The next morning draws out in front of Vanya, long and completely empty with nothing planned to fill it. Cleaning the room they’re squatting only takes so long when there’s so little to straighten. Restlessness itches under his skin as he shakes out Kaspar’s blanket, noticing as he does so that his couch is closer today to Anna’s. Now that he pays attention, he also sees a pattern in the objects on the windowsill where she keeps her best possessions. Cotton reels curve in a rainbow, their shades vibrant compared to the grey city outside.

Vanya’s sigh is long and drawn out as he nudges a cotton reel with the tip of a finger. There’s so little he knows about Anna, and yet here she is, threading between him and Kaspar. He touches a strand of sunflower yellow cotton reminding him of Jason.

How is he this morning?

For the first time in forever, he wishes he had a phone of his own so he could simply call him instead of borrowing Kaspar’s.

Having someone to talk to would make the day pass so much faster. Inactivity frustrates him until he comes to a snap decision. At least picking up their mail at the hostel will be helpful.

The top deck of the bus he catches is almost empty. Only a couple of mothers sit across the aisle from him, chatting in a lilting language while their young children point out the window as they journey. They exclaim aloud in English. He hears “A crane!” and “A lorry!” enough times that his own contribution is involuntary. “Look at that police car!” It draws the mothers’ attention—silent now and solemn—but the children find him funny, pointing out more vehicles to him as their stop-start trip progresses. At least building their vocabulary this way feels constructive.

His spirits lift much higher with every noun they repeat.

That boost to his mood slips as soon as he gets off the bus, sinking even further when he finds the hostel front door wide open. Squalor starts in the hallway where noise also assaults his senses. It only increases in volume as he passes bedrooms where music barely masks loud arguing. A sack of kitchen refuse spilling across the first landing adds a stench that follows him up the narrow staircase. He hesitates before unlocking his door, apprehensive. Thankfully, the room appears untouched.

Vanya leans in, not crossing the threshold, only taking long enough to decide that it still looks like they both live here. Everything is just as they left it—the beds still made, if rumpled, a few clothes folded like they’ll be back soon to wear them. Anna’s room, on the other hand, hasn’t been spared attention.

It doesn’t matter if he’s still conflicted about her place between him and Kaspar. He won’t tell her what he finds beyond her bedroom door, which stands drunkenly open, its brand-new lock already broken.

She doesn’t need to know what someone’s done in her bed, leaving used condoms to spill onto her pillow. No. He’ll never tell her, he decides as he removes them. And he’ll try not to make her feel so unwelcome that she returns to find a similar threat for herself.

At least anger blocks the fear that usually rises each time he enters the alley leading to their building when he returns home. He doesn’t even think twice about walking where shadows darken it today, grateful simply to open a door into a space that’s as clean and tidy as he left it; thankful for this hidden place where all three of them can live safely, and furious that they need it.

That last emotion must show on his face. Kaspar spots it right away when he gets back from his shift.

“What’s up with you? Cheer up. Look, I brought you a present.” Kaspar tosses a package at him. “Just take it, and don’t argue with me about it.”

“A phone?” Vanya turns it over and squints. “You know I don’t ever want—”

“Yes. Yes, I know.” Kaspar takes the package back and opens it. “I know you’ve got a thing about apps.” Neither of them need to voice why. “But this one’s very basic. I want you to have it.” He adds a final incentive. “It’s prepaid and cost less than a tenner.”

Inexpensive or not, that ten pounds should go towards their deposit. “I thought we were saving every penny for a place together? Unless… did you decide to do something different with the money?”

“No.” Kaspar’s reassurance is swift. “No, not at all.” His grip on Vanya’s wrist is firm. “We’re still getting a place together as soon as we can.” He turns to see what it is that Vanya stares at. The cotton reels on the windowsill are a bright reminder that there are three people to house now rather than two. “And I already told you, I’m not going anywhere without you.” He points at the couch that Vanya sleeps on. “The sooner I don’t have to listen to you snore, the better.” He ducks his head for a moment. “And I’m looking forward to some privacy.” Vanya can guess why. “But the real reason is that I’m getting sick of fielding calls from your client.” He passes his own phone over. “I thought you were done with dressing him?”

