The Other Five Percent

by Quinn Anderson

  Logan’s plan had always been to meet a nice girl and do the whole American Dream thing. A house in the ’burbs with a white picket fence. Two-point-five kids. A dog named Spot. He just . . . hadn’t taken any steps toward doing it yet. He wondered if Ellis had a similar plan, now that gay marriage was legal. The thought settled on his chest like a physical weight.

  Logan spent way too long staring at Ellis’s relationship status without comprehending why before he moved on to photos. And, Jesus, did Ellis ever have a lot of photos. Selfies. His food. Group shots. High-res portraits of his sculptures. Entire albums dedicated to the summer he’d apparently backpacked through Europe. Logan could spend hours going through them all.

  Before he could get too overwhelmed, he made the executive decision to pick up where he’d left off: Rutgers. He jumped to the date that coincided with the end of their freshman year. There were some delightful shots of a baby-faced Ellis packing up his first dorm room, but nothing of obvious significance.

  Summer vacation scrolled into the next semester. Within minutes, he spotted his own blond head in a group picture. It was such a generic college-kid photo, it was almost comical. Six fresh-faced young adults with questionable hairstyles and pretentious band T-shirts were sitting on the grass outside of . . . he squinted . . . the physics building. Apparently the benches visible in the background just weren’t cool enough for them to use.

  Logan couldn’t remember who’d taken the photo, but he did remember the girl seated next to him. Lisa. They hadn’t stayed in touch beyond the one class they’d had together, but he remembered her because she’d introduced him to the guy who was sitting on his other side: Ellis.

  Even from this one photo, it was obvious how different they were. Logan was wearing a beanie, for one thing. Damn. Nostalgia was a fickle mistress. His body language was also compact and uncomfortable, like he didn’t know how to hold his own limbs. Ellis, on the other hand, looked effortless with one leg spread out and the other propping up his elbow. His hair had been spiked up in a way that was dated now, but it still looked good on him. His gaze was directed up, at clouds or perhaps lofty ideals, whereas Logan was looking down at his own feet.

  And to think, for a brief period of time, he was yours.

  Logan had no idea where that thought had come from. He swept it away and refocused on the picture. It was rare to see him in a group shot back then. He hadn’t made friends easily freshman year, quiet and unobtrusive as he was, and when he’d met Ellis, he’d wanted nothing more than to be just like him. He remembered struggling not to drool whenever Ellis had talked about poetry and art. Ellis could expound about El Greco’s use of contrast and Nietzsche’s Übermensch. Logan, on the other hand, could barely stutter out a sentence around him at first. And yet, somehow, Ellis had chosen to spend the majority of his time with him.

  The strange weight on Logan’s chest intensified. He got up, poured himself another glass of wine, and moved on.

  If he was hoping to escape further confused feelings, he was out of luck, because from there, Ellis’s photos became increasingly Logan-centric. It was clear they’d started spending more and more time together.

  At first, the shots included mutual friends and people they’d met on campus, but as time went on, the outsiders dwindled. Eventually, Logan hit a month-long stretch where every photo was either of them together or . . . Christ. Just of Logan. He’d swear in court he’d never even seen most of these before. He would remember a catalog like this. Candid shots of him studying. Him sitting on a picnic table, blowing smoke rings. Him walking a step behind Ellis, looking lost in thought. Why had Ellis kept these?

  Logan’s eyes drifted to the next section, and in an instant, he understood the answer.

  “Holy shit.” He enlarged a photo and stared at it. They were hanging out in Logan’s dorm room, lounging on his bed. Lying shoulder to shoulder. Looking into each other’s eyes from inches apart while Ellis held his phone up over their heads.

  They looked like a couple.

  “Holy shit,” he repeated, scrolling through the photos with growing fervor. He could almost pinpoint the exact moment in which they’d started hooking up. The photos got less platonic and more . . . he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Physical? Intimate? There was no longer any space between them. Like, actual, bodily space. They sat next to each other at tables, sides and knees pressing. When they were standing, one of them had an arm slung around the other. There wasn’t a single photo of them in which they weren’t touching in some way. It was like they were literally attached at the hip.

