亚历克斯在乔治城大学附近的公寓与克里斯托弗见过的任何东西都不一样.两间卧室,一间带不锈钢器具的厨房和可俯瞰城市的落地窗.但空间感觉空旷,就像博物馆的展品.
"你待在客房里,"Alex说,把一套钥匙扔在柜台上."别碰我的东西.我会给你吃穿的零用钱.
克里斯托弗站在门口,手里攥着他的红色行李箱.房间很稀疏——只有一张床,一张书桌和一个壁橱.他慢慢地打开行李,整理了他为数不多的衬衫和袜子.外面,车水马龙,持续的嗡嗡声提醒他,他已经不在俄亥俄州了.
第一天晚上,Alex 在午夜敲了他的门."到我的房间来,"他说.
克里斯托弗跟在后面,心跳加速.Alex 的卧室更暗,唯一的光线来自床头灯."进去吧,"Alex说,一边爬进被子里.
克里斯托弗犹豫了."什么——"
"躺下就好.我需要看看这是否有效.
克里斯托弗不情愿地滑进了床上.床单是丝绸的,比他想象的要冷.亚历克斯关掉了灯,他们静静地躺着.克里斯托弗能听到亚历克斯的呼吸,缓慢而稳定.令他惊讶的是,他感到自己放松了,肩膀上的紧张感也缓解了.
第二天早上,克里斯托弗醒来发现亚历克斯已经穿好衣服了."你打呼噜,"Alex说,但他的声音里没有愤怒."那是...可以忍受.
于是,例行公事开始了.每天晚上,克里斯托弗都会和亚历克斯一起睡在他的床上.起初,这很尴尬——Christopher 像木板一样僵硬地躺着,不敢动.但随着时间的推移,他逐渐习惯了身边另一个人的温暖.亚历克斯很少说话,但他的存在却出奇地令人欣慰.
白天,Christopher 上课,而 Alex 在家工作.他们大多数晚上都一起吃晚饭,静静地坐在餐桌旁.Christopher 学会了做简单的饭菜——意大利面,蔬菜米饭——Alex 从不抱怨,尽管他很少吃完饭.
一个周末,Alex 带 Christopher 去了一家百货公司."买新衣服,"他说,挥舞着一张信用卡.
克里斯托弗在过道上徘徊,被各种选择所淹没.他从来没有拥有过比旧货店衬衫更贵的东西.Alex 变得不耐烦了,挑选了几件毛衣和牛仔裤."这些就可以了,"他说,一边把它们递给收银员.
回到公寓,克里斯托弗试穿了这些衣服.毛衣很柔软,牛仔裤很合身.他看着镜子,几乎认不出倒影中的男孩.
"你看起来好多了,"Alex 说,从门口看着."现在别让我难堪."
克里斯托弗不明白亚历克斯为什么在乎,但他很感激这些新衣服.他开始注意到亚历克斯的一些小事——他如何喝下黑咖啡,他在思考时如何用手指敲击桌子,他有时如何在睡梦中说话,尽管克里斯托弗听不清这些话.
一天晚上,经过一天特别艰苦的考试后,克里斯托弗回到家,发现亚历克斯坐在沙发上,手里拿着一瓶威士忌."我睡不着,"他说,声音含糊不清.
克里斯托弗坐在他旁边."你想谈谈吗?"
亚历克斯苦笑着."谈论什么?我从来没有想要过我的父亲?我五岁时就离开了的妈妈?他从瓶子里喝了一口."我很早就知道,人们会让你失望.一个人更容易.
克里斯托弗不知道该说什么.他从来没有听过Alex这样说话."对不起,"他终于做到了.
Alex 看着他,眼睛通红."你不一样,克里斯托弗.你什么都不要求.他伸出手,摸了摸Christopher的脸颊."留下来."
Christopher's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to pull away, but something in Alex's gaze stopped him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.
