by David Horne
Dylan was very determined to paint it all in a reasonable light, to find a sensible explanation other than that Evan was a very big idiot. He’d been expecting more than a simple misunderstanding. What was worse was that now he’d have to go tell Carly she was right. She’d be gloating and taking credit for the repair of their relationship until she was on her deathbed, maybe even then.
On the bright side, at least, now Dylan knew. He knew what had gone wrong, and it was a simple matter of correcting Evan’s evaluation of what had happened.
One thing more kept bothering Dylan, though. “If that’s what you thought, why did you keep…having sex with me?”
Evan hummed and Dylan waited for a reply, but it never came.
Dylan shook him. “Ev.” Evan focused on him. “Why did you keep coming back to me?”
Evan gave him a crooked grin. His face was flushed. “You got a magic asshole, Dylan.”
Dylan laughed and leaned back, half amused and half disappointed. That was it? He wanted to set Dylan free but not enough to not keep having sex with him. It didn’t seem like enough.
“I was crying when you left me,” Dylan admitted quietly. “Did you think I was happy then.”
“Shock,” Evan said, and he nodded intelligently.
This all felt like a nonevent. Evan had been so wrong in his reason for leaving, and Dylan didn’t even know what to make of Evan’s reason for staying. There was probably more to it than magic asshole, but just as Dylan opened his mouth to pry, he heard it: snoring.
Another time, then, Dylan thought fondly. “I think I still love you, Ev,” he said aloud, but it fell on deaf ears. It didn’t matter. Evan had heard enough earlier, enough to make a difference, enough to shift Evan’s perspective.
It was difficult work to lug Evan’s deadweight into his bedroom, especially while Dylan himself was drunk. He stripped Evan of his shoes and tucked him under his covers, rolling him onto his side. Then, Dylan removed his own footwear. He barely gave it a thought before curling up next to Evan.
The next morning, Dylan found himself waking to a horribly loud retching sound, which he could only surmise was Evan feeling the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed.
Evan came into the room a few minutes later, wiping his mouth and looking extremely hung over.
“I can make you some coffee,” Dylan offered as Evan collapsed next to him.
Evan groaned his assent. Then, “Hey, did we…do anything last night…?”
Dylan could’ve thumped him on the head. “Don’t be stupid,” he advised. He struggled out of bed, pain spiking through his temples. “Do you have any aspirin?”
***
With his findings, Dylan went to work later that day. His head was still pulsing and pounding, and the few cars he heard honking weren’t helping much.
Carly shouted a greeting when Dylan entered the convenience store and he winced, something that Carly immediately picked up on.
“Hangover?” she asked sympathetically.
Dylan nodded, and Carly, the cruel girl, slapped him hard on the back and said loudly, “You’ll be fine.”
Dylan glared and went into the back to clock himself in. When he emerged, he was quick to sit down in his little lawn chair. “So, me and Evan got drunk yesterday,” he started.
“Evan and I,” Carly corrected, “but whatever.”
Dylan would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t know it’d hurt. “Evan and I got drunk yesterday. I thought it’d be a good time to get some answers out of him.”
Carly tutted. “Not too sure about that, but okay.”
“What do you mean, ‘not too sure about that’?”
“Just—well. Dunno, he probably doesn’t even remember saying anything. He probably didn’t even wanna talk about it.”
“So, you’re saying I invaded his privacy.” It wasn’t even a question.
“No. Maybe. There are probably better ways of getting someone to spill, you know.”
“I’m not the one who got him drunk, though. That was all him.”
“Maybe, but you kinda made him tell you his secrets when he had no way of stopping himself.” Carly shrugged, and again, Dylan felt guilty. “What’s done is done, I guess. So, what happened?”
Dylan sighed. “Well I asked him why he broke up with me.”
“And?”
“And he said it was because he thought I wasn’t happy.”