  Logan’s heart stuttered when he came across a photo of him kissing Ellis on the cheek. Ellis was smiling wider than Logan had ever seen, one eye closed in a facsimile of a wink while Logan cradled his head and pressed his lips to his cheekbone. He wasn’t being shy about it either.

  Logan pushed his laptop away and scrubbed a hand across his face. He’d thought Ellis was being dramatic earlier when he’d claimed they’d dated, but now he almost believed it himself. If only Ellis had tagged him in these photos back then. The outside perspective might’ve made Logan realize what they’d looked like to the rest of the world. If he’d known, he could have put a stop to it. He owed Ellis another huge apology. He’d completely led the guy on without ever realizing it.

  Did you really not know? a traitorous voice inside him whispered. Is anyone that naïve? And is it leading someone on if you’re doing everything in your power to be with them?

  Logan had to admit, his inner voice had a point. Looking at these photos, it was hard to believe past him hadn’t been every bit as into Ellis as Ellis had been into him. There was no shortage of physical affection between them, and the look in his eyes in some of the photos, when he was gazing at Ellis instead of the camera . . .

  The memory he’d had in Starbucks when he’d first run into Ellis flashed in front of his eyes again. Him, looking at Ellis and saying, “I think we’re a little more than just friends now.” At the time, he’d thought he’d meant they were best friends, but now, he wasn’t so sure.

  This was silly. No matter what it looked like, he couldn’t have been serious about Ellis. He hadn’t even realized they’d been dating, after all. And dating a guy wasn’t part of the plan. Whether his parents had meant to or not, they’d instilled certain ideas in him about what his future looked like, and swapping out his future wife and kids for a man with tattoos and a penchant for black clothing would probably give his mother a heart attack. And he was, in fact, attracted to women. No matter what he felt for anyone else. He couldn’t just give that up.

  Logan gave himself a shake. There was an explanation for this. Back then, he’d been an overeager kid who’d been desperate to gain the approval of a peer he’d idolized. Just like he’d told Ellis before, he’d been consumed by hormones and intoxicating freedom. Obviously, he’d allowed himself to get carried away, and his affection for Ellis had gotten misinterpreted by his rampant, nineteen-year-old sex drive. That was all it was. He’d given Ellis the wrong impression. He would apologize and make amends. Like an adult. Hopefully, Ellis would forgive him.

  Though that raised a question that had been nagging Logan since he’d met Ellis for coffee. Logan understood why Ellis had felt betrayed by him, but why had he held on to it all these years? Ellis had said he needed closure, but for what? They’d hung out for a couple of months, and then Logan had ditched him. It was rude, sure, but even back then Logan had never claimed to be anything but straight. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he’d hightailed it for greener (or girlier) pastures. Why then had Ellis persisted in thinking they’d been a couple once?

  Maybe there was a clue in the photos somewhere. Logan moved the mouse and attempted to click on a photo, but to his abject horror, he accidentally hit the “like” button. He unliked it a fraction of a second later, but it was too late. His sisters had told him enough horror stories for even a Facebook novice like him to know the truth. The second he’d hit the like button, Ellis w
ould have gotten a notification. There was no taking it back.

  Fuck. He stared forward in impotent disbelief, his hand flaccid on his keyboard. There was nothing he could do except pray Ellis wouldn’t check Facebook. Which, considering how long it had taken him to accept his friend request, seemed unlikely. He needed to face facts. Ellis might already know that Logan had been creeping on his page. And not just that. He was looking at old photos of them. Old photos of them kissing.

  Logan shut his laptop with screen-cracking force and tossed it onto the cushion next to him. He drained the rest of his wineglass, poured another, and drank that too, before staring up at his ceiling. He was so screwed. How was he going to face Ellis on Friday now?

