Yannick pulled up one leg, putting his bare foot on the chair. He wrapped his arms around his bent knee. “France. But it was a long time ago.”
The “long time ago” had do not pursue this topic all over it, so Brandon didn’t. “What do you do?” he asked instead, hoping the answer wouldn’t be, “I’m slowly dying of an incurable genetic disorder, but thanks for asking.” He smirked, trying for mild teasing. “I’m assuming it’s something you can do at night.”
Yannick’s mouth spread into another sad smile. “I translate things.”
“Oh, yeah? What kind of things? Novels?”
“Sometimes. Mostly it’s things for companies. Sometimes academic papers. It’s good work. Interesting.”
“Do you like it?” Brandon asked, because Yannick’s expression hadn’t said, “interesting” so much as, “boring as hell.”
“Someti
