Archive of Our Own

There was a dark-haired boy sitting in the corner of the coffee shop between the tables and the far wall.

He had a whole slew of newspapers, files, and a banged up laptop spread across two tables, and he looked as if he had been there all morning. Both of the outlets next to him were taken up, one by a phone charger and one with a laptop charger. Everything looked like it was falling apart.

Lyle stared at him for longer than he had stared at anybody in his life.

There was nothing unusual about him, other than the annoyed glances he was getting for taking up so much space. He was tall and fair-skinned, with the kind of long limbs that forced him to sit awkwardly in the small sitting booth. He wore a beanie on his head, pulled low despite the warm weather. He was young, good-looking, and too much of both to look this homeless.

"Excuse me? What's your order?" The barista's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

Lyle swung around with a startled jerk.

"Sorry," he said. "Can I just get one large, please? No extras."

He waited as the lady rang him up, and glanced back at the corner again. The look didn't go unnoticed.

"He's been here all morning, you know," the barista said. She gave him a sudden, knowing grin. "He's not going away." Her smile faded once she saw his uncomfortable look. "He look familiar to you?"

"A little," Lyle admitted.

"Go talk to him, then," she said. "All of us in the back are hella curious about him, but he hasn't spoken a word to anybody since he came in here."

Lyle gave her a polite smile. The barista raised her eyebrows back at him.

"He looks like he could use some help," she said. Lyle sighed.

"Fine." He was curious anyway. There was a niggling sensation in the back of his mind, like he had forgotten something important. He knew it wouldn't go away until he had gotten a closer look.

He took the coffee from the counter and reluctantly made his way over to the boy's table. Most of the other tables were taken in the early morning rush, people with their bags scattered next to their chairs, laptops out and headphones plugged in. The only seats not taken were the one next to the homeless looking kid.

As he got closer, he noticed that some of those papers were resumes and job applications. He set the coffee down at the edge of the table.

"Hey kid," he said gently. "Are you okay - ?"

The boy jerked backwards, grabbing the table and shoving himself back in his chair, away from the sound of Lyle's voice. The motion knocked over the tall cup of coffee that Lyle had just set down. Dark liquid spilled out in a huge arc, covering newspapers, folders, soaking into the laptop keyboard.

A loud cry went up behind him, probably from the barista who had seen the whole thing. It all happened so fast.

But Lyle wasn't looking at the laptop, or the spilled coffee, or the sudden devastation spreading across inked paper and soaking into the hardwood.

When the boy looked up at him with a startled jerk, his eyes were electric blue, blue enough to drown out an ocean.

His heart rate doubled, and then tripled an instant later, as recognition clicked, and realization slammed into him like a hammer to the skull.

"Ekaterin?" Lyle heard himself say. "Ekaterin. What the hell are you doing here?"

Ekaterin Danavis, born in Springfield, Illinois to Ryan Danavis and Alanna Yeong, began acting at age 15 and was cast as Miles Day on the sitcom Seashells by the Sea Shore.

Or, in other words: he was a coworker on the sitcom that had launched Lyle's entire career for his role as Kevin Day, Miles' father.

Ekaterin had been breaking into the world of acting after years of being a child in the modeling industry. Lyle had been coming from a theatre background. He had not been pleased to find out that the rest of the cast were basically unknowns, but Ekaterin had surprised him.

The two of them had held the show together somehow for it's rather decent three-year run. Lazy writing, shitty dialogue, and overdramatic plotlines plagued most of the sitcom episodes. But sometimes, when the writing room just let Ekaterin and Lyle do their thing, the show had a surprising amount of heart.

Come find me if you have nowhere else to go, Lyle had said to him one night, with the rest of the cast party-drunk all around them. I'll always leave my door open for you.

He might have been a little drunk himself, on more than just the cheap boxed wine. But he had meant every word.

When the show had ended, Lyle had gone on to take multiple movie deals, including one with a franchise. Ekaterin, on the other hand, had disappeared from the face of the earth.

Now, with the boy right in front of him, Lyle wasn't even sure what else to say. How have you been? seemed inappropriate. Where have you been? was closer to what he wanted.

While he stood there, frozen with shock, the rest of the world sped up to a frenetic pace.

"Lyle," Ekaterin said in a strangled voice, and then visibly collapsed with relief, his fingers going slack on the table. "Shit, Lyle, you scared me!"

"I'm sorry," Lyle said automatically. "I didn't mean to -"

"I thought -"

They were both interrupted by a loud fizzling sound. In the next instant, Ekaterin's computer crackled and then died, the screen going black. Coffee started to drip down from the table onto the floor.

The barista rushed out from behind the counter, a towel in her hand. She gave Lyle a look before bending over the table to press it against the surface, soaking up as much hot liquid as she could.

Lyle backed away hurriedly to give her space. The other nearby patrons of the coffee shop also shifted away in a scraping of chairs.

"I said talk to him," she grumbled to him under her breath. "Not scare him half out of his wits!"

"No, it's okay," Ekaterin scrambled up onto the bench just before the coffee started to drip onto his legs. He gave the computer an assessing glance and seemed to give it up for dead. "I just -"

"I'm sorry -" Lyle stammered. "I can - here, lemme help -"

He picked up the laptop and upended it. A disheartening amount of liquid splashed out onto the floor. The barista sent him a murderous look.

"Sorry," Lyle said faintly.

"Oh god," Ekaterin laughed. "Lyle, it really is you."

He jumped down from the bench. A moment later, Lyle felt fingers against his temple, turning his head to one side. He obliged without thinking, and found himself staring at Ekaterin from mere inches away.

Lyle froze where he was, holding the laptop upside down, not moving. Ekaterin was studying his face, almost as if reassuring himself of something. After a moment, all the tension seeped out of his shoulders.

"Three sentences and three apologies, you really haven't changed," Ekaterin grinned, taking his hand away. It was a nervous, fluttering motion, like a bird flying away right after it landed. "I can't believe I almost mistook you for somebody else."

Lyle sobered. Ekaterin gave him an apologetic smile.

