Village Fool

by Nathan Burgoine

  “Oh, no.” Haruto held up a hand. “Bittersweets Club rule. Self-deprecation not allowed.”

  Owen laughed. “Sorry.” He wasn’t sure it was actually one of their rules. He wasn’t sure they even had rules beyond meeting up on Mondays and Fridays to catch up with one other, no matter what.

  “You’re a catch,” Haruto said.

  “You’re dependable,” Silas said.

  “They’re right. You’re, like, a freaking genius, you’re employed, you own a house…” Felix was ticking things off on his fingers.

  “That’s a sound investment portfolio,” Owen said. “Not dating material.”

  “Ignore him. I’m serious,” Haruto said. “You’ve got the whole tall, chic, and handsome thing going for you. A killer goatee. And let’s not mention the dimples.”

  “Absolutely let’s not,” Owen said. Tall he’d grant, and maybe chic. He liked dressing nice, and did have a fantastic hat collection. Today’s scarf was a killer shade of blue—but handsome? On his best days, for which today definitely didn’t qualify, Owen might concede “nice looking.” “Handsome” better suited men like Toma, who had broad shoulders, wavy dark hair, strong jawline, and the thighs? Oh, the man’s thighs. Toma was the walking example of “thick” in all the best ways. Total beary thirst trap.

  “The point being,” Haruto said, “you shouldn’t talk down about your own fine self. As much as it kills me to ever admit Felix is right, he’s right. You’re a flipping polymath, and he’d be lucky to have you.”

  “This is why I love you people,” Owen said. “You’re good for my ego.”

  Silas ate the last bit of his muffin. “And we love you back. Now go be brave and ask him to coffee or something.”

  “Right. Just walk right up to him and ask?”

  “That’s how it’s usually done,” Felix said. “Unless you want to spend a decade pining away, hoping he writes you a novel or something.”

  Haruto elbowed Felix hard.

  “Which would be a totally romantic gesture we could all get behind,” Felix added. “And a totally normal thing to do, as evidenced by our friend who is sitting here with us today.”

  Haruto raised his mug.

  “I mean, you were going to ask him out already, weren’t you?” Silas said.

  Owen sighed. That had been the plan. At one point. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Get ready. Seriously,” Felix said. “You like him. Ask him out. Easy.”

  “Right. Hi,” Owen said, shifting to a chirpy voice. “I know the only reason you know my name is I paid you, which contractually obligated you to spend time with me, but I’ve had multiple sex dreams about your thighs. Feel like getting coffee?”

  They all burst out laughing, and Owen grinned. Being funny was so easy with these guys. He checked the clock behind the counter and sighed, swallowing the last of his coffee. “And on that note, I should go.”

  They all gathered their things and rose. Owen patted his pockets.

  Felix held out Owen’s phone.

  “Thanks,” Owen said. “Apparently, there’s not enough coffee in the world today. I’ll see you all at game night tonight. Also, when are we getting Nick back? I mean, the horror movie board game is fun, but I miss being Kallax.”

  “Hopefully soon,” Haruto said. Nick wasn’t just Ru’s boyfriend. He was also their Dungeon Master. “But Nick’s got line edits next week, and line edits turn Nicholas Wilson into a grumpy bastard, and there’s only room for one grumpy bastard in our relationship. Maybe the week after?”

  “No D&D next week?” Felix said, pouting.

  Owen commiserated but tried not to be too obviously let down. Nick’s leap to novelist was a huge deal, and of course they could delay. He loved playing Kallax, his quick-witted aasimar bard with a penchant for double entendres and a sly wit. Somehow, when he was in character as Kallax, all the right things to say magically bubbled up in his head.

  Not like real life.

  “If you’re tired of Betrayal at House on the Hill,” Silas said, “we can try something else. Settlers? Wingspan?”

  “We can swap it up after you end up betraying us all again tonight. Your place, right?” Owen said, glancing at Silas.

  Silas nodded.

  “I’ll pick us up another round of coffee, too. Even if I sleep today away, I think I’ll need it,” Owen said.

  “I should move back,” Haruto said. “The coffee needs me.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Silas said.

