry, and he couldn’t stop staring. God.
‘Sure,’ said James carefully, averting his face from Gabriel’s avid gaze. He hurried into his bedroom.
‘Yes. Good.’ Gabriel unfroze and turned back to the kitchen.
Don’t be the creepy flatmate, Gabriel told himself sternly. He’s not interested. Stop staring. You moron.
Except that Gabriel was pretty certain that James was interested, though better at disguising it. He’d seen the flicker of James’s gaze taking in Gabriel’s low-slung pyjama pants and the bare chest of his slender, wiry physique.
Or maybe, Gabriel thought, James really was straight after all. He’d looked away quickly enough. Gabriel wouldn’t have put money on it though. Perhaps it was simply the fact that tall, skinny, bony, weird gits with too-intense eyes and hair that wouldn’t stay bloody combed were not James’s cup of tea, romantically speaking.
Hell, Gabriel wasn’t anyone’s cup of tea, in Gabriel’s experience. Not for longer than a few months, at any rate. By then the novelty of the weird-artist-boyfriend had worn off and it was all, can’t you be more normal? Why can’t you get a proper job with that degree of yours? And for god’s sake, stop letting those people into my house.
Gabriel generally didn’t much like other people after a few months either. Most of them he started to dislike after a week. A day. Selfish, narrow-minded, judgemental pricks. They all wanted something without having to give anything back. Some badly judged boyfriends had decided that if Gabriel couldn’t afford the rent on a regular basis, he could pay in other ways, by spreading his legs and shutting the fuck up about what he did and didn’t like that way. The streets were definitely better than that.
Gabriel liked James, though. James laughed at Gabriel’s black jokes, and made more than a few of his own. He didn’t mind that Gabriel was odd in his hours and habits, any more than Gabriel minded James being a bit odd in turn. James never asked Gabriel to justify himself, or made obnoxious comments about his visitors. James would never try to bully him into doing things he didn’t want to do.
James, thought Gabriel with exasperation, was bloody lovely, and not bloody interested, and that was bloody that.
That seemed to become even more unequivocally that the following evening, after both men had put in a day’s solid work at their respective part-time jobs. James dashed in the door from the clinic and changed into a fresh shirt and a pair of clean jeans that clung very nicely to his thighs and backside. Gabriel had to make a point of staring fixedly at his sketch book instead of at James’s arse.
‘I’m off,’ said James, dashing for the door again. ‘Date.’
He was dressed nicely, but not too nicely. Dark slacks, a checked button-up, a navy and beige plaid blazer. Like all of James’s clothes, the outfit was well worn but also well cared for, and he looked good in it.
He looks good in everything, while I... Gabriel fiddled with the hem of one of his usual novelty T-shirts. His battered leather jacket – an Oxfam shop bargain from his university days – was slung over the back of a kitchen chair. What a style icon. Michael’s right. I’m a juvenile delinquent.
‘Do I know him?’
‘Sharee, from the clinic.’
‘The neonatal nurse?’
‘That’s her.’
‘Oh.’ Gabriel was on the back foot for the accumulating reasons of: he’s dating; a woman; definitely not me. ‘Have a good time.’ Gabriel tried to be neutral but he thought he mostly sounded snarky.
‘We’ll see,’ James said, as though it were a dangerous mistake to get his hopes up. ‘Are you painting tonight?’
Gabriel glanced at his sketchbook. He appeared to have drawn the curves and planes of James’s shapely legs and rear. ‘Possibly.’
‘If you want someone to have a wee peek and cheer you on, I’ll be free later.’
‘That’s pessimistic of you, isn’t it?’
James paused at the door. ‘Or… not, then.’
Gabriel waved him on, pretending nonchalance. ‘Whatever.’
James departed. Gabriel went to his room to paint. He stared at the canvas for half an hour before giving up and pulling out his sketchbook again, where he drew a picture of James’s face, with its broad forehead, strong jaw and small chin; the quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth; and the shadowy sadness in his kind eyes.
Gabriel feathered his fingers over the latter. That happened sometimes. His pencils and paints captured things he hadn’t meant to draw. Certainly, James never meant for him to see that expression.
The click of the front door opening and James’s soft footfall drew Gabriel away from contemplating the sketch. He glanced at his watch. Not yet 10 pm. Not a successful date, then.
Gabriel put the sketchpad underneath a used palette and emerged from his room.
‘James?’
The doctor was standing by an open cupboard, staring blankly inside.
‘Are you all right?’
James sighed. ‘Yeah, aye. Sharee had to go home to her kid.’
Gabriel considered the comment. ‘Did you know she had a kid before you asked her out?’
‘Aye. Julian. He’s a sweet lad, only six. He likes Lady Gaga and newts. Sharee got a text saying the babysitter was sick.’ It was clear James didn’t believe a word of it and couldn’t be bothered to try.
‘I take it she didn’t rain check.’
James turned to lean against the counter but he didn’t meet Gabriel’s sympathetic gaze. ‘I don’t think I’m her type.’
Gabriel’s mouth twitched in disdain at Sharee’s lack of good taste. He was on the verge of saying something incredibly stupid like You could be my type, if you like and instead said a different stupid thing. ‘Plenty more fish, and all that.’
‘Fish,’ deadpanned James.
‘Sure,’ said Gabriel. ‘Or. You know. Some other aquatic analogy to dating the fickle and