"You can let go of that thing now," he said, nodding to the laptop. "I'm pretty sure it's fried."

"No, wait, I think I can save this." Lyle turned his attention back to the laptop, shook it one last time to get some of the drops out, and then closed it. He hesitated before handing it back to Ekaterin. "Do you want me to try? I have a couple tools back at my place. Worst case scenario, I can give you a replacement. It was my fault in the first place."

"No, you don't have to... " Ekaterin trailed off.

"It's pretty close," Lyle argued. "I have an apartment right down the street."

"Really?" Ekaterin looked surprised. They moved away to give the barista more space as she came back with a mop. The barista gave Ekaterin a once-over.

"You alright, hon?" she asked.

"Yeah," Ekaterin smiled at her. "I'm fine."

They helped clean up the rest of the mess, with Ekaterin dumping all of the soaked newspapers into a nearby trash bin and stuffing his laptop into his backpack. In the end, Lyle ended up tugging him outside, where they could talk without the barista blatantly listening in on them.

Once they were out on the street, Ekaterin stood out even more with his tattered clothes and beaten up backpack and small coffee stains on his pale blue shirt. In the sunlight, Lyle was shocked at how pale Ekaterin looked, how rail-thin and underfed he seemed.

"Are you fine?" Lyle asked.

Ekaterin gave him the same smile he had given the lady, just a little softer.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "Let's talk about you. I can't believe you live here, of all places. I guess this is a nice area, but aren't you in the big leagues now? I never got to congratulate you for - for everything."

"What do you mean the big leagues?"

Ekaterin elbowed him, "Didn't you get cast in that new Reinke flick? Reinke's new movie, the one that you're starring in, the one that's gonna put you on everybody's radar."

Lyle shushed him, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. In the end, he moved a little closer to Ekaterin, one span in between them instead of two. People could stare all they wanted.

"I have," Lyle said. He couldn't help smiling. "We just wrapped production last week. I have about two months before I have to go on a bunch of press tours and do the whole song and dance."

Ekaterin smirked at him. "So it's gonna be good?"

Lyle gave him back his cockiest smile. "Yeah, it's gonna be good."

Ekaterin looked away, his smile becoming a bit more strained. "I'll definitely go watch it, then. Is there a crazy plot twist?"

"It's a Reinke flick," Lyle said matter-of-factly. Ekaterin laughed out loud.

The sound of Ekaterin's laughter sent a painful pang through Lyle's chest. God, he had forgotten how adorable Ekaterin was sometimes. A lot of actors were money-chasers, fascinated by this sparkly, glittering thing called fame. Maybe it was because Ekaterin had grown up around fame, or maybe his life had taught him that other things were more important, but where others would have asked so you must be rolling in cash now or so you're gonna be famous real soon, Ekaterin asked so it's gonna be good, right?

"So what about you?" Lyle asked finally. "Sorry, I ended up talking about myself too much. I'm actually really surprised to see you here. What happened to you, after the show?" And why are you looking for minimum-wage jobs?

"Oh," Ekaterin averted his eyes, and Lyle could tell that he was trying not to tell a lie. "I've been... um, I had a job interview around here, so I thought I'd hang out here for a bit."

The word choice struck a strange chord in Lyle's ears.

"An interview? Not an audition?"

Ekaterin winced, apparently noticing that slip-up as well. "Yeah," he said. "I've left the whole acting world."

Lyle stared at him, completely thrown.

It was normal for kids to dip in and out of the acting world. There were whole armies of 20-something year olds that came into L.A. like a swarm in the summer, and left in the winter when the acting gigs dried up. Most of them lasted five years tops, taking side jobs as waitresses or settling for smaller roles in local theatres or dance troupes if they were super determined.

But Ekaterin was, if there was a word for it, acting royalty. His father had been a relatively successful actor, even if it had been in a different age of black-and-white silent films. His mother had been rumored to be a foreign model, so in demand that she had barely ever spent time in the states.

The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Kids like Ekaterin didn't often end up like this, alone in coffee shops, looking for minimum-wage jobs.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them: "Does your father know about this?"

All the warmth left Ekaterin's face in a fraction of a second.

"No," he said shortly. "He doesn't even know if I'm alive."

"Sorry," Lyle muttered hastily. "I shouldn't have brought him up."

"It's fine."

"What were you interviewing for?" Lyle asked, trying to change the subject.

"Tutoring jobs, mostly." Ekaterin sighed, leaning back. "Or fast food chain jobs, or grocery cashier, or restaurant workers. Not a lot of places will hire somebody like me, though."

"It sounds like you've had a rough time of it lately. Why not go to college instead?"

"I've got no money for college."

Lyle shot him a disbelieving look. "What do you mean?"

Ekaterin's mouth twisted into a wry smile, and he gestured expansively at his surroundings, as if taking in the tattered clothes and beaten up backpack and saying this is me, don't you know?

"Wait, but what about all the money you made while working?"

"Working what?"

"Acting. On Seashells by the Seashore. You must've been paid. I saw your contract when we started out. You were being paid a grand per episode, and there were at least a hundred episodes. Towards the end of the show, you should've been making way more than that. That's easily enough for college tuition, right? Tell me I'm not crazy. There are laws about paying child actors, right?"

Ekaterin stared at him, his hands slowly floating back to his sides.

"I never saw any of that money," he said.

"Ekaterin."

Ekaterin was sitting, hands clasped in between his knees, head bowed down on Lyle's living room couch. His backpack was tossed carelessly next to him, and the laptop had been set out to dry.

Lyle was pacing back and forth in his living room, trying to contain his anger.

"Ekaterin," he said. "What do you mean, your father took it all?"

Apparently, Ekaterin had never even seen the terms of his contract. Lyle couldn't understand how that had happened. The producers had needed him there to sign, right? How could all that money go through Ryan Danavis and then just disappear?

"I was just -" Ekaterin's voice trailed off into nothingness. "I was stupid, that was all."

"Ekaterin," Lyle repeated. "Let me contact the producers. That way we can be sure about where the money went. There's no way your father could have a right to your money. That's just not right."

