by Jerry Cole
Bjorn nodded, swallowing and looking away. He hadn’t given much thought to the type of person that he wanted to be. Instead, he had been focusing most of his time relentlessly pursuing his career. He supposed that made him a type of person, but he wasn’t sure it was someone that he had tried to be, or even someone that he liked. It had seemed so important to just prove his mother wrong. Teach her that this was his career, that it wasn’t just a game, that he hadn’t been wasting his time. He had been so focused on proving his parents wrong that maybe he had forgotten why he had gotten into this. He looked at Mickey, wondering if he could see any remnants of the person he said he used to be, and found nothing. “So, do you like it?”
Mickey furrowed his brow. “Do I like what?”
“The person that you chose to be, I guess,” Bjorn replied, shrugging. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m asking.”
Mickey nodded, but Bjorn wasn’t sure whether he was agreeing with him or simply acknowledging the question. He didn’t have to wait long for Mickey to answer, though. “I think I know what you mean,” Mickey said. “I mean, most of the time, I’m pretty okay. I like myself enough, y’know? Sometimes I make a fool of myself. Like when we first met. That’s been going around my head a lot. I guess, I don’t know, shame is a good motivator for being a good person. Now that I’m in the public eye, the shame would be intensified, and I don’t know if I could deal with it. So I guess it really comes down to me being a coward.”
Bjorn smiled. “And you like that.”
“I don’t dislike it,” Mickey said, shrugging. “I know I’m probably supposed to, but I just don’t have it in me to look that far into my motivations. My life is tiring enough.”
Bjorn nodded and leaned back. He had forgotten that Mickey’s arm would be there, and he jerked his head forward, expecting that Mickey would get his arm out of the way. But he didn’t. He just waited, and Bjorn had no choice but to lay his head back on his arm. Doing anything else—that would have been beyond rude. They sat there in silence as Bjorn finally managed to pry the packet of candy open. Mickey was already eating his candy, he was clearly enjoying it. He hadn’t even made a move to share it. Bjorn popped a chocolate-covered peanut butter ball into his mouth and let the sweetness coat his tongue. He had so many questions, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to keep going.
“That’s a hell of a question to start getting to know someone,” Mickey said. “I expected something like, what do your parents do?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you off or anything. It’s just—I don’t know. I guess you could say I’m more than a little curious about you. I’m such a fan, and it’s really weird that I get to just talk to you.”
“Well, now is the perfect time to ask me any questions you may have,” Mickey replied. “I’m a little bit tipsy. Okay, I’m more than a little tipsy, but I’m not fucked enough so that my accent comes out. Which basically means I’m about as switched on as usual.”
Bjorn laughed, shaking his head. He noticed that every time his head moved, it would rub up against Mickey’s arm. Mickey seemed extremely relaxed about his arm being there. He didn’t even seem to notice that Bjorn was touching him.
“I don’t know,” Bjorn said. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you. And you’ve already answered a pretty deep question. Though, I have been curious about something, ever since we met.”
“You have?”
“Yeah,” Bjorn said, swallowing. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, but he wasn’t even sure what he could ask. Mickey had put all his cards on the table and Bjorn knew, deep inside, that the ball was in his court. He was the one who had to initiate anything—that was, if anything was to happen. Not that he wanted anything to happen. At least, he was almost sure he didn’t want anything to happen. Mickey being there made everything so much harder, so much weirder, so much more confusing. Bjorn was supposed to be there to win, not wonder if asking this guy to kiss him would make things awkward. Kiss him? Bjorn’s eyes widened as the thought popped into his head. Was that what he wanted? Maybe if Mickey kissed him things would go back to being easier. Uncomplicated. Maybe the tournament would start being about his career again and not about how he felt when he got to hang out around him. Maybe this would be his last chance to do that, though, and the thought of that scared him.
“Bjorn?”
“Sorry, yeah,” Bjorn replied. “You said that the Geordie comes out when you’re drunk. What does that mean?”
