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Roy wraps his hands around his mug, bracing it carefully as he sits down on the couch. The matte black ceramic is warm in his hands, steam rising off the top of his tea as he blows on it gently.
He moved the couch this morning, dragging one end around until he could sit facing the front window. Maybe he’ll move it back tomorrow, but it’s more likely that he’s just remodeled his living room for at least a month.
Besides, with the London weather what it is, he’d rather watch the world roll by outside than whatever vapid drivel is on the telly. This way, he can see the rain falling, fat droplets pelting the glass and clinging to the blades of grass in the yard.
It’s the perfect atmosphere to sit with a book and a cuppa, to slow down for a little while and really savor his time. He’s trying to be better at that, and moving the couch felt like a good place to start today. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll get to see lightning strike behind the pages of the latest Dan Brown.
He stretches out across the cushions, legs propped up on one of the ugly throw pillows that came with the furniture set, and flicks on a warm lap as he opens his book.
The rain pours down, and Roy marks the passage of time only by the pages he’s turned and the number of times he’s stood up to refill his tea.
It is, quite possibly, one of the loveliest days he’s spent in recent memory.
He’s just closing in on the final chapters when there’s a knock at the door. Roy tips the book against his chest and waits to see if the interruption will go away. He counts to 35, but there’s another knock.
He sighs and hauls himself up to answer the door.
Jamie is standing on the other side, sopping wet and holding his Richmond duffel bag over one shoulder. However frustrated he’d been a moment ago, it melts away and he feels himself smiling.
“Look what the fucking cat dragged in,” he says, stepping back so Jamie can get in out of the rain. He nods at the bag. “Trainin’ doesn’t start back up until next week.”
“Went to work out with Colin, yeah?” He pulls his headband off and shakes his hair loose. Tiny droplets of water spray across the floor and splatter Roy’s chest. “Swear we did it inside, this is just from the walk up the driveway.”
The sudden dampness spurs Roy into moving to the bathroom and pulling a clean towel from the closet. He unfurls it and tosses it at Jamie. It bounces off of his chest, but he catches it before it hits the ground and drags it across his face.
“You got dry clothes?”
“They were dry when I got them out the car, at least.” Jamie drops the bag on the floor and kneels down to rummage through it. He comes up with a hoodie and a pair of sweats. “Trackies aren’t too bad, but me shirt got the worst of it.”
“I’ll find you one. Don’t move; you’ll track it through the house.”
He comes back with a sweatshirt, solid black and fleece-lined. Jamie has stripped out of his wet clothes, lying in limp piles, slowly seeping into puddles in the entryway. He’s standing on the carpet, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing nothing but the fresh sweatpants. Roy throws the hoodie to him and he pulls it on.
“Dried me feet off ‘fore I came over here,” he says, voice muffled by the fabric. “Couldn’t stand the wet socks anymore, yeah?”
“You’re fine, Jamie.” Roy waits for him to wiggle his arms through the sleeves, then steps up into Jamie’s personal space. He steadies Jamie by one elbow and leans in to kiss his forehead like he’d wanted to do since Jamie showed up on his stoop a few minutes ago. He can’t imagine how cold Jamie must have been then, given how clammy his skin still feels. Roy only has to tug him forward lightly for Jamie to tuck himself against Roy’s chest.
“Let’s get you sat down, then,” Roy says, after they’ve stood together for a few minutes.
Jamie steps back, but keeps his hand wrapped around Roy’s wrist. “You moved the couch?”
“This morning, yeah. Can see the window better from here.”
“Oh, that’s true, I guess.” There’s something guarded in Jamie’s voice, but Roy can’t figure out what it is. He leads Jamie across the room and pulls him down until they’re sitting closely together. Roy shuffles them around until he’s stretched out again, with one foot propped on the floor and Jamie leaning back against his chest. Like this, he can easily reach to kiss Jamie when he turns his face up, asking for it, and still see the pages of his book around the side of Jamie’s head.
“What’re we reading?” Jamie asks, when Roy opens the pages back up. He offers a quick summary of the plot, filling Jamie in on where the story is starting to wind down. He reads, and Jamie watches the pages turn.