“Well that’s bullshit,” Carly declared. “’Course you were happy. Never seen you happier than then, never seen you sadder than now.”
“Right? But that’s what he said. Because I wasn’t happy. And then I asked him about the sex and he said—” Dylan couldn’t stifle a laugh, “Well, he said I have a magic asshole.”
Carly snorted. “That’s it, though? His only explanation?”
“His only explanation,” Dylan confirmed. “It just—”
“Doesn’t seem like enough?” Carly supplied.
“Yeah. Truth’s the truth, right?”
“I guess.”
“And people do weird things when they’re…scared.”
“Or in love.”
Dylan’s eyes caught Carly’s, then looked away. He tried for a joke. “Hey, why don’t you administer some psychoanalysis testing on him? I’ll supply the couch and the notepad, and he’ll supply his deepest secrets and fantasies.”
Carly gave him an unimpressed look. “At least he won’t be drunk when he’s telling me shit.”
Dylan conceded in the form of a shrug.
Chapter Six
Tedious was the only way Dylan could describe the following days. November was looming just around the corner, which meant that application season was also just around the corner. He was on a deadline now, a deadline that had become very real as he himself prepared applications to a small range of universities.
Speaking to Evan, of course, had left Dylan in a miserable mood. He felt like there was a wet blanket on him, dragging him down, sticking to him, drowning him.
It started on a Monday morning. It was cold—very cold—and the skies were gray. Leaves had already begun to litter the ground, shades of brown and gold twirling down, down, down from high branches, leaving the trees naked and shivering.
Dylan, too, was shivering. His jeans were thin and unfortunately ripped, and his sweater was doing little to counteract the wind. His dark hair was whipping around, obscuring his vision. With a textbook hugged tightly to his chest and his legs working overtime against the gales, he plowed forward, determined to reach the lecture hall.
By the time Dylan got there, he looked a mess. His hair was unkempt and tangled, and his cheeks and nose and the tips of his ears were numb and pink.
His seat had been taken, which incensed him of course, because it was an unspoken rule that all seats were unofficially claimed when they were first sat in. Miffed, Dylan went to the back of the hall, and he had to squint to see the board and strain his ears to hear the professor.
Already, Dylan was not in a good disposition. From all he had learned that day, he may as well have not shown up at all.
When he got outside, the wind had not abated. He debated taking the bus, but before he could make up his mind, it passed him by. Wanting to throw his head back and whine for a bit, he started walking, knowing it would only put him in worse spirits if he didn’t get to Carly and vent as soon as possible.
Regrettably, he was met with another girl when he got to the convenience shop who blankly told him that Carly had called in sick.
Now, Dylan really felt awful. He’d had a bad day at school and what was to be a bad day in class. And if he thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. Outside, a tree uprooted itself, unable to stand in the face of the strong winds. It fell, down, sideways, over, straight onto the powerlines.
The lights went out and the heating with it.
“Is there a backup generator or something?” Dylan grumbled to Carly’s temporary replacement. He’d learned her name was Ally.
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“We’re a small business, sweetheart,” she replied, and he did not like the way she’d tagged on that term of endearment. “If there ever comes a day when we can afford a backup generator, let me know.”
Dylan decided then that he didn’t like Ally. It was unreasonable not to like her because she was there and Carly wasn’t, but it was definitely fair not to like her for her rudeness.
Luckily, the power failure meant that they could lock up and leave early, meaning he no longer had to suffer through Ally’s irritating commentary.
But things were no better at home. Dylan’s apartment was cold despite the functional heating. And, as much as he would’ve loved to curl up under a blanket or five, there was actually work he needed to be doing.
Dylan had put on another sweater, sweatpants, and a thick, fluffy designer robe he’d gotten cheap at a thrift shop. He’d made himself a hot coffee and thrown a blanket over his shoulders then settled on the floor with his back against the couch.
So far, his answers were not matching the answer key, he’d spilled half of his coffee all over himself, the floor, and his papers, and his fingertips were starting to go numb.
