Utterly Forgettable | MM Romance | Complete

Twenty-Nine: Emery: More Kindness And Less Judgment

With every minute that passed, and despite his anxiety over what the remainder of the day might hold, Emery felt more certain that he'd made the right decision. Josh wore a tentative smile, mind occupied with things other than his client's passing, and it caused an unreasonable swell of pride in Emery's breast. They hadn't even left home yet, but he'd pulled it off. He'd been the one to ease some of Josh's pain, for once.

The sooner they got to Central Park, the better their chances of getting tickets to the play, but it wouldn't do to go unprepared. They'd gone back home to retrieve food, blankets and warmer, impervious clothing. Open umbrellas weren't allowed, it'd been a wet July already, and Emery was convinced it would rain. Josh, always on the verge of a sugar overdose, couldn't even conceive not packing a few of his sugary aberrations, while Emery opted for bottles of water. Soon they were making sandwiches, Josh pointing out they could make a picnic out of it even if they didn't get tickets. It was endearingly domestic, and Emery loved the entire experience without reserve.

Being in Central Park was harder.

Yes, Emery had many fond memories in the park, but the more recent batch was anything but pleasant, and it was still fresh in his mind. The sky had turned plumbeous. In their overzealousness they'd gotten there far too early; there was no one in the standby line outside Delacorte theater. Emery should have suggested they make themselves comfortable and wait but, at some point, he'd decided he should be confronting his demons.

He'd barely opened his mouth to speak when Josh said, "You want to go into the Ramble."

Mouth dry, Emery nodded. "I would like that, yes. Though I will understand completely if babysitting me wasn't what you'd hoped to do with your afternoon."

"Babysitting," Josh echoed, both eyebrows raised, which had less of a dramatic effect than the one he'd no doubt intended. "Is that a family trait, viewing me that way?"

Emma had called Josh a babysitter often, it was true. Antagonistically at first, fondly throughout the rest of their time together. She'd have helped pull Josh out of his head without making it all about her; Emery wished he possessed that skill.

"Apologies." There were easier ways to coax a smile out of Josh. "I will add 'babysitter' next to 'lady-in-waiting' in the list of words I'm not permitted to use in reference to you. Though I don't think 'palliative carer' works in this particular instance either. Any other suggestions?"

Josh's eyes were beautiful when he wore that expression, clear and determined, caring, earnest. "How about 'friend'?"

Emery's heart did a painful flip. That was much, much more than what was reasonable to expect, and he'd cherish it. Nurture it, always. Take care not to crush it, as he had done to the love he knew Josh had once harbored for him. "'Friend,'" he repeated. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

Despite the ominous sky, the Ramble had its share of parkgoers, New Yorkers and tourists alike. It looked vibrant and alive, but Emery knew what hid underneath that veneer, and it darkened his perception.

He remembered huddling for warmth, a persistent drizzle soaking his shirt, until he'd decided to risk sleeping at the Summerhouse, only to find it occupied already. Being set upon by men who wanted his shoes — the shoes Emma had given him as a gift, that he hadn't wanted to part with for reasons more important than the physical comfort they provided.

He remembered his pathetic attempt at fighting back, when he'd never known how to throw a halfway decent punch in the first place. Their casual cruelty as they deliberately stomped on his glasses, that had landed intact on the ground, crushing the lenses beyond any hope of usability.

He remembered abject loneliness, particularly pervasive that night despite how insulated he'd become from most feelings, tearing at whatever shreds of peace he'd managed to hold on to up until that point. Lying on the ground with a bleeding brow, watching blurry silhouettes walk away with the last object that connected him to Emma; deciding to take the coward's way out and not get up, out of some half-forgotten self-preservation instinct he'd have preferred to do without.