The rain keeps falling, but almost as if the universe had known to hold off until Jamie was safely indoors, the sky turns darker. Lightning cracks bright lines across the sky, and thunder rolls in the distance. Through the window, the world looks angry and dismal, and it makes Roy all the more thankful for his cozy, warm sanctum and his boyfriend curled up safely against him.
When he finishes the book, Roy nudges Jamie enough that he can get up to refill his cup and find something else to read. He comes back with a mug in each hand and another paperback tucked under his arm.
“Realized I never offered you a cuppa when you got here.” Roy passes one of the mugs to Jamie, who wraps his hands around it. He’s taken the blanket they were lying underneath and wrapped it around himself. Now, he’s tucked into the corner of the couch, feet digging into the seat cushion and knees pulled up to his chest. His toes are sticking out, so Roy reaches over to adjust the blanket over them when he sits down.
Jamie doesn’t move. Roy settles himself on the opposite corner, making sure that he’s leaving room for Jamie to come back over if he chooses.
When the first two chapters of the new book are up, he drapes it across one thigh to hold his place while he looks at Jamie.
“Oi, you gonna stay all the fucking way over there?”
Thunder rumbles again, this time almost enough to rattle the windows. Jamie jumps, staring out the window.
“Jamie?” Roy says his name, but he doesn’t respond. He wants to reach out for Jamie, but worries about spooking him if the movement comes across as sudden. Instead, he says his name again, a little more loudly. “Jamie. Jamie.”
Jamie still doesn’t turn, but Roy can see his shoulders shifting. His back is rigid, shoulders stiff under the blanket.
“Don’ like storms,” Jamie finally whispers.
“Look at me,” Roy urges. “You won’t see if it you look at me.”
Jamie peers over one shoulder, eyes wide and afraid. “It’s so dark out there.”
“Yeah, it is.” Roy slides closer to him. “Fucking nighttime, even though it’s the afternoon. But it can’t get us in here.”
“I know that.” It’s supposed to sound argumentative, Roy thinks, but the words just sound petulant and whiny. “’M not a little kid.”
“You’re not,” Roy agrees. “But it’s still OK to be afraid. Emotions are fucking normal, Jay. It’s good to listen to them.”
“Stupid, innit? Grown man all freaked out by a little thunder?”
“I don’t think so.” Roy is sitting close enough now that he can draw Jamie to him. He goes easily, and Roy pulls until they’re laying on top of each other again. This time, Jamie turns onto his side so he can hide his face in Roy’s neck. Roy rubs his back. “We’ve all got our shit, don’t we? So yours is thunderstorms, so what?”
“So we live in London!” Jamie all but wails against his skin. “It rains like every other day ‘round here!”
“And most of the time there’s no thunder,” Roy soothes. “And even if there is, you did exactly fucking right today. You came over, you let me hold onto you.”
“You like the storms!”
“Yeah, I do. Not gonna lie to you ‘bout it. Not much I like more’n reading a book when it’s raining.” He pokes gently at Jamie’s ribcage. “Except you. Take you over rainy reading any fucking day, yeah?”
“You moved the couch.”
“And I can move it back. Or I can move it somewhere else entirely. It’s not bolted down.”
Roy traces his fingertips in lines up and down Jamie’s back. He’d never admit it, but the paths follow the raindrops he’s still watching hit the window.
“Hey,” Roy gets Jamie’s attention again. “Would it be better if we went upstairs? Got curtains in the bedroom. Turn the other way and you can’t see the window down here? Or we can stay like this, if you're comfortable. Whatever the fuck you want, Jay.”
“Here’s good. Don’t like the storm, but you’re cozy.” Jamie pressies a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “Don’t want to move.”
“Right, that’s alright.” Roy reaches for his book again. He props it up on Jamie’s back so he can hold it with one hand. With the other, he keeps stroking and tapping and patting any bits of Jamie that he can reach. It seems to help; he can feel Jamie relaxing against him as the afternoon wears on. Roy drinks his tea, and the cup he’d poured for Jamie, before he realizes that his boyfriend has fallen asleep to the cadence of the very same storm that had worked him up so much.
Roy marks his place in his book and drops it to the floor beside him. He ends up with his hands folded together, locked around the small of Jamie’s back, as his eyes droop closed. Before sleep pulls him under, he kisses the top of Jamie’s head softly as he settles in for a nap on a rainy day.
Maybe Jamie’s got the right idea.