"He didn't have a right to a lot of things," Ekaterin muttered. "That never stopped him, though"

His sneakers were wearing grooves into the grey rug, he had been pacing so much. Lyle's apartment was sparsely decorated. The most expensive thing in that room was probably the glass coffee table, which some magazine had sent to him in an effort to make his living situation more celebrity-like. The L-section couch, black in leather and comfortable despite its wear and tear, had been free. Lyle didn't think he would destroy anything, but he eyed the table longingly, until he was deterred by horrible visions of picking pieces of glass out of the carpet for weeks.

Apparently, Ekaterin had been renting a motel room and struggling to pay for even a shitty 1-bedroom closet. After being kicked out by his father, he had been penniless. Lyle had no idea how he had scraped by for the past two years.

"How did you let this happen?"

Ekaterin hunched down even further. His voice rose momentarily. "I thought they didn't pay child actors! My father told me that I was so bad that they didn't want me back!"

"Are you serious?"

"I never thought about it!"

Lyle closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Agh. There was the naive, strange Ekaterin that Lyle knew, the kid that could memorize ten thousand lines like nobody's business but didn't even think he should be paid for it.

"And you say you haven't talked to your father in years?" he asked.

Ekaterin didn't answer. Lyle opened his eyes.

Lyle had finally come to a halt. Hunched over like that, Ekaterin just looked helpless and defeated and lost, just another abandoned child on the side of the road with everything taken away from him.

Lyle felt the ache bloom in his heart just as strongly as he had all those years ago. He stopped pacing and sat down on the couch. Out of habit, without thinking, he spread his arms wide open.

"Ekaterin," he said. "It's gonna be okay. Come here."

Ekaterin hesitated briefly, and then leaned into his arms. He buried his face in Lyle's shoulder, mumbling something that sounded like an apology.

For a moment, Lyle was shocked that it had worked.

Their father-son dynamic on the show has necessitated a lot of hugging, hair-ruffling, and other casual displays of affection. They had done a lot of work together to make the gestures seem natural. He was unreasonably glad that some of that trust still remained.

"Hey," he soothed, carefully wrapping his arms around the boys shoulders and pulling him in tight. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

Ekaterin made a muffled, despairing sound into his shoulder.

"This isn't your fault," Lyle said. "Don't blame yourself for something you had no control over."

Slowly, little by little, he felt Ekaterin relax.

Despite himself, Lyle felt an odd rush of emotions. It had been years since he had hugged Ekaterin. They used to hug all the time on set, and it had taken Lyle a long time to get used to the lack of physical affection after the show had ended.

Reluctantly, he pulled away. Ekaterin's expression was oddly pleading, his mouth soft on a frown, his eyes fixed on Lyle's face.

Lyle felt an unpleasant chill. He had the distinct impression that Ekaterin was looking past him at somebody else.

He was well aware of the fact that he and Ryan looked similar. They were both tall, with dirty-blonde hair, and brown eyes, the kind of face that often got casted as action-flick protagonists. Their similarities had been part of the rationale for casting Ekaterin as his son in Seashells in the first place.

"Hey," he said gently, carding his fingers through Ekaterin's hair. Ekaterin shivered and looked down, leaning into it like a small animal desperate for warmth.

I'm not him, Lyle thought, something sharp and painful lodging in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Lyle whispered. "I should have been there for you."

"It's okay," Ekaterin replied, his fingers hooking into Lyle's shirt at his sides. He clung to Lyle, and his next words were almost lost. "You're here now."

Ah, he was so fucked.

Maybe, one day, he would be able to convince that he was doing this because he was a good person, that he had seen a boy down on his luck in the corner of a cafe, and had wanted to help.

But with Ekaterin warm against his chest, and his hair soft beneath Lyle's fingers, open and vulnerable, trembling in a way that reminded him of newborn chicks before they found their wings, Lyle realized that maybe he wasn't doing this for truly altruistic reasons after all.

Ekaterin ended up moving into his apartment, after that.

Maybe after breaking down in front of Lyle, it was easier to trust him. Maybe he really was just desperate, and couldn't afford to be picky when the other option was homelessness. Or maybe he had finally realized how much Lyle was willing to give him, and had decided to take advantage.

Lyle didn't really even care. He was so fucking thrilled that he felt like his head was in the clouds.

He redid the guest bedroom in his apartment so that it had better shades on the eastward-facing window and a desk close to a power outlet. He got new linens and bed sheets that he had to go out and buy at the last minute because Ekaterin had probably been sleeping on shitty motel beds for the last two years. He pinned up takeout menus on the fridge and bought a whole new set of mugs and plates and silverware.

And the entire time, there was a voice in his head wryly observing: you really don't want to let him go this time, don't you?

"Okay, but actually," Lyle said. "You need to learn about money. Or else you'll never be a functional adult."

Ekaterin sent him an offended look. "I'm already a functional adult."

"You don't have a credit card," Lyle shot back. Ekaterin wilted a little, sitting at the kitchen table. "You don't have a bank account. You're twenty and you've never invested in your life. You don't have a college degree. What were you planning to do?"

"I don't know," Ekaterin said, looking a bit hunted. "I never thought past getting through the week."

Lyle came back to the table, setting down two mugs of instant coffee. Ekaterin reached for his gratefully.

"How did you learn?" Ekaterin asked, curious.

"I had to learn it on my own," Lyle answered, frustrated. "This is important. I can't believe that you didn't know about taxes."

"Maybe I should just work illegally for the rest of my life," Ekaterin suggested. "Stay in the black market. Work all in cash. Then I'd never have to deal with such a troublesome thing."

"If you ever want to get back into acting," Lyle told him over the rising steam of his mug. "That attitude won't fly."

"You keep saying that."

"Saying what?"

"That I'll want to go back into acting one day."

"Oh." Lyle hadn't noticed it. "I just thought you loved acting,"

"I do."

"And you have talent."

Ekaterin tried and failed to smile at the compliment. "That's not what matters. It's luck more than anything."

And you're good-looking, Lyle would have said, but that felt a little too dangerous to say, with his blood still buzzing a little from their proximity.

