Yearn by A. Ellis (story books for 5 year olds .txt) 📗

Khi snorted. “It’s definitely got some perks. Nothing like some logo shirts and fine-fitting jeans or the ever-popular grey sweatpants.”

My gut clenched at the thought of Khi checking out other guys. Which was ridiculous because he didn’t belong to me and he was gay, so of course, he’d check out other guys. At least with a shared room, I didn’t have to worry about him bringing someone back.

Chase went to put our order in.

“Speaking of jeans and sweats,” Khi started after taking a long swallow of his beer, “and don’t think this is the start of a long, bonding session,” he warned. “For someone so into creating fashion, you don’t seem to be all dolled up very often.”

I shrugged. “I’m a bit of an oddball, I guess. Obviously, I love color and will include splashes of that wherever I can.” I stuck out my foot from under the table and pulled up my pants to reveal a brightly colored sock. “I adore imagining and creating a look, bringing it to life, seeing it on a person. But a lot of my love for fashion is here,” I tapped my head, “and here,” I put a hand over my heart, “it doesn’t always transfer to what I wear on a day-to-day basis. I guess my comfy, practical side wins out in that aspect.”

Khi nodded as he took another drink. “But at Logan’s party, you were all decked out. So, you like to look amazing when the situation calls for it.”

I nearly choked on the swallow of beer. Khi thought I looked amazing? Alert the presses. “Yeah, I love any reason to dress up and I live for outfitting others.”

“So, what’s your goal with your fashions?” Khi seemed truly interested, but I could tell making small-talk wasn’t his favorite.

“Get my designs picked up and sold. I’d love to have my creations in chic boutiques as well as more practically priced locations. My dream is that guys from the ones pinching pennies all the way up to the millionaires will want to wear a Dre King design and be able to make that happen.”

“Guys?” Khi cocked his head. “I guess I thought you designed dresses and shit.”

I smiled. “I did, in the past. But I really found my passion in male fashion—although, a lot of my creations are fairly gender neutral and I have a lot of very femme designs.”

Khi’s light blue-gray eyes clouded a bit at the mention of the past and I sagged as I watched him shut down. The conversation had been nice while it lasted and it spurred me to make it keep happening, even if pushing Khi pissed him off.

Our food arrived, delivered by the owner, Bode and his husband, Sage. They said a brief hello and thanked us for coming before heading back to the busy bar and letting us get to our meal.

The rest of our evening was taken up with two presentations. The first was on first responder self-care and the second was focused on mental health and breaking the stigma. Both were good and I felt there were things from each that we could share with our station.

Khi was almost grumpier than I’d ever seen him by the time we got back to our room.

“You want to shower first?” I offered. “You seem really tense, maybe a hot shower would help you relax?”

He bristled. “Just because you just learned about self-care doesn’t mean you need to go spouting off to me about it. I’m fine, just not thrilled with the whole bed situation.”

I smirked. “Why? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?” I teased, thinking I could ease the tension a bit.

Khi snorted. “Yeah, right. I learned my lesson ten years ago,” he mumbled as he grabbed his sleep clothes.

“We ever gonna talk about that so I can apologize?” I jumped at the opening.

“Nope. You apologized way back then. It’s water long, long washed under the bridge.” Khi shut the bathroom door with a little more force than was necessary.

Later, after I’d done my best not to drool over him in just his boxers after his shower—we both slept in just underwear at home, but usually quickly pulled on pants and maybe a shirt since we had so many housemates—I took my shower. Thinking maybe we’d look over the schedule and make a plan as to what we wanted to attend on Saturday, I was dismayed to walk out of the bathroom and find Khi glued to his side of the bed, snoring softly as usual.

It wasn’t like I thought we’d cuddle or whisper sweet-nothings, but his position was a definite visual representation of the chasm between us. I hated my part in it and wanted more than anything just the chance to bridge the gap and make Khi listen.

He was right, I’d apologized several years after the day he left Bellville. But it somehow still didn’t feel right; things between us were still unresolved. I needed Khi to know that I wasn’t expecting us to blossom into lifelong friends, but my heart still needed to fix things.

Climbing into bed, I curled up on my side and wished for sleep to come.

By the time Khi’s damn alarm woke me, I felt as if I hadn’t slept a wink. It was like my subconscious knew I was in bed with a stabby, grumpy bear and, if I got too close, I’d be in danger. Every single time I fell asleep and even thought about rolling or shifting, I awoke with a start, fearful of entering enemy territory.

“Get up, we’re going for a run,” Khi ordered.

“Good fucking morning to you as well, sunshine,” I grumbled into my pillow. “I don’t like to run.”

“We need a pic. We’re gonna run and hit the pads. Then we’ll go our separate ways and gather as much information to take back to the station as possible.” Khi was already dressed and stretching.

My sleepy brain was trying to comprehend and it was way too early.