The library of the Blackwood estate was Damon's favorite room. It smelled of old paper, leather binding, and the faint, woody aroma of the mahogany shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. It was a place of solitude, a fortress where he could retreat from the world.
But on Tuesday evening, the fortress had been breached.
"I don't get it," Leo sighed, dropping his pen onto the open textbook sprawled across Damon's antique desk. "The textbook says the curve shifts left, but in the lecture, Professor Hynes said it shifts right."
Damon sat in his high-backed leather chair, his own work pushed to the side. He looked at the boy sitting opposite him. Leo was wearing reading glasses again, the frames slightly too big for his face, slipping down his nose every time he looked down. He looked studious, frustrated, and undeniably cute.
"Let me see," Damon said, reaching for the book.
He spun it around. It was a standard Microeconomics problem involving subsidies.
"Hynes is talking about the consumer surplus," Damon explained, tapping the page with his finger. "The book is talking about the producer surplus. They shift in opposite directions depending on the elasticity."
Leo blinked, leaning forward over the desk. "Elasticity?"
"Here." Damon stood up. It was impossible to explain upside down. He walked around the massive desk to stand behind Leo's chair.
He placed one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the desk, effectively caging Leo in. He didn't think about it—it was just the most efficient way to see the page.
"Look at this line," Damon said, leaning down. His cheek was inches from Leo's hair. He could smell the vanilla shampoo again, stronger this time, mixed with the warmth of Leo's skin.
Damon's heart gave a traitorous thump.
'Focus,' he ordered himself. 'It's a graph. Just a graph.'
"If the price drops here," Damon said, his voice rumbling in his chest, "the demand increases. But the supply is constrained because the subsidy hasn't kicked in yet. That creates a shortage."
He reached over Leo's shoulder to trace the line with his index finger. His arm brushed against Leo's shoulder.
Leo didn't pull away. In fact, he seemed to lean back, ever so slightly, into Damon's chest.
"Oh," Leo breathed. He wasn't looking at the graph. He was looking at Damon's hand. "So... when the supply is limited... the desire goes up?"
Damon paused. The double entendre hung in the air, heavy and thick.
He looked down. Leo had turned his head slightly. From this angle, Damon could see the curve of his eyelashes, the slight part of his lips, the pale column of his throat.
"That's... the basic principle of scarcity," Damon murmured, his throat dry. "People want what they can't have."
"And if they want it bad enough?" Leo whispered. "What happens then?"
The air in the library seemed to vanish. Damon felt the heat of Leo's body radiating against his suit jacket. He felt the magnetic pull to lean down just two more inches, to bridge the gap, to taste that question on Leo's lips.
It would be so easy. Leo wouldn't stop him. He could tell by the way the boy's breathing had hitched, the way his pupils were blown wide behind the glasses.
'Scarcity,' Damon thought dizzily. 'I'm starving.'
"Damon?"
The voice came from the hallway. Helen.
The spell shattered instantly.
Damon straightened up, taking a large step back as if he had been burned. He cleared his throat, adjusting his cufflinks. "If the demand is too high, the market corrects itself. Or it crashes."
Leo didn't move immediately. He stayed frozen for a second, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he masked it with a bright smile. He turned around in the chair just as Helen walked in.
"There you two are," Helen said, holding a basket of folded laundry. "I was wondering why it was so quiet in here. Are you bothering your father, Leo?"
"No, Mom," Leo said, his voice light and innocent. "He's saving my life. I was totally lost on supply curves, but Damon makes it so simple."
"Well, don't keep him too long. He has an early flight tomorrow," Helen reminded them. She looked at Damon. "Did you pack your carry-on?"
"Not yet," Damon said, walking back around the desk to the safety of his chair. He felt shaken, his pulse still racing. "I'll do it in a bit."
"I can do it!" Leo offered, jumping up. He closed the textbook with a snap. "It's the least I can do for the tutoring. I know exactly which shirts you like for travel."
"Leo, you don't have to—" Damon started.
"I want to," Leo insisted. He grabbed his books, hugging them to his chest. He looked at Damon, his eyes dancing with a secret delight. "Thanks for the lesson, Damon. I think I finally understand scarcity."
He walked out of the library, brushing past his mother with a cheerful whistle.
Helen sighed, shaking her head. "That boy. He's always trying to please you, Damon. I think he's afraid he's a burden."
"He's not a burden," Damon said quietly, staring at the closed textbook Leo had left behind.
"I know. But be nice to him," Helen said, turning to leave. "He looks up to you so much."
Left alone in the silence of the library, Damon sank into his chair. He loosened his tie, feeling like he had just run a marathon.
He picked up the pen Leo had used. It was still warm.
'People want what they can't have,' Damon thought, closing his eyes.
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, Leo opened Damon's closet.
He wasn't just packing a suitcase. He was curating. He selected the white dress shirt Damon had worn the day of the interview. He chose the grey silk tie.
He folded them neatly, placing them in the leather carry-on.
Then, he reached into his own pocket. He pulled out a small, polaroid photo. It was a picture he had taken of Damon sleeping on the sofa two nights ago—mouth slightly open, guard completely down.
Leo slipped the photo into the inside pocket of Damon's suit jacket, the one he would wear on the plane.
"Surprise," Leo whispered.
He zipped up the bag, imagining Damon finding it at 30,000 feet. Imagining Damon thinking of him, trapped in a metal tube in the sky, with nowhere to run from the want gnawing at his gut.
Leo fell back onto Damon's side of the bed, inhaling the scent of the sheets.
"Scarcity creates value," Leo quoted to the empty room. "But monopoly... monopoly is the goal."