Boots in a Flowerbed

20. Special Night

Kim is laughing so hard that he has to wrap arms around his midsection and lean against the wall. Chaim rolls his eyes, then shakes his head with a grin as Dalen opens the door and looks surprised.

"This young man," Chaim states pointing at Kim, "is drunk."

"Am not!" Kim protests. "You've had a lot more than me!"

Dalen smothers a smile as Chaim winks to him knowingly and follows Kim inside. "Indeed I have, in fact twice as much. All of four... glasses."

"No mocking!"

Kim pouts, but he can't keep it up for long. Okay, so Chaim has reason to jibe, he's far more giggly than a person has any right to be after the measly amount of wine he's had. But he's not used to alcohol, and even tonight he still might've refused to try, had not Chaim directed his most endearing 'little foal' look at him and declared that drinking water tonight, here, with this food, would equal pairing a thoroughbred 'Demieni racehorse with a donkey. Thus Kim has given in, and to his surprise he's found that the taste of wine actually pleases him. He has liked its slightly sour, metallic feel on his tongue, and the way in which it has combined with the fish he's chosen to eat. And its side effects have not been too unpleasant, either.

This is the first time he's gone publicly out with Chaim. He's donned the suit that has mysteriously appeared in his wardrobe some time ago, tried to comb his curls back, grimaced in despair at his reflection, decided that his hair has a life of its own, then panted for a while at seeing Chaim at his door.

He's surprised himself by still agreeing to go after he's seen them both in the large mirror in the hall. They certainly haven't gone out wishing not to be seen. Nobody could've possibly failed to notice them, Chaim in his cream white suit over a ruby red vest, with Kim glowing like a violet-blue jewel beside him. And have they turned heads - but for once Kim has felt oddly reckless. Oh, he's seen the stares but just walked on, head held high. Let them think what they will.

Kim remembers hearing that the menus of truly grand restaurants never show prices; it would be too vulgar, as if the people needed to see if they could afford the dishes or not. The menu he's looked at tonight was a work of art, meticulously hand-typed on wonderful decorated paper and clasped inside velvet covers. And no mention of prices anywhere within sight. In fact Kim hasn't seen Chaim handle money at any point. He frowns a little in thought. How does it work? Has he ever seen Chaim with real, tangible cash?

"Still awake?"

"Huh?" Kim is startled out of reverie.

"Are you so tired that you're ready to drop, or will you still join me for a glass?" Chaim lifts an elegant dark green bottle. It looks interesting, but Kim is not sure if he should. Or rather, he's sure that he shouldn't. But he's reckless tonight.

"What's that?"

"This is genuine Timaschel." Chaim smiles. "For very special occasions."

"Is this a very special occasion?" Kim is curious against his will.

"Yes," Chaim says softly.

"Why? Because we've been out to dine?"

"We've been out to dine because this is a special occasion," Chaim corrects. He picks up two slender, flute-shaped glasses and hands them to Kim, then puts a towel over the bottle. "Now let's see if I'm still any good..." He takes a good hold of the bottle and begins to slowly twist the cork.

"What special occasion?" Kim watches, mesmerized. Chaim's expression is concentrated, his grip of the towel tight. Then his eyes narrow expectantly and Kim hears a muted pop.

Chaim grins. The bottle is open, mist floats out of it, and when he pours sparkling liquid into the glasses, foam almost climbs over the sides. "Oops..." Chaim fills the glasses, takes one for himself and puts the bottle into a rotund cooler on the table before turning again.

Kim is hardly able to breathe. Chaim is standing so close, towering above him, smiling a little. Their glasses touch together with a quiet clink, then they both take a sip at the same time.

It tastes even sharper and more metallic than white wine, crisp little bubbles explode on Kim's tongue and tickle his nose. It's good. But Kim still doesn't know what Chaim means. He takes another mouthful and looks up into rich brown eyes.

Chaim's smile deepens. "Today, it's exactly a year since the morning when I woke up on a park bench after an exceptionally dull and brainless party, from which I'd left on foot rather early, and someone told me that I should move my boots out of his flowers."

Kim swallows as Chaim bows closer.

"And I wanted to thank you for the best year in my life."

His lips brush on Kim's, light as a butterfly, and before Kim has time to even gasp, they are gone. Chaim steps back, lifts his glass to drink, looks at something over it. Kim stares at him for a moment, then forces air once more into his lungs.

"Good night," he manages before fleeing to his room.

But he doesn't forget to drink the rest of his Timaschel before crawling to bed.