The hunt for the box had paled, in Endymion’s eyes, against this story about gifting out rings that didn’t mean the usual thing at all – and even that mystery deepened when Gus added but we’re both in love with other people.
His eyes widened before he could help himself, brow furrowed in surprise. Hadn’t he just asked Gus if he were thinking of marrying, and hadn’t Gus just laughed that off? And now he was in love with someone? Everything in Endymion was itching to air the new questions on the tip of his tongue, which were obviously you’re in love? and with whom?, but he could tell Gus hadn’t meant to say it, and had already been uncomfortable with the topic – he had heard it in his laugh – and although this new mystery was already maddening to him, Gus did have another, er, point there.
Endymion’s hand was burning. “Oh, right, the box,” Endymion exclaimed, his mind taking a moment or two to catch up with all this, while his hand sizzled against the lid of it – he tossed it, instinctively, in a gentle arc so that it landed with a clatter on the floor between them, and shook his blistering hand about. The burning was still less of a priority than imagining what had kept Gus and whoever he loved apart, if he couldn’t even think of marrying them – but Endymion let it go, at least for the moment and laughed in surrender. “Well,” he agreed with a grin, bearing the box no ill-will for its attempts to barbecue off his palm, “it does look that way.” (A mystery for Gus to solve this summer – and, indeed, a new mystery for him to muse on.)
His eyes widened before he could help himself, brow furrowed in surprise. Hadn’t he just asked Gus if he were thinking of marrying, and hadn’t Gus just laughed that off? And now he was in love with someone? Everything in Endymion was itching to air the new questions on the tip of his tongue, which were obviously you’re in love? and with whom?, but he could tell Gus hadn’t meant to say it, and had already been uncomfortable with the topic – he had heard it in his laugh – and although this new mystery was already maddening to him, Gus did have another, er, point there.
Endymion’s hand was burning. “Oh, right, the box,” Endymion exclaimed, his mind taking a moment or two to catch up with all this, while his hand sizzled against the lid of it – he tossed it, instinctively, in a gentle arc so that it landed with a clatter on the floor between them, and shook his blistering hand about. The burning was still less of a priority than imagining what had kept Gus and whoever he loved apart, if he couldn’t even think of marrying them – but Endymion let it go, at least for the moment and laughed in surrender. “Well,” he agreed with a grin, bearing the box no ill-will for its attempts to barbecue off his palm, “it does look that way.” (A mystery for Gus to solve this summer – and, indeed, a new mystery for him to muse on.)