"There was no reason why you can't," he argued. "Even if it's a harsh industry. You already had acting credits to your name. You have your foot in the door already. There are thousands of kids that would kill to be in your position right now."

Ekaterin looked at him as if he knew all that already. His shoulders hunched a little under the weight of imagined expectations.

"I'm sorry, Lyle. I can't."

Something fierce and protective bloomed in Lyle's chest. He hated seeing Ekaterin like this.

"No, I'm sorry," he said gently. He set down his cup. "It's fine. You don't have to go back into acting."

Without thinking, he brought his hand up to ruffle Ekaterin's hair.

This close, he could smell the shampoo that Ekaterin had used. The clean, sharp scent of it distracted him so much that he nearly missed the look that Ekaterin was giving him.

When he did, Lyle's heart nearly stopped in his chest.

He had seen longing before, in silent stares across long corridors and quiet glances when no one else was looking. But this look was different. This was a hunger as deep as the ocean collecting in the shadows of storm-blue eyes, and all of it open to the sky. It took his breath away.

His hand was still in Ekaterin's hair, fingers twisted into smooth dark stands as if he had wanted this too, had wanted nothing more than to pull - just a little closer - and bring Ekaterin's face up to his own. He had always wondered what Ekaterin's lips would taste like. Maybe now he could find out.

"Lyle, there's something I have to tell you."

Lyle dropped back into his skin with a crash, everything inside him rattling with the force of it. He blinked and jerked his hand away as if it had been stung.

"Shit," he blurted out. "Sorry. I didn't mean to - what were you saying?"

Ekaterin was staring at him, startled by his sudden movement. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Fuck no! What the fuck am I doing?

Ekaterin looked scared now. "Lyle. Did I do something wrong?"

Lyle reeled. For a moment, he hated everyone and everything: Ekaterin, for his haunting blue eyes and that tremor in his voice. Ryan, for hurting his only son, for making him sound like that, and for looking like Lyle.

"No," Lyle said. Ekaterin was still sitting in his kitchen chair, wide-eyed and afraid of something he had no reason to be.

"Was it something I said?"

"No."

More than anything, at that moment, Lyle hated himself.

His fingertips still tingled with remnants of heat. He shuddered at the memory of carding his fingers through the boy's hair. He had been pretending, all this time, lying and using their previous dynamic on the show as father and son, stealing bits of physical intimacy that he had no right to. What would Ekaterin think if he knew how Lyle really felt about him?

"Okay." Ekaterin looked conflicted, like he had wanted to say something but had lost his nerve.

Lyle ran his hands through his hair, feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the universe.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just realized something. I talked to Yuvali. About you. I forgot to mention it earlier, but apparently he said he has some records and bank statements that he can forward to you. Would you be interested in seeing them?"

"Sure," Ekaterin said, still caught out.

Lyle made up more things to say, anything to distract Ekaterin from what had just happened. But it all faded to a dull roar in the background of his head, compared to the newly awakened monster in his chest, the one that wanted to dig its claws into Ekaterin like a hook, drag him closer, and whisper you're mine, you're safe, and don't ever stop looking at me like that.

When he left, he carried that sensation with him. It stuck to his skin like tiny burrs, followed him out of the kitchen. It followed him into his dreams.

"There's no record of money ever being deposited into this account."

"Yes, exactly, that's what I'm saying."

"So you're saying you think that the checks were intercepted?"

"I know they were intercepted. The producers handed Ryan a paper check every month. 15% of it was supposed to go into this trust account that they had set up for him, but the money never materialized."

The lawyer sighed and took off his glasses so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He was a tall, reedy man with a weathered face and gnarly hands. Lyle would have cast him as the seafaring type, with all that sun darkened skin, but he doubted that Mr. Bolshevist had even been on a boat before.

"I think small claims court is probably your best option."

Lyle looked down at the entire mess of notes he had taken during their meeting. "Doesn't that have some limit in the couple thousands? This is at least a hundred grand that we're talking about."

"Before taxes. And before the 15%. And this is years after the fact. The fact is, since Mr. Danavis was the parent in this situation, it's going to be hard to prove that he actually stole anything. If you want to see any kind of money anytime soon, you're gonna have to accept that not all that money is coming back. It's just years too late at this point."

"Alright," Lyle sighed. He was beginning to get a headache. "I understand."

When they were finished speaking, Lyle left the lawyers office with a whole new bunch of forms to fill out and things to read. He was absurdly grateful that he had not decided to take any side jobs between now and the press circuit in May. This way, he could spend all of his spare time with Ekaterin.

Helping Ekaterin, Lyle corrected himself. But a more cynical part of him just laughed. Not that old excuse again.

When he got back to his apartment, Ekaterin was in the kitchen, making something out of one of Lyle's old recipe books. He had flour smudged on his shirt, rolling pins and metal bowls out everywhere on the countertop. Lyle's heart fucking melted at the sight of him.

Ekaterin looked up just as he arrived, and his face split into a huge smile.

"You're back!" He put down his bowl and washed his hands quickly. As soon as Lyle put all his stuff down he was attacked with an enthusiastic hug.

He stumbled a little, hands coming up to Ekaterin's sides. "Woah." Ekaterin smelled faintly of sugar, and the scent was going straight to his head. "Easy. I said I'd be back before six."

"Did you have a good trip?"

"It wasn't a trip. It was more like a meeting."

"A meeting with who?"

"Yuvali. I told you, didn't I?"

"Oh," Ekaterin blinked, startled out of his good mood for a split second. "About the money? I thought I told you to stop worrying about that."

"Yeah, but -"

"This is my problem. You don't have to take care of me."

Lyle grinned helplessly at him. He brought his hands up to Ekaterin's face, squishing his cheeks fondly. A part of him was distantly horrified at what he was doing, but he slapped it down sharply. He was just horsing around with a brat who -

"- can't even do taxes yet," he said. "If I don't take care of you, who will?"

Ekaterin scowled at him. "You keep treating me like a kid."

