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“Here, I found some old photos that might entertain you,” Heahmund announced, handing one over to Ivory.
The photo itself was rather battered and wrinkled, a group shot in which several people’s heads were firmly X’d out with black marker. Ivory was about to make a snarky comment about that, but then he caught sight of a slender young man with a cocky grin, resting his arm on someone’s shoulder. He was angled to display his outfit proudly—some weird old thing Marie Antoinette’s boyfriends probably wore, in extremely bright colors. His hair was white, short and curled close to his head.
“This is you?” Ivory checked. “Wow, you were hot!”
“’Were.’ Thank you,” Heahmund replied, rolling his eyes. He felt decidedly uncomfortable sharing even snippets of his past, but Ivory had been very curious.
“You’re still hot,” the boy assured him cheekily, scooting closer on the couch. “But a better dresser now.”
“It was a fancy dress party,” Heahmund clarified, just in case the teen thought this was really how people dressed in the 1990s.
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen or nineteen.”
“Are you wearing make-up?” Ivory wanted to know.
“Probably.” Idly Heahmund rubbed the back of Ivory’s neck, toying with the ends of his braids, which were far more interesting to him than staring at the photo and any memories it churned up.
Ivory studied the face in the photo, pale and androgynously pretty—not how he would describe Heahmund today, but he could see the eyes, the cheekbones. He wondered if the beard Heahmund wore now was meant to distance him even further from when he had been young, pretty, and at somebody’s mercy.
Ivory cleared his throat, trying to keep his thoughts from darkening. “Who are the crossed-out people?”
“Those are people I’ve hunted down and killed,” Heahmund answered casually. Ivory turned to look at him. “Metaphorically,” he clarified. That had been the main focus of his business, to take down the owners and their friends who had abused him earlier in life. He’d done well at that and the list was growing short, so he was diversifying more now.
“And the other people?” Ivory prompted.
“Other pets,” Heahmund shrugged. He’d eliminated all the targets in the photo, so it no longer held any use for him.
“Can I keep this?” Ivory requested, and Heahmund blinked.
“Why?” he asked, mystified. He’d been about to burn it himself.
“You keep a million photos of me,” Ivory pointed out. “I want to keep a photo of you.” He lifted his legs over Heahmund’s lap and leaned against him, and the older man automatically slid his arm around him.
“I guess,” he finally allowed, without enthusiasm. “You have more recent photos.” Ivory was still looking at him expectantly. “Fine, just promise to cut me out and I’ll burn the rest. I have scans if I need it again.”
“Thanks!” Ivory told him gleefully, kissing his cheek, and Heahmund suddenly imagined this was going to be fodder for teenage boys’ amusement. “Did you say there were more?” Ivory hinted greedily.
Heahmund dutifully handed over another photo. In this one, he was standing on top of a cliff, his arm around someone else (who was crossed out vigorously), wearing athletic gear and grinning.
“Is your hair blond?” Ivory giggled.
“Yes. Blond was preferred for a while.” Not by him, but by the people who decided such things.
“What are you doing?”
“We were rock climbing,” Heahmund explained, eyes anywhere but on the photo. He kneaded Ivory’s ribs rhythmically. “We’d just reached the summit.”
“You look happy,” Ivory commented, noting the picture’s satisfied grin.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Heahmund asked rhetorically. Smile or die. “Here’s the last one. This is me and Edith.”
The photo showed the two of them embracing, awkwardly squeezed onto an overstuffed chair. There were Christmas decorations in the background, and his hair was dark and short, except for the bangs hanging in his eyes.
“How old were you?” Ivory wanted to know.
“About twenty-four.”
“You’re not smiling this time,” the boy noted. And no one else was in the photo to be crossed out.
“Smiling is performance,” Heahmund shrugged. “This is more natural.”
Ivory gazed at the face, which was more recognizable to him. “You look like… a devious little s—t,” he observed, trying to be honest.
“I was,” Heahmund agreed, unoffended. That was basically his job description.
“And you look a lot like Ollie,” Ivory noted. Who did not give off devious little s—t vibes, so obviously there was more to it.
“Not a surprise, we have common ancestors,” Heahmund remarked, breezily but with an edge to it, reminding Ivory to keep such remarks to himself.
“Can I keep all of these?” Ivory asked, already putting them protectively in his pocket. Heahmund shrugged, not understanding the appeal, but whatever; he didn’t have to think about it anymore. “I like you better now,” Ivory assured the older man affectionately.
“I am infinitely more likeable now,” Heahmund agreed.