Ferris should have known better than to ask if Demos wanted a cup of tea. He should have known it would be an ordeal that involved driving to a speciality shop because the canister was empty, that would require a thermometer, measuring devices, and a timer. He should have known the instructions would need to be written down. Warm the pot. Steep for three minutes\u2014or was it four? Buy second flush darjeeling, not<\/i> first. Use a tea bag and our friendship is over\u2014something like that.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At least Demos had removed the standard stove-top kettle years ago\u2014there hadn\u2019t been one in Gino\u2019s kitchen since. There was only an electric model that Demos claimed was for temperature precision, but Ferris knew better. He felt very much like a butler with the pot and two cups balanced on a tray, taking the stairs one at a time. The manor felt bright. Snow had covered the grounds outside, still falling, still filling every window with a bright, white bloom. Ferris had nearly made it halfway up the staircase when a voice held him fast on one step. No, two voices, downstairs\u2014unsettling the silence that had come to rest over the home.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019s he doing?\u201d It was Victor, his words low and tired.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe blames himself for what happened to Salvatore,\u201d came the other voice. Gino. It had been a long time since Ferris had first eavesdropped on these men from a staircase. Once again, they were talking about the Ghost.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoing up there was Sal\u2019s choice,\u201d Victor said, then sighed. \u201cThat fucking kid. I swore to her\u2014I swore to Bianca I\u2019d take care of him. This was on me\u2014I shouldn\u2019t have let him go.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ferris\u2019 eyes dropped to the white teapot. It was funny\u2014he\u2019d been thinking the same thing the last few days. There was a pause before Victor continued. \u201cHe\u2019s all I have left of her.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know,\u201d Gino said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to do better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re doing everything you can. He\u2019s not a child, anymore. But\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what?\u201d<\/p>\n
Gino let out a soft breath. \u201cWhen was the last time you told him you loved him?\u201d<\/p>\n
Victor scoffed. \u201cCome on, Pap\u00e0<\/span>.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris turned away, then continued up the stairs. He bumped through the cracked door of Demos\u2019 room with his hip, taking a moment to observe his friend. Demos hadn\u2019t moved from the bed\u2014still propped on too many pillows, covered in too many blankets. After the fifth time Demos had insisted \u201cI\u2019m still cold.\u201d<\/i> Ferris had wondered if smothering him might have helped. Rocco was curled up like a croissant on Demos\u2019 lap. That cat\u2014he had to be at least thirteen years old. The same squashed, arrogant face, the same downy white fur that had led Ferris to a body in the back of that Lincoln. How long had it been since that night\u2014a decade?<\/p>\n \u201cAre you going to stand there staring at me,\u201d Demos said. \u201cOr are you going to bring over the darjeeling I asked for?<\/p>\n Ferris turned back toward the hallway. \u201cWell, if you\u2019re going to be rude about it\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cNo!<\/i> No, please\u2014come back.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris pretended to give the request some serious thought before caving. He would give Demos this one. He\u2019d been bedridden for days, condemned to recover in the confines of his own home. Nadia had given the final tally that night after the casino: a sprained ankle and<\/i> wrist, three broken ribs, a concussion, extensive bruising, and twenty stitches. Most of the swelling had gone down, but he still looked very much like a young man who had just fallen down a flight of stairs. But it could have been worse\u2014it could have been a lot worse.<\/p>\n Steam rose in curls as Ferris poured it from the pot. \u201cThanks,\u201d Demos said, accepting the cup. \u201cAnd um\u2014sorry you missed your office party.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201d Ferris set the teapot aside.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWe never finished those cookies, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos gazed down into the teacup, quiet for a moment. \u201cYou said you could never be a nurse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTaking care of one lazy asshole doesn\u2019t make me a nurse<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you\u2019re doing an okay job. I guess.\u201d Demos took a gentle sip. Ferris waited for the cringe, the wince, the glare down into the cup that Demos always made when an inferior beverage dared cross his lips. It didn\u2019t come. Thank God.<\/p>\n Ferris stretched an arm, making his way to the window to crack the curtains.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNadia said you should get fresh air, occasionally. I didn\u2019t know how to tell her that the sun makes you explode into dust.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos narrowed his eyes. \u201cYou keep calling me a vampire, but you\u2019re<\/i> the one with a widow\u2019s peak that could open a fucking can.