“So who’s this guy?” Scott asked. “What’s his story?”
“I don’t know!” Kip laughed. “I don’t know everything!” He leaned in to read the museum’s description of the ornate set of silver armor. “Italian. Sixteenth century. Just a guy. A knight.”
“Just a random knight, huh? Pretty small knight.”
“Everyone was small back then. I wonder if he was wearing this when he died.”
“Geez, can you imagine how long it must have taken to make this thing? And they had whole armies of these guys?”
“They probably reused the armor. High job turnover.”
Scott laughed at Kip’s dark joke. Scott was in incognito mode: a Yankees hat pulled as low as possible without covering his eyes, a basic charcoal zip-up hoodie, and jeans. Kip wasn’t so sure his disguise was going to work; he was still the hottest man in any room. He was going to attract attention no matter what.
Scott’s shoulders were hunched, and he kept shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweater, as if to stop himself from reaching for Kip.
“My dad used to bring me here, when I was a kid,” Kip said. “He taught high school history and English.”
“So you got it from him?”
“Definitely,” Kip said. “My sister, Megan, was more into novels, but I was always interested in history.”
“What do you like about it?”
Kip wasn’t sure how to answer a question that enormous. “It’s... I mean, it’s one long story. One really long story. And there have been millions of people over thousands of years who have helped to tell it. To record their own little piece of it, or to try to fill the gaps or make corrections to the parts that came before them. Like, some people try to record their story in a way that makes them look better—or that makes someone else look worse. But then historians work to fix that. And that’s what I want to do—work to make sure the right stories are being told.”
“Wow,” Scott said. “That’s cool. I like that.”
Kip shrugged, a little embarrassed by his weird ramblings. “I just find it interesting.”
“So sixteenth-century Italian knights aren’t your area of expertise?” Scott asked.
Kip shook his head and smiled. “Not really, no. I’m more interested in peasants. But soldiers definitely interest me.”
“Tell me,” Scott said. “I want to hear about what interests you.”
“Oh. Mostly I’m just interested in people. Not so much the big names in the history books, but how people lived during different periods. In different places. Who the soldiers were in the wars. Who the workers were. That sort of thing. Marginalized groups, especially. People who haven’t had their history told properly.”
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “Like gay people?” he guessed.
“Sure, yeah. For one. I wrote my undergrad thesis on marginalized groups being drafted into wars.” Kip examined the detailing on a sixteenth-century glaive, and waited for Scott to change the subject.
After a minute, Scott surprised Kip by asking, “Do you have a copy of it somewhere? I’d like to read it.”
Kip blinked at him. “You want to read my thesis?”
“Of course. If you wrote it, I want to read it.”
God, that was sweet. Kip really wanted to hug him. Would Scott be angry if he hugged him? “It’s, like, ninety pages long,” he said, instead of lunging for his big, adorable boyfriend. “And probably boring as hell.”
“I can read ninety pages,” Scott said, smirking. “I’m an athlete, not a moron.”
Kip rolled his eyes. “I know you’re not dumb, Scott.”
Scott smiled, and then his eyes darted around the room for the millionth time. He seemed to be forcing himself to have a good time, but was obviously uncomfortable. It was bumming Kip out.
He put a hand on Scott’s arm, then snatched it away when Scott flinched.
Kip did his best not to be annoyed. He wanted to tell Scott to relax, but instead he turned and led him to another suit of armor.
“Hey, have you seen this before? This was always one of my favorite things here. This was worn by Henry VIII.”
“I’ve heard of that guy!”
“See? Not dumb at all!”
Scott frowned at the golden armor. “I thought he was fat. Wasn’t he, like, a big fat guy with a beard? This suit looks really small.”
“This was his armor when he was a young man,” Kip said. “Over here...” He gestured for Scott to follow him. “We see another one of his suits, which he wore twenty or so years later. Big difference.”
“I guess he spent those twenty years eating.”
“And fucking. And killing his wives.”
