the lionheart and his pride
Pre-fab back-to-the-50s endless-rows-of-units luxury apartments like Addam's aren't all that roomy, literally. Just a kitchen, a sitting area, a bathroom, a bedroom, a walk-in closet, a laundry closet behind that, a patio balcony... And the sitting area is the size of two sitting areas, maybe three.
Okay, so maybe Addam's swanky little slice of paradise is a palace compared to Minoth's ground-floor attic, all of one coffee table and three kitchen chairs. Minoth has a queen-size bed. Addam can swing a king.
They certainly aren't cavernous, though. Not nearly huge enough for Minoth to step inside, slouch his shoulder to let down his satchel by the shoe rack at the door, shout for Addam, and hear an echo come back to greet him.
It's not an echo, anyway. It's a woman's voice.
"Minoth?"
Well. Minoth doesn't even know if he should be offended. Could be his...sister? No, Addam hasn't got a sister, or a cousin, or an aunt worth mentioning.
No, this is a young woman. This is...
"Flora," Minoth greets, to the braided head stuck halfway out of the bathroom around the corner, no hands in sight. "Let me guess, litter duty?"
She grins, eyes squinching shut momentarily. "I'll just be a moment. Addam's on a call in the bedroom, so he may be quite a bit longer."
And just what the hell is Minoth supposed to do with that?
Tax season, isn't it? But Addam had assured Minoth that tonight was the right time to come over, and Minoth had handed off his spare key to Nia with all the trembling trust of an older brother who's never known how to be mean, thinking that it had been worth something, to actually get to spend some time at Addam's place, for once.
(Minoth doesn't fancy himself an anxious person, nor a particular homebody in the sense that he's afraid of going out or indifferent to outside's great experiences, but he's learned that actually having a place of his own to keep and calm in, day to day and month to month if not year over year, has made him extremely attached to that place, and more and more reluctant to leave it overnight, with a bag of any kind packed.)
But now Flora is here. And that, quite simply, complicates things.
He tries not to be timid, or at least not appear so, as he shuffles past the island toward the couch. If Flora's changing the litter, that'll mean that Diddums...
...there. Right on cue. Struts right past Minoth's boots, then in and around the gap between, then goes back to sniffing the scratching post at the base of the tower, torn to smithereens, again. Minoth absently notes the dismal array of threads hanging out of the curtains - maybe not cheap, because Addam's not extravagant but he's not frugal either, but still, Minoth doesn't know if he could ever stand to live with a cat who wasn't an old man that talked back to him, and left the furniture alone.
And speaking of furniture, or window dressing, or the ambiance of a lived-in apartment, here comes Flora, hands washed and dried, to take the other cushion and curl her legs up underneath her, house slippers dropping neatly to the floor.
"Staying the night, aren't you?"
Not if he's forgotten something. But what is it, wear the same jeans again and brush his teeth? He's got the toothbrush and fresh shirt, boxers, socks, et cetera. Minoth's agnostic about face wash and Addam has some. Not that serious.
Not that serious, Minoth tells himself, taking a deep breath and forcing his fingertips not to scrunch at the thighs of his jeans. "That's the plan," he produces at last. Flora cocks her head, hums companionably at him.
"Did Addam not tell you I was staying?"
That's the tricky thing, isn't it? Minoth knows Addam has known Flora for forever, and he knows that there's something to do with some family pressure somewhere up the line (not that Addam's father has ever seemed to be an out-and-out terrible guy, more just awkwardly distant and unable to break out of his businesslike mold, and what the hell could his idiotic half-brother ever have to say about anything that mattered in the slightest?), but he doesn't like to ask, because he's not sure he wants to be confronted with a vulnerability like that.
A vulnerability like Addam, apparently, setting Minoth up to meet Flora firsthand, in a trick threesome surprise.
Diddums hops up onto the couch and into Flora's lap, now purring, and she prods the inexplicably stuck-out paw until it retracts. Flora giggles. She's very cute - much cuter than the cat, which seems a little self-centered, if Minoth's being honest. And sure, cats are like that, but some of them are innocent and friendly and charming, aren't they?
Friendly? Yes. Charming? Certainly. Innocent? Minoth's not so sure...not about either of them.
