Nymphaea

Chapter 7: Revelations

They finished breakfast without much more talking. Stephen’s mind filled with a number of possible explanations in answer to Ayve’s ‘homework’ (something in him revolted against this term but he perceived the deeper meaning behind Ayve’s question). However, he knew why Ayve had given him time enough to think the matter through and he decided not to try to force an instant conversation about this. He wondered if Ayve already had an explanation and only challenged Stephen or if he honestly wanted an answer to the question.

It was half past eleven already when they finished. “I’ll have to attend a few meetings this afternoon but if you want, I can ask my manager to rebook my flight so that we can spend the evening or a second night together,” Stephen proposed.

Ayve shook his head. “We shouldn’t rush into this. I need my time alone and I suppose you can do with a bit of space to work up the last hours as well. Am I wrong there?” Of course he wasn’t. Yet, now that Ayve was in this kind of mood (in comparison to this morning he was really talkative now, wasn’t he?), Stephen did not want to part.

“Can’t we at least go for a walk or something? Just spend a little more time together until I’ve got my first appointment?”

Ayve smiled mildly. “Of course we can.”

They said good-bye an hour later in front of the building where Stephen was going to meet his manager.

“I’ll call you soon, so make sure you hear that mobile phone ring, will you?”

Ayve stroked Stephen’s cheek. “Of course I will.” They kissed one last time and then Ayve went away. Stephen watched him walk down the street, hands in the pocket of his long coat, shoulders lifted because of the rough wind that was blowing and tearing on the few strands of hair that would not remain in his ponytail. Then he disappeared behind the corner of a drug store.

Stephen flew back to Scotland in the evening, snippets of memories flying around in his mind. It was tiring. On the one hand, there was this new wonderland he had just put a foot into – not that he had not enjoyed sharing intimacy with women. Stephen was confident not to be purely gay but probably bisexual. Nevertheless, he had always had the feeling that there was something better, something more intense than what he had experienced with women. No matter how well he had gotten along with his girlfriends - Julie had been like the perfect guy to hang out with – he had always lacked this feeling of truly being connected with them. He had always gone through these moments of isolation when he had yearned for a confidant, someone that understood his heart without Stephen having to say a word.

It may have been because he did not have this special inner connection with his girlfriends that he’d always held back in the nights. He had always feared to go too far or to do something wrong in bed. His girlfriends praised his sensitivity, his striving to satisfy them whereas they were used to men being primarily interested in their own satisfaction, but what they did not realise was that secretly Stephen was longing for something else.

The thought of last night still made his heart go faster and his hands shake. He leaned his head against the side plate of the plane with his eyes closed. Suddenly an old gentleman, maybe sixty-five years of age, hesitantly raised his voice. “Excuse me Mr. Donaghy?” Stephen started up, totally surprised. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just wondering if you could give me an autograph.” He held a notebook in his left hand and a ball pen in his right. Snooker was still more popular with elder people, so Stephen was not surprised about that. He took the book with a polite smile and scribbled his name on the opened page, adding date and place. “You know, I saw you at the Final of the World Championships in May but you were surrounded by so many people then that you overlooked me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Stephen was quick to reply. He handed the book over to the old man who thanked him and went back to his seat, an excited wife already awaiting him.

Stephen tried to calm down. His heart had jolted when that man had appeared all of a sudden. He had been too deep in his thoughts. Visiting that place again…

Last night, Ayve had given Stephen exactly what he had wanted. If it had been for him to decide, this could have gone on forever. This had not been a situation where Stephen had had to fear to do anything wrong. Ayve was no fragile woman but a strong man; he would show Stephen what he wanted. Stephen had been able to surrender to his passion. And although there had been awkward moments of insecurity (it was always strange to talk about doing it, about what they would be doing as if sex was some sort of sport that you needed to organise to do it ‘right’, wasn’t it?), he couldn’t forget those moments when he had been filled by Ayve, the wave of perfect pleasure… He was at a loss to describe it. Stephen had lost any perception of himself in that moment. Ayve had been everything. Ayve.

He touched his lips, lost again in the memory, recalling the feel of Ayve’s kisses, the taste of his skin. He had goose bumps.

