Ty sat at the library table and tried to concentrate on his book. It wasn't Sherlock, not even close, but it was still a mystery, and Ty still tried to read it. But his mind was racing. This never happened. Reading had always been such a simple task for him, an easy one to get absorbed into. But today was different, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering. To Livvy. To Kit.
It had been almost six months since what happened to Livvy, well, happened, and Ty in the past week hadn't broken down once. Which, in comparison to all the other long weeks, is a huge accomplishment. And Ty can't help but think Kit had something to do with it. Kit had been patient with him, let him scream, let him cry, let him destroy things even. But never did he leave Ty's side.
It felt as if Kit were the only light in the world of darkness he was surrounded by, being suffocated with. And Ty was just now starting to realize how special Kit really was to him.
Many months ago Kit told Ty that he would miss him. Kit. Would miss Ty. It made Ty want to hide his face, want to giggle, want to cover his cheeks so no one would notice that they've gone red.
He tried again to focus on the words on the page. It really wasn't a bad book, good even. But Kit was a fierce competitor for Ty's attention. Most things wouldn't win that battle. Maybe not even Sherlock.
He didn't know what was happening, though. Why did his heart flutter when he thought of Kit's shoulder rubbing against his? Was this what a crush felt like? He's never had one, certainly not for girls anyway.
Sometimes, in bed, he'd imagine himself as Sherlock, working late as he so often did, and Watson coming in to help work the case out, piece by piece. And of course one thing would lead to another and somehow Sherlock, or Ty I guess, wound up atop Watson on the table nibbling at his ear, and biting at his neck, everything previously on the table thrown on the floor.
"Ty?"
Ty's breath caught, and he again tried to focus on reading. Wait. No, he should respond, that was polite, and that's what anyone else would have done.
"What are you reading?" Kit asked before Ty could say anything else.
"A Mystery. Murder on the Orient Express, by Agatha Christie."
"Agatha Christie, she's like a big deal, right?"
"I guess so," Ty held back his history lesson on Agatha Christie.
"But she doesn't hold a candle to Arthur Conan Doyle," Kit said with confidence.
"Hold a candle?"
"Oh, sorry, right. This saying actually has an interesting back story that I just so happen to know," Kit looked at Ty like he was expecting him to be impressed. Ty just stared at Kit with his eyebrows drawn together, eager to hear what Kit had to say. "Back in the olden days a workers assistant or apprentice, I suppose, would hold a candle to their seniors as they worked to aid them in even such a tiny way. This was considered a pretty low and insignificant job. So if Agatha Christie doesn't even hold a candle to Doyle's work that means she's far inferior, below even the apprentice."
"Oh." Ty said, obviously still thinking. "But that's not true."
"What?"
"Agatha Christie, in most peoples opinion, is equal to Arthur Conan Doyle in merit."
"Well, not my opinion."
Ty stopped for only a second then said, "Yeah, me neither."
They both smiled at each other.
"So, the book. Is it good?" Kit asked.
Ty could tell he was trying to distract him, keep him happy, but Ty willingly took the bait, "It's good, but I'd rather be talking to you," and he closed the book.
Kit looked taken aback and Ty didn't understand why, he was just telling the truth. "Well, good. Because I'm bored, and while watching you read is fun and all, I'd rather be talking." Kit stopped and then looked as if he remembered something, "To you. Talking to you."
"I'm glad you're here, Kit. You've been very nice these past months. Not just nice, a lot more than just nice."
"I'll always stand by your side, Ty. No matter what. Even if you tell me to leave, I'd stay. That's what friends are for."
"I would never ask you to leave," Ty confirmed.
"Well, good. That makes things easier."
And before Ty could stop himself he slid his fingers across the table and into Kit's. Kit looked startled but then grasped his back. First he squeezed Ty's hand, but then he eased back and started to rub his thumb on the back of the other boys hand in rhythmic circles.
Ty closed his eyes, feeling as if he were about to melt and hoping that, if he did, Kit would scoop him up and hold him close. It was easy to get lost in Kit's touch, Ty realized.
And with startling intensity, Ty realized something else. That this wasn't a crush, this was more. Much, much, more.
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