“I am.”

“Well he doesn’t think so. He’s called a few times.” Kaspar shows him and then says, “And he left a voicemail that I listened to in case it was urgent.” He slides an arm around Vanya’s shoulder. “So that’s why I got you a phone, because I don’t ever want to listen to some guy old enough to be your father say that he woke up thinking about you.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ‘ah.’” Kaspar’s serious for a moment. “If this is a problem for you, Ivanushka, you know I’ll hunt him down and stop him. I wasn’t even going to tell you he called, but from what he said….” His gaze is direct yet worried. “Well, it didn’t exactly sound threatening. It sounded like he was continuing a conversation you started. So I’m texting you his number right now. Just know that you don’t have to call him, if you don’t want to.”

His new phone chimes in his palm. Vanya stares at the number on the screen for less than a minute before adding it to his empty list of contacts and sending a simple this is my new number message. It rings seconds later.

“Vanya? Hang on.” It’s hard to hear Jason clearly. Repetitive thump-thump-thumps fade into the background when Jason eventually says, “Okay. Okay, I’m here.” He breathes hard as he speaks.

“Have time to talk? I’m think you sound busy. Knocking down old house today?” Vanya turns his back to Kaspar, sure his face must be a picture the moment Jason answers.

“I’m never too busy to talk to you.” The next sound he hears is a huff of laughter. “And I’ll have to try harder to explain what it is that I do. Demolition isn’t my line of work, at all. I told you. Besides, I’m not at work now. I’m at the gym.” There’s a sound of a door closing, and the background noise of treadmills cuts out. Jason’s voice is much clearer when he says, “I left you a couple of messages. I was starting to think you weren’t going to call me back.”

“Only just saw.” It’s not exactly a lie, nor is Vanya’s next sentence. “Wasn’t sure I would hear from you again.” He jokes a little, aware that Kaspar’s listening. “Have new clothes emergency?”

“Maybe.” Vanya likes that he can hear Jason smiling. It’s so easy to picture when he tags on a teasing, “Do I still need an emergency to call you?”

“No.”

“Because I’ll make one up if I have to.”

A thousand butterflies in Vanya’s stomach flex tiny wings that shiver.

He holds the phone very tightly.

“You still there?” Jason’s tone changes just enough that Vanya can picture his honest worry. “Or did I just scare you off?”

“I’m not scared. Not of you.” It’s the truth, he knows, the second he says the words.

Jason’s voice lowers as well. “Good,” he says, time stretching taut between them before he asks a question. “I know it’s already evening and you’ve probably got plans, but do you want to come over to my place tonight for a late supper?”

Vanya puts a hand over his stomach where a thousand pairs of wings tense.

When Jason adds, “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” every single butterfly takes flight.

* * *

Vanya counts down tube stations on his way to Jason’s, eyes fixed on the route map over the seat opposite as the train judders under the city. Nearby tourists sway as they stand, clutching their bags close to their chests while studying the same diagram as him. They debate which coloured Tube line they should follow as the train shakes, rattles, and rushes. He can’t help listening in as they bicker.

Now that the bricks and mortar of this language have started to hold fast, their conversation is easy to follow. He understands more than enough to pick out mistakes, smiling to himself when he hears them pronounce the letter L in Holborn. It should be silent rather than said aloud, even if he has no idea why.

Lately, his English races ahead instead of progressing at a snail’s pace, like it has for so long. That’s likely down to one thing: Jason’s been the best incentive to get to grips with language.

Vanya focuses on the map to keep from staring around the carriage—another lesson the last months have taught him. Travelling cheek-by-jowl is fine as long as no one makes eye contact. Doing so certainly heightens other senses. These days he’s much more aware that silence plays a part in more than British pronunciation. The entire population communicate like bees using a secret sub-vocal language. It hums under the surface when those tourists block the door at every single Tube stop. No one says a word aloud, but irritation buzzes so loud he’s amazed the tourists don’t hear it.

