“Like this?” Ed reached for the half-full mug Pasha clutched to his chest and made sure both his hands covered Pasha’s for an extended moment as he slowly took it from him.
“Yeah.”
“And like this?” Ed pushed the strands of hair covering Pasha’s eyes to one side. “Hi.”
This time Pasha slowly smiled instead of answering.
“And what about if we hold hands?” Ed awkwardly threaded his fingers through Pasha’s. “Is that too much, do you think?”
Pasha shook his head. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No, that’s exactly what I meant by natural.” He tugged his fingers away and wiped his palms on his trousers as if they were sweaty. “You’re taking to this much faster than I thought you would.”
There wasn’t much Ed wouldn’t do to get to the finals. “It’s all about motivation,” he explained. “And repetition.” He grabbed Pasha’s hand again and looked carefully where their fingers knit together. “Like stripping down a rifle before putting it back together. You do it over and over until it stops feeling clumsy.” He turned their joined hands over, studying them from another angle. “And then you do it some more.”
Ed let Pasha’s hand fall. He didn’t look down at all when he next reached out. Their hands slid together easily—a key snug in its lock. “There.” Ed held on for longer this time, and Pasha returned the steady pressure.
They were quiet. Traffic was a constant rumble that kept them company, and somewhere close by there was the faint sound of music.
“Can I sit with you at dinner?” Ed asked.
Pasha nodded.
“Then maybe we could find somewhere out of range of the cameras, talk about how to play tomorrow.”
Pasha silently agreed again.
Ed twisted his wrist to look at his watch, Pasha’s hand still firmly in his. “We should go and join the others.”
Still Pasha said nothing.
“Is this okay?” Ed squeezed his fingers.
“Yeah,” Pasha blinked a few times. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Let’s go, then.”
When Ed tugged at his hand one more time, Pasha followed where he led.
5
PASHA
Atap-tap-tapwoke Pasha from a deep sleep the next morning. He rolled onto his stomach and fumbled blindly under his pillows for his phone. He held it an inch from his nose until numbers came into focus.
Five fucking thirty in the morning?
Only the faintest glow of sunlight brightened the edge of the curtains at his window. No way was it time to get up yet. The duvet he tugged over his head was soft and so warm, but the cave he made wasn’t enough to silence a repeat of the tapping.
“For fuck’s sake.” He kicked the duvet back and lurched on sleep-dead legs to his door. “What?” he barked into a completely empty hallway.
The tapping persisted inside the room behind him.
Pasha retrieved his glasses from his bedside table. When he pulled back the curtains to his balcony, he saw Ed with perfect clarity.
Dressed in running gear tight enough to be a second skin only darkened by a hint of sweat at his neck, he looked like aMen’s Healthmodel. From the other side of the glass, Ed waggled a newspaper at him like that was a normal morninggreeting. Pasha lip-read his “Hi” and quickly unlocked the door. Ed pushed past as soon as it was open, cool early-morning air and the salty tang of his skin following him inside.
“Cheers. It’s a bit nippy out there this morning.”
Pasha could see that for himself. Ed’s tight T-shirt hid nothing. He dragged his gaze from Ed’s chest. “What time do you call this?” He shivered, wishing he’d worn more than boxers to bed. “And how the hell did you get up here?” His room was on the third floor.