Just as the years had left their brand on Tim’s skin, so had they on Devin’s. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, experiences Tim had missed out on in spite of all their correspondence. He wanted to touch them, feel the grooves with his calloused fingertips as if he could absorb the memories that way, but that would’ve meant pushing Devin out of the way of his task, and he had neither the desire nor strength to do that.
This Devin was broader than the twenty-year-old who’d left Napa behind, too. Hips and shoulders filled out his dark clothing in ways unapparent on long shot YouTube videos. Tim had watched every appearance, some more than others, stifling every spark the performances and interviews generated beneath his skin. Here, now, with Devin so close, the urges returned,