Still, how could he feel this way in the arms of someone whose history, whose mind was still a mystery to him? Might this be the key to his feelings for Ayve, that Stephen was so fascinated by this man who emanated an aura of wisdom, strength and at the same time of having been terribly hurt and yet wouldn’t give away his secrets? Was this why he was overly excited by every little step Ayve made towards him? Had last night felt so good because this was presently the only way he could be close to Ayve at all? That seemed startlingly plausible.

“We are beginning our descent towards Edinburgh. Please fasten your seat-belt and put your seat back in the upright position.”

Stephen put his luggage in the trunk of his Mercedes SLK (bought with the money he won with his first title as World Champion) that he had parked at the airport and whooshed off into the direction of his hometown, St. Andrews.

He put in the new Queens of the Stone Age record. Just what Ayve felt like, strangely dark, thoughtful and inaccessible and yet confident, energetic and fascinating.

Stephen supposed it would be better not to call Ayve tonight. In the end, they had only parted something like eight hours ago and talking was probably not a thing at which they excelled. Also, seeing how quickly Ayve could change from one mood to the next, Stephen had the impression it was smarter to speak to him face to face.

What had that been about this morning anyway? Ayve had come in, soaked and muddy like a stray dog returning home, inaccessible, even rude. Stephen had glimpsed that part in Ayve before, in their conversation in Shanghai. Ayve had openly meant to push Stephen away then. Well, no, not exactly – he had even invited him. Only that this invitation had exclusively meant sex and Stephen had refused that and had had the impression that Ayve had counted on him to react that way.

Suddenly, a few days later Ayve had changed his mind and offered more to Stephen. Conversation even (or what would you call a mobile phone a symbol for?), the thing he had avoided the most ever since they had first met. Wasn’t this similar to this morning’s behaviour? Hadn’t Ayve changed his manner quite suddenly and been more open? And yet, it was like before; he kept a distance. On that last occasion, he had kept control over the situation by dictating a time frame, forcing a three months silence between them. This time he had bluntly refused to answer certain questions.

Yes, it was a clear pattern; stop and go… – and stop.

So, what was this about? Stephen wouldn’t mind going on like this too much if that meant they would proceed like this, always taking two steps forward, one step back, two steps forward… until they had reached a point were they were truly close to each other. Nevertheless, he had the notion that this was too simple minded. It was only a matter of time until Ayve would back out of their ‘relationship’, if it could be called that already, wasn’t it? Unless Stephen found a way…

It might have been easier if Stephen had not been father. If he had not been woven into a net of family and friends, into a net of obligations. Okay, his family (his father and distant relatives) meant nothing. He hardly ever met any of those people; but his daughter and his friends – especially Paul – were of such importance to him that Stephen was not going to risk losing them.

He thought, it might have been easier, had he been able to give his life up for Ayve, to share Ayve’s world. If he got to know the way Ayve led his life, if he really let himself sink into it he might understand Ayve better.

Yet, that was a pipe dream; that was not very likely ever to happen, was it?

He finally reached his home. Checking his letterbox, he discovered a small package that had just fit in besides the usual invoices, papers, and leaflets. There was nothing on it, no stamp, no address. Stephen took it and entered his apartment.

He pulled a pizza out of the freezer (pretty much the only food that was to be found in his kitchen) and switched on the oven. After making a tea, he sat down on his sofa and grabbed the parcel. It was wrapped in simple white paper, nothing that told him anything about the sender or content.

Stephen ripped it open. A small card fell down to the floor when he pulled the wooden box out that was inside. Stephen picked it up and took a closer look at it. On the front side there was a small but detailed drawing, displaying what seemed to be the surface of a small lake, with bubbles rising up from a fish, fireflies and a beautiful water lily, all detailed with roots beneath the surface. It seemed nothing of importance and yet it was beautifully done – the lines were so simple and fragile… He turned the card. On the backside, written with the same pen that the drawing had been made with, a few lines were written in the same elaborate style.

“To ease your loneliness tonight.
I enjoyed every second of our meeting.

Ayve.”

Stephen examined the wooden box; it was a collection of fine, handmade chocolates. They were from Switzerland and imprinted with today’s date.

Stephen smiled in disbelief and wonder. He let his hand run through his hair. Had Ayve really managed to travel from Belfast to Switzerland to buy this stuff, draw this card for him then (or at least he hoped this was Ayve’s drawing) and finally come to his letterbox in Scotland to put the parcel in and disappear again? How crazy could one person be? Yet he had not cared to say anything of that sort right into Stephen’s face.

