This is the revised version of Attraction

I almost expected Tom to give me a tour of the apartment, but it seemed he had better things to do. Without a word, he turned a corner and left me alone in the hallway. Not entirely sure how to respond, I dropped my bags by the wall and wondered whether I was supposed to remove my shoes or not. I hadn't adopted the American custom of walking inside with shoes just yet, even if I'd had months of practice.

Opting to keep my sneakers on, I peeked around the corner to the sound of a cupboard closing. There wasn't a door to the kitchen, but there was a doorway. I preferred open style flats with a kitchen and living room together, but the rest of the place made up for that little defect. The place was spacious with a high ceiling and large windows, but I loved the dark parquet the most. Together with the white walls, it gave off a modern feel even though the house must have been over a century old.

My eyes bulged when I saw a fleeting glance of the view from the living room. This place would have cost a fortune in Stockholm, and probably even more here. How the heck did he afford this place?

"Do you want some water?" Tom emerged from the kitchen with two glasses in hand. Ice clinked against the sides, and I instantly felt a wave of thirst. It was a warm day, and the city always made it ten times worse with the fumes of cars and stale air. Besides, the tension between the two of us didn't help.

"Thanks." I guzzled down the chilled water faster than what might be socially acceptable. If I'd been bolder, I might even have let some of it slip from my lips. I snorted at the thought. A lot of things that were depicted as "sexy" weren't the least bit sexy in real life, water running all over your face included.

"Do you want some lunch before we head over to pick up your things?"

I tilted my head and tilted it back the moment I noticed what I was doing. He asked a reasonable question, but as always, I reacted in the most illogical way. We'd already decided that I would live here, and that we would bring my stuff over, so why was did it feel like such a big deal?

"I'm up for whatever. I'm not that hungry." It was true. We hadn't eaten in a while, but my stomach was in knots rather than hunger pains.

"Might as well get it over with then. I'll be back in a minute." Tom shrugged out of his suit jacket and folded it neatly over his arm as he headed toward the hallway again. I wondered if that hallway also led to some kind of bedroom, and if there were two of them or just one. That little detail had gone by unanswered.

It was probably a good idea to leave to get my belongings before things got even more awkward between us. Doing something that didn't involve too much thinking had to be a positive.

I walked around the living room while waiting for Tom to emerge, touching the furniture with a strange fascination. The centerpiece of the room was the huge, thin, curved TV screen. I had to admit that it was kind of impressive even if it also spoke volumes about Tom in ways that I hadn't expected at all. A game console of some kind stood on the white bench below the screen. I'd had a period in my life when I played Halo almost every day with a guy I'd had a crush on, but that was years and years ago. The guy was of course straight, but my teenage hormones hadn't listened to reason. In the end, his rejection had put me off playing video games entirely.

A few paintings graced the white walls, but they were all realistic enough to resemble photographs. I read the signature on one of them. I couldn't read the name, but I could read the year 69. I took a step back and studied the painting again. Whoever had done it must have been quite skilled. The car looked amazing, actually.

"Let's go." Tom's voice pulled me away from my fleeting thoughts.

I almost froze as I turned my head. For the first time ever, he wore something other than a suit, and the black T-shirt hugged all the right muscles perfectly—not too much, and not too little. He was hot. Way too hot for my sanity.

"Sure. I just have to get rid of some drool."

He eyed me and shook his head, but I could see there was a hint of a trace of a smile—to be fair, it wasn't more than that, but it was definitely there. "You can wash up in there." He pointed over his shoulder.

I pulled my lips into a smile. It was easier to write off my reaction to him as attraction rather than attachment. Attraction was less dangerous.

****

The traffic became less heavy as we drove east, but it still took us an unreasonable amount of time to reach the place I'd never learned to call home. I was glad to finally be rid of it, but I was also a bit worried about finding a new apartment if it didn't work out with Tom.

"Pull over here." I pointed at a spot not far from the entrance.

"Why didn't you tell me you don't live where I usually pick you up? We could have asked Chris and Dante to help us." He sounded pissy, and I had no idea why.

"It's not a lot of boxes. I'm sure we can handle it."

Tom clenched his fingers around the steering wheel, staring out the windshield "This is the last place I want to leave the car unsupervised."

Oh.

I peered out of the window. He had a point. "I can go get my shit." I didn't really want him inside, anyway. The place was rather unpleasant, and my roommates were not fit for nice company.

"No. I'll help. It's faster that way." He got out of the car in a way that brokered no argument. I followed suit and regretted that I'd left the car at all. At least the vehicle had a working AC. It was unbearable beneath the sun. My pale skin would scream tonight if we stayed out in this.

The mess was a given even before reaching the apartment. The stairwell smelled like someone had been drinking a bit too much and decided to leave a pizza to stew in the sun. I almost apologized for the inconvenience until I realized that it was pointless. He knew I wasn't to blame since I'd been with him the entire night.

Clutching my keys, I stared at the ring on my finger. It was still there.