  He could cancel.

  No, he couldn’t do that. Despite all this, he was looking forward to hanging out with Ellis. He’d realized it while he’d been looking at the photos. Once upon a time, they’d legitimately been best friends. Even if Ellis never let him live it down, it’d be worth it to have even a fraction of that back.

  Wow. Logan stared at the wineglass in his hand. He was going to blame that one on the alcohol.

  Before he could overanalyze his reaction, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. His stomach leaped into his throat as he snatched it up.

  Sure enough, he had a text from Ellis.

  What’d you get up to tonight?

  The question, which would have been innocuous in just about any other situation, made Logan’s pulse spike. Was there any point in denying what he’d been doing? Probably not, but his parents had taught him there was no harm in trying.

  Not much. Watched some TV. You?

  Oh, nothing in particular. It was quiet at work, so I mostly fucked around on my phone. Imagine my surprise when one of my old photos showed up in my notifications.

  Fuck. Logan was so busted. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen as he scrambled to think of an excuse. He could say a friend of his had done it? He’d let someone use his Facebook account? He rolled his eyes at himself. That was the oldest and least believable lie in the social media book.

  While he debated, another text popped up.

  Did you want to bring my attention to that particular photo, or was it a confusing coincidence?

  Logan couldn’t remember which photo he’d liked. He answered honestly. It was an accident. I was looking through old photos and hit the like button by mistake. Sorry if I derailed your evening.

  Derailed isn’t the word I’d use.

  Logan frowned. He wrote back asking what Ellis meant, but minutes passed with no response. Eventually he was forced to turn in for the night. Though it hardly mattered. There was officially no chance he was going to avoid thinking about Ellis.

  Friday couldn’t come fast enough. Not only because Logan was battling some serious sleep deprivation—his new nightly routine consisted of staring at his ceiling, ordering himself not to think about Ellis—but also because as the weekend drew nearer, Logan was forced to admit something to himself. Something horrible. Something terrifying. Something that had the potential to change his life forever.

  He missed Ellis.

  Looking through their photos together had shaken it loose in his brain, allowing it to tumble down into his consciousness once more. There was a reason why Ellis had once been his best friend. He liked him. He liked spending time with him. He liked Ellis’s taste, and how different they were, and he admired how Ellis lived his life precisely how he wanted to. They weren’t the same people now that they’d been in college, of course, but Logan was eager to find out if there was even a chance they could go back to the way things were.

  Minus all the gay shit, of course. Logan still experienced something akin to a full-body nuclear reaction every time he thought about that. But, overall, it seemed Ellis was a bit like smoking. Just when Logan thought the cravings were out of his system, they popped back up again as strong as ever.

  He had to wonder what Ellis thought of their reunion. It seemed he’d only tolerated Logan at first because he wanted answers. And now it seemed he was determined to torture him. Why else would he invite Logan to a gay club, of all places? Logan had never been to one before. Rationally, he understood they were just like straight clubs . . . but were they? Was he going to get hit on? Was he going to have to watch Ellis get hit on? That thought made his stomach clench.

  And, to make things worse, Ellis didn’t text him all week. Logan sent a few casual messages his way, asking about his day and the like, but Ellis never responded. It made time slow to a newborn’s hesitant crawl, and when five o’clock rolled around on Friday, Logan was a mess of nerves.

  He stared at the open file in front of him and lamented all the work he hadn’t done this week. God, he was pathetic, letting himself get all worked up. Ellis probably wanted nothing to do with him. It was obvious he was still angry with him, and Logan couldn’t blame him. Ellis had probably invited him to a gay club in the hopes that Logan would be so uncomfortable, he’d cancel. Well, there was zero chance of that happening. Logan might not know much, but he knew two things from experience: he was not a quitter, and gay guys loved him. He would show Ellis that he wasn’t some douchey straight guy who got spooked at the first flash of rainbow.

