Kitchen Boy Losange Volume 6

Maximilian stands in front of Losange in the dish pit at the restaurant, one hand cradling his face, catching the single tear that falls down his cheek, the other clenched into a fist against his side.

“You want my forgiveness?” he asks.

Losange sniffles, pressing into his palm. “Yes. For saying that you were nothing but a distraction. For behaving as if my dreams were more important than yours. For leaving you.”

“I see.” Maximilian closes his eyes briefly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what made you notice the fault in your ways?”

Losange rears back. “The fault in my ways?”

Maximilian crosses his arms. “You can be quite arrogant, Losange.”

“So can you!”

“Touché.”

They glare at each other.

“You are infuriating,” Losange says, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

“What are you doing?” Maximilian asks.

“Washing the dishes! Then I will take the food and go.”

Losange strips out of his shirt, trading it for the apron that hangs on a hook by the sink. He is wearing a white tank underneath.

“You really couldn’t have just rolled up your sleeves?” Maximilian asks, unable to tear his gaze away from Losange’s lithe form as he reaches for the sponge.

“Away with you,” Losange says, flicking water at him.

Maximilian turns to go, brow furrowed and jaw set.

“Merde!” Losange shouts.

There is a loud splash, and then Losange is there, stepping around to cut him off, planting a damp hand flat on his chest.

“What is our common ground?” He speaks the question right into Maximilian’s face.

Maximilian swallows hard. “I don’t think we ever found one, Losange.”

Losange shakes his head. “How do we find it, then?”

“I don’t know.”

Maximilian imagines that he is standing on the shore, gazing out at Losange across the water as the ship he rides in takes him farther and farther away. He knows he is always destined to stay on land, forever rooted. He scrubs at the tears coming out of his eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Losange says, stepping closer. “I’ll come back to you. I’ll stay until we can figure out a direction to go together.”

“What?” Maximilian asks, startled.

“See?” Losange says, his smile radiant. “We aren’t so different, after all. None of us wants to be left behind. We all want to belong to the world no matter how much it changes.”

Maximilian pulls him close, spilling his tears onto Losange’s bare shoulder.

“I love you, mon chéri,” he says. “That’s the truth of the matter. I’ve fallen in love with you, but you shine so bright it hurts sometimes.”

Losange hugs him, digging his fingers into his back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Maximilian, mon beau. I missed you so much. I love you so much.”

A kiss blooms between them, filling the space around them with stars and flowers.

“Let me finish these dishes,” Losange says. “Then we can take the food. You can meet the organizers of our sustenance, Thibault and Philomène.” He stops, cupping Maximilian’s jaw in both of his hands, looking into his eyes. “I know these might not be your kind of people, but I have seen so much of your life, haven’t I? Perhaps you would like to see some of mine?”

Maximilian winces. “I have no life. That is what you saw. This place was my life, until I met you. And even then…” He smiles. “Even then, there is probably more we can do together than simply eat, drink, argue, and go to bed together.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

“I’ll tell Françoise about your friends. She may want to join you, after all. She talks of nothing else. She wants to throw paving stones.”

Losange frowns. “That’s not what we do. Or, at least, not all of us.”

“Well, that’s what she wants to do, apparently,” Maximilian says.

They finish washing the dishes together, even though the space is small, and it requires standing very close together. They only get distracted twice, which is less than Maximilian would have expected after being apart for two weeks.

Afterward, they make their way to the place where the students gather. The streets are full of debris, and sometimes they must pick their way around broken furniture. There are paving stones aplenty, loose and crumbling. In the distance, they can hear shouting.

When they arrive, Maximilian feels keenly out of place until he meets Thibault and Philomène, who hustle him into the small kitchen. They ply him with leftovers from lunch and coffee with fresh milk. Maximilian helps them prep for the dinner service. Philomène pretends to faint over his boeuf bourguignon, and Thibault gushes over the vegetable stew.

“Such flavor!” he says. “This will give us energy for a week! As will your handsome face. Please tell me you’ll visit again, mon cher.”

Maximilian finds that he is tongue-tied, looking over at Losange, who steps in and teases Thibault right back, shifting the attention away from him. A handsome blond man peeks into the kitchen, looking him up and down, but leaves without introducing himself.

Françoise shows up with some of the people who used to work at the restaurant. Maximilian feels as if his edges are blurring, the world around him shifting in real time. The façade he’s worn his entire life begins to crack, bits of his old self flaking off, drifting like ash in the wind. The fabric of society is unraveling right before his eyes, and he reaches out, joining his hands with Losange’s, with Thibault and Philomène, with Françoise and all the others. This is their time. This is their chance to weave it all back together in a new way.

When he goes home that night, Losange goes with him. They spend half the night making up for lost time, savoring each moment they have together, lingering in the pleasure. The morning comes, and they return to help Philomène and Thibault. Days pass in this way. Maximilian finds joy blooming in his heart again. He sees the people enjoying his food, and their expressions are brighter than any he’s seen at the restaurant, a place that has remained shuttered since the day Losange returned to him. They move Philomène and Thibault’s operation to the restaurant kitchen, where there is more space and better equipment to cook for many.

