There was a cigarette in one of his hands, and in the other a nearly empty, red stained wine glass. The tub was smaller than the one they had owned in Cambridge, so they had to sit with their knees pointed up, out of the water and into the wintery air that streamed in from the open window not far above them. It was supposed to have a key, so it would remain properly closed, but it was nowhere to be found when they moved in less than a week ago.
Adriaan’s arm was uncomfortably propped up on one of the bathtub’s sides, and he was certain that it would soon slip off and drop back down into the water, as it had done before. Still, he was lucky to be sitting on the side of the tub without the tap.
“I forgot how cold it could get out here,” Daan sighed, taking a long drag from his cig and puffing the smoke out into the direction of the window. As if they ever cared about smoking inside. “But I think it’s only going to get worse.”
“I’m going to the stad soon,” Adriaan shrugged. How could someone forget the weather of their own country? It wasn’t even that different in Cambridge. “I’m thinking of finding work there. I could buy some thick blankets and jackets. Maybe some new sweaters.”
For a second, he considered whether or not they would even be able to afford such things. He hadn’t been in the city in ages, for they spent most of their adulthood in Cambridge. He couldn’t be certain that the cheap, secondhand shop his mother always bought his clothes from was still there. He never really had to shop before. His old clothes were baggy, properly made, and he and Daan didn’t grow much past the age of eighteen. In a way, they seemed to have shrunk. When they first left home, they were friendly boys with roundish cheeks — though only noticeable up close — and soft stomachs. Somewhere along the way, they turned into a mess of collarbone and spine, stray muscles clinging to bones like shy children holding on to their mother’s hand. Proper food was hard to come by without dropping significant amounts of money. They, at the time, had other priorities.
Even so, Daan smiled at his offer. It was hard to tell if he had the same worries, or if he was genuinely expecting Adriaan to leave home soon and come back with all kinds of wintery goods. Daan leaned forward and took another painfully long drag from his cigarette, held it for a bit, and blew all of the smoke right into Adriaan’s face. His morbid way to express love, Adriaan supposed. Or if not love, a gentle kind of gratitude.
Neither of them had anybody else they could rely on so strongly, after all.
And yet he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the gesture. He quickly found himself spluttering and coughing in an attempt to rid himself of the disgusting taste of nicotine sticking to his tongue. Adriaan was never much of a smoker, except during social occasions — thought many of his “social occasions” only included himself and Daan.
In his desperate attempt to clean up his mouth, Adriaan stopped concentrating on his arm. Causing it to slowly slip from the wet bathtub side. In no time, his elbow struck the porcelain bottom of the tub with a dramatic splash and a harsh pain.
“Godverdomme!” He expelled the word as if it was vomit, it felt exhilarating to finally curse in his native tongue again. The small flame of his cigarette slowly dimmed in the water, and he grieved the fact that he had ruined a perfectly good smoke for the second time that night. In the exact same way.
In a swift move, he brought the wineglass to his lips and finished off the few milliliters clinging to the walls. Then he threw the dead cigarette in it and placed the thing on the soapy tiles beside the tub. He threw Daan, who was letting out perfectly spaced, slow laughs, a dirty look before he stood up and shivered in the cold. The fun was over, and all he could think about was getting his clothes on and laying in their warm bed.
“I love you, Aad,” Daan chuckled. “I’ll be there soon, just let me finish this,” he held up his own wine glass, still half-full, and his own, nearly burned away, cigarette. He, of course, didn’t manage to drink as much as Adriaan had. “Then we can snuggle up together.”
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