Vivaldi in the Dark Box Set

Chapter 14-1

Chapter 14

It had been the longest five days of Jayden’s life.

He had lucked out: Darren and Charley both always went away over the Christmas holidays, but they only overlapped by five days. For five days, including New Year, Darren was still in Switzerland, and Charley was in the cheaper Blackpool visiting her Nana. For five days, Jayden was restless, bored, and desperate for Darren to come back. And he didn’t even have Charley to distract him.

But it was only five days.

Which meant on Saturday morning, he was out of bed before Mum could summon him, and waiting patiently on f*******: for Darren’s poor English to finally, at ten past ten, tell the world that he was back in England, and still no snow. WTH, England?!

He liked it. By the time he’d texted Darren his marching orders, fetched his coat and gloves, and found his boots, someone called Ethan Summerskill (and what a last name) had remarked that there’d be no skiing down the high street for you, Didier Défago! and Paul Smith had liked both the comment and the original status.

Jayden seriously had to meet these people.

It might not have been snowing over Christmas (which it never did) but it was freezing outside. Jayden didn’t even entertain thoughts of walking, heading straight for the bus stop, and huddling inside his coat, trying to escape. Why Darren claimed to enjoy skiing was beyond him. Why would anyone subject themselves to more cold than was absolutely necessary?

Everyone else had the same idea; it was two days after New Year, and the bus was packed to the point where Jayden jumped off a stop early and walked to Milzani’s from the high street in the cold, gloved hands buried in his pockets and telling himself to remain in cool control and not jump Darren the minute he saw him.

He had never imagined that he’d have the urge to just kiss someone so badly.

As it happened, he hadn’t sent Darren his summons early enough, and Milzani’s was devoid of sarcastic, Alpine-skiing life. The weekend barista twinkled at him cheerfully, though they weren’t quite on first-name (or any name) terms yet, and asked if he’d like to pay for ‘the other half’s’ now.

“Okay, sure, great,” Jayden fumbled, and she beamed so hard it looked like her face would burst.

It was only a ten-minute wait for Darren, and Jayden spent most of it on f*******:, tracking an argument on his phone that had spawned from Darren’s status. Paul and Ethan were apparently arguing about which skiing event in the Winter Olympics Darren would be best at. Darren himself had left only a single comment—ur both r-tards, holy s**t!—not long after his first status, and Jayden contented himself until the door chimed by following the growing list of events—and names—that he’d never heard of. It kind of explained the Didier Défago comment, though.

Then the door did chime and he forgot all about skiing.

Maybe it was the fortnight apart, or maybe it was the change from the leather jacket and the school uniform—or maybe it was the hat and the glasses, but Darren was stunning.

He was wearing the same old jeans, and a pair of clunky winter boots that were frankly horribly unfashionable, and a red overcoat that reached his knees in that slightly-too-big, stole-this-from-Scott way rather than the genuine cut being that long, but…he also wore a matching red beanie and his hair was peeking out from around the bottom in timid little curls that were gorgeous, and the beanie just cupped that amazing, angular face kind of like how Jayden wanted to with his hands, and then there was a pair of glasses on the end of that perfectly straight nose. Glasses. Little rectangular, wire-framed glasses, half-steamed with the heat, and when Darren smiled at the barista under them, Jayden’s heart hiccupped uncomfortably.

“Hey.”

“Oh, my God.”

Darren’s eyebrows twitched. Between the hat and the glasses. The glasses.

“You look…um, hi, hello, sorry,” Jayden fumbled, but then decided to hell with it, and surged up out of his chair to kiss him instead of speaking, curling his fingers into the edges of the hat.

“Oh, wow,” Darren said once Jayden released him. “Hello to you too. Damn.”

“Sorry,” Jayden mumbled, flushing, but he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. “You just look…very kissable.”

“Always something I like to hear,” Darren grinned, shedding his coat and hat, his curls exploding out in a static-charged mess, and sinking into his seat. Jayden promptly captured a hand across the wooden table and began to rub the cold out of it. “How was your break?”

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Jayden interrupted.

Darren grimaced, pushing them up his nose. They slid arrogantly back down. “I’m long-sighted. And I don’t, I wear contacts,” he added, “but we only got home an hour ago and I haven’t unpacked because you decided you had to meet right now.”

“You can unpack tomorrow.”

“Apparently.”

“And you can wear those whenever you want because they really suit you,” Jayden pushed. “I mean…I just…no, really, they make you look even more amazing than usual. I don’t know, they really…”

“If you say something girly like they bring out my eyes or some such, I’m leaving,” Darren threatened.

