“No,” Fredric said, and Ilan lifted his head up. “Not tonight.”
“But you wanted to go on dates, Fredric. I…”
“Stop. We can go dance or see a movie or paint cacti any time,” Fredric said, command in his voice that made Ilan’s stomach tingle. “You’re exhausted. You’re going to eat and relax and then sleep more. Now, get some bowls.”
With a scoff, Ilan pushed past him to his cabinet. “First of all, you don’t get to come into my house and boss me around,” he said, even as he followed Fredric’s command. “Second of all, I don’t need…”
“Hey,” Fredric interrupted, his voice low. “We’re not rushing this. But you’re exhausted, you haven’t eaten, and I have a feeling you’ve been doing a piss-poor job of taking care of yourself for years. I’m not going to hold your hand every day that you’re struggling to figure yourself out, but every now and again I’m going to come over and make you soup.”
Ilan swallowed thickly, his throat hot and tight. “Okay,” he whispered.
Fredric instantly gentled, and he reached out, Ilan not hesitating this time as he stepped into the touch. Fredric’s hands were warm from the steam and a little damp. And they felt like manifested perfection as his palm touched his cheek, and his thumb drew a line just under his eye. “This is because I care. And because I enjoy spending time with you. Not because I have expectations.”
Ilan hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that until the words tumbled over him and settled into the space behind his ribs. His breath came out in a tremble, but it was like a release, and his shoulders sagged. He leaned into the touch for a single moment, then he moved away and together they finished up dishing out the food.
Instead of eating in the dining room, the pair of them sat in the living room, their legs tucked under the coffee table, their backs to the sofa. Ilan hit the remote on his stereo, and the room filled with music—some old playlist that reminded him of his parents. He remembered them dancing to it every now and again, and he remembered being mortified by how much they loved each other. He never thought he’d miss it with a singular, impossible ache that he knew would never go away.
“Thanks for this,” he said as he finished up his last few bites. “This is twice in a row you’ve fed me.”
“I’m working through a cookbook,” Fredric said a little shyly. “I got it years ago. I tried a couple recipes when I was first recovering, but then I got back home, and…”
And she wouldn’t let him, Ilan’s inner voice supplied. She’d taken over and stood in his way and never let him grow beyond that little bubble. “Can we not talk about her?” Ilan asked. “I know she’s always going to be part of the past—for both of us—but I want…” He didn’t quite have the words, but he stilled when Fredric reached over and pressed fingers to his shoulder.
“Consider her banished from this space.”
Ilan sagged a little with relief and leaned close again. He closed his eyes as the song changed—some old thing by Liza Minelli he didn’t recall the name of, but he remembered his mom had loved that one. He hummed along with the tune, but stopped when he realized Fredric was listening.
“Sorry.”
“Your voice is nice. Did you ever sing?” Fredric asked, brushing his fingers down Ilan’s arm. “Like with a choir or anything?”
Ilan laughed and shook his head against Fredric’s shoulder. “God, no. I mean I can hold a tune, but I already got made fun of enough for being poor. Choir kids were nerds, and I was not about that.”
“I didn’t think you were so shallow,” Fredric chastised, and Ilan rolled his eyes at him.
“I was fourteen. Of course I was shallow. I was obsessed with trying to get rid of my acne, and I wanted all the attractive people to notice me. I wanted them to see me as…something else, you know? I think I’m glad they didn’t now. I barely survived my doctor’s ego, and if it started growing by high school…”
Fredric laughed, and his fingers crept farther until they were buried in the short strands at the base of Ilan’s neck. As they stroked along his scalp, Ilan’s eyes closed, and he started humming again. “Do you dance?”
Ilan wrinkled his nose. “Like at clubs?”
Fredric hummed. “Slow dance. I took some lessons after my stroke. It helped with regaining my balance.”
“Nothing formal,” Ilan said. “I wasn’t invited to birthday soirées at the governor’s mansion until after I became a rich doctor.”
Fredric snorted and tugged lightly on his hair. “Poor Cinderella—forgotten by the prince.”
“That’s right,” Ilan said with a sniff. “Never got his dance, and no one ever found his shoe.”
“Instead, he had to go work his fingers to the bone and earn the good life he got,” Fredric told him.
“Yeah, well, the story certainly is taking a long time with that happily ever after.”
Ilan felt a little sore when Fredric pulled away, but suddenly there was a hand in front of his face. “Is it?” Fredric asked.
Ilan hesitated, then let Fredric draw him up. He took two steps forward as Fredric backed around the table, his palm sweating. “What…”
“Am I about to bump into anything?” Fredric asked as he stopped in front of the TV.
Ilan shook his head. “Ah, no. I don’t think so. What are you…?”
He was again interrupted, this time when Fredric pulled him close, and put an arm around his waist. He lifted their joined hands, knotted together, and pressed against both of their chests, the only thing keeping space between them. “I never really liked fairy tale happy endings,” Fredric said as he began to sway them, moving in a slow circle. The music drifted around them, wrapping in gentle waves like the rise and fall of a tide, and Ilan fought the urge to close his eyes, because looking at Fredric’s face like that made him feel like he was falling. “They left too much open for interpretation.”
He swallowed thickly, his voice lost as Fredric’s thumb ran over his knuckles. “I,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, it always ends with a kiss, doesn’t it? And that’s supposed to solve all their problems. But Cinderella was still a girl with a family who never loved her. Snow White was still an orphan. Belle was the girl shunned by her entire village because she wanted to read. Rapunzel was locked in a tower and watched the love of her life fall to his death.” He shook his head. “I wanted more than that kiss. I wanted to see the rest of it. I wanted to know how they got past it, how they managed to fight for their happily ever after through all those scars, and all that pain that wouldn’t disappear the moment they fell in love.”
Ilan’s heart thumped, because he knew. He would never understand, because he’d kept himself so guarded that Fredric was the only person who had ever come close to his heart. But he’d seen Fredric’s fight. “Well, maybe it started like this,” he said. He released Fredric’s hand so he could wind it around the back of his neck, and he pressed their bodies together because fuck space between them. “Maybe it started with a dance.”