Sid scowled and banged two chipped soup bowls onto the counter. “You don’t have to do that around me.”
Dante raised a brow. “Do what?”
“Mind what you say. You won’t offend me.”
“You think I’m worried about offending you?”
“Maybe. Sometimes I think you’re going to speak, and then you don’t, and I wonder why, and it gives me a headache.”
“Literally?”
Sid shrugged, unwilling to tangibly admit how often his head responded to stress with energy-zapping migraines. What was the point? Complaining didn’t change anything. And it definitely didn’t stop his hand flailing out and sloshing soup all over the counter.
Cursing, he retreated to the sink for a cloth, glad Dante didn’t seem to feel the need to clean up around him like Anna did.
He mopped up the soup and tried again.
This time he filled the bowls without incident and slid one across the counter to Dante.
Dante took it and studied it with clear suspicion. “Is everything you eat green?”
Sid laughed. “These days, yeah. All that iron and calcium is good for me, plus the protein I don’t get from meat anymore.”
“Vegetarian?”
“Mostly. I’m not evangelical about it, but I try to stay plant-based.”
“Because of your MS?”
“Yeah. It helps, massively. I didn’t think it would, but I was a wreck before I changed my diet.”
Dante dipped a spoon in the soup. He didn’t ask what was in it, and Sid didn’t volunteer the information. Ask me. But Dante stayed silent as he followed Sid’s lead with the toasted pumpkin seeds and then ate the soup, and the nagging hunch that he was still holding back rattled Sid’s soul.
He waited for Dante to finish, then swiped his bowl away. “Say it.”
Dante sat back in his seat, his tongue darting out to lick his soft lips.
At least, Sid assumed they were soft, even if Dante was blade sharp.
Stop thinking about his lips. For that to happen, though, Dante would have to speak, which he appeared to have forgotten how to do.
Sighing, Sid took the bowls to the sink and rinsed them ready for the dishwasher. It was still full from the night before, and he lacked the inclination to empty it.
Dante appeared at his side. He turned the tap off and pried the bowls from Sid’s hands. “I’ll say it if you let me clean up.”
“I don’t need you to clean up.”
“Maybe I think better when my hands are busy.”
It was a sentiment that Sid understood. He raised his hands and backed up. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Dante turned the tap back on and filled the sink with soapy water. He washed the handful of dishes Sid had used with undue care before he sniffed out the dishwasher. “Tell me where it all goes.”
“It doesn’t matter where it goes. I’ll fuck it all up tomorrow.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“You first.”
Dante’s lips twitched. “Why do you use all your, uh, limited resources at work and save nothing for yourself?”
“That’s what you wanted to say?”
Dante shrugged. “I’m a selfish motherfucker, so the way you operate intrigues me.”
“Why?”
“Because you intrigue me, I guess.” Dante kept his eyes down, collecting cutlery from the basket. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I’m not special.”
Dante made a noise low in his throat and opened the correct drawer without Sid’s guidance. “You say that like it’s fact, not your own warped opinion of yourself.”
“You’re using my words against me?”
“Why not?”
“I can do that too.”
“Go on then.”
Sid took a breath, then lost his train of thought. “Okay, maybe I can’t.”
“Because you’re not an arsehole.”
“No. Because I can’t keep up. I just want to tell you I think you’re a nice person without dancing around it. And I don’t want to hear all the reasons you think I’m wrong.”
Dante shut the cutlery drawer, a slow slide that seemed unnaturally loud. “You don’t know me better than I know myself.”
“Bollocks. You’re not trying to know yourself.” For fuck’s sake, stop talking. But even without brain lesions, Sid had never been good at knowing when to stop. Maybe it was a northern thing. Or maybe Sid was an arsehole. “You’re too young to give up and accept the worst man you can be.”
Dante laughed, a sound Sid had been craving since they’d met, but it held no humour, only bitter self-loathing that made Sid feel sick. “Are we going to talk about this every time we’re alone? Because nothing you say can change who I am. You know that, right? That whoever you want me to be for whatever fucked-up reason, that person doesn’t exist.”
Sid patted his pockets for his weed tin and dumped it on the counter. “I don’t believe you. And you can’t make me.”
“No?” Dante moved fast, closing the distance between them until he was up in Sid’s space, terrorising Sid with his sweet scent and soothing body heat. “You think I’m a nice person just because you want me to be?”
Sid fought to keep his gaze on Dante’s face and not on the rapid way his strong chest rose and fell as his hazel eyes flashed. “I think you want to be a bad person because it’s easier than dealing with the fact that perhaps it’s not all your fault that you did bad things.”
“Not bad things. Evil things.”
“Whatever. They’re just words, mate. It’s what’s in here that counts.” Sid pressed his palm to Dante’s chest, somehow shocked by the steady thump of his heart. “And no one can change that, not even you.”
“That’s kind of my point.”
“I know. But you’re working on the assumption that you started out rotten, and that’s what I don’t believe.”
“You’re a daft twat.”
Sid grinned. “That, my friend, is not new information. Now, will you use your evil and yet fully functional fingers to skin up for me? Because I need a fucking smoke.”
Dante stared him down a moment longer, then something in him seemed to shift. His sharp edges faded. The harsh light in his eyes went out and he turned his gaze to the hand Sid still held against his chest.
See? Sid wanted to say. You’re forcing it. It’s not who you are.
He settled for absorbing Dante’s droll smirk as he covered Sid’s hand with his own. “Are you checking I’m not a vampire?”
“Do I need to answer that?”
Dante rubbed Sid’s hand, just once, before he stepped back and reached for the weed tin. “Not today.”
The conversation, such as it had been, was over. Dante rolled a joint with his deft fingers and led the way outside. He lit up and passed it to Sid without taking a drag. “I didn’t come over here to smoke all your weed.”
“Why did you come then? Aside from the fact that I asked you to, because I’ve been doing that since you got here and you’ve had no problem ignoring me.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly, then turned them to the horizon and the forest beyond the house. “I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.”