  Besides, after what he’d done, he owed this to Ellis. Even if it went horribly—even if they discovered they no longer had anything in common—he was going to do this. It was the right thing to do.

  As Logan packed up his things, his anxiety ebbed, only to be replaced by determination. The drive home passed in a blur, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of his closet, lamenting—for the first time in his life—that he owned not a stitch of club-appropriate clothing. Ellis hadn’t said anything to him about a dress code, but he assumed he couldn’t show up in street clothes. And Ellis would throttle him if he showed up in a suit. What would Ellis wear? He’d probably rather show up shirtless than wear any of Logan’s clothing.

  Oof. That conjured up some images.

  Logan ended up settling on black jeans—he was surprised to discover he even owned a pair—and an ice-blue knit button-down. He’d checked the weather earlier, and it was going to be a cold night. He picked out a long black coat and set it on the arm of the sofa, ready to grab on his way out the door.

  Satisfied, he checked his watch. It was barely after six thirty. Fuck. He was supposed to meet Ellis at ten. That seemed like years from now. Surely he could kill some time.

  He made himself a sandwich, washed his plate and knife, put them away, and wiped down the counters. Then he went into the bathroom and completely redid his hair. The combed-back looked wouldn’t have worked for a club anyway. Now he had a tousled thing going on that he thought Ellis would like. Not that he cared what Ellis thought about his hair.

  After that, he brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed out his mouth with mouthwash. He tried to watch some TV, but nothing held his focus. When he caught himself staring at the clock on his cable box, which had just rolled over to eight o’clock, he gave up and got out his phone.

  Is there any way we could meet earlier?

  He hit Send without thinking it through. After, he realized how overeager he sounded, but it was too late now. In a contest between seeming desperate and wriggling right out of his skin, he chose the former.

  His phone dinged. He glanced at the screen.

  Can’t wait to see me, huh?

  Ugh. Ellis couldn’t give him a break, could he?

  I’d just like to be home at a reasonable hour. If we don’t meet until 10, I don’t see that happening. Is that okay?

  Sure. I’d hate to disrupt your sleep schedule, old man. The Golden Flamingo has a bar next door called the Ruby Slipper. It opens earlier. Meet me there?

  Relief washed through him. Sure. When?

  I’m there now.

  Panic grabbed his relief and punted it across the room. Somehow, knowing that Ellis was waiting for him made the whole thing so much more real.

  He forced himself to t
ype back, Great. I’ll be there in fifteen.

  He spent one of those fifteen minutes staring at his phone, trying not to picture Ellis hanging out in a gay bar hours before they were supposed to meet. Was he alone? Did he have friends there? Was he secretly an alcoholic?

  Logan chided himself for speculating as he got his keys and headed out the door. Ellis worked there. He probably knew everyone, staff and patrons alike. God, Logan was about to be so out of his element.

  Like most of the places Ellis had invited him to, the club was located across Route Eighty-seven. This was the most time Logan had spent outside of Brigantine since he’d seen his family at New Year’s. The drive was uneventful, though parking was surprisingly hard to come by. The neighborhood looked like it was some kind of nightlife district, judging by the number of restaurants and bars Logan spotted. As soon as he opened his car door, the hum of talking and laughter reached him. Everywhere he looked, he saw clusters of friends and couples.

  The Golden Flamingo stood out from the other nearby establishments, partially because of its neon-pink sign and partially because the crowd in front of it was mostly men. Also, there was the fresco of a flamingo in a sparkling gold suit painted across the front of the two-story building. That was certainly eye-catching.

  Logan swallowed hard and trotted up to a small structure stuck onto the side of the club like a barnacle. The Ruby Slipper was much less flashy, he was relieved to say, though the rainbow flags out front were unmistakable. It was packed. It seemed Logan wasn’t the only one who liked to get an early start.

  He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, trying to scan the crowd without actually looking at anyone, before he spotted Ellis on the far side of the bar.