All around, it was a bad day.
***
Tuesday morning, Dylan woke up refreshed, if a little cold, ready to greet this day with happiness, love, enthusiasm, et cetera. As one could expect, it went just about as poorly as the last.
It was finally on Wednesday, when Dylan had no class in the morning but work in the afternoon, that he finally met up with Evan in a burger joint off Main Street.
Evan was looking well, not that Dylan had expected that to change. It was just that the last time they’d seen each other, Evan was groggy and hung over.
Then Dylan realized that this was it. This was what he’d been waiting for since he had last seen Evan. This was his chance to set things right, set the record straight.
The burger place was small but busy. It smelled like grease and fresh meat. There was someone taking up every single stool and booth. The floor was worn as though well-used and well-loved, but it was also well-cared for.
The walls were decorated with abstract looking paintings and photographs, and on the wall behind the counter was the company backstory, which, if Dylan’s sources were being truthful about, was a complete load of horseshit. The place was not, in fact, founded by an old, cancer-ridden man looking for somewhere to share his cuisine before he passed on into the netherworld. It was actually founded by a thirty-something-year-old guy who had leased the premises with his inheritance and had wanted to make some profit. Apparently, the latter was too shameful a story to tell.
The waiter was cute. He had blond hair and blue eyes, looked pretty much like a classic West Coast surfer kind of guy, complete with a beaded necklace hanging around his neck and resting on top of his apron. His skin was tanned and his smile was kind. “What can I get you?” he asked.
Evan got a mushroom and Swiss, and Dylan got a double bacon.
“And drinks?” the waiter prompted.
Evan asked for water, and in a moment of bravery, Dylan told the waiter to surprise him, which got him a twin pair of raised eyebrows from both the waiter, whose nametag read Lucas, and from Evan.
One good thing about the place was that the chefs and servers were prompt. It was barely a ten-minute wait before Evan and Dylan’s respective burgers were being slid in front of them, steaming and fresh and hot and sitting pretty on ceramic plates.
Dylan offered a grateful smile to Lucas, the waiter, as he passed him his drink. Dylan took the straw in his mouth sucked, tasting delectably fizzy soda that seemed to be a mix of three or four other drinks. It tasted good and it stung a little. It definitely hurt his nose when he burped, but that was half the fun.
Evan was watching him again, wearing that same, funny look on his face as he seemed to do so often. “Is it good?” he asked, and his voice sounded weird, choked.
Dylan hummed.
They talked as they ate. Dylan didn’t bother pointing out the sauce at the corner of Evan’s lip.
“You applied anywhere yet?” Dylan asked.
“Mhm,” Evan said around his burger. “Here and there. A few places abroad. I found this place in France—” he cut himself off with another bite of his mushroom and Swiss. “What about you?”
“Yeah, here and there. Mostly here.”
Evan nodded like he’d been expecting this.
When they were done, Dylan felt heavy and lethargic, like that burger had doubled his weight. Though, that didn’t stop him from ordering a sundae when Lucas did another pass by their table.
“So, I wanted to talk to you,” Dylan said. He was doing a good job of being brave—actually, he was just pushing a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and his eyes were looking everywhere but at Evan.
“What about?” Evan said, lifting his own spoonful of sundae.
“Well,” Dylan said, after letting the ice cream sit in his mouth for as long as possible, “you know how we hung out the other day? And got totally shitfaced?”
“Mhm?”
“Well, we said some…stuff.”
Evan’s face twisted into one of regret. “Listen, man, I wouldn’t think about that.”
“What?”
“I said some stuff I wouldn’t have said sober, right?” Evan guessed. Dylan swallowed and nodded, and Evan continued, “I’d really rather you just forget about it.”
“Huh?”
“Just forget I said it,” Evan said slowly, as if talking to a particularly slow child.