When they also block the escalator instead of standing to the side, Vanya joins a silent swarm that laments all the way up to street level, his impatience uniting unvoiced with other Britons as the same group cause a delay at the ticket barrier. Only an older gentleman in business attire speaks in a show of outward politeness, meaning the exact opposite of the words he utters.

“No, after you.” The businessman says with textbook good manners. “Do take your time, won’t you?”

Vanya quietly repeats phrases once he’s out of the station, practicing how they string together. He mouths the businessman’s final statement, “I’ve nowhere to be in a hurry,” when he’s actually behind schedule. He slows when he acknowledges a truth.

He isn’t late for his first date in this city.

He’s late for his first real date ever—impossible to imagine happening at home when he was still a student teacher.

Life would have been much easier if he hadn’t followed his vocation. Now, none of that matters. He won’t get the chance to find out if he was cut out for his dream job, but at least his life isn’t in daily danger.

Meeting someone like Jason has to be so much safer than the one and only time he used a phone app to meet with a stranger. The location is certainly very different. Jason’s street is so well lit that it feels safe even as the dusk deepens. He says so when Jason opens his front door.

“Safe? It’s as safe as anywhere can be around here, I suppose. It’s mostly young families who live here, so the only real aggro tends to be over street parking.” He backs up into a brightly lit, if narrow, hallway, and then stands there for a moment, like he’s not sure what to do next. “Come in,” he finally urges. “Have you already eaten? I made something, but it will keep if you’re not hungry.” Jason pauses directly under a light that leaves nothing hidden, his smile a little nervous, like he’s the dating novice.

Vanya breaks the pause in their conversation. “I’m could eat.” Frankly, he’s running on empty.

Jason only swallows, saying nothing at all, so Vanya continues. “Or, I’m could wait?” His stomach rumbles. “Food does smell good.”

“It’s just pasta. I wasn’t sure….” Jason rubs at his brow and then shakes his head like it needs clearing. “Actually, I’m not sure about much right now.” He meets Vanya’s eye then, looking about as lost as he had the first day when he’d clutched an ugly tie that didn’t suit him.

Perhaps now that Vanya’s in his hallway rather than on the end of a phone line, he regrets inviting him into his home.

Or maybe sharing a meal was never on Jason’s agenda at all, his invite actually subtext for a quick fuck with no strings.

Disappointment strips Vanya of syntax, leaving him speechless and feeling very, very stupid. Has he really spent all day imagining this was the start of some kind of romance? It’s not the first time he’s misconstrued meaning, especially over the phone. He should have thought harder before turning up wearing his heart on his sleeve right where a blind man could see it. Even Kaspar had pointed out how much older Jason was than him. Of course he’d cut to the chase for a one-time hook-up.

It’s a shame for so many reasons.

Jason only looks more appealing every time he sees him, the bruising around his eye all but gone now, his hair even better than when he left the barber. But it’s not only the way he appears that has all those butterflies sinking inside Vanya like their wings are weighted. It’s the thought of not getting to talk after a long day of virtual silence that’s completely crushing.

Sex without strings had been part of the appeal of leaving home for uni, but now the thought of getting off without conversing has Vanya swallowing around a lump in his throat that regret somehow thickens. “I’m should go.”

“Go?” Jason stands much closer. “Why? You just got here.” His aftershave is familiar and fresh, his bicep an appealing curve at Vanya’s eye level. He braces a hand on the doorframe, almost blocking Vanya’s exit.

He should feel hemmed in by that movement, trapped by this man who’s both bigger and so much stronger than him. Instead he inches nearer. He wets dry lips, and Jason’s gaze drops, focused so fully on them that the butterflies in Vanya’s stomach swoop. Then it rumbles loudly again, breaking the silence between them.

Jason backs up. “Of course you can go if you want, but I hope you don’t.” He’s bashful but comes right out with what Vanya needs to hear most. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. Kept remembering things I wanted to tell you.” He holds out a hand. “How about you let me feed you some supper first before you make a decision?”

“Supper first,” Vanya agrees, following Jason down his bright hallway, wondering with each step what exactly will come second.