I stalled long enough with the keys in my hand in front of the door that Tom noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I got to work, fitting the metal key with some fiddling. The lock was old and usually less than accommodating. Once when I'd been drunk off my ass, my roommates had found me outside in the morning, key in hand. It hadn't been my proudest moment, but I blamed the lock.

I stumbled over the trash on the way in. "Oh, for fuck's sake." I shoved it away with my shoe and stalked into the kitchen, forgetting to invite Tom in my annoyed state. "Rody, why is there trash on the floor?" No reply. "Damn it. I thought they could help us watch the car perhaps."

Turning toward my small room, I waved for Tom. "Don't mind the mess...please?" It was embarrassing to have him see the ruins I'd lived in for the last two months. I wasn't the neatest person around, but I definitely had my limits. Trash on the floor, clutter everywhere and dirty dishes all over the sink was beyond that limit. I'd been away for two days, and that was enough to make it ten times worse.

My room was a welcome haven, messy, but not overly so. I'd packed most of my stuff, but not all of it since I hadn't expected to move the day after the wedding. "I'll be quick. Maybe you should go to the car after all."

Tom surveyed the room like he surveyed everything. It looked like he was cataloging everything for future reference even if it wasn't important.

"You're bringing plates?" he asked when I folded torn paper around one of my favorite possessions. Okay, so maybe it wasn't a favorite possession, but it happened to be quite dear to me.

"Yes. I have a lot of stuff I want to bring. Can't just leave it here." I studied the piles. A lot of it wouldn't be of much use at Tom's place. He probably had enough china and cutlery already.

He frowned and picked up a ceramic cup. "Where did you get all these?"

"Thrift stores around the neighborhood." It's one of my past time pleasures.

"Thrift stores?"

"Yes, I love them. You have some decent ones here. But in Stockholm, we seem to have one around every corner. It's amazing. I love old things to match with new. Gotta keep it authentic instead of all this IKEA crap." I kicked the bedside table that had about as much charisma as a flat tire.

Tom didn't look convinced when he placed the cup back on the side table. "Not sure we have room for all this."

A strange sense of possessiveness washed over me. These were my things, and even if they didn't mean anything to him, they sure as hell meant something to me. Was I supposed to simply go along and move into a home that had nothing of mine in it?

My shoulders tensed until I managed to calm down. "Do you have somewhere we can store it?"

"Yes, there's storage in the basement."

All my beautiful things would be hidden from the world. I ran my thumb over the colorful ceramic. "Can I keep these in the flat at least?"

He took a second too long to answer. "Yes. Bring whatever you like inside. We can sort it through later if it's too much."

Warmth bubbled up from my chest and flushed my cheeks. It was stupid of me to care so much, but the concession moved me in the wrong freaking direction. I wasn't supposed to fall further for this guy. I couldn't.

****

The Bentley had survived, and the move itself had gone without a hitch after that first initial struggle. The day had flown past and Tom was stirring something up in the kitchen while I began the slow task of unwrapping all the newspaper from cups and glasses and whatnot. Some of it went right back into the boxes, because honestly, I didn't need all of it to feel at home.

I grinned when I found the weird metal sculpture I'd bought off a homeless guy. It looked like he'd used scraps of metal to create it, but I loved how quirky it was. If you squinted, you could picture a clown. I placed it in the window next to a fake plant. It was hard to see that it was fake at first, and I had to touch the petals to be sure. It was rather sad that he didn't have any real plants—it spoke of loneliness somehow.

"Are you done?" Tom asked, carrying a steaming pot through the room.

"Not yet, but I'm getting there."

"You said you liked pasta, right?" Tom walked over to the round dinner table standing in one corner of the living room. I stared at the display, surprised that he'd made the table like a stealthy ninja—because I hadn't noticed a thing—and surprised that he'd used my plates. They looked a bit out of place together with the delicate wine glasses, but I loved the contrast.

"Yes. Definitely."

He was confusing. So very confusing. I knew it was common courtesy to want your guests to enjoy the food, but that he'd picked up that little piece of information and remembered it felt momentous. In fact, all the understated gestures transformed me into a pile of goo. He wasn't even trying, and that was the worst part.

The pasta carbonara tasted divine. It was a simple enough dish, but he'd done it with flair. He held the bottle of wine above my glass and eyed me for confirmation. I gave him a small nod, almost happy that he hadn't made it a verbal question. For once, I was rendered speechless.

I sipped the white wine and rolled it around on my tongue. It was a nice one, giving just the right kind of sour tinge to complement the smoky bacon.

We ate mostly in silence, but as long as we had something on our respective plates, I wasn't too concerned. When we were both done, though, the tension built to dangerous levels. I had to talk. I just had to.

"So, we should probably get to know each other."

Tom stalled by pouring more wine into his glass. "Yes." The reply was reluctant.

"So, where are you from? Have you always lived here?"

"No. I'm from Virginia." He said it as if that would explain everything, but I knew very little about the state. I wasn't even sure where it was located. South perhaps?

"What's it like?"

"I left it, didn't I?" He leaned back in his chair. I wasn't sure if that was a sign to keep asking, or if he was telling me to back off.

