It finally did and Alec brought Gladys in with him, said she was staying for dinner. He looked almost at David but just a little past him as he said it. She stayed until it was very late, the two of them telling stories about places and people and times David didn't know. She tried to include him but Alec would always turn the talk back around to what he said was "real," which seemed to be about dirt and rocks and people dying and nothing else.
"Things aren't always like that," Gladys said, and glanced in David's direction.
"Yes, they are," Alec said, and Gladys yawned, then coughed. "I best be going," she said and glanced at David carefully. "Come see me tomorrow?"
He nodded. Alec walked Gladys to the door.
"Listen to me," she said to him, low-voiced, as she left, and held one hand out. David watched as Alec pressed a handful of coins into it. "I'm not one to turn down a real dinner, a night where I'm not--but you--you're a fool for doing this. You know that, right?"
"I know what's real," Alec said.
"No," Gladys said sharply. "You don't. Open your eyes, will you?"
***
Alec never talked about the mines but David could tell the work he did there was hard from the way Alec walked at the end of the day, an almost hunched slow shuffle, nothing like his loose quick strides in the morning. And there was always the dust, dark and shining, that fell from him, that seemed carved into his hands, would sometimes drip to the floor as they sat in silence after dinner. Even just washed his hands were always speckled dark, the water clearing just enough dust to show cracked raw skin underneath. David skimped on his breakfasts and lunches for a week and brought a tin of salve in the square from an old woman who swore it would heal any cut, smooth all skin. He looked at the tin. It had a picture of a horse on it.
"Is this for horses?"
"Some people use it for horses."
David bit his lip. "But it works for people?"
The woman nodded and David took the tin home. It smelled nice enough, he thought, light and like lemons. He'd brought a few of those a while ago, cut them in pieces and put them in with the fish he was cooking. He thought they'd look pretty but they'd made the fish taste good too, added a wonderful tang and a smell that reminded David of the sun, of brightness. He put the salve on the table.
"What's this?" Alec said when he saw it.
"It's for you."
"It's for horses. I don't have a horse."
"You did."
"I did," Alec said slowly. "But I don't now."
"You sold her?"
"No, she's in the corner over there. Of course I sold her. The cart too."
"You miss her," David said softly.
"What?"
"Your mouth is all tight. When you're upset--"
"I'm not upset."
"Who did you sell her to?"
Alec ran a hand though his hair. "First person who made an offer. I just--I wanted to get it over with. I shouldn't have gotten attached but I did and--it was stupid. Things change. People change.
They move on. It's the way of the world. Nothing lasts."
"I don't think that's true."
"Of course you don't. You bought me horse salve. What do you know?"
David looked down at the floor. All his life he'd either been ignored or told not to worry, passed by or been soothed. He'd never had anyone talk to him the way Alec did, never had anything he said challenged.
He'd never really been listened to.
"I know I think you're wrong," he said quietly.
"Look around you," Alec said furiously. "You know what you have? A couple of pieces of furniture, a few blankets. Enough food to get through the week, maybe. That's nothing. There's nothing in your life worth holding on to."
"You're wrong," David said again and looked up, looked at Alec.
"Oh yeah? Name one thing, then. Just one."
"You."
Alec sucked in a breath and took a step toward him, eyes dark and hot in the firelight. "David,"
he said softly and David stood perfectly still, waiting. Then Alec stopped, put his hands on the table. A muscle was twitching in his jaw. "You shouldn't have bought me anything."
"I wanted to."
"It's a waste of money."
"It'll make your hands hurt less."
"How do you know they hurt?"
"Gladys said her hands always hurt. She said--" he took a breath. "She says it's dark there. In the mines. That it's always dark. Is it?"
Alec shrugged, opened the salve and sniffed it.
"That's why you live here," David said. "You pay more than anyone else, you know. Gladys told me. But you have a window. You like the light."
"I'm going to bed," Alec said, and his voice was sharp, abrupt.
"Good night," David said. He didn't know what else to say.