Lyle gave him a little shake, still not letting go of his face. "Mhm," he said noncommittally. "Says the kid who was crying in a coffee shop when I found him, nearly homeless and penniless to boot."

"Hey!" Ekaterin grabbed at his hands. "I wasn't crying! Let go of me!"

"I can't," Lyle said, mock-serious. "I'm stuck like this. You're too cute."

"I'm not cute!"

"Okay, come on now, that was cute."

Heart pounding in his chest, Lyle finally let go. He had to stop letting his mouth run away from him. It was just that he couldn't resist teasing, not with Ekaterin's adorable reactions.

Ekaterin had filled out a little, or had gotten more rest, since he had come to live with Lyle. After Lyle had pulled out entire boxes of secondhand clothes for him, Ekaterin had taken to wearing some of his old t-shirts. They were slightly too big for him sometimes, but now they just looked comfortable instead of hanging off of him.

Unable to stop himself, Lyle reached out gently and tilted his chin up a little. The dark shadows under Ekaterin's eyes had gone away completely too. He looked much healthier than he had been in that coffee shop.

Under the bright kitchen lights, Ekaterin's eyes shifted from stained blue glass to something bright like reflections off of the water, then back again. Lyle wondered distantly if he had ever blinked when looking at Ekaterin. It always felt like he had to steal these moments, any time when he could look at Ekaterin openly, and any time spent blinking was a slice of time that he had wasted.

Somewhere behind them, a timer beeped. Both of them flinched away from each other.

"Shit," Ekaterin gasped. "I forgot. There's something in the oven -" and he was off, rushing into the kitchen to take care of whatever that timer had been there for.

Lyle stayed where he was, horrified.

His breath felt like it was stuck in his lungs, and his heart was pounding so loudly that he could hear it in the blood rushing past his ears.

He had almost kissed Ekaterin again. And the desire to kiss him had been stronger this time. It wasn't fading as time went by. Instead, it was becoming this constant distraction, the thud of adoration in his heart, the way his head went blank whenever he saw Ekaterin laughing.

Pull yourself together, he told himself.

He went into the kitchen just as Ekaterin was pulling a tray out of the oven. There were the clattering sounds of things being cleared away.

"Here," Ekaterin said, avoiding his eyes a little. "I thought you would be back a little later, but I made dinner, if you're in the mood for it."

"You didn't have to." It was difficult to get the words out. Lyle took a breath and forcibly calmed himself.

Ekaterin flinched, bracing his hands against the countertop. "Sorry," he said in a tight voice.

Lyle stared at him, disturbed. There it was, again.

"Why are you saying sorry?"

"I just -" he gestured at the kitchen, the mess of ingredients spilling out of plastic containers and unwashed bowls. "I'm still thinking of a way to repay you for helping me, and I can't think of anything."

"You don't have to repay me for anything," Lyle said firmly.

It was times like these that he wondered if something had changed, in the two years since they had seen each other. Ekaterin had never been like this before. He had been troubled, but not afraid, like a sudden loud voice or motion would send him fleeing.

Ekaterin gave him a pained look. "I know why you're doing this."

Lyle's heart skipped two beats, very unpleasantly. "You do?"

"You're a good person," Ekaterin said. "You're always taking care of me. It's been like that ever since the show. Everything I've learned about acting, I've learned from you. But now I can't act anymore, so I feel like I've wasted all of your time."

"That's not true," Lyle broke in, willing his heart to go back to normal. "I'm not doing this so that you'll go back into acting, or whatever."

"Yes you are, but it's no use."

"Why?"

"I'm damaged goods," Ekaterin said bitterly. "I'm useless now. My father made sure of that."

Lyle stared at him, stunned. A thousand little things clicked together: the way Ekaterin never undressed in front of him, not to go into the showers, and not to change. The way he always wore loose-fitting clothes, even though he hadn't been into that style when he was younger. The way he still seemed to want to be an actor, but seemed convinced that he could no longer be one.

Suddenly, Lyle felt a chill. The sick feeling grew into a bone-deep hunch.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

Ekaterin frowned at him, suddenly uneasy. "What do you mean?"

"You were going to tell me something," Lyle moved forward, until he was in the kitchen doorway. Ekaterin's face paled.

It took him a long time before he answered, quietly: "Yes."

"What was it?"

"It's fine. It happened a long time ago, I just -"

"Ekaterin."

The sound of his name, delivered with such seriousness, brought Ekaterin up short. His hand went automatically to his abdomen, fingers curled protectively into a fist. Lyle couldn't believe that he had never noticed that gesture before.

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other.

Lyle ended up being the one to break the silence.

"Show me," he commanded.

Ekaterin's fingers drifted to the hem of his shirt. He swallowed hard. "Okay, but don't be mad."

"Okay."

Reluctantly, Ekaterin lifted his shirt.

The hem only went up to his midriff, revealing an ugly scar running from the waist of his jeans in an arc through his belly button. It was clearly a knife wound, years old, and crossing it was another scar, years older, trailing up somewhere past the hem of his shirt where Lyle couldn't follow it. More scars, some visibly indented into his body, came into view.

All the air left Lyle's lungs in a strangled "Fuck!"

Ekaterin dropped the hem of his shirt with a flinch. "I said don't be mad."

Lyle couldn't breathe past the horror filling his lungs. An actor's livelihood was their face and their body. If you destroyed that on purpose, then you had to be a madman in Lyle's eyes. Whoever had done this had carved Ekaterin up like a pig to be slaughtered.

"Did your father do that to you?"

Ekaterin didn't answer, which was confirmation enough.

Lyle's hands made an involuntary strangling motion. He wanted to kill something, no, someone. Someone had hurt Ekaterin. Anger roared up inside him, hot and possessive, every inch of it looking for more firewood to burn, for something to destroy.

"I'm going to kill him," he said, barely hearing himself over the roaring in his ears.

"No."

Lyle turned to leave, already thinking of where to bury the body.

"Stop," Ekaterin lunged at him, physically blocking his way. He looked up at Lyle pleadingly. "Please, I don't want anybody to know."