"Is your family still there?"

The slightest scrunch of his nose gave him away. I was definitely backing off. In fact, I was surprised when he replied, "Yes."

"Okay." I picked at the napkin, thinking of what to ask next.

"What about your family, are they still in Sweden?" Tom cocked his head, again taking me by surprise. Of course, I should have expected him to ask, especially since I asked first.

"Sort of." I glanced out of the large windows, watching the cityscape without seeing. It should have been easy to tell him, but I was already struggling not to be vulnerable in front of him. Talking about my family definitely wouldn't help. I dreaded pity.

He seemed to pick up on my reluctance, which made me wonder if we perhaps had more in common than we thought. Families were tricky things, after all.

"I have an early morning tomorrow," Tom said, collecting his plate from the table.

"Sure. Ehm..." I wasn't sure how to approach it, but the subject had to be settled at some point. "Where do I sleep?"

"I'll sleep on the couch."

Anyone could have figured out that we wouldn't sleep in the same bed, but I hadn't expected him to claim the sofa—that was just plain wrong.

"No, I'll take the sofa."

"You're the guest, and I'll end up disturbing you when I leave. I'll take the couch." It didn't sound like the start of a discussion.

Guest.

That shouldn't have affected me at all, but it did.

He took my silence as affirmative, leaving the table with dishes piled on his plate. I looked down and realized that he'd taken mine as well.

****

His bedroom held the same characteristics as the rest of the apartment. It was neat, mostly grayscale and everything appeared to be high-quality furniture. The windows were similar to those in the living room, which meant that more than a few could peek inside if they wanted to. Thick, dark curtains framed the sides, however, and the first thing I did was to pull them closed.

"Some fresh linen." Tom threw them on the bed and seemed to be contemplating whether to leave or to help. The way he shifted his weight gave away his discomfort.

"I can take care of it. Thanks."

He nodded and backed away, leaving me to deal with all this strangeness on my own. I made the bed, found some clothes to sleep in and piled the rest of my bags in a corner of the room. He hadn't said I could use any of his wardrobes, so the floor would have to do for now. In fact, he hadn't said all that much through the entire day. I wasn't sure if I had expected him to be more verbal when he was at home, but he'd finally made me silent as well.

I slumped on the bed, feeling it dip beneath me. It wasn't like me to be silent and broody, but it was too late to change the course of the evening. He'd be leaving tomorrow for the tour, which made it all worse. I wouldn't see him for a few days, living in his apartment like a guest while he wasn't around. That would be weird as fuck.

The city sounds never paused, but as I snuggled down beneath the sheets, they were quiet enough to disregard. I stared at the empty ceiling, wondering if I could have done anything different to make him more talkative. I wanted to know him better, and I could have asked so many other questions about things that didn't have to do with his past. I could have searched for common interests. I could have asked him what he liked to do. I could have tried.

I lay awake for hours, trying to process everything that had happened, trying to understand if I'd done the right thing to say yes to this weird arrangement. I clearly imposed on Tom's life. My judgment had been beyond clouded at first because I was attracted to him, but that first mindless enthusiasm was slowly turning into a starker reality.

I churned thoughts over and over until I couldn't even stand myself. This wasn't me. I was the guy who flirted outrageously, who didn't care what others thought, and who didn't give up without a fight. The truth was that I was awake because I was thinking about the person missing in the bed.

I rose and forced myself to walk on tired, unsteady legs. If he wasn't awake, I would grab some water and try to calm down in some other way. The bedroom door squeaked on its hinges, making me wince before I continued through the hallway.

The warm light from the numerous windows across the city cast a strange glow over the living room. I hadn't even thought of the fact that he didn't have blinds here. I felt an instant pang of guilt for stealing his bed, even if he'd insisted in the first place.

He shifted on the sofa, and I stood completely still when he opened his eyes. Without a word, I padded barefoot across the hardwood floor and offered my hand. It was a simple gesture but clear enough. Either he would take it, or he wouldn't. I was bared, vulnerable as hell, but he didn't have to know that little detail.

"I can't sleep."

My offered hand remained alone, but he sat up on the couch, revealing his naked torso as the sheet fell to his hips. I ached to touch, but I had to wait for him to give me a sign. Any sign.

His hand was a lot warmer than mine, squeezing gently. I couldn't believe it.

With my heart beating loud and fast, I led him back to the bedroom, breaking and healing with each step—so confused that I wondered if I was dreaming this entire exchange. Even if that was a possibility, I didn't care. This moment was meant to be treasured and remembered. Perhaps regretted, but not now.

We settled, and despite the warmth, I scooted closer until I rested in his arms. Eyes closed, I listened to his breathing, feeling his chest heave with soothing regularity.

Content, I decided that it was time to sleep.

A/N I received a whole batch of wonderful fan art from @mzblue222 <3 thank you so much! Here's one of them. Also, did you notice that I posted the first chapter of Magnetic together with a chance to win a copy of it? Go check out my profile and you'll find it :)