’I enjoyed every second of our meeting.’ That went deep into Stephen.

A doubt suddenly arose in him. Was Ayve only playing with him? What man with true intentions was so unstable in his behaviour?

No, something told him there was more behind the whole affair. Ayve had no bad intentions.

’I enjoyed every second…’ Stephen took one of the chocolates into his mouth and let it slowly melt. Didn’t people always say chocolate made happy? His mouth was a little reminded of Ayve’s addictive kisses…

At least he knew now how Ayve spelled his name.

*

Stephen dialled Ayve’s number the next weekend. He had spent Tuesday with Melissa and was preparing for the UK Championship with the help of a coach now; but on Saturday evening he could not wait any longer. And why should he?

Two rings this time, then Ayve was on the phone.

The roar of the sea’s surge could be heard in the background. “Where are you this time?” Stephen asked curiously.

“Europe, still,” Ayve replied casually.

“I love your precise answers.”

“Just don’t ask.”

“Dream on.”

Stephen had gotten quite far in the last days, deciding what he wanted from Ayve and how he would react to his ‘special’ ways. He would not play along.

“When are we going to meet again?” That was indeed what he had called to ask for.

“I thought about the week before Christmas.”

“What kind of game are you playing this time Ayve? That’s a month away! I want to see you earlier than that.” Stephen was speaking in a polite tone but he was determined.

No answer. Stephen only heard the water splash.

“Ayve?” Another moment of silence. Suddenly, Ayve spoke, “When then?” His voice sounded restrained, cool.

Stephen tried to ignore that. “I thought about the ninth. I’m going to be in Telford then.”

Silence.

“No. Let’s get this over with. Choose a place where we can meet and I will hear you out.” Stephen was startled. Ayve really knew his business; the moment Stephen regained his confidence, Ayve confounded him again.

“What do you mean by that? Do you mean we should meet now?”

Ayve’s voice was still ice-cold and twice as determined as Stephen’s had been a minute ago. “You’re in Edinburgh to practice. Tell me where you want to meet. Someplace like a restaurant. Nothing too formal. But a place where I can find something eatable on the menu, too.” Stephen would have smiled about the last sentence if the tone of Ayve’s voice had not made the blood freeze in his veins.

He thought hard. “Well, it’s not easy getting a table on a Saturday evening, but I know a place where we might be lucky…” He named the place.

“Okay, in half an hour then.” Ayve hung up.

Stephen was perplexed. He did not have much time to think about the whole matter anyway. He had planned to drive home to St. Andrews after this call, now he was running to the bathroom of the snooker club to refresh himself. Ten minutes later, he jumped into his car and headed towards their meeting point.

Although he was excited to meet Ayve in such a spontaneous manner, the way Ayve had proposed this encounter scared Stephen. This felt a lot more like ‘stop’ than anything else. Ayve wanted to ‘hear him out’? Was he mad because Stephen did not blindly abide by his orders about when they would see each other? Did Ayve want to take Stephen to task? That did not fit with his talks about equality. Stephen could not understand what was going on.

The place was crowded when Stephen entered. He had expected nothing else on a weekend at nine pm. After two minutes of searching in vain, he feared Ayve had already left because there was no free table anyway, but then he suddenly saw him sitting in a corner in the back of the room that was less noisy. Of course, he had a table to himself and stared at Stephen penetratingly.

Stephen moved nervously through the crowd. Reaching the table, he started to take off his mantle and muffler. “How did you get here?” he asked, pretending not to notice anything strange about Ayve.

Ayve leaned back against the wall. “Do you do me a favour before we start the big talk?” he asked. “Come here,” he signalled Stephen to get closer. “Kiss me.”

Stephen was startled and reluctant. What if somebody…? “Come here, nobody will see,” Ayve promised. Stephen bent down to him. Within seconds, they were entwined in a close embrace, kissing as if Ayve fed on Stephen. Stephen was lost for a few moments, sitting on Ayve’s knees, forgetting the world around them.

However, when Ayve ended their kiss, Stephen was quick to look around and assure himself that there really was nobody watching. Meanwhile, Ayve was still holding him in a tight embrace, his hand slowly finding its way under Stephen’s sweater. “Ayve, stop! Not here,” Stephen pleaded. “If you had explained yourself we would be in a hotel room, now. I thought you were mad at me or something.”