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not\u2014\u201c Ferris ran a hand over the top of his head. \u201cShut up. Finish your tea.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine. Then can I go fix my hair?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I told you\u2014Nadia wants you to stay in bed.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos groaned. \u201cWhat does she know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s a doctor<\/i>.\u201d Ferris shook his head. \u201cAnd your hair looks fine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHave you seen<\/i> my bangs?\u201d<\/p>\n Now seemed like a good time to change the subject. If there was one thing Demos could do with certainty, it was complain about his hair until the end of time.<\/p>\n \u201cSo\u2014\u201d Ferris said. \u201cYou think you\u2019ll be okay for the wedding next month?\u201d<\/p>\n Demos set his cup down. \u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood. I told Jake you were coming and they want you to play something\u2014I mean, they want us<\/i> to play something. If you\u2019ve healed enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA duet?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d Ferris returned to the bed, sitting in the armchair that had been angled beside it. \u201cBut I have no idea what song we could do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve gotten pretty good at Somewhere Over the Rainbow<\/i>,\u201d Demos said with a shrug.<\/p>\n \u201cDemos, this\u2014this is a straight<\/i> wedding,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cWe could always just go with Canon in D<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, sure\u2014\u201c Demos waved a hand. \u201cNobody<\/i> will be expecting Canon in D<\/i> at a fucking wedding<\/i>. What about Can\u2019t Help Falling in Love<\/i>? You always like playing that one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt sounds better when it\u2019s just the piano,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cAnd it\u2019s kind of tired, don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n Demos\u2019 smile was faint. \u201cNo\u2014you look happy when you play it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine, we\u2019ll do that one,\u201d Ferris said, then shot Demos a wary look. \u201cWait, do you watch me when I play?<\/p>\n \u201cWho said anything about watching you?\u201d Demos was inventing hand gestures, the same way he always did when trying to deflect. \u201cIt\u2019s getting late, shouldn\u2019t you be making me some dinner?\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris continued to eye his friend with suspicion. He couldn\u2019t have known who looked where when he played violin. Ferris always closed his eyes. \u201cOh, right. What do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSomething homemade\u2014like, something Jewish.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris leaned back in the armchair. \u201cUm\u2014can I crack open a jar of gefilte fish?\u201d This was a bluff. There was no such jar anywhere in Gino\u2019s kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cNo<\/i>.\u201d Demos\u2019 infamous pout was starting to show. \u201cCook<\/i> me something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo\u2014bagel in a toaster?\u201d<\/p>\n This earned Ferris a whack in the head with one of Demos\u2019 many pillows. \u201cOh my God,\u201d Demos said. \u201cNo<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris had known this would happen someday. The fated moment when he would have to cook something for Demos\u2014demanding, impossible-to-please Demos. Whose two hobbies were cooking and complaining about other people\u2019s cooking.<\/p>\n When was the last time Ferris had participated in crafting a homemade meal? He thought back to the house he\u2019d grown up in, nearly every year in December. Ruth would banish him to a corner of the kitchen with a stainless steel bowl and a thousand potatoes. He would grate those potatoes, feeling very much like a sailor being punished for something. It always ended the same way\u2014several pounds of shredded potato and three or four bandaids on his knuckles. That was the closest he\u2019d ever gotten to \u2018home cooking<\/i>.\u2019<\/p>\n \u201cFine,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI\u2019ll figure something out.\u201d<\/p>\n He waited until he was back downstairs before calling Ruth.<\/p>\n \u201cSo which recipe do you want?\u201d his mother asked. \u201cLatkes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. Please<\/i>, no. How about\u2014\u201c It had to be something warm\u2014comforting. Hydrating. Something suited for a broken, healing body. \u201cHow about your matzo ball soup?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, all right,\u201d Ruth said. \u201cIf you think you can handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n Handle it? It was matzo meal in broth\u2014how hard could it be? He found a piece of scrap paper and a pen, jotting down ingredients as his mother listed them, one after another, until he ran out of space at the bottom. He flipped the paper.<\/p>\n \u201cMom, this is like a hundred ingredients\u2014wait, an entire<\/i> chicken?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou have to make chicken stock, bubele.