Gavin MacBain, Year 2Gavin laughs when he sees him, standing in the foyer in his father's Bullock and Jones from the sixties, one of those two-piece mod suits, old moth-eaten gray thing over a black t-shirt.Louie takes the Rolling Rock Gavin's brought him (already uncapped and almost too cold to hold; Gavin always puts a few in the freezer when he knows Louie's coming) but grudgingly, frowning, "You said to wear a suit."In the low pendant light from above, Gavin's eyes look deep-set and black, his smile like a knife wound, he says, "Alright, Sonny Crockett.""I do not look like Sonny Crockett.""Well, you don't look like Rico.""At least I'm not wearing a waistcoat.""I look completely dashing in a waistcoat, Louie. You're just making yourself seem jealous now. It's not becoming of you."Around the big entryway arc, Louie peers at all the Christians schmoozing around the drawing room in their nice expensive formal wear, and guesses how many of the men in there are wondering where Gavin got to. He'
Gavin MacBain, Year 1Gavin looks like shit, and Louie really didn't mean to say that out loud."Sorry," he offers, thrusting the hedge shears down into the grass next to him and crossing the hyacinth bed in two carefully landed strides, lumbering grace. Shrugging, because he knows it, Gavin sags against the shed, and Louie leans with a thud there next to him."Alright?""Louie," Gavin says, and his young voice is strained in that unnatural way. He sighs, then shakes his hair back and looks at the sun, shows Louie his face and screws his eyes shut against the light. Gives the impression of pain, if self-inflicted and stupid. "No, Louie.""Gav—""I have a feeling," he says, tucking his chin back in, opening his eyes under the falling curtain of his brown hair, "a hunch, you know, I'm fifteen, I think maybe I shouldn't look this way so often."Louie is struggling with the urge to touch the bruised, raw skin around Gavin's mouth now, the yellowed ghosts of fingertips on Gavin's jaw, as he lowers his voice and