Taking a chance, I reached across to touch his damaged face. At first, I thought he’d pull away like last night, but he didn’t. He remained still, his jaw clenched tight. My fingers grazed the bruise. It had grown since last night, the colours stark against his pale skin. My hand moved lower, stroking the light scruff on his face.
A blush spread across his cheeks, highlighting the bruising.
“Please, we’re in company. Someone might see.” He brushed my hand away and looked at the floor.
“So? What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. I don’t...”
“Don’t what? Tell me, Harvey.”
“I don’t like being touched, especially by men.” His voice was a whisper, barely there.
Why did I think that was a lie? But there I was again, not taking his feelings into consideration.
“I’m sorry. I overstepped. Tell me about yourself, then. No hidden agenda, I promise.” I picked up my cup and grimaced as I drank the cool coffee.
“Not much to tell. I live alone. My parents are dead. I have no one.”
“Surely you have friends, other family.” He must live a lonely life with no one to rely on.
“I was an only child, as were my parents. So, yeah, there’s just me.” He fiddled with his drink, swirling it in the cup.
“I’m sorry.” I said as sincerely as I could.
“For what? It’s how I’ve chosen to live my life. I’m happier on my own.” His smile was forced, and I wondered who he was trying to convince. Me or him.
Except I didn’t believe him.
When I first moved here, I’d been lonely as fuck until I’d met Seth, and then I had a circle of friends that kept me going. Thedownside? The drugs and the addiction. They weren’t really my friends at all.
Only Seth.
And now I’d pushed him away. Maybe I was as lonely as Harvey. Perhaps something good would come out of this for both of us. I just had to stop pushing him, let him set the pace.
“What about work? Interests?” Surely the guy did something.
“I work in customer service. Nothing thrilling. As for interests, I don’t have many. I cook a little. I like to game, and I draw.”
“Wow. Art. That’s so cool.”
“I designed a lot of my tattoos,”
“Can I see them?”
“No. No, you can’t.” He pulled his sleeves down again.
Of course he wouldn’t show me if what I suspected was true.
“I have a couple of tattoos,” I said. “Nothing fantastic. My friend, Seth, is more into them than I am. His body is a work of art.”
We sat for a moment, neither saying a word. He picked up his tea and took a sip, his eyes riveted on something through the window.
Were we done? But then he spoke.
“So, what’s your story? You’re not from around here. Whereabouts in Ireland?”
“I was brought up just outside Dublin, but I moved to England a while back. I’ve been trying to make it big, but it’s not going great, ya know?”