"You gathered that, huh? No," Minoth huffs a laugh, "I'm completely out of my depth here. Thought this was a two-person arrangement."
Flora nods, petting the cat still. Diddums seems perfectly content, with her around. "That doesn't have to change. Addam just thought the two of us should meet."
"Meet, and...?"
"And see if you love each other as much as I love the both of you. Hello, Minoth. Sorry I was indisposed."
Just hearing Addam's voice, that familiar rolling inflection, pours some confidence back into Minoth's leaky trough. He leans back into the couch to twist his head around and get a glance at the man emerging (already emerged) from the bedroom, still with that goofy yellow polo and goofier brilliant grin. There, now he's approaching, and...hand on Minoth's shoulder, just where it belongs. Maybe this will be alright.
Now, Minoth doesn't lean into the touch, like a cat himself, whether it's a show of masculinity or aloofness or both or neither. Or embarrassment, most likely. As he's thinking on what he would have done if there weren't a third person (and animal) there to witness, Addam crosses around the back of the couch and drops a caressing thumb to Flora's bare shoulder on the way.
He sits on the chaise lounge sectional, gazes amicably at Minoth. Tries a bit of a smile.
"When was the last time you saw Flora, Minoth?"
He'd been frantically trying to refresh his memory on that very topic since he'd come in, but Minoth doesn't like to answer questions like this with unconfirmed data. He'll remember in just a moment, won't he? He swears...
Was it last year, at that formal dinner? Minoth can imagine perfectly what Flora might have worn, flowy high-waisted pants and a keyhole-sleeve top to make her seem taller than she is (so petite, isn't she? and he and Addam so statuesque, by comparison). She would have looked beautiful and perfectly fit into place, demure and cunning.
That is, if Minoth had been there. But now he remembers that he'd begged out at the last minute, and hopefully cited some better excuse than that he, personally, didn't have anything to wear. As if he didn't get along fine with thrift stores and could have found something presentable at the nearest unbespoke bygone department store.
So had it been a few months ago, when Addam had volunteered to bring a guest to Minoth's community theater group's staging of a handful of one-act plays? Really a thoughtful gesture - Minoth always felt so guilty even informing anyone of his events, let alone inviting them, but they couldn't come if they didn't know it was happening, so he had to say something, and it showed that he took pride in his work, didn't it, so wasn't that a good thing?
But that guest had been Lora, not Flora, and she'd laughed aloud in the sparse audience at many of the soliloquizing comedians and comediennes, which Minoth could say with confidence that Flora would never do. Not that her only possible expression of mirth was a giggle. Far too girlish. Flora was mature, obviously.
Maybe he'd met her horseback riding at Addam's father's estate, which Addam kept a firm rule never to visit unless it was the horses they were after, because somebody had to ride them, and it was a hobby more or less inaccessible by any other means, so since he had the means, Addam persuaded his friends to make use of it with him approximately quarterly.
Brown riding boots with gold accents. White pants. Pink bolero jacket. Hair tied up in a bun, or flowing behind her in the wind.
That must be it. Minoth cannot find any other explanation for how he can picture a perfect portrait of Flora, astride a chestnut brown steed and stroking its muzzle, lifted into the saddle with help from his prince truly, watching Minoth fail to swing a leg up in one smooth motion because he'd picked a mount too tall.
Minoth exhales, turning a pleasant smile upon Flora. "It's been a while, Prince. I'm not sure I recall - but, it must have been something you drummed up." Now a wink. She knows as well as he does, right? Addam has his own peculiar way about things, sometimes.
Flora's response to this new signal issuing from Minoth is to shoo Diddums out of her lap, scoot onto the line between cushions, and pat the spot she had been occupying for Addam's use. He takes it, and Minoth's not sure he can detect any hesitation. Impatient, much?
"So, now, we're all acquainted."
To a certain definition of acquaintance, sure. They'd already been acquainted, for some years, likely. This, again, is why Minoth has never pried into Addam's pre-existing relationship; he knows it's a one-way ticket to getting obsessed with Flora himself. Ain't that always the way it goes?
They're acquainted by way of Flora's knee pressing into Minoth's own, Addam reaching an arm around Flora's shoulders to bump against Minoth's, and Minoth, feeling detached from any instinct he might once have clung onto to back away, leaning into it.