Ayve smiled whimsically. “I was mad at you. This was my way of calming down. We can reconsider that hotel room idea later. Now it’s time to talk – though I don’t think this is the right place.”

Indeed, they could hardly understand each other’s words.

“Let’s just get something to drink and sit outside then.”

Stephen wanted to point out that the innkeeper (this was more like a pub than a restaurant) would not allow them to take anything outside but Ayve gave him a look that told him that he would get what he wanted.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting comfortably on the bench of a small lawn; Stephen having a beer, Ayve a glass of wine.

“So, I assume it would be of no avail asking you how you got here again. What do you want to talk about exactly?” Stephen wished to know.

“You’ve made up your mind about your expectations concerning this something between us, so tell me about it.” Ayve demanded.

Stephen wondered, “If you know already, what’s the point in speaking it out?”

Ayve smiled understandingly. “You overrate this ability, Stephen. Mind reading can give me a clue about what’s going on inside you; it can help me understand you, undoubtedly. Yet, I will not say ‘You thought this way so stick to that’. An opinion can change. Only by speaking it out, by having to put it into words will it sharpen, become concrete, reliable. I am sure you will find new aspects while you are talking, maybe an important detail that would remain disregarded otherwise.”

Stephen understood. It was a comforting thought even, that they were still forced to talk.

He took Ayve’s hand and looked at him. He smiled and looked down for a moment, to find the right words. Ayve waited patiently.

“You know how much I feel for you,” he started.

“Yes,” Ayve replied.

“Back then, when I was that… whatever…an 18, 19 years old boy… – were you attracted to me then?”

Ayve shook his head. “No, not really.”

Stephen nodded as sign of accepting that. “Why are you here now?”

Ayve’s voice had this soothing tone again when he said, “Because you are more mature now. Although of course my sometimes-strange behaviour still confuses you, you do a good job fighting that confusion. You have the confidence and the emotional intelligence for that now. You are independent, you know what you want and you are definitely physically a lot more attractive than you used to be six or seven years ago. Moreover, the passion and affection for me that you kept feeling for so long… flatters me.”

Stephen nodded once more, his eyes staring down at their hands, on Ayve’s hand caressing his softly. That was no declaration of love but as Stephen knew not to expect such a thing, it felt pretty good. At least Ayve liked him – him as person, not just his body.

He recollected his thoughts. A deep draught of his beer helped. “Okay. You wanted to learn why I want you so much.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I can only take guesses. I think, I see parts of myself in you that I never dared or allowed myself to live out. I’ve always been the golden boy for everyone. The blond, smiling, successful young boy or man with good manners, everything a parent or future mother-in-law could wish for. But, there is this other side in me.

“I had been lonely for three years before you came into my life. From age twelve to fifteen, I practically did not have anyone to confide in. My mother being dead and my father being too immersed in his career, to realise there was more to raising a son than short visits of a few hours every two weeks and a good bit of money.

“Then, suddenly, you were there twenty-four-seven. Of course, you weren’t ideal with your uncommunicative attitude, but at least you were there. No idea what you thought about baby-sitting me – you weren’t really needed as a protection were you? –,” he looked at Ayve; he shook his head, smirking, “but I had someone I could talk to whenever I needed, I had someone who got me down to earth once or twice with one of your sharp remarks that stunned me every time and I had someone who gave me good advice every now and then.” Stephen looked up at Ayve. “Although I don’t officially need this anymore – being an adult – you still give me this tremendous sense of security when we’re together.”

Ayve gave him a sign that he understood.

“But that’s only half of it. What I really meant to say is that I think you represent that darker side in me that grew in those years of loneliness. A strange mixture of melancholy and restlessness. The idea that I think and feel deeper than most of the people that I meet do. You have that same vibrancy around you. I think that’s why I’m trying so hard to get closer to you – because I want to share these feelings. They’re so intense. And you feel so intense.”

Stephen needed to breathe through before he went on. “I guess my little worries in life must seem like a joke to you. I have a sense that you have seen and even experienced much worse things and yet, I can’t keep myself from being drawn to you like a moth is drawn to the light even if it gets burned.” Goodness, he really felt he had nailed it. He felt hot with all the emotions that filled him, and yet he shivered in the cool November night.

