Kitchen Boy Losange Volume 5

Lalo was stretched out on the futon, Kitchen Boy Losange Volume 4 closed and resting on his chest, Valentine snoring gently into his ear. His back hurt from lying in one position for too long, and his legs ached from lack of sleep. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move, staring up at the ceiling, dimly lit by the light from the street. He knew he was past the point of no return. There was no way he wasn’t going to finish reading this series tonight.

After contemplating for a moment longer, he eased out from under Valentine’s arm, going quietly to replace Volume 4 on the shelf. He estimated that it would take about an hour or so to read the last two volumes. If he could get to sleep by four o’clock, he’d probably be okay.

He got back into bed with the last two volumes tucked under his arm, smiling as Valentine snuggled back in against him, muttering something under his breath. He clipped the book light to the back of Volume 5. It seemed as if it was getting dimmer, though it was hard to tell if this was a real change, or just an effect of his exhausted eyes not being able to see as clearly. He adjusted the bulb, bringing it closer to the page, and began to read.

Losange leaves Maximilian on a sunny day, but inside of his heart, it is cloudy. When he arrives at his aunt’s house, she is enjoying a leisurely breakfast, reading the newspaper and tutting to herself under her breath. She sets her bowl of coffee down upon seeing him.

“My prodigal nephew returns,” she says.

Losange bursts into tears, and his aunt rises from the table to pull him into her arms.

“There, there, mon coeur. What happened? Did he break your heart?”

Losange freezes, eyes wide, his forehead pressed into her shoulder. “How did you know?”

His aunt squeezes him tighter. “How could I not know, after Alain and Étienne? You’ve barely been home for two months. I hardly believed you enjoyed your work that much.”

Losange pulls away. “I see.”

“Tell me the name of the culprit, so that I may see to his demise.”

“He’s innocent,” Losange says, through another bout of tears. “It was me. I left him.”

“Tell me,” she says.

They go to sit at the breakfast table together, his aunt pushing bread and butter at him, pouring him a bowl of café au lait. Losange tells her about working in the kitchen. Rush, rush, rush, the work was physically exhausting, but also so menial and repetitive that his brain couldn’t help but wander, and yet he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Maximilian would cook for just the two of them at night, simple meals, but delicious nonetheless. He was more relaxed than he was during the day, humming to himself under his breath as he added this and that bit of spice, his normally stormy expression revealing the sun behind the clouds. His aunt laughs as Losange laments the endless chore of washing dishes. He doesn’t tell her that he didn’t mind so much at night, because Maximilian would kiss the back of his neck and mutter sweet nothings as he tried to concentrate on scrubbing.

Losange is full of questions now, new flowers blooming all around him. Maximilian had challenged him in so many new ways, and Losange had liked him for that. Loved him, even. When the occupation of the university began, he became confused and unsure of how to proceed, because he knew that he must join the cause. He also knew it meant leaving Maximilian behind.

“Why?” his aunt asks, interrupting him. “Why must you leave him behind?”

“He doesn’t agree. He doesn’t trust the students or their words. He doesn’t trust me.”

The phone rings. Losange’s aunt sighs heavily.

“These old friends of yours are persistent, even after I told them that you weren’t living here anymore. It’s been a few different ones I’ve never met, but mostly Étienne. Shall I answer it, or will you?”

Losange feels as if his heart has been skewered yet again when he answers the phone and hears Étienne’s smooth voice.

“Losange! Finally. When are you coming to join the fray? We need your help.”

Before he leaves, his aunt hugs him close.

“Take care of your body as well as your mind,” she says into his ear. “You’ll burn yourself out in a week if you don’t.” She pulls away and takes his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Losange, you should give your lover another chance. Just because he doesn’t agree with you on everything doesn’t mean you can’t find common ground.”

Losange nods, blinking back tears, and goes to meet his old lover, Étienne. The man in question is quite attractive, very similar in build to Losange, except light-haired. Seeing him again only makes Losange’s heart ache more for Maximilian, however.

The days pass in a blur, their time taken up by general assemblies, strategy meetings, and marching in the streets. There is a general strike across the country. Nothing about the world is recognizable anymore, though it still does not flow smoothly. The workers go about things one way, and the students another. Any time the students attempt to unite them, they are regarded with suspicion.

Losange remembers Maximilian’s own disdain, and how he’d been frustrated by Maximilian’s foolish pride. It no longer seems foolish to him. It is a little bit embarrassing to see how the students parade around the few workers they’ve persuaded to join their cause.

Losange is surrounded by people all the time, though it feels as if they are missing something vital. They are all dreamers like he used to be, floating above the ground. He feels heavier now. There are roots at the bottom of his feet, anchoring him in the earth.

They eat whatever food they can glean from generous benefactors, drink and smoke too much as they have heated discussions, flying high above the world they once knew. Losange misses Maximilian so much that it feels as if his heart is burning a hole through his sternum, a conflagration that cannot be extinguished. Étienne comes to him in the darkness one night, but he turns him away, unable to find pleasure in the intimacy he is offering.

