Staas actually had to laugh a little at that. It wasn't completely joyless, though it was far from his normal exuberant giggle. "Tea would be good," he said, rubbing at his eye with a fist, making him look like a sleepy child, "but I'll get it." He reached over and flipped the electric kettle on, then moved to the teapot and rinsed it out before adding more leaves to it. The ritualistic motions actually did much to soothe.
"It's stupid," he said, finally voicing what he'd been thinking. They both still stood in the kitchen, Staas with his hip against the cupboards, staring into nothing. "I know it's stupid. It's been fourteen years, and I've grieved and all. I mean, I'm okay. Sometimes I just . . ." He didn't even know how to finish that sentence, and he just shrugged.
"I know most people wouldn't understand. That I loved him as much as I did. That I tried to love him like he loved me." He actually grinned as he remembered some of the attempts, both the good and the horribly awkward. He sent the grin to Ira and put a lascivious edge to it, totally on purpose, teasing himself and lightening the mood, making it easier to talk about it. "And when I say tried, I do mean tried." He waggled his eyebrows. "We had some good times along the way."
But then he sighed and shook his head, crossing one foot over the other. "But I just wasn't gay. Or bi. I couldn't be, not even for him. The thought of doing everything was just too much, and I had to tell him." His toes scratched at his ankle. "I think he still loved me, even after all that. But he never said it again."
The kettle clicked off and Staas retrieved it and poured the water into the pot, watching as it mixed with the leaves, turning brown. "Sometimes I wonder if that made it worse. His inner stuff. The stuff he took drugs to deal with or forget or whatever. His parents and being gay and closeted and being considered a failure by his family and maybe I was in there somewhere too. And I hate that."
He put the lid on the teapot and set it on its stand; the whole set had been inherited from his mother, who'd inherited it from his omi. He set the timer on the microwave for six minutes, and leaned against the counter again, worrying at his lip.