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t you just buy<\/i> chicken stock?\u201d<\/p>\n This was not the correct thing to say to Ruth Levinstein. He could hear her switching from \u2018patient mother\u2019 to \u2018indignant Queens native\u2019 in a heartbeat.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you want to make it from a can<\/i>, make it from a can<\/i>!\u201d Ruth said. Even without seeing her, Ferris could tell she was waving at least one arm. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I thought you actually cared<\/i> about your friend.\u201d<\/p>\n God, she and Demos sounded the same. It was chilling. At least Demos liked her cooking\u2014maybe there was a chance this could work. Ferris took in a long, slow breath, then looked back down at the list of ingredients. This was going to take a while.<\/p>\n Hours passed before he returned to Demos\u2019 room, this time carrying another tray. He\u2019d had to order groceries, fumbling to boil the chicken stock while chopping dill and beating eggs. This<\/i> was what Ruth went through every single time she cooked. This circus of culinary madness. But then\u2014it had always been worth it, hadn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n Ferris opened the legs of the tray, presenting it to Demos like a Mother\u2019s Day breakfast.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened to Mr. Neat & Clean?\u201d Demos asked. His eyes were set on Ferris\u2019 shirt. Sure enough, there was a smudge of egg yolk on it.<\/p>\n \u201cMr. Neat & Clean was booted out of his comfort zone.\u201d Ferris had already turned to dig through a dresser for a new shirt. \u201cInto this schmaltz and matzo meal hellscape.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos poked a matzo ball with his spoon. \u201cThey\u2019re\u2014fluffy.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris tugged off the offensive yolk-shirt, tossing it to a laundry basket\u2014and missing. \u201cWell, some people like their balls fluffy\u2014other people like the little hard ones.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos made some kind of snort-chuckle right into a spoonful of broth. There was a tremor in his chest before his body submitted to a full blown laugh. His face was screwed up in some kind of half-pained, half-snickering expression that Ferris couldn\u2019t quite place. Right\u2014his ribs were still broken.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2014it hurts,\u201d Demos said, still laughing. \u201cWhy would you say that?\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris only smiled. He pulled on a fresh shirt, straightening the hem around his waist. \u201cThat\u2019s what you get for making me cook.\u201d<\/p>\n Once Demos regained control of himself, his gaze returned to the soup. \u201cI don\u2019t have to eat this whole, do I?\u201d<\/p>\n Now it was Ferris\u2019 turn to laugh. It was unbelievable, how badly he wanted to say yes<\/i>. How watching Demos try would be the funniest thing he\u2019d ever seen in his life. \u201cShit\u2014\u201c He took a deep, calming breath. \u201cNo. Just\u2014cut it with your spoon. Did falling down the stairs make you forget how to eat food?<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n Demos muttered something under his breath. The spoon clinked as he gathered the soup, then drew it to his lips. He swallowed, then closed his eyes. \u201cHm.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris sucked a breath in through his teeth. \u201cWell\u2014is it edible?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve had worse,\u201d Demos said. He bit his lower lip, but it wasn\u2019t enough to hide his smile. Okay\u2014he was smiling. Not spitting it out or crying or something. In Ferris\u2019 book, that was a major success in the world of cooking. And there was no chance Demos was just being nice. Demos was never just being nice<\/i> about food. \u201cI\u2019ve had worse.\u201d<\/i> was a victory.<\/p>\n It was dark outside by the time dinner was finished. This was the third night in a row that Ferris was staying. He had already called in to the office, using up whatever leave he\u2019d saved to play caretaker for the next few weeks. Thankfully, the holiday break was approaching. Demos did, of course, have the support of his family, but Victor would probably just tell him to \u201cwalk it off\u201d<\/i> and Gina was more likely to throw him down an additional flight of stairs.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Rocco blinked at you,\u201d Demos said. \u201cThat means he likes you.\u201d<\/p>\n Rocco hadn\u2019t left the bed. He had made several attempts to stuff his nose into the empty soup bowl, apparently hooked on the smell of chicken broth. Ferris peered at the cat, then at his friend. \u201cCat owners have a really low bar for signs of affection.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos shrugged, scratching under Rocco\u2019s chin. \u201cWe take what we can get.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHere\u2014\u201d Ferris reached for the tray. \u201cLet me get that before he sticks his face in it again.\u201d<\/p>\n He gathered up the trays, the dishes, stacking them like the world\u2019s worst-paid busser. The kitchen was exactly as he\u2019d left it\u2014mostly clean, with a pot and some ladles in the sink. A sudden wave of embarrassment hit him\u2014leaving dishes in a kitchen, someone else\u2019s<\/i> kitchen. Mostly<\/i> clean wasn\u2019t clean enough.