  “Text me a recap after your workout,” Felix said, grinning at Owen. “I want thigh updates.”

  Two

  December

  Owen had done everything right, and it hadn’t mattered.

  He pumped the brakes rather than stomping down hard. He didn’t jerk the wheel but stayed calm and did his best to guide the car to the right. He was wearing his seat belt. He had winter tires. He’d cleaned and scraped off the whole car before he’d started the drive to work. He was driving cautiously, leaving ample space between him and the car ahead of him.

  The other driver had done none of those things.

  Later, in the hospital, Owen would try to piece together the impact, the slide, and the fallout, but it turned out having a car accident didn’t happen like in the movies. He didn’t see it all play out in a hyper-focused slow motion. It wasn’t artistic. Glass hadn’t hung in the air like little bits of diamond.

  No, everything happened fast.

  He’d seen the oncoming car start to skid and twist, sliding almost sideways into his lane, and he’d done what he could in the seconds he had.

  Then there’d been a series of rapid sounds and disjointed sensations: a metal crash, a bone-jarring snap, the bang of his airbags, more screeching, a sickening spin, and another loud crash and jerk that sent Owen’s car into the ditch. His left arm burned like it was on fire, as did his face, and he found little relief from the frigid air and snow blowing into the car a moment later.

  “Fuck.” The pain along his arm throbbed with his heartbeat. He tried to move. Agony blazed through his shoulder. He froze, sucking in tiny breaths between clenched teeth and tasting blood. Owen’s vision blurred, dark around the edges. The sound of voices and traffic, vibrant and loud a second earlier, grew muted and indistinct, as though he’d dunked his head underwater.

  “Help.”

  He’d intended to yell; little more than a whimper came out.

  He must have passed out for a couple of seconds, despite the raging pain blasting across his shoulder and chest and face, or maybe because of it, but the next thing Owen remembered was the paramedics and the confusing glare of lights and multiple voices.

  He answered questions while the paramedics and some cops and some firefighters got him out of his seat. In some distant way, it bothered him he couldn’t remember the firefighters arriving. His car door hadn’t wanted to open, and the conversations flying around him had been hard to follow with the merciless burning of his chest and arm. He was pretty sure they’d destroyed his car door to get him out. It wasn’t until the ambulance ride on his way to the hospital that Owen’s thoughts stopped acting like his brain was midway through a poorly attempted bubble sort and restored themselves to a semblance of order. He only half remembered being carried into the ambulance. He had no memory of lying down.

  The gaps should probably have bothered him a lot more than they did.

  “I was hit by a car,” he said, trying to work it through out loud, his brain lagging half a thought behind. “He skidded right out of the oncoming lane.”

  The paramedic, a white woman with cold-reddened cheeks and a kind smile, leaned over him. “That’s right.”

  “Should I be freaking out?” Owen said. “Because I’m not.” Numbness had replaced the burn. And he had the urge to giggle.

  “You’re handling it like a champ.”

  “Oh. Good.” Owen tried to focus on the paramedic. She had nice eyes. Did you call her color hazel or green? “Is everyone okay?”

&nb
sp; “Everyone’s alive,” the paramedic said.

  “That’s great. I think I have glass in my hair.”

  “We’ll get you cleaned up at the hospital.”

  “Neat. I’m Owen, by the way. Did we introduce ourselves?” Owen blinked, surprised at how hard he had to work to reopen his eyes. “Someone asked me my name. Was that you? Also, did you give me drugs? Because no lie, I am feeling way better.”

  “I did. You’re on a morphine drip. And my name’s Naomi.”

  “Naomi is a great name. Also, great drugs. Thank you, Naomi.”

  “You’re welcome, Owen.”

  Owen closed his eyes.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  His foster brother showed up ten minutes before visiting hours were over. He wasn’t wearing a hat, and his face was pinked from the cold air, but Finn came in with a folded paper bag and a to-go Timmies cup, and Owen nearly cried on the spot.

  “Hey,” Owen said.

  “Oh my God,” Finn said once he got to Owen’s bedside.

  “I take it I don’t look so great?”