“Well, I was on board until that last part.”
Kip laughed. Scott beamed at him. “You should work here,” he said. “You’d be great at it!”
“Yeah. That’d be awesome,” Kip mumbled. He had never bothered to tell Scott about the fruitless job interview at the other museum. No reason to make himself seem even less impressive.
“What do you need to work somewhere like this? You have a history degree already.”
“Oh, I don’t know. A master’s degree at least, probably. Depends on the job.”
“And you don’t want to do your master’s?”
“I don’t know,” Kip said, pretending to be interested in a fifteenth-century gauntlet. “I mean, yes. I would like to. I just can’t—” He stopped himself.
“Afford it?” Scott finished for him.
“Don’t start,” Kip warned.
“I’m not! But if money is the only thing holding you back—”
“It’s not. For one thing, I would have to actually be accepted somewhere.”
“Have you applied?”
Kip couldn’t think of a reason to lie. “I sent in a few applications a couple of weeks ago.”
Scott’s eyes went wide with surprise, but he smiled. “That’s great!” Then his face fell a bit. “Um...whereabouts?”
“Oh, just around here,” Kip said quickly. He dropped his voice and smiled. “You thought I was gonna leave you?”
Scott looked at him seriously. “I would miss you like hell if you went away for school, but I would understand.”
Kip really wanted to kiss him, or at least squeeze his hand. This sucked.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’m happier staying here. And besides, I might not get into any of them anyway.”
“You will.”
Things took a turn later when they were in the European sculpture gallery. In the bright lighting, and the wide-open spaces, people started to notice the celebrity in their midst. Suddenly the museum patrons seemed a lot less interested in the statues of Greek gods and began snapping covert photos of the modern-day Adonis who walked among them.
Kip leaned in close to Scott and said, “Those guys are—”
“I know,” Scott said tightly. “I see them.”
It wasn’t long before two young women approached them and asked if they could take a selfie with Scott. Kip could tell that he wanted to politely decline, but instead he forced a grin and said, “Sure!”
Kip could hear the mutterings bouncing around the quiet, marble atrium. “Did you see Scott Hunter over there?” “Is that really Scott Hunter?” “Who is that with him, do you think?”
More people approached Scott and had their picture taken with him. Scott signed a few museum guides, which seemed like an absurd request to Kip.
After a family of four took photos with him, Scott turned to Kip and said, firmly, “We should go. Sorry, but this is only going to get worse.”
They left quickly. They had planned on getting lunch nearby, but Scott was already calling his car service as they walked through the lobby of the museum.
“No lunch then, I guess,” Kip said, keeping his voice as cool as possible.
“Nope.” Scott’s tone was less cool, and his posture was tense and angry. Kip wanted to put a hand on him to soothe him, but he didn’t dare.
Back to the apartment. To hide.
Well, it had been a nice couple of hours of pretending he was in a normal relationship.
* * *
By that evening, the Scott Hunter fan accounts were full of cell phone photos—most of them taken without permission—of Scott and Kip at the museum. There were even a couple of celebrity gossip sites that were posting them. Kip only knew about them because, at just after eight o’clock that night, he received a text from Shawn.
Shawn: Kip! WTF is this you???!!!!!!!!
It was a picture of Scott gazing (a little too lovingly) at Kip as Kip stared up at a statue of Perseus. The scene definitely looked romantic, and the statue’s marble penis hovering between their faces didn’t help tone things down.
Most people wouldn’t notice any of that, right?
Kip: Yes.
Shawn: You want to tell me why you’re on a date with Scott Hunter?
Kip: It wasn’t a date!
A total lie.
Shawn: Explain yourself.
Kip: We met at work. We’re friends. It’s nothing.
Shawn sent back a gif of a RuPaul’s Drag Race contestant making a “bitch, please” face.
Kip: It’s nothing! I’m serious! As if Scott Hunter would want to date me. Come on!
Shawn: Hmmm...
Kip: Does he seem gay to you? Even a little?