<\/p>\n Suds piled and the hot water bit his hands. He had done this for years, at the restaurant. Washing dishes for under-the-table, near-minimum wage. It had been a sweaty, exhausting, soggy-vegetable filled hell. There was something different about this, though. Washing dishes at home, in a quiet kitchen. The rush of water and the scent of citrus dish soap. The same, repetitive motions. It was a good time to think.<\/p>\n \u201cWe have a housekeeper,\u201d came a voice from behind him. Ferris glanced over to see Isabella. Gino\u2019s wife\u2014the one Demos called Nonna<\/i>. He had seen her, here and there, in the last few days he\u2019d spent in the compound. She had been nothing but kind to Ferris, but he still found himself hesitating to speak to her. There was something intimidating about the way she held herself\u2014every word deliberate, every movement holding purpose. Ferris felt like a child staring at a Renaissance painting, one with history and meaning, one he couldn\u2019t even begin to understand.<\/p>\n \u201cOh\u2014\u201d Ferris said. \u201cIt\u2019s all right, I don\u2019t mind doing this.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Isabella smiled. \u201cWell, if you insist.\u201d<\/p>\n That was supposed to be the end of that encounter. But she wasn\u2019t leaving. He could hear her walk past him, turning on the espresso machine. This family\u2014it seemed once breakfast was finished, all they drank was espresso and alcohol. Even after dinner\u2014especially<\/i> after dinner? \u201cWe appreciate you caring for Demos,\u201d she said. \u201cI know he can be ungracious.\u201d<\/p>\n Ungracious. That was one way to describe Demos\u2019 incessant complaining.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m used to it,\u201d was all Ferris could say. He probably should have defended his friend at that point, but couldn\u2019t bring himself to lie to this woman. \u201cHe\u2019s been \u2018too cold\u2019 since the day he was born.\u201d<\/p>\n Isabella\u2019s laugh was warm\u2014sustaining. Like the smell of freshly baked bread first thing in the morning. \u201cI regret that I missed much of his childhood,\u201d she said. \u201cBut it brings me comfort to know he had a friend such as yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n It was true. Though Gino had been building his empire in Southport for decades, Isabella had only joined them from Italy that very year. Ferris had heard, off and on, that she had been running certain ventures in his absence. But it seemed she wasn\u2019t needed in Vicenza anymore.<\/p>\n \u201cMay I ask\u2014\u201c Ferris said. He considered his words carefully. \u201cWhat brought you here?\u201d<\/p>\n She was quiet for a moment. All he could hear was the sound of espresso beans being freshly ground. Then, the rich, bitter scent that followed.<\/p>\n \u201cThe market has changed in Italy,\u201d Isabella said. \u201cBeyond our control. There is nothing left for us there.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris didn\u2019t have to guess what she meant by \u2018changed.\u2019 He\u2019d seen it in the news, in international articles. The drug trade\u2014opioids, narcotics. The line of business that brought incredible fortunes, followed by incarceration, betrayals\u2014mass killings. Gino had made it a point to forbid ventures into that particular industry. But it seemed that was no longer an option back home.<\/p>\n It was obvious, though. Gino had known this was coming\u2014for a long time. He had ensured his second son, Victor, would be born on U.S. Soil\u2014a citizen with an American name. A foothold on the east coast, the beginning of a transition. Here, in Southport, the Marianis had already given in to the allure of narcotics. The Giorgettis, however, had learned from the mistakes of others.<\/p>\n \u201cWe won\u2019t allow it to happen again,\u201d Isabella said. \u201cNot to us\u2014not here.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris set the last pot on the drying mat, then wiped down his hands with a dish towel. \u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh, but we still have the villa in Vicenza\u2014for holidays. I don\u2019t suppose you\u2019ve visited, yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cI haven\u2019t.\u201d Visiting their oceanside house on Long Island was one thing\u2014a trip to Italy was another entirely.<\/p>\n \u201cYou really must. I\u2019m certain you would enjoy it.\u201d<\/p>\n Maybe someday. Someday\u2014when Demos didn\u2019t look like debris leftover from a shipwreck. When Ferris had earned back all his leave, when things were quieter. Calmer. In truth, Ferris wasn\u2019t sure if someday<\/i> would ever come.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you\u2014\u201c He offered the woman a tired smile. \u201cI\u2019m sure that I would.\u201d<\/p>\n Once Ferris had returned upstairs, Demos didn\u2019t waste a second before complaining again.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat took you so long?\u201d Demos said. He was multi-tasking, petting the cat with one hand and scrolling through phone messages with the other.<\/p>\n Ferris returned to the bedside, wrapping the bag of ice he\u2019d brought in a thin cloth. \u201cI was finishing the dishes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe have a housekeeper,\u201d Demos said\u2014echoing his grandmother word-for-word. \u201cThe place is so quiet\u2014I thought you went somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, but everyone else left. They\u2019re meeting with Lee.