The book light was definitely dying. Lalo could no longer deny it. He felt Valentine shifting next to him, then a puff of hot air when he exhaled, stretching his arms above his head.

“Honestly, Lalo,” he said, his voice creaky with sleep. “At this point, you might as well turn on the lamp.”

“You don’t have a replacement battery?” Lalo asked.

“It’s a watch battery, I believe, so no. I’ll have to get another one the next time I work.”

“I can’t believe these idiots.”

“Hmmm?” Valentine leaned over to peek at the pages of the manga. “Oh, yeah. Well, what do you expect in a romantic drama?”

“Such bad communicators.”

“We have the potential to be just as dumb,” Valentine said, amusement in his voice. “Now close your eyes, my darling. I don’t want to burn your retinas when I turn on the lamp.”

Valentine crawled up over him, his stomach pressing in against Lalo’s temple as he reached for the lamp switch. Lalo couldn’t help kissing him just under his ribs, because the fire between them hadn’t really been sated, only banked for the night. Valentine jumped, his flesh pebbling into goosebumps.

“Hey! That tickles!”

Lalo closed the book and put it on the nightstand, wrapping his arms around Valentine’s waist, nibbling at the edge of his belly button. Valentine practically shrieked, collapsing against him. They tussled for a while in the darkness, kissing and groping at each other, and then Valentine pushed him away.

“You’re a terrible influence. It’s almost two in the morning. You’re not allowed to have any more good ideas.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” Lalo said. “I guess the bittersweet yearning is getting to me.”

“Awww, you sap.” Valentine kissed the tip of his nose. “Get ready, I’m turning on the lamp.”

Lalo closed his eyes. When he blinked them open again, adjusting to the brightness, he spotted Valentine slipping a black eye mask over his eyes. It was black, thickly padded, and embroidered with a vampire bat across the front. There was a curve to admit the bridge of his nose, and a strap to secure it around his head. Valentine settled back against his pillow and crossed his arms across his chest like a vampire, a mischievous little smirk on his lips.

Lalo laughed. “You don’t really sleep like that.”

“How would you know? This is your first night here. Maybe this is how I sleep when I’m alone.”

“I don’t believe it. I’ve already seen you go spread-eagled. And you snore.”

Valentine lifted the eye mask, glaring at him. “How dare you.”

Lalo coaxed the mask back over his eyes. “Never mind. Go back to sleep.”

Valentine’s lips pressed together into a thin line. Lalo started to turn away, not wanting to disturb his rest any further, but then Valentine reached out for him.

“Lalo?” he said, his voice soft, a little breathless.

“Yes?” Lalo asked, too quickly.

“Kiss me?”

Lalo hesitated, but only for a moment. He bent down, stopping just short of Valentine’s mouth. Valentine parted his lips, but he didn’t take the bait. He took a deep breath and held it in, trying to be as stealthy as possible as he moved, pressing a kiss to Valentine’s throat, instead.

“Ahhh!” Valentine sighed. “Sneaky, sneaky. Do that again.”

Lalo tilted his head, kissing the underside of Valentine’s jaw, enjoying the way it made Valentine shiver. One thing led to another after that. Valentine, for all his teasing complaints, fell back asleep right after, leaving Lalo to escape back into Volume 5 as the night pivoted into the earliest hours of the morning.

Étienne brings Losange a cup of black coffee in the morning, a tinge of possessiveness in his gaze as he kisses him on the cheek.

“Good morning, mon chéri.”

Losange takes too big of a gulp from his cup, coffee burning his throat as he coughs. Étienne pats his back soothingly, standing too close. It’s too much like how it used to be between them, and it’s the reason it never worked. Étienne is a handsome man, but he presumes too much.

“There’s a reason I didn’t sleep with you,” Losange says, tears springing to his eyes. “I already have a lover.”

“That’s all right,” Étienne says, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter to me how many lovers you have. Monogamy is the curse of the heterosexuals.”

Losange shakes his head, angry now. “Let me be clearer, mon cher ami. Regardless of the oppressive implications of monogamy, and the amount of lovers I may or may not have, I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“Who?” Étienne asks, crossing his arms across his chest. “Who is this lover of yours that is too selfish to share?”

“That’s entirely beside the point.”

“Losange, mon chéri, stop being so stubborn.”

Losange turns away, pushing through the crowd of people gathered on the floor, perched on the furniture, half awake as they break their fasts. He ignores Étienne calling after him and goes to offer his assistance to Thibault and Philomène, who are in charge of organizing their meals.

“Losange! How good of you to come,” Philomène says, kissing him on the cheek. “As a matter of fact, we are deciding on a plan for dinner. We have enough for breakfast and lunch, but we are already out of milk, as you have likely noticed.” She nods towards Losange’s black coffee with an apologetic look.

“I can get us dinner,” Losange says, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he is sure Philomène and Thibault must hear it.