Page 71 of Garbage

How much Quincy wanted to kiss that little patch behind his ear, that was so temptingly close to his lips.

If only he could be sure it was what Evan wanted. If he would actually be good for Evan.

Quincy was confident about his own desires, though. The time apart had only made him more certain.

He wanted Evan. He knew it in every circuit and gear.

This wasn’t an experiment, and he wasn’t going to change his mind.

But knowing wasn’t the same thing as convincing Evan.

Suddenly, Evan’s stomach rumbled, breaking Quincy from his thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” Quincy asked, flooded with new determination. “No, don’t answer that. Can I cook dinner for you? Please?” Cooking was something he was certain Evan would enjoy.

Evan gave him a shy smile. “You don’t have to. You just came home.”

“No, I’d really like to. What do you want?”

“I don’t care. Maybe we can cook together?”

“Yes!” Quincy jumped up from the couch and scurried to the kitchen. “I dreamed about this so much,” he sighed, already digging through the refrigerator. It was mostly empty, and the sparse vegetables were a little wilted. He found a serviceable head of broccoli, though, and a full dozen eggs. The onions and potatoes in the pantry had only sprouted a little bit.

“I didn’t know you could dream,” Evan commented, as he slipped around Quincy to wash his hands, before pulling out a cutting board.

“I don’t think I can,” Quincy mused. “But… When I was in that room, I would let my mind drift, I guess? I had thoughts that weren’t memories, but seemed almost real?”

“Fantasies,” Evan suggested.

Quincy turned toward him. There was something hungry in his expression, like he was fantasizing, too.

“Yeah,” Quincy agreed.

They worked quietly, chopping, stirring, and sautéing. Every time their bodies brushed together, heat flew through Quincy’s body, though it never registered on his sensors.

Before long, they were sitting across the table from each other, Evan’s plate heaping with food while Quincy cradled his small plate by his nose. Quincy watched Evan eat, following those delicate fingers as they gripped the fork. The pink of Evan’s tongue. The way his throat bobbed with every swallow.

“You’re staring at me,” Evan commented.

Because every part of him was enchanting. “I want to do this every night,” Quincy blurted.

To his surprise, Evan’s cheeks grew pink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Taking a risk, he pressed further. “I’m sure of it.”

Evan’s lips grew up to a grin, but he just looked down at his plate and took another bite.

What else could he do to make Evan understand? “I hope it was okay, but, um, when they asked me to choose a last name, I, uh, told them yours? Ben said I could.”

Evan looked up, his eyes actually glistening. With tears? “You did?” He swallowed heavily. “Quincy Llwyd?”

Quincy didn’t want Evan to cry. “I think I can still change it…”

“No. I just…” Evan sniffed. He looked like he was crying, even though he was smiling. “Don’t change it.”

Quincy walked around the table. “Are you sure? If you don’t like it, I can…”

Evan stood up and launched into his arms, their lips colliding.