Charles by Con Riley

18

Later, while Hugo rested his knee, Charles sat outside on the patio in a pool of sunshine, texting Keir.

Charles: I’m brilliant.

He hadn’t expected a reply right away, but he grinned when Keir answered within seconds.

Keir: Of course you are.

Charles: And I don’t mean just at shagging.

Keir: Obviously.

Charles cradled his phone, suffused with more warmth than sitting in sunshine should have engendered. Keir was always in his corner.

Keir: The job’s going well then? And sharing the stables? You’re getting along with Hugo?

Charles turned in his seat, Hugo visible on the sofa inside with a book in his hands, that interesting face of his only marred by a slight frown.

Charles: About that….

Charles: Have you got time to talk?

Right away, his phone rang.

“Hey,” Keir said. “Perfect timing.” Charles could hear the chatter of many voices. “I’m twiddling my thumbs in a café waiting for Mitch and his crew to finish shopping.” He must have stirred his coffee—Charles heard the chink of a spoon on china. “So as chairman, secretary, and number one member of the Charles Heppel fan club, I need to know if it’s Hugo who’s calling you brilliant.”

“Um…” Considering that he shared everything with Keir, telling him about that morning wasn’t as easy as usual. He cast his mind back to what had happened—in bed and out of it—and then relived their take-it-slow conversation, not sure how to summarise it.

Keir heard his hesitation. “Listen,” he said with a hint of worry. “I’ve only met Hugo a couple of times, but he seemed decent. Aren’t you getting along?”

“We’re getting along fine.”

As if he knew that Charles spoke about him, Hugo looked up from his book, his gaze meeting with his through the glass door. “He’s…”

So many of the ways he’d described men to Keir in the past didn’t fit Hugo.

He wasn’t hot in the way that usually caught his eye, no easy way to convey what made Charles keep staring at him now, taking in the sweet lift of his lips before Hugo lowered his head and resumed reading.

“He’s different,” he settled on saying. Then he rushed on before Keir could challenge him on that word choice. “Listen, can I ask you something?”

Something in his tone must have caught Keir’s attention. “Anything,” he said with the fierce conviction Charles knew he saved for precious few people.

“Okay. If you were seeing someone, but sex was off the table, what would you do together instead?”

“Instead of sex?” Keir lowered his voice, pausing, and Charles could almost see him thinking, giving his question every inch of his attention. “Is getting naked still an option? That would be Mitch’s first choice. Frankly, it’s a challenge to get him to keep his clothes on.”

Charles grinned, imagining the man Keir lived with. “Must be like having your very own bouncy castle.”

“It is a bit. Like waking up every day to find out it’s your birthday and Christmas,” Keir said, laughing. “But seriously, is this still Hugo you’re talking about?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “If so, I can guess why sex is out of the question.”

“He’s…” Charles was uncertain of how much Hugo was ready to share with other people yet about his future. “We’re spending a lot of time together, so help me out here. What do you two do with your clothes on?”

“You know what we do. All the stuff you think is boring.”

“Like what?”

“Hiking, or watching football. Can’t say the footy is my cuppa, but Mitch loves it. Needs it, to be honest. I hadn’t thought about that until I lived where I worked too. He needs an escape sometimes. Somewhere away from the job so he can come back refreshed,” Keir said, echoing what Luke had suggested, his voice softening. “Hiking does that for him too, which means he can think without someone needing him every second. And as for the footy… well I can tolerate watching twenty-two men getting sweaty for ninety minutes when it makes him happy. Besides, sometimes watching it on TV in bed means both of us end up winning.”

Charles snorted, but he also thought of the Netflix sessions he and Hugo shared every evening, taking it in turns to watch Hugo’s choice of nature documentaries, or Love Island chosen by Charles. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got the chilling out in front of screens part covered. We’ve been to a pub too. But long hikes are no good. His knee’s giving him some trouble.”

“Really? Last time I saw him, he barely needed his stick.”

