Zhenya smudged some lip gloss out of the corner of Conrad’s mouth; he twitched his mouth into a wan smile and let her. This, like her putting her arms around him, he was trying to learn to accept. It didn’t come naturally to him – what did come naturally was having his personal space to himself, and keeping it by whatever means he could. His parents weren’t affectionate, not with each other and not with him – the first time Zhenya had tried to hold his hand, he’d pulled it back.
But he was trying to get used to it – he let her stand him right in front of her, and put his hands on her waist, as it seemed the logical place to put them. “No,†he said, a little faintly – he rarely did have nice afternoons, and she knew that – but she seemed more intent on cheering him up than on asking about it, which suited Conrad fine, as he wouldn’t have wanted to complain anyway.
It did cheer him up, too, to be kissed. Like it was proof he was somehow okay – teachable, or redeemable, like he deserved her affection and time and patience and warmth. For as long as he’d been alive, he’d known that nobody owed him that. He didn’t like that she was always dragging him around, but he didn’t want to say so. He’d started to think of this entire girlfriend-boyfriend thing as something crystal, like his mother’s knickknacks she never let him touch – one wrong move and he’d shatter it, and then Zhenya would never speak to him again, and he would cut his fingers picking up the pieces.
When she kissed him again, he did his best not to think about its inevitable ugly end, and kissed her back, at least until there was a noise from outside and he jerked back. He could tell she’d heard it too – her face had tightened a little – but she didn’t move to investigate it, so Conrad did – “Shit, the door’s open.†He let go of her to hurry over and shut it, and spotted a scramble of movement – he took two long strides and closed in on what was probably a first or second year, wand out. “Oh,†he said – on second glance, this was one of the other artistic flyers. He huffed out a long breath, vague dread already solidifying in his stomach, and said over his shoulder, “Hey, Zhenya, it’s one of yours.â€