“Fine,” Jayden huffed. “How was skiing?”

“Pretty good. Mother in the spa, Father in the bar, and just me and Scott out on the slopes. And I didn’t break anything this time.”

Jayden narrowed his eyes. Darren sounded too proud of that. “You usually do?”

“Four winters in a row.”

Jayden winced.

“I bounce.” Darren shrugged. “How was yours? You visit your Nan?”

“Yeah.” Jayden went red. “Oh, my God, it was awful.”

“Why?”

“She thinks…you know.”

“No, I don’t, I’ve never met your Nana.”

“She thinks I’m gay!”

“You’re not? Oops, sorry,” Darren said and began to draw back his hand. Jayden recaptured it and scowled.

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

“Darren.”

“What’s the problem? You’re always saying how you don’t believe in being closeted.”

“Okay, look, Nan and Granddad are divorced and I never see my grandfather because he’s always going on about…” Jayden lowered his voice, “…you know, black people and Muslims and everything—and gays, too, he hates gays, and he told Dad once he needs to start hitting me more or I’ll turn out gay, and…”

“And your Nan’s the same?”

“Well, not that bad, but…she’s like sixty, Darren, she won’t like it either and…”

“Wait, so, did she guess and you denied it?”

“Yeah,” Jayden said weakly.

Darren shrugged. “Then what’s the big deal? If she didn’t throw a fit and let that slide—because I’m sorry, but you set off gaydar like a broken window sets off a burglar alarm—then I doubt she’s going to butcher you or anything.”

Jayden bit his lip, pushing at the anxiety, and squeezed Darren’s hand. He’d rubbed all the cold away, and the calluses were doubly rough after two weeks of abuse. “Can we go?” he asked suddenly.

“Go where?”

“I don’t know. Home, maybe. I want…” he flushed a little, but managed it, “…I want to kiss you again. Properly. I’ve missed you.”

“Well, my whole family’s home,” Darren said, “and Misha opens doors at random, so…”

“So let’s go to mine,” Jayden urged, and Darren shrugged, draining his cup. Jayden took it as assent, and ordered another couple of cups to go while Darren wriggled back into the borrowed coat. It was definitely Scott’s, but Jayden made a mental note of it and decided he would have to drag Darren to the sales at some point to get one of his own. He looked gorgeous in red with that dark hair and white skin and the high, faint flush in his cheeks from the cold when they finally stepped back out onto the high street, curls squashed back under the hat. That hat. The shape of his face…how had Jayden not quite noticed those cheekbones before? They could cut diamonds, they were so sharp, but his fluffy hair hid the lines of him, and…

Jayden stuffed his free hand into his pocket, and itched to tell Darren to screw the walk and get the bus home. It would be quicker—but Darren was a cold-weather-creep and didn’t so much as pause at the stops, and not for the first time, Jayden wished one of them were a girl so they could at least hold hands.

“Do you, um, want to come out on Saturday?” he rushed out instead, and Darren raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Charley gets back from Blackpool on Friday night and we always go out on Saturday after, before school starts again. We’re going bowling this time, and…Will you come? She wants to meet you, and I’ve missed you this last couple of weeks, and…it’d be nice, I think.”

Darren pulled a face. “Charley as in Cross?”

“Yeah.”

“The girl who keeps harassing me on f*******:?”

“Um, probably, yeah.”

“Blonde hair, too much eyeshadow…”

Jayden shoved him; Darren grinned. “You coming or not?”

“I don’t know,” Darren said. “She kind of scares me.”

The spark of humour suddenly diffused the s****l tension, and Jayden laughed. “Well,” he said. “I promise not to let her ambush you. Or rip your arm off.”

“Rip my arm off?”

“She’s grabby.”

“…And you’re trying to get me to actually go?”

“Yeah,” Jayden said, daring to reach out and squeeze Darren’s elbow briefly at the traffic lights. “Please? It’ll be fun.”

Darren shrugged. “All right,” he conceded, blowing across the top of his coffee, “but I promise no skill at bowling.”

In the quieter confines of the residential streets, Jayden dared to give in, and slid his gloved fingers into Darren’s bare ones. Even through the wool, his skin was cold, and he laced their fingers together and squeezed.

“I missed you,” he repeated, instead of what he really wanted to say, but then Darren smiled, his glasses shifting on his nose, and, really, this was perfect just as it was.