Angels Wear Blue Jumpsuits

Part 12

Everything is so loud. Without the background humming of a computer, a refrigerator, an AC unit, a washing machine, or a flickering lightbulb– I can hear myself breathe. The small breeze outside barely above a whisper now has an inside-voice. It's like covid quarantine all over again as I begin to notice things I once hadn't– like your eyelashes. It's the moonlight; the way it's filtering through the night clouds and windows, it clips the edge of your lash line, and as you blink, I realize how dark and long those curved wisps are. I usually keep a thick filter between my brain and my mouth, but at that moment, God knows where it was.

"You have pretty eyelashes."

Kill yourself, Isla. Seriously.

"Do I?" you chuckle, "I never noticed."

"Neither. It's just the way the light is hitting your face right now."

"Light?" you grin, "have you not noticed the power outage?"

I roll my eyes. "The moonlight, moron."

"I know, I was teasing, dick."

I giggle. You're the only guy I've known ever to call a girl a dick before and I find it refreshing rather than offensive.

"That's something I've noticed about you since you left high school," I smile, "you don't seem so highly strung anymore."

"I don't?"

I shake my head. "You used to be so... I dunno... well-mannered."

"I'm still well-mannered!"

I grin. "You are. Maybe 'less relaxed' is what I should have said."

You think about it. "Yeah, I have loosened up. But it's usually only around you."

My heart warms. "Really?"

"Business life is different," you sigh, "everyone's so deep inside each other's ass, it's not even funny."

I laugh. I can't help it. You made an anal joke. I was born to laugh at those.

"How many people do you have inside your ass then?"

"All of them," you continue shamelessly, "but I take it like a champ."

Giggling, I'm subconsciously leaning into you. "I didn't know you were a bottom."

"I'm not," you grin, "not yet, anyway."

"Yet?"

"Oh, you never know," you smile innocently, "some guy may make me wanna get on my back one day, but it hasn't happened yet."

With how light-hearted the conversation is, my brain tells me I should be laughing more, but it's too busy overthinking. "What about with women?" I dare to ask. I can hear your breath in the dark, your inhale– uneven, and your exhale– thoughtful.

"I tend to date men more than women."

It's over, Isla. Pack up and move on.

"Oh-"

"But it's because I have quite high standards," you seem to assure me, "I'm way fussier with women than I am with guys. It's... difficult to explain."

My heart settles, but my mind doesn't. "Then explain. It's a three-hour power cut, we have time."

Your head bows, and as the moonlight skims your hair, it makes it appear more blue than almost black. "It's not time I'm concerned with, but the fragility of the subject."

Fragility?

"It can't be that serious..."

Your silence that follows confirms that it is. You shake your head and all those heavy thoughts out of it.