Ayve took another sip of his wine. Then he gave himself a nudge and moved over to Stephen. “Come here.” He took him into his arms. He was not truly carried away by Stephen’s narration but he understood that it had a different meaning to this young man and indeed, it made Ayve like him a little more. In the end, he had known all this before, or at least had had a rough idea of it, but it was always interesting to find a human – especially at that young age – capable of realising himself. He really was a sensitive person and Ayve liked that about him.

Why he wasn’t immediately blown away? For a very simple reason – Stephen’s account had turned him into the fifteen year old boy of nearly ten years ago again in Ayve’s eyes, and Ayve had no sexual interest in boys.

Stephen did the fortunate thing not to act like one and sink into his arms to cry or anything of that sort. “I’m okay,” he claimed and took a gulp of his beer.

“But you wanted me to tell you more than this. You asked about my expectations.”

Ayve nodded, emptying his glass and putting it on the bench next to them.

“Well… First thing, I know we look at this from different perspectives – for me you’re the love of my life, but I understand that for you I am probably only one of many. And what’s more, even if you were having strong feelings for me, I would still age and couldn’t keep up with your skills. I’d be a nuisance.”

Ayve showed no reaction.

“And yet I want you. It’s irrational, think what you may, but I want as much of you as you will give me. This might sound strange, but I’d give nearly anything for that.” Stephen stood up. He did not want to sit in Ayve’s lap like a little boy. This was serious talk. “All I ask of you is to try and control your moods. I don’t know what this is about and you won’t tell me but they scare me.”

Ayve considered this. He occupied the better part of the bench spreading his arms on the backrest for a few moments before standing up as well and putting his hands into his pockets. “I can tell you what they are about,” he said, astonishingly.

“I usually seek to remain cool to keep big emotions off me. I am used to being alone and I have my reasons for…,” he searched for the right formulation, “for split emotions in the presence of others, for a certain… disrelish towards close relationships in the long run.” He checked Stephen’s reaction – waiting/expectant – before he continued. “I can control myself as long as I keep people at a distance, but something as close as sex will ultimately expose me to the extremes of lust and… well it sounds hard but I would almost say disgust. Or maybe a state of alertness. Intimacy can confuse me, put me off balance.”

Ayve had wandered in a circle around Stephen, now he was facing him. “Of course that’s not your fault and I – seeing my age – should be able to restrain myself. I’ll try my best but I’ll have to find a way somewhere in the middle or I otherwise won’t be enjoying our meetings and that’s not what you want, is it?”

Stephen shook his head, dumbstruck. How could Ayve speak about such feelings in such a calm manner?

“I’ll try to keep myself in check but in case I go too far, would you just tell me off?”

“Sure,” Stephen murmured.

Ayve went up to him. He felt his blond hair and bent down to kiss him. “Let’s go and find ourselves a bed, it’s cold and we’re both tired.”

*

The next morning, Stephen found a warm body lying in his bed and gladly snuggled up to Ayve, who was still asleep. Still drowsy he touched Ayve’s face, his neck, his chest… oh, this was amazing… it felt so good having him close, hearing him breathe.

They had gone to bed last night with nothing more than a few kisses. Yet Stephen had felt so close to Ayve. After Ayve’s confession, after his promise to change himself for Stephen, the wall of hidden secrets that had stood between them had disappeared for Stephen. They had wandered the city and rented a room without exchanging another word but Stephen had had a feeling of quiet understanding between them.

Everything suddenly seemed to make sense. All the times Ayve had pushed him away, let him move closer, had pushed him away again… That he had not taken advantage of their first night was now explained; he had feared to loose control over his temper once he was absorbed by the intensity of sexual sensations. His efforts to have big gaps between their meetings – another attempt to lessen the intensity of his emotions.

It was no false game. Nothing that had anything to do with Stephen at all. This was such a relief!

It was a damn good feeling, an honour, to be the one Ayve had confided in.

Stephen cast a look at his watch – time to get up and order breakfast if he wanted to share that with Ayve before his next meeting with the coach.

He took a shower after he had made the call. When he had finished, he sat down on Ayve’s bedside and woke him up with soft kisses. “I’ll have to go in an hour. And I thought you would like to breakfast with me.”

“Sure,” Ayve murmured, still on the border of sleep but awake enough to drag Stephen down for another kiss.

