[ His smile broadens. Maybe Byerly is only trying to make him happy—but knowing he’s happy makes By happy, he said before, so Bastien’s not going to hide that he’s succeeded. ]
Not that we need to make a production out of it.
[ He’s still him. Private, careful, nervous about giving strangers diagrams illustrating where to best twist a knife.
He nudges Byerly’s thigh with his free foot. ]
Right? And if we need to impress someone stuffy I can be the most professional acquaintance you have ever had.
[ Bastien nods. He's trying to be braver; he's trying to make friends. Both have felt easier lately, with Byerly at his back. ]
If you are.
[ He tilts his head, searches his face. ]
It is alright if you aren't. The respectability should probably count double or triple, too. We left out that I report to you, and I know you would never misuse that, and I hope you know I would never ask you to, but people might...
I suppose that looks worse, too, if they find out later.
[ A hesitation. A droll smile and a shrug. And the real reason at the core of it: ]
I keep so many secrets. We both do. And it gets tiring, doesn't it? Especially because the things that I can be true about are the shit things. I want to be true about one thing that I'm proud and happy about.
[ A slow smile. It's an unusual smile. It's a little shy, a little self-conscious, but happy. He puts his hands down under water, placing them over Bastien's wonderful feet, fingers hooking around his lovely ankles. ]
Thank you. For that.
[ For being willing to be open and honest. Not for the offer to sneak around. Though that could be fun. ]
[ If he were closer—or maybe even from this distance, if By didn't have him by the ankles—Bastien would kiss that smile on each corner. So perhaps it's good that he isn't. Not a secret and naked kissing in common spaces are two very different things.
So he has to be still and only look, and that makes the impulse to move and touch becomes something softer instead. Something that seeps and settles and makes his skin feel like his skin instead of like a shell. ]
It's what I want, too. [ Nothing to thank him for. ] But if it wasn't, I would want to do it for you, if you asked me. You can ask me for things like that.
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[ His smile broadens. Maybe Byerly is only trying to make him happy—but knowing he’s happy makes By happy, he said before, so Bastien’s not going to hide that he’s succeeded. ]
Not that we need to make a production out of it.
[ He’s still him. Private, careful, nervous about giving strangers diagrams illustrating where to best twist a knife.
He nudges Byerly’s thigh with his free foot. ]
Right? And if we need to impress someone stuffy I can be the most professional acquaintance you have ever had.
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You're certain? You're all right with it?
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If you are.
[ He tilts his head, searches his face. ]
It is alright if you aren't. The respectability should probably count double or triple, too. We left out that I report to you, and I know you would never misuse that, and I hope you know I would never ask you to, but people might...
I suppose that looks worse, too, if they find out later.
no subject
[ A hesitation. A droll smile and a shrug. And the real reason at the core of it: ]
I keep so many secrets. We both do. And it gets tiring, doesn't it? Especially because the things that I can be true about are the shit things. I want to be true about one thing that I'm proud and happy about.
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Then it's settled. Not a secret.
[ Bastien puts his feet on By's bony and beloved knees. ]
We could still sneak around sometimes, though. For fun.
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Thank you. For that.
[ For being willing to be open and honest. Not for the offer to sneak around. Though that could be fun. ]
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So he has to be still and only look, and that makes the impulse to move and touch becomes something softer instead. Something that seeps and settles and makes his skin feel like his skin instead of like a shell. ]
It's what I want, too. [ Nothing to thank him for. ] But if it wasn't, I would want to do it for you, if you asked me. You can ask me for things like that.