Let out a small sigh when Ilan brushed fingers through the back of his hair, holding him in place for a second before finally breaking away and stepping back. “You look good.” His voice was rough, the honesty in it almost like it was unpracticed.
Fredric ran his fingers over his carefully combed hair, then down the front of his shirt. He’d taken his time to get ready, changing outfits three times before settling on something casual and—what Agatha insisted—was hip without being too young. “I had help.”
“You’ve never needed it before,” Ilan said, and Fredric could hear the frown in his tone, and it made him laugh.
“Yes, well,” he said and dragged a touch down Ilan’s arm until their hands linked, “I’ve also never wanted to impress someone as badly as I do tonight.”
Ilan stepped in close, and then warm lips brushed against his temple, and he spoke right there against Fredric’s skin. “Ridiculous.”
Fredric’s eyes squeezed shut, and he simply let himself feel this—this joy, wonder, disbelief that even a second of this was allowed to be his. He suddenly understood the meaning of starving, because he was now feasting on something he’d been deprived of for longer than he cared to think about.
“Where’s Bas?” Ilan asked when the moment settled.
“Oh.” Fredric stepped away and grabbed his cane off the coatrack. “He’s taking the night off. I didn’t want to have to stress about him getting in the way. The woman I spoke to on the phone said he was welcome, but that the place is small, and it can get messy.”
Ilan offered his arm, and Fredric curled his fingers around his bicep. “We’d make it work, you know. I love having him.”
Fredric felt the warmth of that statement—so simple, so thoughtfully casual. “I know, but it’s not just that. He’s getting old and late nights like this are hard on him. Besides, he’s enjoying being spoiled by Agatha and Teddy.”
Ilan didn’t argue further, just led the way to his car, and Fredric settled in the comfortable seat. There was soft music on when the engine started, and Fredric grinned when he realized it was Billie Holiday. “Good choice.”
Ilan laughed softly as he turned onto the main road. “I always think about you when I play her. This was one of the songs you used when you were trying to teach Julian how to dance before prom.”
Fredric sucked in a breath. That memory was old, faded, just a blip in the sea of millions he held close to his chest. But it rose to the surface, gasping for air as he remembered. They’d been in the parlor, Corinne at the writing desk cackling, Ilan standing somewhere off to her left offering terrible pointers, and Julian’s hand sweating in his, heated with his blush because he was embarrassed.
“People don’t dance like this anymore, Dad,” he’d complained, but Fredric still made him go through the steps.
“You’ll do this someday, and the person you end up loving will be impressed. And then you’ll thank me.”
“Right,” Julian said with all the scoff and distaste he could pull off at seventeen. “That’ll be the day.”
Swallowing thickly, he turned his head toward Ilan. “Did he dance that night?”
There was a long, pointed silence. “No. But he didn’t ask anyone, either. They had prom at that one resort that burned down a couple years later—I don’t remember the name of it. The theme was something like fairies or woods. They had all these twinkle lights up and everything was really dark brown. It was supposed to be romantic, but everyone kept booing when they put on slow songs, so the whole night it was teen pop and boy bands.”
A laugh bubbled out of Fredric’s chest, and he covered his mouth. “Did you dance?” he asked after he got a hold of himself.
“Yeah, but just once and only to make Julian laugh,” he answered. “He didn’t want to go, but there was a girl I liked. I could tell the whole thing made him feel like shit, though, so I ignored her, and she never talked to me again.”
“I’m sorry,” Fredric said quietly, then he startled when Ilan’s fingers curled around his wrist and brought his hand up for a slow, lingering kiss to his knuckles.
“You were good to him. You were so fucking good to him, and I had no right to be angry for as long as I was.”
Fredric pulled his hand away, but only to drag the tips of his fingers along the side of Ilan’s neck. “Don’t.”
Ilan huffed, and Fredric felt him shrug. “You’re right. This isn’t the time to…”
“I mean don’t ever,” Fredric corrected. He felt the car slow, and he knew they were probably at the parking lot, but he wasn’t ready to stop just yet. “I’m not going to accept an apology from you about that because you weren’t wrong. I know,” he said when he heard Ilan suck in a breath to argue with him, “that I was just as much of a victim as Julian was—but I was also his father, and I have to live with all the ways I let him down. And I have to live with the weight of his forgiveness, because that is the heaviest burden I bear.”
Ilan said nothing as the car rolled to a stop. The engine stilled, and the music was replaced with silence, and neither of them moved. Then, after a beat as slow as honey, Ilan’s hand came up and directed Fredric’s face slightly to the left. He leaned in—Fredric could feel the heat, could smell the soft woodsy scent of his cologne.
“Consider it dropped. For good.”
He hadn’t been expecting that, but he had been expecting the kiss that he turned his face up for. Ilan was a little more rough this time, a little more demanding. He urged Fredric’s mouth open with a thumb against his chin, then pushed his tongue inside and tasted all of him.
When he pulled away, Fredric’s face was burning, and he was hard. “I can’t go in there like this,” he complained, and Ilan laughed.
“You’ll be fine. Just give it a moment.”
Which of course was easier said than done considering being close to Ilan left him half-hard all the time. But eventually, he could move without embarrassing himself, and he grabbed his cane, meeting Ilan at the curb.
Inside the shop, there was no echo. The place felt stuffy and claustrophobic, and he was overwhelmed with the sharp scent of acrylics and cleaning solution. For a moment, he almost had to walk out, but he also didn’t want to give up that easily. They checked in at the desk, Ilan taking both their smocks, and they were given a canvas in the back.
Fredric ran his hands over the shape of the shirt, then found the arm holes and tied it in the back. He dragged a hand down his front when he was done and grinned over at Ilan. “Well?”
“Hot,” Ilan said, and Fredric heard the smirk in his tone. “You pull off eccentric painter very well.”
Fredric felt another spark of want, and he was glad the smock was thick and went all the way down to his knees. He turned away just to give himself something to do and carefully touched the set-up in front of them. Two canvases were propped up on stands, several tubes of paint laid out on the table. There was a small bucket of brushes, bristles up, and water that he nearly knocked over as he explored.
“Nothing’s labeled,” Ilan said after a beat. “I mean…did she say they were going to label anything for you?”