That night, they didn't just sleep. They talked, about Ohio, about Alex's childhood, about dreams that had been forgotten. For the first time, Christopher saw beyond Alex's cold exterior to the lonely boy inside. And he realized that maybe, just maybe, this strange arrangement wasn't so bad after all.
As the semester progressed, Christopher settled into a rhythm. He attended classes, studied in the library, and spent nights in Alex's bed. Their relationship remained undefined, a delicate balance between roommate and something more. Christopher didn't question it, afraid to disrupt the peace.
One afternoon, while cleaning Alex's room, Christopher found a box under the bed. Inside were old photos—Alex as a toddler, smiling in a woman's arms; a younger Alex with a man who must have been his father, standing in front of a mansion. There were also letters, yellowed with age, addressed to Alex but never opened.
Christopher quickly put the box back, feeling guilty for snooping. But the images stayed with him. Who were these people? Why had Alex hidden their memories?
That night, as they lay in bed, Christopher asked, "Who was the woman in the photo?"
Alex tensed. "My mother."
"She was beautiful."
"Was she?" Alex's voice was flat. "I barely remember her. She left when I was six, said my father was too focused on work."
Christopher didn't know what to say. He thought of his own mother, who'd sacrifice anything for her children. "What about your father?"
"He owns a company. We don't speak." Alex turned over, facing the wall. "Let's not talk about this."
Christopher fell silent, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Alex's past was full of pain. The next day, he decided to do something nice. He bought ingredients to make his mother's famous apple pie, a recipe he'd memorized.
When Alex came home, the smell of cinnamon filled the apartment. "What's this?" he asked, eyeing the pie on the counter.
"Apple pie. My mom's recipe." Christopher handed him a slice.
Alex took a bite, surprised. "It's good."
Christopher smiled. "I'm glad you like it."
For a moment, the tension in the room lifted. They ate pie and talked about trivial things—Christopher's classes, a movie Alex had seen. It was the most normal conversation they'd had.
The next week, Alex's friends Jason and William came over. Christopher had met them once before, at a party Alex had dragged him to. They were loud and brash, always cracking jokes at Christopher's expense.
"Look who's here, the country boy," Jason said, clapping Christopher on the back.
Christopher forced a smile. "Hi."
"Alex, how do you put up with this guy?" William asked, pouring himself a drink. "He's so quiet."
Alex frowned. "Christopher's fine. Lay off."
Christopher was surprised by Alex's defense. He retreated to his room, feeling out of place. Later, Alex knocked on his door. "I'm sorry about them. They're idiots."
"It's okay," Christopher said. "I'm used to it."
Alex sat on the bed. "You shouldn't be. You're smarter than both of them combined." He paused. "I appreciate what you did with the pie."
Christopher's cheeks warmed. "It was nothing."
"No, it wasn't." Alex looked at him, eyes serious. "You're the only person who's ever done something nice for me without expecting anything in return."
Before Christopher could respond, Alex leaned in and kissed him. It was gentle at first, then more urgent. Christopher's mind went blank, all thoughts of Ohio and school disappearing. He kissed back, wrapping his arms around Alex's neck.
When they pulled apart, Alex looked stunned, as if he couldn't believe what he'd done. "I—"
"Don't apologize," Christopher said, his heart racing.
Alex didn't say anything, just stood and left the room. Christopher lay on his bed, touching his lips. He didn't know what this meant, but he couldn't deny the thrill he felt.
The next morning, Alex acted as if nothing had happened. He didn't mention the kiss, and Christopher didn't bring it up. But things were different. The air between them crackled with unspoken words, and every time their hands brushed, Christopher felt a jolt.
One night, as they lay in bed, Alex turned to him. "Can I hold you?"
Christopher nodded, and Alex pulled him close. He rested his head on Alex's chest, listening to his heartbeat. For the first time, he felt truly safe. Maybe, he thought, this strange arrangement was becoming something more.