The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky

I would teach my body to regrow my heart each time I gave it to him, over and over and over again. Heart after heart after heart—every one of them his.

Then maybe I should have said it to you sooner--you needn't hide around us. I'm sorry you ever felt you had to. And that the world makes you feel as though you have to.

I want to be the only thing touching him. I want to be the only thing that ever touches him again. I will be envious of every shirt he ever wears, the cuffs of his coats, the trousers going soft with wear where they rub his inner thighs.

I look down at his hand and laugh without quite knowing why. “You deserve some sort of reward for putting up with me.” “You’re my reward.” “Shit reward I am.” “Why do you think everyone needs some sort of recompense for being around you?” he says, his voice so gentle I almost start to cry.

And maybe we can’t make it work. But maybe we’re tough and we’re stupid and we’re going to try anyway.

And it’s going to be a disaster. But that’s all right, because we’ll have each other, and there’s no one on this goddamn planet I’d rather be a disaster with than you.

I wish I could travel backward in time and tell Monty of two years ago, lying on the lawn of his father's house with a black eye and a dawning realization he was falling in love with his best friend, that someday he'd be here.

Someday, you little twat, it's going to be more than that. The way we start doesn't have to be where we end up.

Come on." He snuffles his face into my shoulder, which I think he's trying to disguise as affection when really he's using me as a towel.

Someday, you little twat, I'd tell him, it's going to be more. It's going to be better, and so will you. Where we start doesn't have to be where we end up.

Maybe I was panicking. Maybe I am. Because give it a year. Or ten years. Or a life. Because I just don’t think I can do it, Perce. I don’t think I’m enough for you. And I don’t want you to do this big thing—give me this big part of yourself—just to turn around and realize you made a mistake.

Or perhaps that's just me assigning subterranean levels to every goddamn breath he takes.

I had kissed my fair share of lads who had only used me as a counterpoint to their own virtue. My primary contribution to our circles back home had been making everyone else feel grounded and well-behaved in comparison.

„Would you still find me handsome if I broke my teeth on Greek pastries?” “Depends which teeth.

Dear Lord, you haven’t been a virgin all this while, have you?” “No, but I’m a bit concerned my virginity is starting to grow back.

He raises an eyebrow, an unmistakable tread carefully, and so of course I put on my heaviest boots and start clomping through the flower gardens.

I was almost always with someone because I was bored and hated myself, and it was something to do that wasn't about either of those things.

Somehow, letting our feelings out into the light had both eased so many of my fears and created an entirely new set that kept sleep at bay.

...We could have given you two some time to yourselves." I laugh one, short, humorless burst. "What could I have said, could you vacate the apartments for a while so Percy and I can engage in illicit activities?" "Not illegal." "They are where I come from." I shake my head staring down at my feet. "I couldn't have. I've been struck too many times." "Then maybe I should have said it to you sooner. You needn't hide around us," he says. "I'm sorry you ever felt you had to, and that the world make you feel as though you had to.

...you're not the first I've interrupted by mistake. You've not shocked me, and you've not surprised me either." I look up at him too quickly, and my vision swims. He puts a steadying hand on my shoulder. "If you thought I was ignorant as to the nature of your relationship with Mr. Newton, you may need to reexamine your concept of appropriate of physical fondness between friends." I nod, trying to pretend its fine when really my muscles are clenched, and I'm fighting the urge to run. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't know where it's going, but my instincts tell me to scoot away from it. I can feel my shoulders rise, and perhaps he notices for he lets his his hands fall away, and instead, folds them in his lap. Perhaps its only in my own mind, but it feels like a deliberate gesture, as though he's putting his hands away to show he won't raise them against me. "We aren't that obvious," I say, and when Scipio gives me a pointed look I add," I know plenty of lads who are fond without being unchaste. "But its clear you're not those lads." I'm not sure he hears the way my breath hitches for he quickly adds, "which is fine. Who gives a fig for chastity anyways." He laughs at his own joke, glancing over at me like he hoping I might join in. I wonder suddenly if this is what it's meant to be like with a father and a son and a first real love.

...Here, let me see. Stop rubbing it so I can -" He wicks his hand away from his eye just as I lean, and his elbow collides with the side of my face, hard enough that I'm knocked sideways. I try to grab the bedpost, but my hands are so slippery that Islide right off, and crash to the floor, my head connecting painfully with the corner of the drawer I left open. The bottle of oil falls off the edge and shatters into a soupy, amber pool. "What happened! Are you alright?" Percy's got one eye open but blinking frantically, hand extended blindly to me. "I'm fine!" I touch the back of my head, and it comes back damp and red. "No, wait, I'm bleeding." "You're bleeding!?" He yelps. "It's fine! " "It's clearly not if you're bleeding." I can feel a trickle down the back of my neck, and I clap a hand against it, like I can force the blood to stay inside me if I just press tightly enough. "It's fine!" My wrist is wet, and I look just as a drizzle of blood courses down my arm into the crook of my elbow. "God, this is really bleeding!" My vision swims, and when I reach to steady myself I put my hand straight into the oily puddle of lineament, and I crash backward onto the floor. Percy tries to come to my aid, but with one eye closed, he misjudges were he places his foot and steps on me. I screech and he slips and he slips, one leg tangled up in the sheets, and then suddenly the bedroom door bangs opens and there's Scipio. I scream and Percy screams and Scipio lets loud a horrified gurgle, and then Felicity appears behind him in the doorway, claps her hands over her eyes, tries to run with her hands still covered, and slips in one of the dripping puddles we left on the stairs. Her feet go out from under her, and she lands flat on her back at the top of the stairs, hands still valiantly clapped over her eyes, which rather ruins it all.

I'll be alright." "I know you will be, he says. "But you don't have to do it alone.

It had felt like the first deep breath I'd ever taken, to tell him everything, to hear his half of it all, then hold them up together to find they fit like two pieces of cracked pottery.

It’s never going to be perfect.

I'll be alright." "I know you will be," he says. "But you don't have to do it alone.

I grab his hands between us and take a deep breath. "Percy." "Monty." His eyes flit over me towards the tray. Dear Lord, am I sincerely competing with food for his attention. Am I doing that poorly already?