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos\u2019 attention piqued. \u201cHe said yes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think so.\u201d Ferris pulled back the layers of comforters to expose Demos\u2019 ankle. It had been propped over a pair of pillows, elevated to prevent swelling. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, you\u2019re still getting the credit for it.\u201d He rested the ice pack against the bruised skin, taking care not to apply too much pressure. \u201cDoes it hurt?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s\u2014it\u2019s better,\u201d Demos said. \u201cThanks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay\u2014just take the ice off in twenty minutes. There\u2019s still ibuprofen on the nightstand, if you need it,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cYou want anything before I go? Some water?\u201d<\/p>\n Demos didn\u2019t answer right away. He lowered his phone, averting his eyes to the other side of the room. There was a mild heat in his face.<\/p>\n \u201cActually, um\u2014\u201c Demos pushed a piece of hair back behind his ear. \u201cCould you stay? Just in case.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris blinked. This was the first night he\u2019d requested this. Ferris had been sleeping in a room just down the hall, only returning in response to midnight texts insisting that Demos needed another pillow or help getting to the bathroom.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d Ferris said. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n He grabbed the paperback he\u2019d left on a nightstand, settling in to the opposite side of the wide bed. The first thing he noticed was the mattress\u2014some kind of ridiculously comfortable five-layer NASA memory foam that probably cost more than his car had. Of course.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry\u2014\u201d Demos was looking at the ceiling, hands laced over his stomach. \u201cThat I tried to leave you behind at the casino. If you weren\u2019t there, I\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s okay. You won\u2019t do it again, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Demos said. \u201cI won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris only smiled, opening the book on the chapter he\u2019d marked. Neither spoke for the rest of the night. He could hear Demos\u2019 breathing slow, softening. An hour passed and Ferris glanced over to see that he\u2019d fallen asleep. That was good\u2014he\u2019d had trouble sleeping the last couple of nights.<\/p>\n Ferris watched him for a while. There wasn\u2019t any pain in Demos\u2019 expression, no tension in his brow. It seemed he was healing, albeit slowly. Half of his face was obscured, coal-black hair draping over his eye and onto the pillow. Ferris wasn\u2019t thinking as he reached over, fingers brushing that fringe, gently tucking it away past his temple. It was rare, to see his entire face, his forehead\u2014that scar. Just as rare was that expression while he slept. Calm. Quiet.<\/p>\n Ferris closed his book, then reached over toward the lamp on the nightstand. The light clicked off, plunging the room into a deep, hushed black.<\/p>\n \u201cGood night, Ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n #<\/p>\n By the time Gino\u2019s annual Christmas gathering arrived, Demos had recovered enough to make it downstairs. He had done less mingling and more sitting this time around, now settled on the piano bench with a pair of crutches at his side. They\u2019d finished their duet half an hour ago, the same rendition of White Christmas<\/i> that Gino requested every year. Demos still hadn\u2019t found the energy to leave the piano.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re sure your wrist is feeling better?\u201d Ferris asked.<\/p>\n \u201cUm\u2014you heard me play, right?\u201d Demos took a sip of wine, then set the glass on a side table. \u201cYou think someone with a jacked up wrist could sound that good?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCalm down. It was White Christmas<\/i>, not Flight of the Bumblebee<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n This Christmas hadn\u2019t been an especially white one\u2014there hadn\u2019t been any snow that week. The manor had been done up with hundreds of lanterns, leaving a soft glow over gold garlands and pine. Nearly everything in the house seemed warmer\u2014closer. Ferris could feel the heat of the fireplace from the other wall, wood crackling under the flame. Most of the guests were elsewhere\u2014there was some kind of toast happening in the main hall, leaving the two more or less alone by the piano.<\/p>\n This seemed like as good a time as any.<\/p>\n \u201cHere.\u201d Ferris set a large, silver gift bag on the bench beside Demos. \u201cHope you didn\u2019t think I forgot.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos blinked at the bag. After Ferris had given up on gifting, most of his presents had been in the form of a voucher in an envelope. This was larger than an envelope. Ferris could tell his friend was already wary.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, really, you didn\u2019t have to\u2014\u201c Demos paused as he pushed back the tissue paper. His eyes widened. \u201cOh my God.