As the weeks pass Autumn comes into full swing: the days draw shorter, and Elouan can't leave the house without a coat on. Outside the old warehouse where he takes his life drawing lessons, a fine mist of light rain messes up the boy's glasses. He rummages through his bag to find his hat, which he did thankfully bring, but in doing so he sees that something is missing.
"I can't find my sketchbook."
"You definitely brought it with you?" Marcel says, putting on a hat of his own. "Right?"
"Definitely, I had it earlier today at your place. I was showing you those new sketches I did, remember?"
The redhead thinks for a moment. "You didn't leave it there again did you?"
"I might have." Elouan says guiltily. "Almost certainly, actually. Do you think we could go back for it?"
Marcel puts his hands on his hips and looks into the gray sky, the sun is low in the sky but it is far from totally dark. "Are you sure you want to? It's getting pretty late."
"Don't you have your watch?"
"Girls don't wear timepieces." He says in a manner sounding almost proud of himself.
"If we're quick I can ride the tram back, it'll be fine. Besides, I'll be bored out of my mind tomorrow if I can't draw." He lies, he'll probably be fine without it, but in addition to the drawings he'd been showing Marcel there's a few vaguely embarrassing portraits he'd attempted to make of the other boy. He'll happily trudge through a bit of rain to eliminate the risk of those being discovered.
---
By the time they reach Marcel's place the weather has turned for the worse and the sun has fully set. Either it was later than Elouan thought when they had left, or they had been exceptionally slow in walking up the hill. Sure enough though the sketchbook is there, sat unassumingly on a chair. The boy quickly grabs it and pockets it in his shoulder bag. He's about to announce his departure when he sees Marcel staring out of the window.
The weather outside has grown terrible: the air thick with rain whipped almost sideways by the wind. By this time of evening the trams will have all stopped. Elouan winces in anticipation of the long walk home he'll have to endure.
"I should probably leave soon, before it gets worse out there." He says.
"Are you sure? The trams will have definitely stopped for the day."
"I'll be okay, it's not that bad." There's a pause again, the silence filled by trees rustling in the whistling gale.
"Mmm." Marcel doesn't look away from the window, rain patters loudly as it crashes against the glass. "You're not working tomorrow are you?"
"Working? No. Why do you ask?"
"If it's easier, you could always go home in the morning."
"What do you mean? I- oh." He realises what the boy is asking. "No, thank you. I wouldn't want to impose like that."
"You're not imposing, I'm asking you."
"To stay here?"
"Yes. You're already soaked, I'm worried you'll catch a cold if you go out there again."
"Your bed isn't very big."
"I have a sleeping roll, it's fine."
"Oh. Of course."
Marcel is probably right. He dwells on the thought, obviously he wouldn't mind staying with the boy a little longer, but he feels as if he's guilted Marcel into this position. Elouan is only at the boy's house because he mindlessly left his own belongings here, it's his fault and he should have to deal with the consequences himself. But it's cold outside, and dark, and wet. And Marcel's room is warm. He's not sure if he has the strength to say no.
"Please," the redhead continues, "I'd feel terrible sending you out there again."
Elouan doesn't reply at first. He stares at his feet, unable to say yes. "That would be nice. Are you sure it's okay?" He asks.
"Yes - look." the boy reaches for Elouan's hand, taking it into his own and squeezing gently. "Stay here tonight, please?"
"I will. Thank you." He says gingerly. A wave of relief washes over his body.
The boys take off their bags and jackets, leaving them hung up to dry. Elouan regrets not having brought his coat as the icy rain was heavy enough to soak through every layer of his clothes. Even his skin feels wet as he reaches a hand underneath his shirt. He would have expected to have warmed up a little by now, but he's dripping wet and shivering.
"Macel?"
"Hi?" He replies, standing on one one leg as he strips a stocking off.
"Do you have anything I could wear while my clothes dry out?"
"Oh sure, but don't you want to wash first?"
"You can wash in here?"
"Yeah, there's a few showers on the floor below, I was going to take one myself."
"Oh." Elouan still isn't used to buildings having running water inside them, let alone hot running water. There certainly isn't anything like that at his house. "I've never used a shower before though."
"You really are a country bumpkin aren't you?" Marcel sighs.
"So, that one controls the heat, and that one is for the pressure." Marcel explains. It's really not as complicated as Eloaun had expected. "Well, good luck. I'll be waiting outside, don't take too long!" He says, closing the door as he leaves.