Charles glanced into the living room again and noticed that Hugo had dropped off. His eyes were closed and his book was face down on his chest, and that bag of peas had slipped from his knee. Charles crossed to the glass door as Keir said, “There are still lots of easy walks locally. Hey!” His voice picked up. “I just remembered one of the first places Mitch took me after I moved in. I’ll send you the details. And I’ll talk to Mitch when I see him. Send you whatever he suggests as well.”

“Thanks.” Charles couldn’t have said quite why that offer touched him. “That would be great.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. He’s the number-three member of your fan club.”

“Three? Who’s number two?”

“George,” Keir said, as if that should be obvious.

“Hardly.” Charles watched the book on Hugo’s chest rise and fall with his slow inhales and exhales. His face was so much younger while unconscious, relaxed and boyish. Then Hugo turned, nestling against a sofa cushion, and his scar was visible, stark in a way Charles hadn’t noticed in ages. A sound must have slipped out because Keir asked, “Charles… Are you… Are you sure that you’re okay there?”

“Yes. I’m just thinking.”

“That’s a first,” Keir teased, but his voice was still gentle. “Chlamydia, crabs, it makes me feel very special that you still share first times with me.”

And that was another reminder of a first time Hugo had got close to sharing with him.

It was special.

More than he’d ever realised, or knew quite what to do with.

I’m not going to mess this up for him.

Keir said, “Hey, Mitch and Justin are back. Has… Has any of this…?”

“Helped? Yes, a lot. Go have a great time. I’ll see you when you get back.”

After saying goodbye, he almost slid the glass door open to go inside, but he spoke a few words into his phone first, saying the name of the Syrian city Hugo had mentioned, along with the word bomber. He watched Hugo through the glass as a video loaded, not wanting to turn his back, because for some reason, him slipping into sleep in the middle of the day like this made him seem defenceless.

And that was what he had been, Charles guessed. What everyone in Idlib had been, he thought, when the video played, glad he’d left the sound off while watching a neighbourhood submerge in fire and smoke and shrapnel.

Hell on earth filled his phone screen.

There were children in that?

Charles pictured the kids he’d supported, all his lovely, awful maggots, and he swallowed around a lump that persisted.

Keir chose the perfect moment to keep his promise.

A notification appeared on his phone. Charles clicked on it, navigating away from hellish ruins, his screen filling with a view of heaven instead.

The lush green of a Cornish summer garden was dotted with art and sculptures, the sea a sparkling turquoise-green in the far distance. A garden for healing, he slowly read, with a memorial garden for service personnel. Because, the website promised, even after war, hope could flourish.

Hugo moved on the sofa, starting to sit up, so Charles opened the door to hear his voice blurry with sleep. “Nice halo.”

Charles knelt beside him. “I thought we’d already been through this.” He brushed strands of hair from Hugo’s forehead as if it had clouded his vision, when in reality, Charles just wanted to touch it— touch him. Wanted more than that, if he was honest. Instead he said, “We agreed, I’m not an angel, remember?”

Hugo pushed himself up to sitting, his eyes still soft and sleepy. “Could have fooled me.”

Charles could have got onto his lap then. Could have climbed onto the sofa and done what he did best until angel was the last title Hugo would ever give him, but for a reason he couldn’t put a name to, kneeling beside him and asking a question seemed more important.

“Will you go out with me again?” Charles showed him his phone. “Here.”

Hugo took it from him, scrolling. “To a sculpture garden? Yes, just as soon as my knee starts behaving. It’s almost there now.”

“Next weekend?” Charles asked.

“It’s a date,” Hugo said, unaware as he scrolled through the website some more that Charles had stilled until he looked up. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” But all of Hugo’s honesty with him must have lingered, because he made his own admittance. “It’s just that you’re not the only first-time flyer at Glynn Harber.” Owning up to that felt silly, but he made himself do it. “Dating. I haven’t exactly done that before.” He affected a shudder even while something inside him shivered for real. “Good thing I’m not interested in romance, remember?”

“I do.” Hugo sounded dry but his gaze turned merry. “You told me the first time we met that you weren’t a believer. But think about it—two virgins our age being in the same place at the same time? What are the chances?”

He settled back against the sofa cushions, his smile almost symmetrical, and Charles could only smile back, fiercely glad he had one first time left to share with him.