Even from behind, Tristan knew Josiah would be blushing. Sure, things had changed. He was more self-confident than he’d been, and he had a few more friends besides his buddy who used to work at the coffee house with him, but he was still Josiah. Still so damn innocent. So sweet.
His cock stirred. Fuck, Tristan wanted him.
“Yeah?” he asked, all shock in his voice. He didn’t know how desirable he was.
“Yeah. What do you say?” The man’s hand moved to Josiah’s hair, and he let his fingers run through it. Josiah’s head snapped back, forcing the other man’s hands from him. He had a thing with his hair. Tristan had noticed that. He didn’t like anyone touching it.
Josiah pushed it behind his ear. “Not today. I have some stuff I need to take care of. But, soon. I think I’d like to get to know you, too.”
“Great, I’ll call you.”
Josiah closed the door when the guy walked away. He turned, and jumped a little when his eyes landed on Tristan. “Shit, I didn’t know you were home. You scared me to death.”
Tristan didn’t uncross his arms. Didn’t move from where he leaned against the wall, but cocked an eyebrow at him. “New boyfriend?”
Josiah bit his lip, stalled, before saying, “You wouldn’t have asked me that a year ago.”
“Don’t remind me.” Tristan shook his head. “And you wouldn’t have called me on it. I miss the old Josiah.” He didn’t, really. And Josiah was right, too. Even though things had started off rocky, they’d fallen into this strange, almost comfortable life. Tristan stayed away from home longer than he needed to, missing being alone, just himself and the four walls surrounding him. He kept his distance. There were so many things Josiah didn’t know about him, and never would. They still didn’t walk together, even though Josiah still always went. But they were...friends. He was the first person other than Ben Tristan had ever called that, even though it still felt different than things with Ben.
Probably because Tristan had enjoyed fucking Ben, and he couldn’t do that with Josiah.
“No, you don’t.”
It took Tristan a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. When he realized Josiah meant he didn’t miss the way things used to be, Tristan gave him a small nod before pushing away from the wall.
“I’m going to my office.”
He took one step when Josiah’s voice stopped him. “Don’t.”
Tristan let out a deep breath and turned around to face him again. The look in his wide eyes had changed. Gone dark, and a little sad. He pushed his hand in his pocket and Tristan wondered if he still kept the queen there. If he was holding it right now.
An unexpected ache spidered through his chest.
“Let’s have dinner. Maybe we could watch a movie or something.”
The bottoms of his feet tingled, telling him to walk up the stairs, to lock himself in his office for the rest of the night, but he didn’t. Not when he saw the way Josiah’s eyes pleaded with him. For some reason, he didn’t want to be alone. With anyone else, that would have made Tristan walk away. But not with Josiah. The urge to protect him, to fix whatever ailed him, sprouted. No, it had always been there, but it just grew, rooted deep into him.
Josiah should never have to be alone if he didn’t want it, because he knew that Josiah was the kind of person who would never let someone else feel that way. He would never leave someone who cared about him, never walk away. That kind of roughness just wasn’t inside him. Even though he didn’t know it, he made Tristan feel less alone.
“I’ll help you.”
Josiah nodded, walking to the kitchen behind him. He took his backpack off and set it by the kitchen door.
They washed their hands, and then Josiah pulled ingredients out. He noticed right away what they were making—the pasta and sun-dried tomatoes—but he didn’t comment on it. Josiah handed him vegetables and told him to chop them. Tristan got started on washing them while Josiah busied himself with other things.
Once they were clean, he started to chop. The room was silent except for Josiah’s footsteps as he moved around the room, and then a laugh in Tristan’s ear. “What are you doing? You’re pulverizing it.”
Tristan looked down at the small squares he cut. “You said to chop them.”
“You’ve eaten before, right? These are squash and zucchini. When have you seen them cut so small? They’re going to turn into mush.” He laughed again before stepping up beside Tristan. “Like this.” He pushed some of the smaller pieces aside before starting with a new squash, and much bigger chunks.