  Finn put a hand on Owen’s good shoulder. Not answering the question was answer enough. “How are you feeling?”

  “Really annoyed to be left-handed,” Owen said. His left shoulder was wrapped tight, and his arm was in a strapped sling, immobilizing everything.

  “Oh man, that’s right.” Finn winced. “The nurse said they operated?”

  Owen tried to nod, but his shoulder burned and sent jabs of pain all the way down his forearm. Okay. Added to the list of bad ideas: nodding. “Yeah. I was turning the steering wheel when the airbag went off, and it did a number on my shoulder. Subluxated and hyperextended and some other words I’m not remembering. It involved tendons. But they did surgery already. Ortho-something. They didn’t even have to knock me out. The local drugs are really good.”

  “The airbag do that to your nose, too?” Finn asked.

  “No one has shown me a mirror,” Owen said, “but from how swollen it feels and what it’s doing to my voice, I’m going to guess it’s super attractive. I think the airbag made me punch myself in the face with my own dislocated arm. I’d be mad, but Naomi said the airbag saved my life. At least, I think it was Naomi. It might have been the other one. I didn’t get her name. She was driving.”

  “Who’s Naomi?” Finn frowned.

  “My paramedic. We bonded on the ride over. I’m gonna send her flowers.”

  “If she’s a first responder, I’d say go with chocolate.” Finn sat down in the chair, shaking his head. “You’re going to be okay?”

  “I am. I mean, I’ve got a few weeks of wearing this lovely thing, and then I’ll have follow-ups, and then I get to do physiotherapy, but…” He waved his right hand. “One thing at a time. Also, please tell me there are donuts.”

  “Are you allowed to eat?” Finn said, unfolding the bag and pulling out a honey cruller.

  “Give. Me. The. Donut.”

  Owen ate it quickly, because he had no idea if he was allowed to eat it or not. No one had said he couldn’t, at least he didn’t recall. Things were still sort of patchy. He turned his head as much as he could to look at Finn. “I’m really sorry I won’t be able to help with the baby.”

  “Oh my God, no.” Finn shook his head. “We’ll be fine. You focus on getting better. I’ve talked to work, and they know I’m going to be helping you, so we’ll figure it out.”

  “Dude, no. You’ve got so much on your plate already. I’ll be okay.”

  “You’re a mess and you know it.” Finn stared at him. “You’re going to need help. You’ll come and stay with us, at least until Christmas. You’re not staying in your house on your own all busted up for Christmas.”

  “Fine.” Owen exhaled, then remembered. “Christmas. Shit. I had presents for you and Tazneem in the trunk.”

  “We’ll cope,” Finn said. “How’s your car?”

  “I don’t think I have a car any more. I’m pretty sure it’s not even car-shaped. I guess I need to add it to the to-do list. I don’t even know how any of this works. Did someone tow it somewhere? Does it cost money to have someone take your wrecked car out of a ditch?”

  “I’ll find out,” Finn said.

  A nurse popped her head in through the door. “It’s almost time,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Finn rose. “I got you a dark roast, with cream,” he said, pulling the little swing-table out and leaving the Timmies cup on it within easy reach of Owen’s right hand. “They said you might be okay to go home tomorrow night. I’ll call and check in tomorrow, and pop by after work, okay?”

  “Thanks, Finn.”

  Finn patted his good shoulder again, and Owen caught a glimpse of the little bird tattooed between his thumb and first finger when he pulled away a moment later.

  Finn made it all the way to the door before he paused. “Don’t scare me like that. I only have the one brother, you know.”

  Owen managed a smile, too choked up to reply.

  Three

  April

  Five minutes into his session at Body Positive, Owen finally felt his brain start firing on all cylinders. While the coffee certainly helped, if Owen was being honest with himself, the major contributing factor to the upswing in mood and cognitive function had more to do with the view.

  Toma was working with someone a few machines over, in the Body Positive striped tank that made his chest look all the more amazing, and Owen had never been more grateful for the mirrors, which was funny given how he’d originally felt about them. Toma was being his usual attentive self, leaning over the guy he was working with and helping him adjust his grip. Owen knew full well what those hands felt like. Warm. The skin a little rough, but the touch gentle. The occasional tickle from the dark hair on Toma’s forearms.