Alec didn't reply for a long time. But when he was up in the loft, nothing but a shadow David could see lit by firelight, he spoke. "Thanks for the salve. You shouldn't have--you shouldn't waste money on me."
"I wanted to buy it."
"It won't help."
"I don't like thinking of your hurt," David said. "In the dark. It's not--I want you to be happy."
"I'm happy," Alec said softly, slowly, like he didn't want to but had to.
David looked at him but Alec's shadow was gone, tucked down into his bed. David stared at the fire and thought. Hoped. And for the first time ever, planned.
He didn't make dinner the next night. He built a fire instead, piling on the wood and not being careful to make sure it was arranged so he could cook over it. He built a fire that flickered fast and glowing like the way Alec made him feel and then pulled his chair over toward it, put it next to Alec's.
"Kind of smoky in here," Alec said when he came in, taking off his jacket like he always did.
"How much wood did you put on the fire?" He looked over at David and then froze for a moment, eyes narrowing.
"What's this?" he said quietly.
"I thought--I thought you might want to sit by the fire."
"No," Alec said slowly, pointing at the two chairs. "What's this." It wasn't a question.
"I thought--I thought we could sit together."
"Why would I want to sit with you?"
"You don't hate me," David said. "Why do you try and act like you do?"
"Because of what will happen if I don't."
"But what if I want something to happen?"
"Why should I care what you want?" Alec said and his voice was harsh. Scared.
"I don't know," David said. "No one ever really has. Why do you?"
"I don't know," Alec said, and looked away from him for a moment, stared at the fire. "I shouldn't," he said softly. "I know that. I do anyway." He looked back at David. "But you already know that, don't you?"
"Yes," David said. "I see it in your eyes." He took a step forward, closer to Alec. Almost close enough to touch. He stared at Alec's hands, waiting.
"This isn't what you really want," Alec said and looked down at his hands, turned them so David could see the dust coated heavy on them, how even the pads of his fingers had been worn down, scoured away by the mines. His voice sounded weary, sure.
"What do you see in my eyes?" David said, and reached out, took Alec's hands in his.
Alec looked at him.
"David," he said softly, pleadingly, his hands shaking against David's own.
David kissed him. He thought about cold, about ice, fleetingly, a thread of worry cut away by Alec's hands on him again, finally, by the sounds he heard himself making as their mouths met and clung.
He climbed up the ladder first. Alec pulled it out of the wall carefully, watching him the whole time, eyes solemn and heated. The sheets were worn and soft under his hands. He could hear Alec behind him, turned around and saw him watching him from the edge of the bed, one hand still curled around the ladder. He reached for him.
"You don't have to do that," Alec said, voice cracking, and David shook his head and said, "I want to," softly, helplessly. Alec made a noise deep in his throat and kissed him, teeth grazing David's lower lip.
"Can I touch you?" David asked hesitantly as Alec's mouth moved down his neck, gasping as he bit his throat and then arching up toward his mouth.
Alec laughed sharply, and there was a hint of bitterness in his voice when he said, "Why are you even asking? You already are."
And he was. His hands were echoing Alec's, sliding under clothes, over skin. He drew his fingers away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to. I just--I wanted to touch you and I forgot. Are you…the cold. Does it hurt?"
"I don't feel it," Alec said. "I've never felt it. When you--when you touch me I've never felt anything but you."
Under his clothes Alec was paler than even David was, rimmed with the smudges of glittering dust on his hands, a trail of it snaking down around his wrists. David watched streaks of it bloom across his own skin. It stung, sharp prickles. He didn't care, watched with heavy lidded eyes as Alec knelt above him, a strange smile that wasn't one on his face.
"This will hurt," he said.
"I don't mind," David said. "I know you don't mean it."
"But I do," Alec said, and pushed inside him. "That's the thing. I do mean it."
In the morning David woke up when Alec stirred, rolled over sleepily and watched Alec get up and pull his shirt over his head. He stretched, then winced, and Alec put a hand on his hip, smoothing his fingers across David's skin. "I'll see you tonight," he said quietly. David smiled at him and Alec, after a moment, smiled back.