Maximilian and Losange are in the restaurant office, discussing the meals for the week, and how the ingredients may be obtained, when the proprietor calls from his vacation home in the Riviera. Maximilian holds the phone away from his ear as his voice blasts from the telephone receiver. The proprietor does not support this “revolt of the children,” as he calls it.

Losange laughs, overhearing these complaints. Maximilian leans back in his chair, his expression fierce, and tells his boss that people need to eat, and that he is glad to feed them. When he hangs up the phone, Losange closes the office door, locking it, and crawls into Maximilian’s lap, the chair creaking beneath them.

Around them, the restaurant melts away. The world spins on its axis, sunlight giving way to starlight giving way to sunlight again. Maximilian closes his eyes, holding Losange close. A sprawling landscape unfurls around them. There are gentle, rolling hills with evergreens that blanket the slopes. There are machines disintegrating in the fields, their metal hides splashed with rust, their limbs pinned in place by the green tendrils that reach up from the ground to restrain them, to reclaim them. The sky is clear, full of scudding clouds. Losange smiles over at him, his dark hair holding bits of sunlight, and offers his hand. He and Maximilian step forward into the world. Flowers bloom at their feet as they walk.

FIN

Lalo closed the manga. He placed it carefully on the bedside table. The dawn was unmistakable, lighting up the room, making the lamp unnecessary. He was absolutely exhausted, his body aching with it. His mind felt as if it had been filled to the edge, surface tension the only thing keeping his thoughts from overflowing. There was something about this story that had wiggled its way into the center of his heart, tugging with a delicious ache. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Losange and Maximilian.

“Fuck,” he whispered, blinking up at the ceiling.

Valentine shifted next to him, lifting his eye mask. “Hmm?”

“I finished the series.” Lalo’s voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands.

“Huh?” Valentine asked, voice warm with sleep. “Really?” He craned his head to look at the clock. “Lalo, it’s four in the morning!”

Lalo didn’t speak, sliding down so that he could burrow against Valentine’s chest, giving in to his tears just enough to take some pressure off. Valentine wrapped his arms around him, kissing the top of his head.

“Awww. I cried the first time I read it, too. I stayed up until five in the morning even though I had my driver’s test at ten. Such an irresponsible fool. I failed it miserably.”

Lalo couldn’t help laughing at that, gratitude for Valentine’s kindness joining the whirlwind of emotions in his heart.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Valentine said. “I’ll make you breakfast and drive you to work. Do you eat eggs?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

“And are you okay with soy milk? I don’t have anything else, but I can run down to the corner.”

“No, that’s fine.” Lalo snuggled closer against him. “You’re fine.”

He could hear Valentine’s laugh deep in his chest as he drifted off to sleep, and woke what felt like two minutes later to the sound of his alarm. Valentine was clattering around in the kitchen.

“Oh good,” he said, when he saw that Lalo was awake. “I made you an egg and cheese on an English muffin. Do you want coffee?”

Lalo stretched, yawning wide. He hadn’t expected that Valentine would be a morning person, but he was all smiles as he came over to give Lalo a kiss, his mouth minty fresh. His hair was damp from the shower, the purple tips blending in with the darkness of his hair, and he was already dressed, looking fantastic, as usual. Lalo watched as he went over to the dresser, unearthing a purple t-shirt, dark wash jeans, and the nicest looking pair of socks that Lalo had ever seen. He put an unopened pack of designer label boxer briefs on top of the pile and brought it all over to the futon.

“I can just wear my jeans from last night,” Lalo said.

Valentine gave him a scandalized look. “They won’t match.”

Lalo had been of the impression that blue jeans could match with almost anything, but he decided to defer to Valentine’s expertise.

“All right. Are you sure they’ll fit? You’re taller and skinnier than me.”

“They’ve always been big on me. Go take a shower. Here.” Valentine got a towel out from one of the bins under the futon. “There’s body wash and shampoo in the shower already. Don’t take too long, your breakfast will get cold. There’s deodorant in the same bin with my extra hygiene supplies.”

Lalo took a deep breath, feeling ridiculously fond. Who would have guessed that his Valentine could be such a sweetheart?

“Will you be my boyfriend?” he asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his permission.

Valentine blinked. “What?”

“Uh, sorry. Never mind.” Lalo could feel his face heating up. Even though he’d been meaning to ask, pretty much since the moment Valentine had requested a date to Build-A-Were, he hadn’t planned on doing it so soon.

“Hold on,” Valentine said. “Did you mean it?”

Sweat prickled on Lalo’s upper lip, his stomach swooping with nervous excitement.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course I meant it. You’re a total catch.”

Valentine smiled, so wide that Lalo could see the stainless steel ring of his smiley piercing peeking out from under his upper lip.

“And you’re a total sap,” he said. He leaned in and kissed Lalo’s cheek. “That means yes, by the way,” he whispered, lips tickling Lalo’s ear.

Lalo turned his head, capturing his mouth. They collapsed back against the bed, Valentine pressing down against him, fisting Lalo’s t-shirt in both hands as he kissed him.