Sugar Heart Ch. 02

"Oh." I smiled back, hesitantly. "Well, I thought you looked pretty... young."

He bit his lip again. "Um... well... um... actually, I... th-thhh-think I'm... older than you. I'm twenty-one." He took a deep breath, and tried to force his mouth around new syllables. He sighed and dropped his face into his hands. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice muffled.

"It's okay--take your time," I said as soothingly as possible as I grabbed another cookie. It was clear how much stress Buddy's speech disorder caused him, and I didn't want to rush the poor little guy.

After a period of hesitation he removed his hands from his face. "W-would you mind if we... made it d-d-dark in here? I know it's... silly... but it... helps me, somehow."

I inhaled the rest of my cookie quickly and stood up. "No problem!" I assured him. I went around turning off all the lights, and finally drew the curtains. When I came back, I could just barely make out the shape of Buddy lying back on the couch, hugging a pillow against his chest. I sat on the opposite end of the couch, giving him plenty of space.

"I'm not actually... stupid or anything," he said after a minute or two. He spoke slowly, but his stammer had almost completely gone away. The couple next door had, mercifully, lapsed into silence. "People think I am... because I stutter... and I was behind a couple of grades in school. But I score pretty high on IQ tests. Anyway, that's... not the point. I started kindergarten a year late. My mom was... on drugs. She got clean, though--please don't think badly of her. She was a good mom. I swear. She loved me a lot." He breathed deeply a few times. "But when I was little, things were bad for a while. She didn't enrol me in school. I didn't have any dad I knew about. Someone called Social Services on us, and I ended up in a foster home for a couple of years."

I was tempted to give some response to this, but he was speaking so openly and so fluently; I didn't want to jinx it.

"So yeah... started school late," he continued. "People didn't tend to notice I was older. I've always been... small. By second grade, I was back with mom. Losing me was... the kick she'd needed to get clean. She got a decent job, we moved somewhere nicer, and we were... really happy for a while. My grades were good, but... I started having problems. Kids always... teased me... about the stutter. Mostly I just didn't speak at all, if I could avoid it. But I'd started getting some... speech therapy. Started feeling a bit more confident, and... tried to be more outgoing. Didn't go very well. Kids ignored me when I ignored them, but when I tried... being normal... they noticed me too much. I got bullied a lot. They called me a retard. Sometimes I got beat up. And... then my mom... got cancer. She was sick all the time, from the chemo... and I was sick too. Really bad anxiety problems. Between worrying about mom, and... bullies... I couldn't handle school half the time... and the anxiety also kind of destroyed my immune system. I missed so much that I... failed sixth grade... and had to repeat it. It wasn't so bad after that. Mom started getting better, and... I did too. I had panic attacks sometimes... mom always helped me through. That's how I learned what to do... when I saw you... you know...?"

I swallowed back a lump and placed a hand on his knee. Buddy was quiet for a little while, and then he shifted, crawling down the couch toward me. He tucked himself in against my side, curled up like a baby bird, and I held him close.

"In high school... I tried hard to be a nobody," he whispered. "I clammed up again. It was easier that way. I guess I was always kind of jealous of... guys like you. But I knew I could never be like you. After a while I just... thought it would be nice... to be close to you. When I was younger... it was guys like the ones you hung out with that always gave me a hard time. But you were different--I always knew you were different. I never saw you... being mean."

I kissed the top of his head. He smelled faintly of coffee.

"My mom never knew I was gay," he continued, cuddling closer to me. "She... didn't speak well of gays. I just didn't want to rock the boat. Especially when she... got sick again. She stuck it out just long enough to see me graduate high school. Then she just... slipped away. I don't know how I would have gotten through it without Bernie."

"Bernie... the mechanic?" I asked, feeling a little pang of jealousy.

"Mm-hm. He's the closest thing I ever had to a dad. He was my mom's boyfriend. They'd been together a few years, and... he stayed with her right till the end. We're pretty close. I've been staying with him ever since. He's really great."

I relaxed, the jealousy melting away as quickly as it had risen up.

"He's the only other person who knows... that I'm gay, I mean. I... I actually... told him about you." He giggled. "He's always telling me to flirt a little. The cups... that was... all I had the guts to do. Till I saw... what you, um... went through... with your parents. Till then, I... I mean, the idea that you might possibly be into guys was just... wishful thinking. I got my wish. But I couldn't be happy about it... when I saw how sad you were. So... so sad."

"I don't think I'm quite so sad anymore, Buddy." I stroked his soft hair a little, and we cuddled silently in the dark. After a while I started talking. I talked about how I'd been feeling more and more depressed the past few months, how I'd begun to suspect my widespread dishonesty and denial were to blame, and how I'd pushed myself to come out of the closet. I told him how painful it had been to see my parents react the way they did. I told him about everything else that had conspired to ruin that day for me--the gate opener, the elevator, the freezer, the Ben & Jerry's. I told him about how awful my job had been, and about the forklift accident, and getting fired. I told him about coming out to my friend Jeff, how I'd managed to lose all my friends in one fell swoop, and how alone I'd felt despite being fairly certain I was better off without people like them. The last thing I told him was how I'd been thinking of crashing my car and being done with life.