Bjorn couldn’t be sure, but he thought that Mickey seemed disappointed for a second. Then he recovered and smiled widely at him. “It’s where I’m from.”
“You’re from a place called… Geord?”
“No,” Mickey replied, his smile turning into a grin. “Though that’s incredibly adorable that you think that. I’m from a place called Newcastle, which is in the northeast of England. We’re known for our colorful, weird use of the English language.”
“But you sound—”
“Southern,” Mickey interrupted him, winking at him. “Because I have to. Otherwise no one would understand what the fuck I’m talking about.”
Bjorn nodded. “Yeah, I couldn’t really understand some of what you were saying.”
“My point exactly,” Mickey replied. “I really want you to be able to understand what I’m saying. Or maybe I don’t, since I made such a fool out of myself the other day.”
“You didn’t,” Bjorn replied, too quickly again. He was starting to get used to chocking out words, far too fast, when it came to Mickey. “I mean, I didn’t understand you, but you didn’t make a fool out of yourself. If anything—”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” Bjorn said. He looked at Mickey, whose eyes were wide. “I don’t know what it changed, but you weren’t making a fool out of yourself.”
“I wasn’t?”
“No,” Bjorn replied quietly, looking at the handful of candy in his hand. “No, you weren’t. You came up to me and something happened. It was as if you knew that something would happen to, like you could tell, and I don’t know if you could.”
“What do you mean, something happened?”
“I don’t know,” Bjorn replied, licking his lips. “I don’t know. But I’m sure that something changed.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Bjorn shook his head, leaning forward on his legs. He hadn’t realized how cold it was outside, it had never even occurred to him. Even as they had gone outside, now that the wind blew on his face, this was the first time he realized that neither one of them were wearing a coat or anything to protect them from the cold. Mickey’s arm was right there, though, and all he had to do was lay his head on his chest. Bjorn knew that Mickey would put his arm around him. Did he want him to? He was cold. He hadn’t realized it, but he was, and his hands were full of candy. So it wasn’t as though he could just hug himself.
“I have a feeling you’re not going to answer,” Mickey finally said.
“It’s not that,” Bjorn replied. “It’s just that I don’t know the answer.”
Mickey looked at him, up and down, then he swallowed. “Okay.”
“Is that okay?” Bjorn said. He didn’t think that it sounded like it was okay, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was. He didn’t know Mickey that well—in fact, he didn’t know Mickey at all—but he sounded hurt. Bjorn didn’t understand what he could possibly be hurt about, though. It wasn’t as though there was something that Bjorn could have done that would hurt this person, who was practically a stranger.
Mickey raised his eyebrows, cocking his head. “I don’t know, Bjorn. You tell me.”
Bjorn stuffed his mouth with the handful of candy that was in his hand and chewed it slowly. He didn’t want to talk, and the longer he could postpone it, the better he would feel. He finally swallowed, the candy feeling awful as it hit the back of his throat. Bjorn hadn’t ever eaten so much sugar at once, and he felt a little sick. He wanted to cough it up, but not in fro
nt of Mickey. Especially because the only reason that he had put all the candy down his throat in the first place was to give himself some time to think. He shook the can of soda that he had in his hands, but it was completely empty. He swallowed down the candy again, only to find that Mickey was looking at him, a mix of confusion and surprise on his face.
Mickey cleared his throat. “Did you just—”
“I needed time to think,” Bjorn said, coughing. The sugar was coating his tongue, and he wasn’t enjoying it.
“Think about what?”
“About whether it was okay,” Bjorn finally replied, his cheeks burning.
Mickey shrugged. “Look,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know that,” Bjorn said. “But it still feels wrong. I want you to be okay.”
Mickey shook his head. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know! It just, I don’t know, it feels important that I don’t hurt your feelings.”