He hated every word he was typing. He didn’t want to lie to his friends.
Shawn: Hmmm...
Kip: It’s nothing.
Shawn: Well, next time you and your straight friend Scott are doing “nothing,” you should invite me. And maybe go to the beach or something. Or a pool. Or a bathhouse.
Kip rolled his eyes, and then sent the eye-roll emoji.
Shawn: He looks like he wants to eat you. That’s all I’m saying.
Kip: He does not.
(Even though he completely did.)
He decided not to tell Scott about the photos being online. Scott didn’t even have any official social media accounts. There was a good chance he would never find out about these.
Overall, they weren’t a big deal. All of the focus was on Scott Hunter being spotted in the wild. No one even mentioned Kip except to label him an “unknown friend.”
No reason to tell Scott. It would only stress him out.
At nine-thirty that night, Scott said, “Are there pictures of us online? From the museum?”
“Um... I don’t know,” Kip lied. “Why?”
“Carter just texted me one.”
Fuck. Kip pulled out his phone and made a show of opening Twitter, as if he hadn’t checked it all day.
“Oh. Yeah, there are a few. Nothing... I mean, they’re mostly pretty blurry. I don’t know why people are even bothering to post them.”
He waited for Scott’s reply, and hoped Scott didn’t notice how flushed he was. He had already lied to Shawn about these dumb photos; now he was lying to Scott about them. In truth, Kip just wanted to look at them, and be a little proud of them. He had never seen a picture of the two of them together before.
“Why was Carter sending you one of them?”
“Just...making fun of me, or whatever. He knows I hate this kind of attention.”
“So he doesn’t think—”
“I don’t know! Fuck!” Scott threw his phone down on the couch and started pacing. “We shouldn’t have gone! It was stupid. I just wanted... Fuck. What I was thinking?”
“Hey,” Kip said, trying to sound soothing. “It’s not a big deal. It’s nothing. It’s not like we’re making out in the pictures.”
“What if we were? I mean, not making out. But what if I touched you in some obvious way by accident? Or what if I...looked at you the way I know I always do?”
Kip hoped to god that Scott never saw the photo that Shawn had sent him.
“It’s too fucking hard to be careful,” Scott said. “I should never have...”
“Right,” Kip said tersely.
It was fucking ridiculous. Their “date” couldn’t have been more chaste, and here Scott was having a meltdown over the fact that they had been spotted standing near each other in a public place.
For the first time, Kip seriously considered leaving to go home for the night. He was filled with so much more than irritation with Scott. His usual fear that there was no way this was going to work between them in the long term was overtaking him.
He loved Scott so much, and he would do almost anything to stay with him. But he couldn’t lie about who he was. And he didn’t want to lie about who Scott was to him.
“I think... I’m gonna head home, all right?”
“What?” Scott seemed completely caught off guard by this. “Why?”
“I just...” Kip chewed his lip. He didn’t want to get in a fight about any of this, but if he stayed they would fight because Kip couldn’t pretend he wasn’t upset. “I’ve got stuff to do at home.”
It sounded like the lie it was.
“Please don’t go,” Scott said.
Kip was going to insist that he needed to leave, but then Scott said, “I’m sorry.”
Kip sighed. “You don’t have to apologize, Scott.”
“Well... I feel like I do, all right? And I wish I could promise things will be better, but the truth is...” He scrubbed a hand over his face and swore under his breath. “I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying. It probably doesn’t seem like it, but every tiny step we take is a huge leap for me.”
“I know,” Kip said. He did know. Scott even attempting a public outing with him had been a big deal. They had only been dating a few weeks; how much could Kip really ask of him?
“Things are going to get more hectic for me when the playoffs start,” Scott said. “I just want to know that we’re okay.”
Kip nodded. “We’re okay.”
“Please stay,” Scott said. “I love you so much, Kip. I need you. Please be patient with me.”
And how could Kip resist that?
“I’ll stay.”