The room is totally foreign to him, entirely unlike the bathroom he grew up with or the stalls of the bathhouse he uses now. It's communal, technically, shared between the four residents on this floor. There's a small sort of lobby with sinks and mirror where Marcel is currently waiting which contains two doors leading to showers, one of which Elouan is now in. The shower room itself is a bit cramped. It's in an 'L' shape with a set of wall mounted hangers and a tiny bench near the door, and the showerhead itself around the corner inside a little lowered section of the tiled floor. The walls are all tiled too, with a mixture of white and teal patterned ceramics. There's a small window to let light in and air out, or rather it would let light in were it not night right now, so instead the room is illuminated by the red glow of a powered light.
He's not used to seeing lights like these inside, relying on modern power rather than burning fuel. The light has a strange quality in its interaction with human skin, it smooths out the texture and makes it look rather soft, and his veins become very visible giving him an almost translucent appearance.
The shower itself is not the first one he's seen, and he understands how they work, in principle - something like a fixed hosepipe with a similar dispersing jet to one used for watering plants - but he'd never actually stood under one.
He's very cold, still damp from the rain but now even colder in his nakedness. He thinks how if this were a bath he'd only have to be unclothed for a brief moment before plunging into its warmth. Remembering Marcel's plea to not 'take too long', he turns the pressure control and his face is immediately blasted with a jet of ice cold water.
Elouan yelps and immediately switches it off. A moment passes and he hears a voice from outside.
"Are you okay in there?" A confused voice calls out from the other side of the door.
"Yeah, maybe. I don't think I get it."
"Get what?"
He pauses for a moment, quite embarrassed. "The shower, the dial is set to warm but it's still cold."
There's a knock on the door. Elouan hastily wraps his towel around his body, covering his chest and crotch, and opens the door. Marcel barely waits a moment before he steps in wearing his underclothes. Moving straight past the boy, he begins fiddling with the shower's knobs. Once again a jet of water streams out of it, and he holds his hand in the flow for a few moments.
"It's warm now, you can step in."
Elouan stands there nervously, still covered by his towel. Having his body exposed at the bathhouse never felt that difficult, but something about the circumstances here make him feel acutely self-conscious. There's a crossed connection in his brain; he's never naked around girls, and Marcel seems to be categorised in his head as something like a girl.
"You know it's really not bad once you get your head under?" The redhead speaks like he's talking to a child. Not unkind but perhaps a little impatient. He's misunderstanding though, there's another reason that Elouan hesitates to undress himself.
Marcel squints like he's not too sure about what he's about to say. "Do you need me to show you?"
"Maybe."
Before he can elaborate, the boy sighs and strips off the last of his clothes, stepping into the shower and immersing himself in the water. "You see? It's your turn now, come on."
Elouan feels blood rush to his cheeks and ears, turning away in an instant.
"What." Marcel says.
Staying faced against the corner, Elouan doesn't respond.
"What?" He asks again. "Don't tell me you've never seen another boy naked."
"It's not that, it's..." He isn't sure where he's going with this. Of course it's different, he's - well, Elouan thinks about it. It's just that, you know, it's - no - he isn't quite sure. Marcel isn't a girl. Why does this feel different? Maybe he is making a big deal over nothing. Steeling his nerves, the boy peels the towel off of his lower half.
"Come on!" Marcel says in a teasing tone. The boy doesn't budge. "Come onnn!" He repeats, this time grabbing Elouan by the wrists and dragging him unwillingly into the warm stream of water with him. It's strange and unpleasant for a few seconds, but he quickly gets used to it as the hot water pours over him, its warmth soaking deep into his body. When he pushes his head under he splutters, seemingly unable to breathe.
"You okay?" The taller boy asks. Elouan coughs a little. Only now does he release his wrists. "Look, if you tip your head back a little it won't get all in your face, see?"
Elouan feels embarrassed and a little guilty, somehow, even though Marcel is the one who stripped off first. The redhead's eyes are closed under the flow of water. His face barely a step away from the other boy's, his cheeks rosy from the heat, and his lips parted just a little. He can't see like this, Elouan thinks; he feels a little more relaxed, and something bold in him lets his eyes wander over the other boy. Twice before he saw this body during life drawing, but this feels different somehow. Maybe it's the physical closeness giving him a totally different angle to what he's had before, or maybe it's the way the light plays off his wet skin, highlighting the curves of his soft fat. This is also the first time he's seen the boy truly naked, with not even a single small towel to give him modesty.