Lyle brought his hands up to touch Ekaterin's face. His fingers curled possessively, but he didn't even care. "Ekaterin, listen -"

"No! You listen!! If anybody knows about the scars, I'll never be able to act again. I'll always be seen as this poster child for child abuse in the acting industry or whatever. I don't want that. I've been thinking a lot these past few days, and I've decided. I just want all this to be over with. I want to forget him."

"He's not getting away with this."

"Lyle, please."

Lyle stopped. He fought down a shudder. He had never heard Ekaterin beg for anything like that before.

Seeing him hesitate, Ekaterin went on, encouraged.

"I'll do anything," he said. 

"You don't have to," Lyle said. He tried to move Ekaterin backwards, and somehow ended up being slammed back against the wall.

Ekaterin pressed up against him, chest to chest, and Lyle realized with a shock that he was deceptively strong, all firm muscles and cold fire in his eyes, but Lyle stayed with his back against the wall more out of shock than of anything else.

"Don't," Ekaterin said.

Lyle seized him by the shoulder and slid his other hand under Ekaterin's shirt. He stopped at the first scar he touched, fingers barely brushing over indented skin. Ekaterin gasped and curled around that touch like it was the first time he had been touched in years. Lyle couldn't bear to press down harder, but suddenly it felt like every point of contact between their bodies had become the only thing that mattered.

"He did this to you," he said flatly. His fingers trailed up, following the path of the old scar. The scars felt rough and uneven compared to the smoother skin around it, like pain locked into a physical shape. Fury overwhelmed him as Ekaterin shuddered underneath his touch.

He had reached an intersection of sorts, a place where another wound had slashed through the first one.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill him," Lyle whispered, feeling rage curl up inside him like a black creature, all hunger and desire. "Ekaterin, you've got it all wrong. I'm the one who'll do anything for you. Say the word, and he'll never hurt you again. I swear it."

When Ekaterin looked up at him, it was like looking at some avenging angel with all the world's despair and wanting in his eyes. It took Lyle's breath away.

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes. Ekaterin, I'll kill anyone who ever touched you."

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because then I can't do this."

Before Lyle could respond, Ekaterin surged forward, got his knees in between Lyle's legs and reached up to seize Lyle's hair. His kiss was hot and desperate. One second Lyle was trying to push him away, and the next, his hands were moving on their own, roaming possessively over scarred skin like they were trying to memorize or map it all.

Ekaterin pressed up against him eagerly. He didn't jerk away when Lyle pressed his palm hard against his skin. He just made a desperate sound, incoherent. His hips pressed harder against Lyle's thigh, mindlessly searching for more friction. Lyle thought he was going to explode. Blood was pushing so hard in his ears that he could feel it. And god help him, but he didn't want this to stop.

He slid his other hand under Ekaterin's shirt, fingers sliding across the scarred skin on his stomach, up his sides. Ekaterin shivered even though he was warm enough to light up a furnace. He broke off the kiss to gasp for breath.

"Lyle," was all he said, desperate and broken. And Lyle broke, lunging forward and catching his mouth in a fierce kiss, wanting to bite down on that broken sound and swallow it whole.

He wasn't thinking. He was too turned on to think. Ekaterin made a startled sound, raising a hand halfway to Lyle's shoulder, but Lyle just dug his fingers into Ekaterin's hair, and held him in place. It took a second for the resistance to melt away, and then it was easy, far too easy. Lyle tasted every part of Ekaterin he could reach, reveling in how soft and warm his mouth was. After a second, Ekaterin's hands settled on Lyle's arms, then around his neck.

He hadn't meant to give in. This wasn't ever supposed to happen, between the two of them. But at the moment, with Ekaterin's lips finally on his, Lyle couldn't bring himself to care.

An eternity later, Lyle remembered to pull back. He was met with a sight that hit him like a physical blow.

Breathless, Ekaterin stared up at him. His lips were bitten red, and shadowed from Lyle going overboard. His eyes were dark blue like the nighttime sky over a city just before the lights went on. The longing in his face was endless.

When he pulled away, Ekaterin tried to lean into him again, but Lyle caught his face in his hands and stopped him.

"Was this why?" he asked fiercely.

Confusion swam hazily through Ekaterin's expression. "Why what?"

"Why you said that you'll never be able to act again."

"Oh." Ekaterin grimaced and gestured to indicate his shirt, and subsequently what was underneath his shirt.

"You think anyone will want this?" he asked. "It's over for me."

"You don't have to do shirtless scenes."

Ekaterin laughed, warm and breathless and heartbroken all at the same time.

"People hire me for my face, not my acting skills," he said. "The second they see the rest of me, they'll realize that I'm damaged goods."

"That's not true."

"I'll be lucky if they don't run away screaming. You're the only person who hasn't, after they've seen. But that figures, because you're too kind to reject someone as unlovable as me." Ekaterin dug his fingers into Lyle's shirt, and let out a broken laugh. "You're unreal, you know that? Most guys would have beaten me up by now, but you're just letting me do whatever I want."

"Ekaterin, stop."

"What? You know it's true."

"Ekaterin."

"What?"

Lyle grabbed his face and kissed him as hard as he could.

When he was sure that Ekaterin had gotten his point, whatever that point was supposed to be, Lyle pulled away. He remembered what it was he had been about to say.

"You're one of the most expressive people I've ever met," Lyle told him. Their faces were inches apart, they were both breathing hard. Lyle grabbed Ekaterin's chin to force him not to look away. "You're beautiful. You're fucking mesmerizing. And I'm around beautiful people all day. I know people who go to school to learn to do stuff that you can do as easily as breathing."

Ekaterin was giving him another one of those haunting, blue-eyed stares, so full of hope and fear that Lyle's throat tightened just looking at him.

"Lyle," he said, voice breaking. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're not unlovable. I'm saying that I love you."

The first thing Ekaterin said had been: I don't believe you.

Instead of replying, Lyle had decided to prove it.

The two of them had kissed until their mouths were numb, and still Lyle thought it wasn't enough. He could have spent days memorizing every inch of Ekaterin's body, or spent weeks prying him open into revealing all his secrets. But Ekaterin had looked and sounded like someone starving for touch, and so Lyle just pulled him to the bed and spent ages simply touching him instead.

