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I entered my flat one night to find Raffles at my telescope, having helped himself to a glass of my whiskey, too intent on the object of his study to even notice my entry. Or if he did he did not consider it worth acknowledging. I thought he might once more be using it to investigate a possible target, however it was pointed most definitely at the stars.
The look on his face was so wonderfully serene, I couldn’t bare to disturb him so I poured myself a finger of whiskey and relaxed on the sofa. While I held a book in my hand I feel I spent more time watching his face from the corner of my eye. I even lit a Sullivan and had nearly finished it by the time he looked up.
He immediately caught sight of me and I would like to think he looked embarrassed, but for Raffles embarrassment is only ever an act.
“Ah, Bunny, dear boy,” he stood, taking his forgotten drink, “how long have you been back?”
“Only about three quarters of an hour, Raffles.” I had tried to hide the amusement from my voice, but my friend knew me too well for that.
“Ah, well, you were absent when I got to your flat--”
“I was at dinner.”
“Of course, how silly of me. I must have payed so little attention to the time as I came here,” he was unusually nervous, his normally calm demeanor was lost and his works jilted out like each one had to be carefully chosen. He sat down next to me. “But I felt I needed to talk to you, so I waited.”
“I am always happy to see you, Raffles.” And I was. Seeing my closest friend in such a pure state of happiness was not something I would ever resent him of. He smiled at me for my statement, then stood up suddenly and walked towards the window once more. “What did you want to speak about?”
The man, normally so rehearsed and considered, opened his mouth as though to speak then closed it again. My readers may think that this is another instance of me having never divulged this part of Raffles character before, but I assure you it shocked me then as it shocks you. He stared at me for a second, then out the window. I stood up took up my place beside him, trying to follow his gaze and discover what it was that enraptured him so.
“Would you like to do this tomorrow?” Perhaps it would be a cloudy night and he would be able to concentrate on something other than the night sky.
“No!” He half shouted it, sudden. I have an easily startled nature and confess that I jumped at the outburst. I waved it off and silently encouraged him to go on. After a few more moments of staring out at the sky and then at my face, he fixed his eyes on me.
He went to speak, then blurted out “Jove, but the stars are bright tonight!”
It was clear from the expression on his face that this was not what he had meant to say. I stepped to the window and drew the curtains, then led Raffles to the sofa and sat him down. He was avoiding eye contact, staring down at his hands. I took them in my own, hoping that such a display of affection would provide him with strength. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles, carefully and slowly, feeling the bone and then the rough texture of his palm. I wanted to hold them up to lips and kiss those knuckles, but I would not risk my friendship with Raffles for anything. So I just squeezed them a little tighter. He looked up at me then, making eye contact at last. I saw it, as though something slipped over his face. He became the Raffles I knew once more. I do not know how I knew, but his face shifted to become something far less disconcerting.
“Bunny.” He shifted his grip so he was holding my hands himself, then leaned forward and kissed my forehead, lightly. I freed my hands from his grip and cupped his face, the skin far softer than that of his hands. He leant forward then, kissing my lips lightly and softly, as if afraid I would pull back in disgust.
I did not.