The cinema is small, only two screens and almost deserted. Side by side, they walk toward screen two, Nick focussing on the faded wall hangings, the tattered posters, anything but Chris licking at the melted ice cream that drips onto his wrist.
Screen two is empty when they walk inside. Red stepped seats and a screen bordered by what looked like velvet drapes.
“Go to the last row.”
Nick looks up. “The screen will be tiny from up there.”
“As if we came to see the film. That’s why we have Joey.” With a dismissive snort, Chris climbs the stairs, leaving Nick to follow.
Multiple rows later, and Nick stands in the back row, looking down at the seats. The double size seats, obviously made for two. “You want us to sit there?”
“Well yeah.” Eye roll hidden behind whipped cream, Chris licks at the melted ice cream that threatens to drip to the floor.
“Will we even fit?” Dubious, Nick looks at the seat, at Chris, remembers countless wardrobe meetings and measurements that are always remarked on.
“Are you saying I’ve a fat ass?” The remark is light, joking, delivered with a smile, but Nick knows Chris, can see beneath the projected calm. “We’ll fit just fine, and if we don’t. What’s a bit of a squish between friends?” Suddenly he grabs for Nick’s arm. Chris’ fingers are sticky, and he wraps them tight, pulling Nick down. “See. It’s good.”
It’s a tight fit, but they do fit. Thighs pushed together, Chris’ shoulder sharp against Nick’s arm. It’s hot and sweaty, but Nick can stretch out, arm along the seat-back, letting it rest against the damp heat of the back of Chris’ neck.
“You look fine.” Words soft, Chris turns, and his eyes glint in the darkness.
A thousand denials are on Nick’s tongue. The magazine headlines, wardrobe, bulletin boards, so called fans. People who say he doesn’t look fine at all. He says nothing. Chris understands, has lived it all.
“Here.” Chris has the plastic spoon in his hand, ice-cream balanced precariously. “Eat, before this lands in my lap.”
He looks at Nick, and it’s more than ice-cream. Much more.
2 0f 2
Screen two is empty when they walk inside. Red stepped seats and a screen bordered by what looked like velvet drapes.
“Go to the last row.”
Nick looks up. “The screen will be tiny from up there.”
“As if we came to see the film. That’s why we have Joey.” With a dismissive snort, Chris climbs the stairs, leaving Nick to follow.
Multiple rows later, and Nick stands in the back row, looking down at the seats. The double size seats, obviously made for two. “You want us to sit there?”
“Well yeah.” Eye roll hidden behind whipped cream, Chris licks at the melted ice cream that threatens to drip to the floor.
“Will we even fit?” Dubious, Nick looks at the seat, at Chris, remembers countless wardrobe meetings and measurements that are always remarked on.
“Are you saying I’ve a fat ass?” The remark is light, joking, delivered with a smile, but Nick knows Chris, can see beneath the projected calm. “We’ll fit just fine, and if we don’t. What’s a bit of a squish between friends?” Suddenly he grabs for Nick’s arm. Chris’ fingers are sticky, and he wraps them tight, pulling Nick down. “See. It’s good.”
It’s a tight fit, but they do fit. Thighs pushed together, Chris’ shoulder sharp against Nick’s arm. It’s hot and sweaty, but Nick can stretch out, arm along the seat-back, letting it rest against the damp heat of the back of Chris’ neck.
“You look fine.” Words soft, Chris turns, and his eyes glint in the darkness.
A thousand denials are on Nick’s tongue. The magazine headlines, wardrobe, bulletin boards, so called fans. People who say he doesn’t look fine at all. He says nothing. Chris understands, has lived it all.
“Here.” Chris has the plastic spoon in his hand, ice-cream balanced precariously. “Eat, before this lands in my lap.”
He looks at Nick, and it’s more than ice-cream. Much more.
Nick opens his mouth and eats.