Theo was gently roused from a particularly restful night’s sleep by a thin stream of sunlight escaping through the space where the curtains were drawn. His first conscious breath of the morning quickly reminded him that that he had spent the night in an unfamiliar room. He swiftly propped himself up to survey the place, wincing as he cruelly exposed his neck and shoulders to the slight chill of the room that lay outside of the fortress of warmth created by the duvet and by the body of his slumbering bedfellow. His jolting movement had disturbed his companion.
A muffled Bonjour escaped from the crumpled sheets as a small head of wiry, blond hair turned to reveal a face, that, though clearly wrought with sleep, bore a welcoming smile. He snuggled closer to his guest, the latter adjusting his body to suit. Bonjour, Maxime, Theo responded, also beaming, an attempt to find within himself, a smile whose exuberance would equally reciprocate his host’s.
He had survived the night.
The little dormitory was slightly stuffy, due to the window having been shut and the curtains closed, but it was not at all unbearable: the place smelled of glossy textbook pages, plastic furniture and the wood of the bed frame, not very much unlike Theo’s own apartment.
T’as bien dormi?¹ asked Maxime, now fully opening his eyes and attempting to sit upright, clearly unbothered by the autumn chill against his bare torso.
Oui, merci. Et toi?
Oui, he responded, after a brief stretch, now fully upright and hovering over Theo, who had sunk back into the comfortable warmth of the duvet. Maxime leaned in, his guest moving forward to meet him halfway for a brief but passionate smooch as he made his way over Theo and out of the bed. Theo’s eyes followed his host, wrinkling his eyebrows in mild annoyance as if to ask him where he was going.
J’vais aux toilettes, Maxime said, almost instinctively, as he fished through the mess of bedclothes for a pair of shorts. He dragged on a faded dark green t-shirt hanging on the sole chair at his desk, flicking the light switch on as he hurriedly added a J’arrive�™before making his way down the short, narrow passageway toward the door, closing it decidedly behind him.
Theo heard the click of the latch and started fishing for his own briefs, awkwardly slipping them on without emerging from under the duvet, preempting Maxime’s return and the awkwardness that he’d feel being naked while his guest was clothed.
He finally decided to brave the chill and reach for his phone which was left charging on the desk all night. He scanned the list of new messages: a couple from back home, one from a fellow Trinidadian friend in the same time zone; he checked in with her quickly, letting her know that he was alright and that he’d see her later that morning.
Theo peered at the white walls of the room, sparsely covered with vacation photos and a series of post-its inscribed with upcoming submission dates along with lecture notes which reminded him of his own assignments that needed to be taken care of over the following few days. His workload, though not overwhelming, was still a fairly taxing in its own right: there were books that needed to be read and essays that subsequently needed to be written.
He put the thoughts of work aside to mentally review the events of the previous night: his train had arrived just before midnight and a brief phone call allowed him and Maxime to find each other near the intended metro stop. He’d used the ride to scan the appearance of his would-be host for the night, his silent gaze confirming the details that earlier photos had represented and absorbing the details that photos could not. Up to that point, he was pleased with what he had seen and hoped that he wouldn’t be disappointed, that he hadn’t left his assignments unfinished and his warm apartment unattended in vain. What work would I have even done at this hour? he consoled himself.
Theo took another long look around the little room and in his host’s absence, his imagination began to take flight: he pictured himself, like the characters of the novels on his reading list, lounging, half-dressed, in a sumptuously furnished ancien régime sitting room, soaking in the satisfaction of the most recent illicit amorous encounter, the occurrence of which, if learned by the wrong party, could cause both host and guest to become shrouded in shame and bandied about for months to come.
The bland white walls, suddenly higher and broader, were painted in rose pink; the post-its and lecture notes became detailed oil paintings of pastoral scenes and ancient mythology; the short, plain curtains became rich, flowing burgundy drapery, embroidered with a design to match the gilded windows and the bed, whose size increased three times, was suddenly heaped with downy pillows, whose colour naturally matched that of the drapery.
Theo was pleased with himself; he felt liberated. The little details in Maxime’s affectionate gestures, so characteristically French, they were refreshing, along with the breathtaking anonymity of being a foreigner in a new country, filled him with an enlivening sense of abandon; Theo relished this novel openness that made the embraces lengthier and more attentive, the glances less fleeting, the meetings more relaxed and the time pass less quickly.
The stream of sunlight was now hitting him almost directly in his eyes and he could hear the low hum of the students below as they began shuffling towards their first classes for the morning. As he rose to close the gap in the curtain, the door behind him softly creaked; Maxime reentered, bearing his familiar welcoming smile. This time, Theo didn’t have to search a range of possible responses to find a grin for his host; his mouth spread into a gentle smile on its own.
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