Word Count: 1120

The look of disappointment on Paris’s face was almost painful.

“But we have our fall show that Friday!” he exclaimed.

He’d stopped moving around the living-room the moment Chris had dropped his little bombshell, dressed in a black leotard and pale, pale pink tights with matching pointes, and a flimsy looking light blue skirt, his hair held tightly back in a perfect bun to leave his face looking fresh and open, and a tambourine clasped in one of his hands as he practiced. His eyes were wide and bright, silently begging, and he stood looking sad and helpless with his mouth twisted into a troubled frown. It took all of Chris’s willpower to keep staring him in the face as he made his excuses.

“I know,” he said, “but my grandmother invited us and after I skipped out on Thanksgiving last year it just seems kind of rude not to go up.”

“You were injured over Thanksgiving,” Paris mumbled morosely before adding, “And Peter was a cat.”

“I know,” he said again, “but I agreed to this before I even remembered what weekend it was, and I can’t really back out now after everything.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but he was kind of banking on Paris being a little too disappointed by the fact that he wouldn’t be around to watch his performance to notice that he was trying to get a little white lie passed him (which he probably wouldn’t have been able to do under normal circumstances because Paris was rather perceptive and he was a crap liar to begin with).

The truth was he’d planned this purposefully, had called his parents for their approval, and then his grandparents to enlist their help, since he couldn’t exactly touch his trust fund money until he got out of college, and the money he was making out of his scholarship wasn’t nearly enough for him to be able to afford what he wanted. Paris’s fall show was simply a way of keeping Paris in Destiny City while Chris went up to Boston to set things in motion with a “friend of the family” (a “friend” only because his grandparents had spent a lot of money on similar items before and were therefore cherished customers).

As much as it made Chris feel like a d**k, it was something he had to do if he wanted to follow through with his developing plan. He couldn’t just tell Paris what he was up to, not unless he wanted Paris to start freaking out. He wanted to keep it a secret for as long as possible, hopefully until the very end. He didn’t know if that was the best idea when he considered some of the things Paris had said about the subject before, but he was a bit too busy formulating the first part of his plan to worry yet about what would happen after, and the more Paris knew the less likely Chris would be able to manage it successfully.

“Peter’s not going to come,” Chris told him. “Mom was wondering if you’d look after him. I’ll have him record it for me so I can still see it, and your mom’s going to be there, isn’t she? She’ll have a camera, too.”

“But it’s not the same,” Paris complained. Then he pouted.

Chris almost caved and agreed to stay.

“I’ll be back on Sunday,” he tried.

“But you’ve never missed any of my shows before. Not since last year,” Paris argued, looking pitiful. His eyes weren’t wet, but he definitely seemed genuinely upset.

“I know, but that’s because nothing else has ever come up before,” Chris reasoned.

Paris didn’t look mollified, even if Chris was sure he understood.

“My grandparents wanted you to come, too, but I know you can’t…” Chris tried again. “So… did you maybe want to go up with me on Thanksgiving? They really want to meet you. Mom’s told them all about you.”

“Go up to Boston?” Paris wondered, suddenly looking a bit stricken, like the thought was a frightening one to him.

“Yeah, I think you’ll like it. And my grandparents aren’t anything like the rest of my family. You’ve mostly met my mom’s side and they’re kind of…” he trailed off so he wouldn’t end up saying something rude. “Uh… well, my dad’s side isn’t usually like that. I mean, some of them are, but my grandparents are very… uh… they leave an impression, I guess.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good!” Chris reassured him when Paris began to look skeptical. “I promise they’ll love you. Especially Nana. She’s been bugging me to bring you up for months.”

“And you’re going there to… what?”

“Because they want to see me.”

“That’s it?” Paris asked, mildly suspicious. “Why can’t they come down here?”

“They’re kind of old, Paris,” Chris said by way of explanation, and nearly winced at the response he would have gotten from his grandmother if she’d heard him say that. “Traveling is kind of… exhausting… or something like that. They like to stay in place and let everyone else come to them.”

For a minute Paris looked like he would argue more. He continued to pout and shifted from one slipper-clad foot to the other and looked off to the side to try and hide how upset he was. Then he was stepping forward to slide his arms around Chris’s waist and lean into his chest. Chris lifted his arms to circle them around him and held on tightly.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, and though he was the one to orchestrate this ploy, he still meant the apology. He might not always understand the things Paris did or really get all the things his boyfriend liked about ballet, but he enjoyed watching him all the same. He liked to see Paris enjoying himself, feeling good about himself, and succeeding at the things he loved doing.

“I know you’ll be great,” he added. “You’ve been practicing every day.”

“I’ll still miss you,” Paris replied dolefully.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

For a little while they just stood there holding one another. Chris didn’t want to break away until Paris was ready, and Paris didn’t seem inclined to let go of him any time soon. A tiny little inkling of worry and guilt began to take over, leading Chris to momentarily reconsider, but if he didn’t do this now he’d never have the opportunity again.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said, running a hand through Paris’s hair.

Paris leaned against him heavily but shook his head. “You don’t have to,” he mumbled against Chris’s shirt. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it.”

“I will anyway,” Chris countered.

A million times over.