  Toma’s client started a series of reps. Owen could faintly make out Toma’s low, rumbling voice offering tips and attaboys in between sets.

  Owen finished his own reps of very light presses and moved his arms back and forth, feeling the give and take. Everything felt okay, but he knew better than to dive into the next set. He’d give himself a minute or two before starting up again, trying to pay attention to what his body was telling him.

  Mostly his body was bored.

  He pulled out his phone and tapped over to his text messages. Oddly, there were none on the screen—must have crashed or rebooted—so he started a new message for Felix, then paused to consider. What had he wanted? Updates about the thighs.

  Owen Update the First: the highlight of working out at Body Positive is still seeing the world’s best chest. And before you tell me I’m shallow, I am fully aware the world’s best chest would be nothing without the kindness. It’s borderline unfair, really. The chest hair alone makes me miss being in recovery. He paused. I didn’t think I’d ever like the mirrors here when I first saw them, but it turns out there are benefits. It’s way less creepy to ogle hot cubcakes through a mirror. At least, I hope it is. It is, right?

  He hit send, hoping the over-the-top take would make Felix smile, then put his earbuds in and returned to his audiobook.

  Despite the occasional cubcake viewing, it wasn’t nearly as much fun to work out these days. He’d gotten used to the routine of it—Owen thrived on routines and checklists—and though he had zero intention of ever being the kind of gym-goer who bulked up or tried to gain muscle mass, he couldn’t help feeling proud of the tone he’d gained in the last few months, especially given how slowly he’d had to do it. He knew full well it wouldn’t take much for the strides he’d made with his shoulder to be undone, and sitting or standing at his computer for hours made it all the easier to backslide.

  He didn’t add much weight to the machines, raising and lowering the bar carefully at a regular pace, breathing in and out with the motion, paying attention to how his shoulder, elbow, and forearm felt, how the muscle played, and exactly how far he was pushing against the “tight” sensation he’d learned was a limit to the injured tendons he sho
uldn’t test.

  Maintenance, as he’d come to think of it. He smiled as a slight burn set in. A good burn. Not the kind of strain he needed to worry about.

  The voice of the narrator on his audiobook paused for a soft beep. Owen lowered the bar and paused the book.

  Felix had texted back.

  Wow. Cubcake is my new favorite word. And I think mirror-ogling is just fine. That was a great way to start the morning. Does “Update the First” mean there will be more? Also, I prefer you recovered. Don’t make me come over there to make sure you’re not pushing yourself.

  Owen smiled, imagining Felix bursting into the gym to tell him off. He checked the mirrors for Toma, but the client he’d been working with was now alone, completing a set on a bench press. It was too bad he’d missed seeing Toma go, given the view. Those thighs. That butt. The man was thick in so many enjoyable ways, without the intimidating super-cut thing a lot of gym guys had. He stood by the descriptor: Toma was a total cubcake.

  Owen rolled his shoulder, checking. His neck was a bit tight, likely more from last night’s non-sleep than anything else. He turned back to his phone.

  Owen Update the Second: Don’t worry, even the world’s best chest isn’t worth more rehab. I mean, it’s a close call, but no. Maybe for the thighs. For the thighs, I would risk it. No, that’s untrue. One car wreck is enough. They are amazing thighs, though. If they weren’t attached to such a funny, compassionate human being, one would have to hate the thighs, I think. Instead? It’s more proof the world can indeed occasionally be a just and good place.

  He hit send and grinned to himself. He had to remember these lines for their next D&D game. His bard Kallax would say smooth things like this, and it was fun to play the role. He went to turn his audiobook back on, but he saw the three little grey dots dancing on the screen and waited.

  You’re making it really hard to focus on work.

  He laughed and got back to his workout.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Owen Update the Third: Workout is almost done. Unfortunately, no further visual contact, so I had to finish my boring-ass exercises without views of any amazing asses. Ass it were. Plus side? I have a great imagination, so I can fantasize, complete with rumbly voice. Hyper-realistic imagination. It’s a genius thing. I’m blessed that way.