I fantasized about you all the time, Ekaterin said, his heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest, where Lyle could feel it. I used to lie in my room right next to yours, and imagine you coming in.

You could have called me for anything, Lyle told him. I would have done anything for you. And then Ekaterin had curled up, embarrassed, over the scars on his chest, until Lyle had kissed every last one.

You're still the most beautiful person I've ever met, Lyle said. He had a whole speech planned, and everything, but it was lost somewhere in between kisses instead.

In the end, when they touched, it started to feel more like melting into each other than coming into contact with electricity.

Ekaterin felt feverish, his expression knocked open into something that was finally a bit less guarded and a bit more vulnerable. His lips were parted slightly, which was all it took for Lyle to break and kiss him again.

He swirled his tongue across Ekaterin's bottom lip, marveling at how soft it felt. He bit down, a bit playfully, to see how Ekaterin would react.

Ekaterin arched up, his thighs pressing up in between Lyle's legs in a way that was both dirty and graceful and - fuck, that was sexy. Lyle stared at him, dumbfounded and hornier than he had ever been in his entire life. 

He pushed Ekaterin down, covering him completely. Some wild animal instinct told him to hold the boy down, take and take and take until there was nothing left of him, until he was reduced to unthinking pleasure.

His fingers caught against Ekaterin's hip and touched bare skin. Lyle went so dizzy that he couldn't see, all the blood inside him rushing as fast as it could to get more, closer, more. He was about ten seconds from coming.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, and Ekaterin keened wordlessly under him, arching in a way that said more, please. Lyle had never given in so fast in his life.

"Off," he murmured, tugging at Ekaterin's shirt. Ekaterin fumbled at the button of his pants, shoving them off of his hips. Lyle was too distracted to watch, busy with his own buttons, pulling off his own clothing like it was a race.

When he turned, he was met with a sight that nearly struck him dumb. Ekaterin was splayed out like a painting, something religious and something to be adored. His body had always been hidden behind oversized t-shirts and jeans before, so seeing him now with all his muscles straining against the bedsheets was overwhelming. Speechless, Lyle stared at the sight of Ekaterin's cock, full and uncut, red and pulsing with precome at the tip. He hadn't even touched it yet, and Ekaterin looked like he was in pain, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open in a drawn-out groan.

"I need you in me," Ekaterin begged. His stomach muscles flexed, and his back arched off the bed in an effort to get closer. His long fingers were wrapped around Lyle's wrists in a death grip. The flush of red was down to his chest now. He was trembling, overwhelmed even without a cock driving into him.

"Fuck," Lyle heard himself say. He felt like he was in a dream, like every sound and every sight was more than just real. Everything felt sharper, brighter, more present.

He pushed Ekaterin's legs open in order to tease his finger against the soft ring of muscle in between them. Ekaterin shuddered as if he had just been penetrated, his legs catching against the side of Lyle's thighs. Lyle popped open the bottle of lube and spilled it over his fingers, surprised to find that they weren't shaking. He felt like he should be, with all the tension thrumming through him.

When he bent over Ekaterin, their gazes met. Silently, as steadily as he could, Lyle began to push two fingers in.

Ekaterin lost control almost immediately. His head went back with a sharp cry, and Lyle could feel him clenching around his fingers. His mind whited out, and the next thing he knew, Ekaterin was fucking himself on Lyle's fingers, forcing himself open.

"Slow down," Lyle gasped. All of his blood was going to his dick at how soft Ekaterin felt inside. He couldn't help but imagine how it would feel like around him.

"I need you to fuck me," Ekaterin sobbed. "Please, please, please."

Lyle somehow managed to withdraw his fingers. They were going too fast, he knew, but he didn't care. He had to do this now.

Frantic, he pulled several times on his cock, but that just made things worse. He needed to be inside Ekaterin when he came. He needed to know what it felt like, even if the knowledge would destroy him.

Lyle buried his face in Ekaterin's shoulder, lined himself up with his entrance. It took several agonizing seconds for the head of his cock to push past the tight ring of muscle. The sensation was nearly enough to make Lyle come instantly.

Harshly, he bit down on the inside of his lip and forced himself to hold still. Ekaterin's fingers were white on his wrists. His chest heaved, and he whimpered as Lyle pushed in a little deeper.

"Lyle," Ekaterin moaned. His head went back, and Lyle desperately held himself still as Ekaterin gasped the filthiest string of curses he had ever heard come out of anybody's mouth.

By the time he had subsided, Lyle was still lightheaded, but firmly back in control. He let his body settle on top of Ekaterin's, bearing him down into the mattress. A sharp zing of pleasure went through him at how easily Ekaterin accepted his weight.

"You're going to be the death of me," Lyle told him. He inhaled sharply as Ekaterin shifted a little underneath him, sending a jolt of arousal tearing through his spine. He laughed, a little drunk on something even more intoxicating than wine. "Fuck. I'm not going to survive this. This feels way too good."

"I'm sure this is nothing special for you," Ekaterin muttered. His ears were turning red. God he was adorable. "You must have had sex with tons of people before."

"No I haven't," Lyle admitted, and had to brace himself against another bone-rattling wave of arousal. He had to calm down, and fast, or else he wouldn't be able to move without coming instantly. He concentrated on Ekaterin's face, on his ocean blue eyes. "Ekaterin, this is special. You're special. I've never told anyone the things that I've told you."

"Bullshit," Ekaterin muttered, but he didn't look away. He looked a little uncertain when he saw the expression on Lyle's face, and then his eyes became a little more vulnerable. "I didn't think - I thought everybody knew about you."

"You're the only person who knows that I'm gay," Lyle told him. He brushed his fingers across Ekaterin's forehead, smoothing out the hair from his face. It was a gentle touch, soft and fond. "I've been killing this part of myself for my entire life. But I couldn't pretend, not in front of you. You're the only person that I can be myself around."

Ekaterin looked overwhelmed. "Fuck, Lyle."