“Bjorn,” Mickey said, waving his hand in front of his face. “As much as I appreciate you trying to protect me, and as sweet as I think it is, it’s completely unnecessary. I’ve been rejected before, and I managed to survive. It was never a pleasant experience, but nothing happened, you know? It was what it was. I got through it. I’m going to get through this, too.”
“I know that,” Bjorn said. “But what if I end rejecting you and I don’t?”
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t get through this, I mean,” Bjorn replied. He almost clapped his hand over his mouth the moment he had said the last thing he had, but the way Mickey was looking at him, so openly, so sincerely, it was enough to put him at ease. Even if he was afraid of admitting how he felt, there was something about Mickey that just... helped. Since he made him feel so many things he had never felt before, that didn’t totally surprise him. He just wished that there was someone else he could process these things with. While Pink had been supportive—at least as far as Bjorn could tell—he was also right. There was the tournament. That was what he was here for in the first place. Mickey was incidental, at best.
“You will,” Mickey said, putting his hand on Bjorn’s shoulder and squeezing it. That was enough. His other arm was still behind him and it wasn’t as though anyone could see them. It was the middle of the night and Bjorn was incredibly cold, much colder than he had anticipated. The adrenaline rush of going out with just Mickey had passed and now the hair on his skin was standing up on end. He put his arms around himself and lay his head on Mickey’s chest. He could hear Mickey’s heartbeat, which was going incredibly fast, as he pressed his head up against him. It didn’t matter, though. He thought about jerking his head away, but that would have made no sense. He was already there, and worse of all, he was pretty sure that he was happy there. He didn’t want to move away from Mickey.
He exhaled through his mouth before he spoke. “I don’t know, Mickey. I’m not sure that I will.”
Mickey didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved slightly so that he was now facing the same way that Bjorn was, and he wrapped his arm around him. “You’re freezing,” he said, quietly. “Is this helping?”
“Yeah,” Bjorn replied, ignoring how red his cheeks were. “It is.”
Chapter Eleven
Mickey hadn’t intended to spend the night with his arms wrapped around the guy he had suddenly realized he had a crush on, especially not outside. He definitely hadn’t intended to spend it with him after nothing had happened between them, not even a kiss. Mickey had learned no especially valuable information the last night, except for one thing. He liked spending time with Bjorn. He liked spending time with him far more than he remembered enjoying spending time with anyone else, at least for a really long time. Bjorn was cute, he was interesting, and he was honest. He had been honest the night before when he didn’t have to be.
He had told Mickey how confused he was, which Mickey didn’t expect. He also wasn’t crazy about it, because it made things harder for him. A rejection he could take; he was fine with it. But the fact that he was confused about it—that just complicated things for Mickey. Because it meant that Mickey would have to wait, and the worst part was, he would. He knew he shouldn’t but he that knew that he would anyway, even though he he’d be wasting his time waiting on something—someone—that may never come to fruition. He wished that he wasn’t so attracted to Bjorn, because then maybe they could have been friends. He was an interesting enough guy. He would have just been so much more interesting when he wasn’t wearing any clothes.
It wasn’t as though Mickey had intended for any of the things that had happened to happen. All he had wanted to do, when he was standing in front of Bjorn’s door—before even knowing what his actual name was—was to talk to him. He knew that it was important that he talk to him, that he get him out of his system. He had only been trying to follow the advice Syn had given him.
Except that, as they talked more and more, Bjorn was securing his place under Mickey’s skin and in his bones. He could feel it. He couldn’t just get rid of the physical attraction because Bjorn kept solidifying it with every word that he said. Mickey wasn’t just thinking about what feeling his mouth wrapped around his cock would be like anymore, nor was he thinking about how beautiful his blue eyes were when they glimmered. He was also thinking about what he liked, what he didn’t like, and how much time they would get to spend together.
