Page 42 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘No, she’s not a hunting bird,’ Gabriel said, still using the love-soaked, deeply affectionate tone of voice that Arthur had heard only once before, aimed at the cat. Gabriel leaneddown and held out a hand; the crow hopped forward and then nibbled hopefully at his finger.

‘Why is it inherethen?’ Arthur said, discomforted again by Gabriel’s sudden transition from awkward silences and stunted half-sentences into easy confidence.

‘She’s not supposed to be. She fledged last week – they often leave the nest before they’re ready to fly, they’re too bold for their own good – and she hurt herself. I didn’t want her to get into any more trouble, so I brought her inside, and since then she’s just been hopping around here eating scraps and getting in everybody’s way.’ Gabriel twirled his index finger, and the crow followed it with her head, turning around in a jerky circle. ‘She’s got a wound on her side – there, you can just about see it when she lifts her right wing, with the white patch.’

‘So she’ll leave? When she’s healed?’

‘I hope so,’ said Gabriel, as the bird tired of spinning and attempted to fly up on to his bent knee in a very uncoordinated flurry of dark feathers. ‘She’s a wild bird. Not a pet.’

‘Right. No name, then,’ Arthur said, bending and reaching out for the crow, who smartly sidestepped him.

Gabriel laughed again, and Arthur felt a warm pull of satisfaction at the sound. ‘No. You can give her one though. If you’d like.’

‘What?’ said Arthur incredulously, straightening back up. ‘Christ, no, that’s – that’sfartoo much responsibility. It’s your crow. You should name it.’

‘I recall you had no trouble renaming my cat …’

‘That’s because your cat has a stupid Arthurian name.’

‘Good point,’ Gabriel said, looking up at him and raising an eyebrow, ‘Arthur.’

‘Well, I didn’t namemyself, did I?’ Arthur said, folding his arms and watching as the crow tried to decide whether it was pleased or furious that Gabriel was scratching it on the head.

‘Can you … I need your hands,’ Gabriel said. Arthur was so startled he just stared back at him. ‘Just come down here for a minute, will you?’

‘Er … All right.’ Arthur knelt awkwardly on the hard stone floor, knocking his thigh against Gabriel’s accidentally, and then briefly considering doing it again on purpose. The crow was assessing them both with utmost suspicion; Gabriel held out his finger for her consideration, and then suddenly grabbed at her, managing to press both wings against her sides so she couldn’t escape. He turned her over on to her back, and her spindly legs stuck out ridiculously from her feathery little body as she glared at him accusingly.

‘Hands,’ Gabriel said, and Arthur held them out. Gabriel immediately pressed the crow into them, and Arthur jolted at the unexpected warmth of both bird and fingers. He felt strangely skittish, and tried to concentrate on the task of containing the angry ball of feathers now wriggling against his palms. ‘Don’t squeeze her, just hold her firmly. Turn her towards the window a bit, I want to get a look at her injury – she doesn’t let me do it any more, I think she’s quite tired of me.’

He gently pushed two of Arthur’s fingers out of the way to release her right wing and then pulled it away from herbody, leaning in closer to get a good look. He dipped his head so low that Arthur could feel Gabriel’s breath, warm against his knuckles. The crow made a strange, hoarse squeaking sound and then turned her head to one side to study Arthur properly; she was looking at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and was not particularly impressed.

‘There we go,’ Gabriel said to the crow, letting go of her wing. ‘Healing up nicely. You can release her now.’ Arthur opened his hands and the bird righted herself indignantly, then dropped down on to the floor to gather herself. ‘Thank you. You were good at that – just the right sort of grip.’

‘That’s what they all say,’ said Arthur, but they were still very close together on the floor, and it hung awkwardly in the air between them. He wouldn’t have said it at all if he’d realised that Gabriel was looking right at him – well,downat him, even while kneeling – with the moonlight picking out the fine-boned features of his face. ‘You don’t have any freckles,’ he said suddenly.

‘Er – what?’

‘Your sister has freckles,’ Arthur said, as if this explained anything.

‘She takes walks,’ Gabriel said, his brow furrowing in a way that already felt very familiar. ‘Every day, she walks …’ He stopped abruptly, as if he’d been interrupted; as if Arthur had been doing something other than staring stupidly at him.

As much as Arthur liked to give the impression that he was some sort of seasoned rake, he rarely managed to follow through when actually confronted with an attractive boy.Mitchell from the kennels was a recent and notable exception, and had been the one to make the first move. Flirting was easy – Arthur was never short of words or winks, and he parcelled them out freely – but hurtling head-first into anything more was an incalculable risk, andthisparticular risk was off the charts.

Nevertheless, Arthur felt the strange, quiet tension in the room building. Gabriel’s eyes were still soft from looking at his damned crow, and – he really didn’t think he was imagining it – they were soft from looking at him, too.

He tilted his head and looked quizzically at Gabriel, then gave a little shrug, leaned forward and kissed him.

Gabriel let out a muffled sound of surprise, and for half a breath he barely moved; Arthur could have sworn he felt the slightest bit of give, thetiniesttouch of reciprocation, but suddenly he was being shoved away with considerable force. His back hit the floor and knocked all of the air out of him in a violent wheeze. The crow was apoplectic, screeching and flapping its wings, seemingly wanting to get in on the thrilling fight it was witnessing.

‘Um,’ said Gabriel, staring at him in wide-eyed panic. Arthur stared back, breathing heavily. ‘Excuse me.’ Before Arthur could respond he was up, and gone.

‘Well,shit,’ Arthur said, staggering to his feet, pushing his hair back and straightening his jacket as he attempted to regain some small semblance of his dignity. He felt shaken and slightly sick from the full force of Gabriel’s rejection – although admittedly, part of it may have been from his impact against the floor. The crow blinked curiously up at him.

‘Don’t repeat that,’ he said sternly. ‘You’re too young for that sort of language.’

He crossed to the door, closed it carefully behind him, then half jogged through the next room to avoid looking at the menagerie of menacing birds, grimacing as he heard them shake out their wings in agitation as he passed.

He was just wondering what he’d do about locking up when he stepped outside and found that Gabriel was still standing there, looking like a spooked horse.