***
David spent his days talking to Gladys, visiting the square, walking across the city. He liked its neatly cobbled streets, the signs hanging from the shops, the way the King's chapel bells sounded when they chimed midday. At night when Alec came back from the mines he'd take off his coat and then wash his hands, flashing a quick grin at David as he rubbed salve into them. Everything was exactly how it had been.
Except that it wasn't. Now Alec would pull him close, kiss him. Sometimes in the morning, a whispering of his mouth against the curve of David's lips before he left, and always at night, a strange little surprised smile on his face when he returned from the mines. Sometimes they'd end up leaving dinner to grow cold. Sometimes they didn't eat dinner at all.
And now when David wanted to touch Alec he could and did. He'd never been able to do anything like that, had never been able to reach out and run his fingers along someone's skin, never had anyone turn to him when he did and smile. All his life he'd been careful when he touched.
David had never been so happy and looking at Alec's face when he came back at night, the way his eyes lit up when David said his name, he thought that maybe Alec felt the same way, too.
One night Alec came in carrying a small box. "Here," he said gruffly, and handed it to him.
Inside was something round and gleaming creamy white, covered with a sprinkle of tiny sugared berries.
"What is it?" David said.
Alec looked at him strangely. "A cake." He took the box out of David's hand and put it on the table.
"It's pretty. Do you want something to eat?"
"You've never had cake?"
David shook his head. Alec leaned over and cupped his jaw with one hand, staring at him with gentle eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something but in the end he didn't, just pulled away and got a knife, cut a small piece and passed it to him, a smile on his face.
After his first bite, David kissed him.
"I'll bring home cookies tomorrow," Alec said.
A few days later Alec came home very early from the mines, returning when the sun had just taken over the sky. David was still in bed.
"So now I know what you really do all day," he heard and rolled over to see Alec smiling at him.
"I must be dreaming," he said and touched Alec's face.
Alec snorted and said, "Some dream," but kissed the inside of his palm before gently tugging him up.
"Get dressed," he said. "We're going to a fair."
"A fair?"
"It's--never mind. There'll be cake there."
David grabbed his pants.
Everyone they passed on the streets was smiling, happy. "Holiday," Alec told him as they walked. "King's celebrating something."
"What?"
Alec shrugged and didn't look at him when he said, "A peace signing."
"With who?" David said, and then Alec looked at him, dark eyes solemn.
"Prince and Princess of a land you know," he said and paused for a moment before adding,
"They rule it now."
"Oh," David said and a breeze swirled around them. "Then my--my father is…he's…" He'd never known him, could barely picture him, but still. He was gone. The people walking in front of them shivered, said they wished for warmer coats.
"Hey," Alec said, and took his hand. David waited for him to let go but he didn't. After forty steps David linked his fingers tightly through Alec's, so he would know he was still holding him.
Alec didn't let go.
The fair was enormous. David had seen lots of people before--the castle had been full of them--
but never like this, shifting crowds moving this way and that, not vying for any one person to look at them but rather being cajoled by calls from everywhere, promises of entertainment and food and drink. It was as if everything in the world was there waiting just for them. He saw jugglers and acrobats and fire-eaters and players acting out stories of every kind. There were even singers too, and both he and Alec stopped to listen to them. Alec's face, as he watched them, was wistful, and David saw him glance down at his hands, start to shove them into his coat pockets.
"You sing better than they do," David whispered to him, and caught one of his hands with his own.
"You too," Alec said, grinning at him, and the next verse they both picked up the words, sang them quietly to each other, their voices blending together into one.
Later Alec bought him a cup of something with a name that was all vowels and l's. "From the far hills," Alec said, a wicked grin on his face. It was clear like water but tasted like a flash of light, a bright shocking blur. David blinked, looked at Alec. He could feel the drink rushing warm inside him. Everything looked brighter and Alec was right there, right next to him, his grin grown even wider.