They sit like that, in uncertain silence, for a while. Until the sun has nearly set, and Minoth recalls that Addam is not just a late-dinner-eater but a forgetful-about-food-eater when not surrounded by others who might remind him, subconsciously, of his duty to health and hosting, and the normative rituals of the day. But Minoth's not hungry, and the way this is going they'll be up making pancakes at midnight soon enough.
And as they sit, Minoth feels Flora melt into the curve of his side, Addam following as naturally as anything. He can't say he disagrees with this method of, again, acquaintance. No pressure, is there? In fact, if he really feels like changing the physical subject, Minoth can just start talking, about his manuscripts or his rotten neighbors or Nia's latest escapade, and Flora will sit up, or she won't, and that'll be something else entirely.
But Minoth finds that he doesn't want to. There is a tremendous comfort in just sitting here, being wanted by two people who want each other, and whom he admits he wants quite desperately as well. To be given this space to just exist, and think, or not, as the spirit compels him.
To take as long as he wants, needs, to say something. Anything.
No one's waiting. All they're doing is waiting.
Minoth snakes his arm underneath Addam's and tucks it around Flora's waist. She nestles closer, now herself the cat. Nose down, breathe in the scent of her hair.
Peaceful. So peaceful.
No longer is talking an option - not real conversation, anyway. Maybe murmurs, mumbles. Maybe whispers.
Addam's hand appears, grasping Minoth's (that's right to left, and the loop is closed). Minoth can hear Addam sighing out through his nose, eyes lidded.
Well. So nobody's talking. That's alright. But is that also to say that Minoth can't...?
He moves his hand down, strokes Flora's hipbone with his thumb.
Something shifts, faster than anything had in the past fifteen minutes. It's Flora's head, jerking out of its hiding place to flick brilliant blue eyes up at him. Addam, too, is attentive, but he'd not been aware of the initial play, Minoth assumes.
Minoth matches the eye contact - it seems that body language is the order of the day, and nonverbal trust will carry them all through. But apprehension?
Flora stares back, and then her lips twich, and then she smiles with the corners and buries herself back into Minoth. He can feel her shaking- no, vibrating is more the right word.
How could anyone possibly be so happy about ending up with...him? Surely Flora isn't just so happy to get some. What else can Addam have been for, if this is such a big hoopla?
But then Addam is there, hand on Minoth's jaw (when their grip had come unmoored, he's not sure), and this, Minoth knows how to handle, straight off. This is his comfort zone: Addam's hunger and reassurances, Addam's confidence, Addam's hard lines and bold curves.
As the pressure from Addam's mouth against his deepens, Minoth instinctively pulls Flora closer to him, as if she'll be crushed by all that Addam wants and as if he's anyone to even think, nay dream, of protecting her.
Maybe it's too much, all at once, after all.
Addam pulls back, eventually, but he keeps close to Minoth's face, kissing the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his cheek, his jaw. And what of Flora?
"Minoth..."
It's the first thing anyone has said. And though Addam is the all-important binding (instigating) hinge, Minoth is indeed the intercessor, here, isn't he?
Addam pauses, chin hung over Minoth's collarbone, and they breathe, again.
"I don't know," Flora says, almost with the cadence of breathlessness, except that she's not, "I'm not sure why I feel so connected to you. It could be Addam's stories, but he's not so good at describing the way of a person, and he's so romantic about everyone, not just you, and-"
"And you smell wonderful," Addam puts in.
"Divine," agrees Flora.
Cologne, thinks Minoth, or maybe it's just perfume. I'm sure I'm not so singular a person as to have good hair and good pheromones to boot. But then, the cat didn't like me.
Since they've all become so bold, Flora stretches up to nuzzle her nose into Minoth's hair and run her fingers through it. She sighs, again like Addam, through the nose. Minoth cannot bear the thought of not holding her for a moment longer.
"Though it pains me greatly, I-"
"Don't say anything, please."
Minoth raises a brow at Addam, who has always been so, well, adamant in his expression of fervor for Minoth's bouts of volubility, but a little humor certainly doesn't hurt anything, now, does it?