That was far scarier than just wanting him. He knew how to handle physical rejection, but limbo wasn’t something that he was prepared for. It was something that he didn’t think he should have to be prepared for in the first place. Even realizing he was gay wasn’t as much of a shock; he had always known he was gay, ever since he was a little boy. He preferred the company of girls, and that was still true to an extent. But he also liked men; he had always liked men. His first crush was a back-up dancer in a pop idol’s music video, with his ripped black shirt, which was little more than a crop top, and his black leggings. He had recorded it on a VHS tape and played it over and over again, trying to recreate every movement. Not because he thought dancing was cool—he wasn’t very good at it and he didn’t really want to get better—but because he wanted to be the man in the crop top and the black leggings. It wasn’t until many years later that he realized that he didn’t actually want to be the man in the crop top, he wanted to be with the man in the crop top. That was a long, painful distinction, one that took him far too many years to get to. He didn’t want to be the man in the crop top for anyone, he thought bitterly. He definitely didn’t want to be the man in the crop top for Bjorn.
It wasn’t the same, he told himself, even as the thought made him panic slightly. He had been a little kid. If it hadn’t been the dancer, it could have been anyone else. But was that what Mickey was going to be to Bjorn? Did it have to take for them to meet for Bjorn to finally come to terms with his sexuality?
God, Mickey wished it had been anyone else. Anyone else would have been better. With anyone else, he absolutely wouldn’t have minded helping them explore their sexuality. But he had made a fatal error when it came to Bjorn; he had decided to spend time bonding. Bonding. As if they were teammates or something. They weren’t even teammates, they were on opposing teams, and following Syn’s advice had been a huge error. What had he expected to get when he went to Bjorn’s room? What could he possibly have gained from standing in front of it, looking like a creep and drinking beer? It had been such a bad idea. Why had he thought it was a good one? It made absolutely no sense, and he wished that he hadn’t done it. He wished that he could go back to the night before and tell himself not to buy those stupid beers in the first place. It wasn’t as though he needed them. He could have gone out to any bar, any club, anywhere, and someone would have bought him drinks. He knew that. He just wished that he could have remembered it before he had decided to go the drug store and get that six pack. He wasn’t sure what it was about Bjorn, but he was making Mickey act like a goddamn teenager. A stupid one, to boot.
>
He couldn’t just cuddle up with someone who wasn’t even sure if he was interested in taking it further. Except that was exactly what he had done the moment he had wrapped his arms around Bjorn, the moment he had buried his head in his blond hair and smelled the hotel shampoo on it. Bjorn had obviously showered that night, and Mickey kind of hated that he knew that. He kind of hated that he knew the way his skin felt under his own, all soft and cold, and then warm.
The worst part had been when Bjorn had fallen asleep. It had happened so quickly that Mickey hardly had time to process it. First his head was on Mickey’s chest, then his gaze was locked with Mickey’s. Then he had moved his head back to where it had first been, smiling and closed his eyes. That was when his breathing had quickened, and he had fallen asleep just like that.
Mickey could count the number of men that had fallen asleep on him on one hand. He could count the men that had fallen asleep on him without ever having sex with him on one finger. It was just Bjorn, and if it had been anyone else, Mickey would have never allowed it. But Bjorn had been warm and vulnerable and there. He had been the one that had taken the first step by laying his head on Mickey’s chest. He had been the one that had made Mickey feel like it was real, like it was more than just lust. And it was driving Mickey crazy, because he wasn’t used to things that weren’t just lust, especially with people he didn’t know.
Especially with men who weren’t even gay. At least not as far as Mickey knew. And obviously not as far as Bjorn knew. God, who had allowed him to get in over his head this much? He knew what he was supposed to do with his life, he knew what he was supposed to do in this tournament, and Mickey’s plans didn’t involve Bjorn. Even now, they didn’t involve Bjorn.
There was no way that they could involve him, because even Bjorn didn’t know what he wanted. But he had even admitted that himself, and wasn’t that a step? Wasn’t that almost as good as saying that he wanted him? Mickey shook his head, swallowing.