Dylan’s eyebrows furrowed. “Actually, I think it’s worth talking about because—”
“I disagree,” Evan countered smoothly. “We should just leave well enough alone.”
“Well enough alone? Ev, I really think that talking would shed some light on some things. I know you don’t really wanna talk about them, but you definitely wouldn’t regret it or anything and—”
“Listen, I gotta run,” Evan said apologetically, but Dylan got the feeling he wasn’t all that sorry, that he’d rather be anywhere else than in a burger joint of Main Street, sitting across from his ex-boyfriend with whom he refused to acknowledge his relationship.
Evan dropped a twenty on their table, and then he was gone.
Sighing, Dylan leaned back against the leather back of the bench. So much for trying to talk to Evan and sort things out with him and possibly get back with him. Honestly, he was such a coward. And Evan was, too, refusing to listen to Dylan talk. The only problem was that Evan was so completely worth all this trouble. The good was worth the bad, the feeling Evan gave him was worth all this frustration.
Then, someone with blond hair and tanned skin was sliding into the seat across from him. He almost thought it was Evan, returning, but when the guy looked up, his eyes were a deeper shade of blue. His lips were plumper. He had a small, brown mole at the corner of his mouth.
It was Lucas the server who looked like he was fresh from California.
Dylan bit the inside of his cheek. “Uh, can I help you?”
“Sorry,” Lucas blurted. “I just—well I just got off my shift.”
Dylan noticed his lack of apron. “And?”
“Was that your boyfriend?” Lucas asked bluntly.
Dylan was taken aback, so much so that it startled a response out of him. “Ex-boyfriend,” he said.
“So why were you on a date with him? Reconnecting?” Lucas paused. “Sorry, don’t answer that.”
Lucas’ nosiness was sort of endearing. “It’s cool,” Dylan assured. “We’re just friends still.”
Lucas laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”
Dylan’s eyebrows knitted together, and Lucas looked at him. It didn’t sit well with Dylan, the way Lucas looked so knowingly. “Did you need something?” Dylan asked, diverting the topic to something a little more comfortable.
“Yeah. Well, I wanted to check if you were single. You are single, right?”
Lucas sounde
d nervous, and from what little Dylan knew of him, it seemed uncharacteristic. Dylan nodded.
Lucas sighed in what seemed like relief. “Okay, good. Last time I tried this the dude wasn’t even into dudes.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with you and that other guy. I mean, it looks like you like him, and it looks like he likes you. But…can I get your number anyway?”
Dylan’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Lucas the waiter who looked fresh out of California was awfully brave. And though he wasn’t Evan—despite looking very much like him—the advances weren’t unwelcome and he would very much hate to let Lucas down.
Dylan passed over his unlocked phone and got Lucas’ in return. When he got it back, he noticed that Lucas had put his name in as Luke. God, he so looked like a Luke.
“Thanks,” Dylan said. He felt a little bad, though. He didn’t have much intention of ever calling Luke or coming when Luke called. But it was nice to see the guy smile.
He went to work with a smile on his face.
Carly, of course, now returned from what had been a minor bout of the common cold, was insufferable when he told her.
She laughed first and frowned after. “You’re kind of leading the guy on, you realize that.”
“I guess,” Dylan admitted.
“Do you also realize that that’s a shitty thing to do?”
“It’s just a phone number,” he told her.
“It’s just a phone number,” she mocked. “How would you feel?”
“Look, I’m sure he’s not expecting anything from me.” Carly shrugged, but Dylan could tell she wasn’t happy with him. “Something else,” Dylan continued. “I tried to bring up the other day with Evan.”
That seemed to pique Carly’s interest. “And?”
“Nada. Dude didn’t wanna talk about it. Didn’t even look like he remembered what he said. He could probably guess, though, right?”
“Did you tell him that he’d misunderstood everything, then?”
“I tried. But he was like, hell-bent on getting the fuck out of there before I could get a word in.”