So instead, Minoth kicks out a leg and points to his boot, then behind him to the bedroom. Addam's mouth drops open, softest circle, and his eyebrows tilt up to meet each other (not so fully as Minoth's do, but there's something to be said for the magnitude of emotion being displayed).
Now it's Flora's kisses on his cheek, gentle as butterflies but sure as songbirds. How does one remove oneself from a state like this - willing or unwillingly?
But they've got to try it, haven't they? They've got to disentangle eventually, one way or another.
There's something so disorienting about walking across a room with someone's hand in yours. Almost as if you're walking through a crowd, but the crowd's not there, and you bump into everything even though the furniture is placed much farther apart than cocktail tables at an unfamiliar party and what are you keeping each other safe from, here? It's much safer to hold together. Much safer never to draw apart.
What distortion, gravity? What displacement, grace?
Flora leads them past the barstools and the filing cabinet (why Addam doesn't have an office, Minoth has no idea, but Addam's much more organized with his clients' files than he is with his own belongings, so Minoth supposes it's a rather inconsequential setpiece) and the pile of nondescript merchandise one Mr. Origo is supposed to be handling, or moving, or selling, for his father (he's an accountant, not an auctioneer, isn't he...?) with a tacit acknowledgement that it's quite an awkward thing, but they've got to do it, and finally they arrive in the bedroom and Flora has no sooner perched on the corner of the bed than Addam has crawled on top of her and begun following her artless travail of motion back to the headboard, while they wait for Minoth to shuck his boots, as promised.
No one's stumbling over anything, except that Addam is at least a little stumbling in his efforts, but Minoth once again marvels at the fluidity of their trio's action, from enjoying silence together to stealing at each other's flushed face for kisses, touches, contact.
At last, Minoth wraps his arms around Flora and rolls over to lie supine with her atop his chest, heart heaving with the very thought.
Isn't this so very dangerous?
He flicks wary eyes to Addam, who's staring back, furtive.
"This is what you wanted," Minoth says, disbelieving.
"I wanted you to hold her...I couldn't possibly have ever described..."
Described to Flora, Minoth. His wit, his warmth, his strength.
Described to Minoth, Flora. Her wit, her warmth, her strength.
And as if Addam shares none of those traits?
Even sleepy, spent, Flora is feeling at the contours of Minoth's throat, jaw, ears.
"I don't know what it is," she repeats her sentiment of earlier. "But I'm not ashamed."
Addam takes one final deep breath, squeezing Minoth's hands where they're clutched over Flora's back.
"We are together now. I should hope that nothing could ever take us apart."
Not even midnight pancakes...? But that's a story for another time.
As Minoth's about to worry himself over logistics, and the fact that Addam's been doing a lot of sitting on the sidelines watching, it occurs to him that cuddling, with Addam, has never quite been his thing. Sleeping together, yes. Kissing and touching, yes. But not...not cradling something so precious in his arms.
Is it fair, though?
"You really don't mind?"
Addam shakes his head. "What's to mind? For the two of you to be this happy is all I could ever dream of."
A nodding motion comes from Flora. "It's not for counsel. It's what feels right. And what feels right to you, Minoth?"
She thinks she knows the answer. More than halfway, she does.
Fair. Fairness is only a consideration when you're not acting upon a principle of care and interdependence every moment of every day. When you're going to leave tomorrow, and text tepidly about hooking up the next weekend, or the next after that, and not live together, and not talk together, and not cherish, and not...
"I love you, Flora," whispers Minoth, and kisses her on the ear he'd whispered it into, and places his palm upon the crown of her lovely, lovely head as they fade for sleep.
The sun comes in from the left, instead of the right, in Addam's apartment, which is to say that in Minoth's apartment it doesn't really come in at all. Light falls upon Flora's hair, dark and shiny even through the mussing night, her face hidden in the curve of Minoth's neck. One prince's arm circles her waist, ever so gently, and the other is crooked at the elbow about Minoth's head.
Just the beginnings of sunshine. Just the promise of a new day. Just, thank god, the stillness of another few (no, maybe a couple, maybe just one, but few sounded best) hours without imperative to think, to contrive labels, to make speech.
Such pride, they must have had - to take him as he was, at all cost, which was none, and to insist, without having to prise an inch, that this was where he belonged.
written in memoriam for the great floraminoade deficit of 2023-2024