Eloaun realises he is letting his curiosity get the better of him. He is keenly aware of the proximity; the shower itself is small, and it's hard for either boy to move without slightly brushing against each other's skin. Focusing on scrubbing himself, Elouan pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind, unsure if he's uncomfortable or too comfortable.
"You know," Marcel says, "I would have thought an engineer like you could have figured this out yourself."
"Well, I work at the front of house these days. And most of the machines I work with don't spray me with cold water." He wasn't trying to sound funny, but the redhead laughs anyway.
Eloaun watches as Marcel lays out a sleeping roll over the hard floor. He feels a little pampered, sipping from a mug of hot cocoa, wrapped up in warm blankets over some underclothes that the boy let him borrow. They're a nice quality, made of thickly woven white linen, and a faint smell of something like coriander clings to them.
"Hey so," Elouan starts to ask, "I'm sleeping on the floor, right?"
"What do you mean? You're my guest, you get the bed."
"That's not fair for you, it's my fault I'm having to stay here."
"You're still caught up on that?" He sounds almost worried. "You know I really don't mind? Please let me be nice to you."
"You are being nice to me." The brunet finishes off his cocoa, and smiles. "I'll be okay on the floor, don't worry."
"If you're sure." He replies, seemingly unconvinced, but unwilling to argue.
By the time Marcel has finished setting up the bed it is quite deep into the night. Both boys finish drying their hair, brush their teeth, and climb under their respective covers.
The sleeping mat is hard and quite cold, the sheet a little thin. Elouan spends a while rolling in the dark from one side to the other as he tries to find a position that doesn't feel too rough on his side. Minutes, or what feels like an hour, pass and his eyes remain wide open. From atop the bed, he hears Marcel stirring as well.
"Hey?" He says quietly. "You still awake?"
There's a pause and the redhead replies. "Yeah? You okay?"
"I'm fine, yeah."
"You're fidgeting a lot, are you uncomfortable down there?" He asks in an oddly concerned voice.
"Maybe a little."
There's another pause. He wishes he could see Marcel's face and get some idea of what he might be thinking about. "Would you rather be up here instead?"
"No." He replies bluntly. "I don't want you to have to sleep on the floor."
"I meant do you want to come up here with me."
"Ah." Elouan thinks for a moment. On the bed. With Marcel. Next to him.
Wordlessly, the brunet climbs out of his sleeping roll and onto the side of the bed, where the taller boy has shifted up to make room for him. He crawls under the covers, already warm with Marcel's heat. There's that faint smell from before, under the lingering aroma of soap; it must be Marcel's. It's a pleasant scent, sort of bright and floral, and maybe a little musky.
"You okay?" Marcel half whispers.
"Huh?"
"You're sniffing quite a bit, did the rain get to you?"
"Maybe, yeah." He lies.
"You're rather passive aren't you?" Marcel says in a quiet, slightly playful voice. "It'd be pretty hard to manage if you weren't so obvious."
Is he obvious? Elouan had always thought himself to be quite reserved and subtle, but Marcel somehow always seems to know what he wants to hear. As if to prove that point, he snakes an arm over the brunet's side, resting atop his bicep.
It's that closeness again; his touch is tender and gentle, like it's the most natural thing in the world to him. Elouan suddenly feels acutely aware of the position of both boys on the narrow bed, they are sat quite precariously on opposite edges and the space between them feels loud. He's afraid, slightly, not of what might happen if he closed that gap, but afraid of what it means that he wouldn't mind it. There's something on the tip of his tongue, a tiny request that doesn't really matter, that wouldn't mean anything if he didn't feel like this about it.
"Can... can I come closer?" He whispers.
"Please."
Eloaun shuffles across the bed until his body touches Marcel's. He places an arm over the taller boy's chest, who in turn reaches his arm further across him - under his neck and around his shoulders. He's warm - really warm - and comfortable. The shape of Elouan's body impresses against the redhead, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.
"Is this okay?" Elouan asks.
"Of course, silly."
Marcel sounds very tired, and soon starts to drift off. A trickle of red light spills from the streets through his curtains, just enough for the brunet to be able to pick out each pretty feature of his face. His hair tumbles messily over his freckled cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly with each breath that escapes his soft lips.