"I'm... so, so glad you didn't," he whispered. "Now that I... finally have the guts to talk to you."

"I'm glad too. I really do think things can get better now." I yawned deeply. My day seemed to have lasted about a year, and I'd been through such a wide spectrum of emotions that I was completely sapped.

"I should let you sleep," he said, sitting up. "You must be zonked."

"Mm-hm," I mumbled, groping for a lamp. We both squinted against the light when it flooded the room.

"Go on and... get ready for bed," he said softly, standing and grabbing the cookie plate. "I'll just... c-clean up the mess I made... in your kitchen."

"You don't have to," I said, watching him walk away in the direction of the kitchenette. "But... thanks."

I was feeling grungy and decided to have a shower. I was at least semi-hard throughout, and stroked myself a little while I scrubbed up, but did not masturbate in earnest. I had a vague notion that I might be saving myself for something.

I stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, and glanced toward the kitchen. Buddy peeked around the doorway. When he saw me in a towel, his eyes widened, and then lowered modestly.

"I..." I crossed my arms and chuckled briefly. "I'm kinda out of shape."

He gave his head a little shake and snuck me another timid glance, his cheeks reddening. "Y-you look... good."

I smiled gratefully. "Are you... about to leave?"

He shrugged. "N-n-nnnot if you d-don't want me to."

"Just give me, um...." I held up a finger and slipped into my bedroom, quickly putting on a fresh t-shirt and boxers. When I emerged, Buddy was standing in the hallway, his arms wrapped around himself. He looked so small, so innocent. I couldn't believe he was twenty-one. I wanted to kiss his cute little nose. He looked like a lost boy... but he was a man, the man who had saved me, the man who continued to make me feel there was a life ahead of me that would be worth sticking around for. I just wanted him close to me. The idea of him leaving made me want to panic again.

"Would you stay?" I whispered. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"If th-that's what you want," he replied, taking his phone out of his pocket and looking down at it. "I'll just... t-text Bernie. Make sure he knows I'm g-gone for the night, and... sssafe."

I watched him type out a text, tuck his phone away, and look up at me with curiosity and what might have been trepidation. I suspected he was trying to figure out whether I wanted him to literally sleep in my bed with me. I wasn't sure I knew what I wanted.

"C-c-c-could I just...?" He pointed toward the bathroom.

"Oh--of course! Go ahead!"

While Buddy disappeared inside the bathroom, I retreated into my bedroom, tossed an extra pillow on my bed, and conducted a rapid blitz of a cleanup job. I had a bottle of lube next to my bed, which I quickly tucked into a drawer, and there was plenty of dirty laundry about, some pieces practically stiff with dried jizz. I shoved everything into a laundry basket and finally relaxed a little, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

Buddy finished in the bathroom and crept down the hall, poking his head into my room. "H-hhhi," he whispered.

"Hi," I answered, smiling. "You can come in."

He took a step inside and glanced around nervously.

"Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?" I asked.

He smiled bashfully. "Y-y-yes please."

I pulled a clean, soft one from a drawer and tossed it to him. He missed the toss clumsily, letting it fall to the floor with a self-conscious chuckle. He picked it up, hesitated a moment, glanced at the door, at me, and then, making a quick decision, turned his back to me and wriggled out of his polo. I could see most of his ribs, and nearly every vertebra in his spine. His shoulderblades stuck out in sharp relief. He hung his shirt neatly on one of the knobs of my closet door and pulled on the t-shirt, which hung off him like a sack. He turned to face me again and went back to looking nervous.

"Is this okay?" I whispered. "If you're uncomfortable... I mean... I don't want to make you uncomfortable!"

He smiled finally and took a few steps toward me. "I'm okay. I... I just... don't want to... p-p-presume anything."

I yawned and shifted back against the wall, reclining halfway. "Come lay down next to me...?"

Buddy nodded and covered the final few steps to the bed. He sat down, and then drew his legs up and settled onto his back. His slight frame barely seemed to shift the mattress. I pulled my blanket over both of us and reached over him to turn off my bedside lamp. I lay back, feeling his shoulder and arm snug against mine. My bed wasn't big enough to accommodate two without touching.

"Richard?"

I smiled in the dark. "Hmm?"

"I always thought you must work nights... with all that coffee you drink in the evenings. How can you be tired?"

"Caffeine doesn't really affect me."

"Oh. Well. How do you get yourself woken up in the morning?"

"I dunno. Waffles?"

He giggled softly, and I chuckled along with him. This was fun, like being a kid on a sleepover

"Buddy?" I whispered after a period of silence.

"Yes?"

"What colour are your eyes?"

"My driver's license says 'grey', but... that's not quite right. Honestly... I'm not sure."

"Well... I really like them."

"Oh. Th-thank you!"

His little finger brushed against mine. A shiver danced up my spine. I couldn't be sure if the touch had been deliberate or just a random twitch, but I reciprocated it. His finger hooked around mine, and for a minute we just held pinkies. Then he let go, only to slide his arm beneath mine and reach around to hold my hand fully. I let out a long, contented breath as our fingers laced together.