\u201d<\/p>\n He lifted the bag from the, well, bag. It was the one Demos had been gazing at through the shop window earlier that fall. The black one\u2014 the one with the drummed calfskin and cotton twill lining. The one he\u2019d said was perfect.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2014you said you\u2019d kill me<\/i> if I got this bag.\u201d Demos was running his hand over the front, fingers tracing over the stitching.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah. You know how hard it is to shop for you?\u201d Ferris said with a glare. \u201cI just wanted to win at gifting for once.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, I got you a great Chanukah gift this year.\u201d<\/p>\n Ferris\u2019 glare held fast. \u201cYou got me a sweater for Stanley.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, but\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n \u201cIt said \u2018diva\u2019<\/i> on it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I mean\u2014\u201c Demos brushed some hair back from his temple. \u201cHe is.<\/i>\u201d His eyes were still fastened on the bag, ears hot with a blush rising in his face. He really loved accessories, didn\u2019t he? Demos tugged Ferris over by the sleeve, pulling him down into a tight\u2014and surprisingly warm hug.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks, Fish,\u201d Demos murmured into his shoulder. Finally<\/i>. Finally, Ferris had gotten him a gift he actually liked. All it had taken was a death threat and enough cash to cover a month\u2019s worth of rent. Easy, right? Ferris was already starting to accept that he\u2019d hit his peak in gift giving when he felt fingers on the back of his head.<\/p>\n \u201cYou haven\u2019t cut your hair in a while,\u201d Demos said, pulling back to take a proper look.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cOh. I didn\u2019t get a chance to get to the barber this month.\u201d Ferris decided to leave out the \u2018because I was waiting on you hand and foot\u2019 part. \u201cI should make an appointment.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI kind of like it.\u201d Demos ran his fingertips up the back of his neck, combing through a handful of dark locks.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou should grow it.\u201d<\/p>\n Fingers through hair<\/i>\u2014it wasn\u2019t a touch Ferris could ever remember feeling before. It had always been too short for that. Something about it made his chest seize, triggering a burn just under his ribs. He prayed to God it wasn\u2019t visible in his face.<\/p>\n \u201cOh. Uh\u2014maybe.\u201d Ferris looked away. \u201cI\u2019ll think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos\u2019 hand slipped away and Ferris took in a steadying breath. \u201cEveryone\u2019s out in the hall,\u201d Demos said. \u201cShould we join them?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell.\u201d Ferris swallowed. \u201cSince I\u2019ve got you at the piano, maybe we can practice that song for the wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos\u2019 face lit up. \u201cOh, lets do Nuvole Bianche<\/i> first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sure? It\u2019s twice as long. I don\u2019t want you wearing yourself out.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos performed an ten out of ten teenage eye roll \u2014 a perfect landing. \u201cIt\u2019s an easy song,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd it\u2019s a piano, not a treadmill. I\u2019ve, um\u2014I\u2019ve missed playing with you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s been like a month.\u201d<\/p>\n Demos\u2019 only reply was an icy look. Apparently one month was one month too long.<\/p>\n Ferris held up his hands in defeat. \u201cFine, Nuvole Bianche<\/i>. One play. Then we practice for the wedding. If you don\u2019t heal in time we won\u2019t even get to attend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll heal.\u201d Demos traced his fingers over the piano keys, then glanced back over. There was something about his smile\u2014the warmth in it. It wasn\u2019t just in his lips. Everything in Demos\u2019 face seemed to say it\u2014the gratitude he hadn\u2019t shown enough of. The \u2018thank you\u2019<\/i> he hadn\u2019t yet said. Ferris could see traces of the fireplace in his eyes, hints of something else. Something that wasn\u2019t in the room at all.<\/p>\n Demos looked back down at the piano. \u201cAfter all\u2014I\u2019ve got the best nurse in town.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ferris should have known better than to ask if Demos wanted a cup of tea. He should have known it would be an ordeal that involved driving to a speciality shop because the canister was empty, that would require a thermometer, measuring devices, and a timer. He should have known the instructions would need to […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-612","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-9S","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/612","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=612"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/612\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":680,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/612\/revisions\/680"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=612"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=612"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=612"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}