His whole body was opening up, warm hot trembling, around Lyle's cock. Lyle gasped and drove himself deeper, deeper into that tight grip. His skin felt tight around his bones. His thighs pressed hard against the swell of Ekaterin's ass.

He rocked his hips forward, at first slowly, then with increasing urgency.

He gasped as Ekaterin rocked up against him. He felt his cock hit something in Ekaterin's body, something that made the boy react like he had just been speared through. His body tightened convulsively around Lyle's cock. Lyle nearly crushed him down into the mattress with the force of his body.

"Stop," he bit out, fighting with every last scrap of strength not to come. "Ekaterin, Ekaterin, stop, fuck!"

His mouth found the soft skin on Ekaterin's shoulder. He bit down hard, ignoring Ekaterin's startled yelp. He fought harder than he ever had in his entire life to drag himself back from the brink of orgasm.

When he could see again, his head was spinning. Ekaterin was raking fingernails across his sides. Every single one of his breaths was harsh and verging on a gasp. His knees were pressed hard against Lyle's thighs, trying to trap him in and pull him closer.

"Please," he was saying incoherently, his words getting lost in the heated moans that kept interrupting him. He fought to pull Lyle closer, even though his motions had next to no force behind it. He was shaking too hard. "Lyle, I want - I need to come. Please, please, please -"

"Ekaterin -" he meant to say slow down. He meant to say breathe, or look at me, or god, you're beautiful. But at the sound of his voice, Ekaterin jerked as if he had been shocked.

"Lyle, please!"

There was no hope for him, after that. Lyle didn't even think he breathed. For the next minute, all he did was pin Ekaterin down into the mattress and fuck him wildly, savagely, like an animal in heat.

The sound of the bedsprings didn't even register in his ears. All that existed for him was the tight grip of Ekaterin's body. Ekaterin was perfect, everything about him was unbelievable.

Lyle understood why people were so obsessed with sex, now.

He felt wholly empty of everything except desire. He had become a single spear, with everything burned away, whose sole purpose was to plunge forward over and over. The world became a simple series of back and forth motions. Ekaterin was moaning underneath him, his body soft and perfect and tight around him. His head went back, and Lyle drank in the sound of his overheated gasps.

He felt it when Ekaterin came, and not just when the liquid splashed against his cheek and ran down his chest in a filthy trail. He felt it in the tightening of Ekaterin's entire body, in the way everything seemed to become ten degrees warmer. He nearly lost his mind at how good it felt. He had never felt anything like this before.

Slowly, Lyle relaxed his grip on Ekaterin's thighs. He moved carefully to extract himself, but Ekaterin made a sharp sound and tightened his legs around Lyle's waist.

Lyle caught himself against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut, still trying not to come. Ekaterin was making that task near impossible for him. Everything the boy did just seemed to turn Lyle on more. Every gasp went straight through him like the sound had physical force. Ekaterin had gone soft and boneless, and more than anything, Lyle wanted to press into him and fill him up, take up all the space inside him until Ekaterin forgot about everything except for Lyle.

With a groan, Lyle dropped his head and forced himself to be still. Every muscle felt like it was tight to the point of trembling. He thought that if he relaxed, even a little bit, he would just fall apart like water held together by surface tension. Ekaterin was taking him apart so thoroughly without doing anything.

"Lyle," Ekaterin whispered. "Look at me."

He couldn't refuse. After all, he had promised to do anything Ekaterin asked him to.

In the end, his whole body filling with heat and his head going numb, Lyle just thrust as deeply as he could into Ekaterin's body, over and over, and over again, until he came.

They cuddled on the bed, one of Lyle's legs in between Ekaterin's thighs, the other flung across his hip. Ekaterin's breath was hot on his shoulder. Their arms wrapped around each other like a knot, tying them together.

Ekaterin ran his fingers up and down Lyle's back, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time in forever, he seemed totally relaxed. His smile was slow, soft and warm.

After that, for the first time that he could remember, Lyle just closed his eyes and let himself breathe.

"Are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Ekaterin wondered eventually.

Lyle cracked open one eye. "Sure," he said. "If you want."

So they talked, at first about nothing, and then about the show, and then about themselves. It was an easy, unhurried wandering conversation, the kind that had no real purpose other than to hear the sound of someone else's voice.

"I've been in love with you this entire time," Ekaterin said. He dragged his fingers through Lyle's hair, and gave it a frustrated yank. "I thought you weren't interested, back then. I was just a kid, after all. But then you found me in that coffee shop, and you took me in, and you gave me all these things without me asking you to. I couldn't help but wonder."

"Are you serious?"

Ekaterin laughed. "It took me a while to realize the possibility that you were so dense that you never even realized that I wanted you."

Lyle rolled them over, chasing after the sound of laughter on Ekaterin's lips.

"Did you want me?" Ekaterin asked, later. "Even back then?"

"I don't know," Lyle said, content and sated and dreamy. "I just wanted - I don't know. I wanted you any way I could get you. It didn't matter how. I just wanted to be a part of your life, and wanted you to be a part of mine."

He never would have thought that they would end up like this, though.

Then, later:

"He wanted me to change my name," Ekaterin mumbled into his pillow. "My mom named me Ekaterin. She said that it didn't matter if I was a boy or a girl. Nobody knew how to pronounce it, eh-cah-TER-in, not of E-cat-er-in. My dad never got it right either, he just called me Cat all the time, like I was a pet. You got it right on the first try, though."

Lyle felt something, like an echo of a shiver, rattle through his bones.

"Are you sure you really want me?" he asked quietly.

Ekaterin looked at him from across the pillow, and gave him a small smile.

"Lyle," he said. "Did you know that your name stands for ‘isle', like in ‘island'? That's what it's been like for me, being here with you. For such a long time I was just struggling to keep my head afloat. It was like every few days there would be waves and waves of water crashing down on me and trying to drown me. But here, none of that can reach me."

Lyle reached over and pulled him into a hug, settling his chin on top of Ekaterin's head. Ekaterin relaxed into his arms as if he belonged there.

"Alright kid, come here," he said. "I'll be your island."