A knock at the door.

Reluctantly, Stephen freed himself from Ayve’s embrace and got the trolley, telling the man from room service he didn’t need his help and paying him a nice tip. “Breakfast in bed,” he proposed, pushing the trolley to Ayve’s bedside. He sat down and filled a cup half with coffee, half with milk, just the way Ayve had liked it on Monday morning and gave it to him.

Stephen watched his man with those fascinating eyes (the light grey was pervaded by darker, nearly black streaks, not to mention that his eyes were larger than average and his brows were beautifully curved) and the relaxed features that he had this morning. This moment just seemed perfect.

Stephen wanted to start a conversation but the first things to ask that crossed his mind did not seem appropriate right now, they were too serious for this relaxed moment. Ayve had told him enough yesterday, right now Stephen had no wish to bother him. He wanted to enjoy the rest of this morning. After handing Ayve a roll with jam on it and helping himself to some food, he asked, “So. Christmas. What exactly did you have in mind?”

Ayve swallowed his last bite. “I don’t know if you like Christmas… if you do, we could meet in a German town the week before that and visit one of these Christmas fairs that are quite popular there.”

Stephen gave him an interested look.

“You know, such markets were they sell gingerbread, fruit loaf, candles, mulled wine, all that stuff. In Dresden for example, they have a traditional Christmas fair and a second one were they imitate a fair from the middle-ages each year.” Well, that sounded nice, but it did not sound like anything he would have expected Ayve to propose. On the other hand, he had not imagined receiving chocolates and self-drawn pictures as gifts from him either.

“So, back to Dresden?”

Ayve shrugged. “If you like.”

“Have you ever lived there?”

Ayve smiled at his query. “No, I don’t live anywhere. But I’ve been there quite a few times.”

Stephen tried to feed Ayve yoghurt with pineapple but Ayve refused, saying the jam had been sweet enough.

“Do you celebrate Christmas?”

Ayve smirked at Stephen amusedly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a relatively new custom. And it’s mainly a celebration of family and for children.” Not to mention it’s a human custom.

Stephen nodded. He hoped he could spend Melissa’s first Christmas celebration with her. That depended on Julie, of course.

“Have you ever had children?” he asked.

Ayve shook his head. For a moment, Stephen thought Ayve was going to say more, but he just stroked Stephen’s hair and moved closer to Stephen, hugging him from behind. They remained in that position for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth.

Then Stephen had to get dressed. Ridding himself of the bathrobe and slipping on yesterday’s clothes, he said, “So, you book the hotel room? I’ll try to come to Dresden on the seventeenth. How long do you intend to stay?”

Ayve shrugged. “A couple of days.”

Stephen looked at him in wonder and joy, zipping his trousers. He went over to him and bent down to kiss him. “That would be great,” he whispered. He pushed Ayve so he fell backwards on the bed and there they lay for a few minutes, kissing, touching, rolling over, and sensing each other’s bodies. Then Stephen stopped them, gaining the place on top.

“I really need to go now.”

Ayve played with his hair again. “I know.”

They kissed one last time and then Stephen threw on his coat, grabbed his belongings and waved good-bye.

*

Ayve dressed and helped himself to the rest of the coffee and milk. He opened a window (no balcony to this room) and lit a cigarette.

This didn’t feel bad. Not at all. He supposed he would be going along with this for a while. He liked this young man. His company was pleasant. Strange enough, Ayve even liked to talk about certain things with him. Why not? He could tell him whatever he wanted; he was no danger. However, frankly speaking, few people were. So what had suddenly made Ayve trust this one?

Okay, maybe he was replaceable. It could have been anybody, right? It probably had just been time to overcome his nightmares and regain certain social competencies. Yet, would he have done so if this young one had not been so persistent? – Doubtable.

And anybody was not true either. Young Stephen was remarkable because of his sensitivity. People like that did not grow like apples on trees. Granted, it was even more remarkable how he managed to accept everything about Ayve although he should have been totally confused. After all, humans usually rejected anything they did not know. Some even got aggressive. Ayve had experienced that. However, Stephen cared about him, no matter what. Ayve was really flattered.

It was the right opportunity for Ayve to rid himself of his Achilles heel. This could turn out to be useful, to be more than just a little liaison. Maybe Ayve could teach himself a lesson. He hated his own weakness.

***