Page 63 of In the Frame

“You’re totally doing that on purpose,” I complain, gesturing at him as he pulls away from the curb. “Being so…”

“So…?”

“You. Which I do like, by the way. At least most of the time. Even if you’re doing something I really hate.”

“Well, let’s have some tea, and we can talk⁠—”

Which is about when I slide my hand onto his thigh, and I’m rewarded with his shiver. I keep my hand there. “I love talking,” I say breezily.

Florian coughs and keeps focused on the road as he navigates the streets. Which is when his phone rings, and he answers on speaker with a voice command. “Gabe? Is everything alright⁠—”

“No, everything’s not alright!” Gabriel sounds desperate and breathless.

Florian’s jaw tightens, as does his grip on the wheel. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m—I’m in Covent Garden somewhere—and everything’s too much, Florian. I don’t know where I am, and you’ve got to come get me, please!” Hysteria’s plain in his voice. In the background, we can hear traffic. “There’re too many people!”

“Breathe. Don’t move. What do you see around you?”

“I don’t know! I told you, Flo, Covent Garden! There’re restaurants and a sign about the Royal Opera House and fuck, I don’t know, did I say too many people⁠—”

“I’m on my way,” Florian says firmly, his jaw set. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Stay right where you are.”

“Okay.” He sounds panicked. “I need you, Florian⁠—”

“It’s going to be fine. Don’t hang up.”

Then there’s the sound of something like snuffling, and the line goes dead.

“Fucking hell,” Florian erupts and calls his brother back twice before he answers again.

“Sorry—sorry—I was just looking for tissues⁠—”

“Please don’t hang up. I’ll be there in five minutes. Are you staying put?”

“Yes.”

Before long, we pull up onto Bow Street, and Florian pulls into a loading zone. A tall man hurries over, looking distraught. He’s handsome, with dark hair like Florian’s, except his hair is longer and wavy and more stylish. He’s well-dressed and crying, which I can see when he slides into the back seat.

“Oh my God, Florian, I didn’t realize you have company, I’m so sorry—” He gulps down air, then turns to me, his hand on my shoulder. “I’m very sorry to interrupt whatever it is I’m interrupting. Of course you have a life—I’m so selfish⁠—”

“It’s okay,” I assure him quickly. “This is important. I mean, I have problems with anxiety, so I understand a little⁠—”

“Fuck, I’m really sorry.” Gabriel bursts into fresh tears.

“What happened?” Florian demands in a rush.

“I—I panicked⁠—”

“Were you out alone?” Florian presses. “Were you out with friends?”

“I—sort of? Lou—Lou ditched me.”

Which unleashes fresh tears.

“Fuck Lou, whoever they are. Okay. Breathe,” Florian tells him, glancing over his shoulder. “This is the plan. I’m going to drop my friend off at his place. Then we’re going back to mine. And you’ll tell me then what happened. Does that sound alright?”

“Yes,” says Gabriel, contrite. “I’m sorry, Flo. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”