Author's Notes:

1) Written for Blink Week 2006. Happy (early) Birthday, B!

2) I didn't use the newsie nicknames in this one, so, just to clarify, the narrator (Ryan) is Kid Blink. You can probably figure out the rest on your own.

3) The writing style in this fic feels kind of rough to me…I'd appreciate any comments or constructive criticism you can give.

The One You're With

--

"Hey." Tony slams the apartment door open and throws his keys on the kitchen counter. "What's for supper?"

"Salmon and--" I look Tony over, but he's not holding any grocery sacks, and it doesn't look like he plans to return to his car to get some. Plus he only got off work ten minutes ago. There's no way he could have gone grocery shopping and then made it home in that much time, even at the speed he drives. So it looks like we're not having salad tonight. I search through the contents of the refrigerator, trying to make the best of things. "Salmon and baby carrots, I guess. Or apples."

Tony is standing behind me, and with my head in the refrigerator I can't see him, but I can sense his facial expression: displeasure. He likes fancy cooking--fancy and homemade--which I figured out the one time I tried to feed him Campbell's soup when he was sick. And then I hear a sharp intake of breath as he realizes that it's his mistake, not mine. "Aw, fuck. I forgot to pick up that salad shit you wanted."

"Yeah." I shrug, pulling the defrosted salmon fillets out of the refrigerator and then standing up and closing the door. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Here. Let me make it up to you." Tony moves so that he's standing right behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck. First his lips graze my skin, then his teeth, then--

I untangle myself from his embrace and walk away, grabbing a frying pan from a nearby cupboard and forcing myself not to slam it on the stove top. That's Tony's style, not mine.

"It's not a big deal, anyway," Tony says. I turn to see him leaning casually against our table, which is shoved into the kitchen because we don't have a dining room--it's a small apartment. "I have a business meeting tonight. It's in the private dining room at some fancy restaurant. I'm sure I can get food there."

I feel something--my heart? my stomach?--leap inside my chest when I hear that Tony's going to be gone for another night, and I gulp, trying to keep my voice normal. "That's--that's fine." I put the salmon back in the refrigerator. "I didn't know you had a meeting tonight."

"Yeah, it just came up today at work. But I figured it's no big deal."

I nod. It is a big deal, in a lot of ways--the salmon, the suddenness, the slow realization that, to Tony, his business is more important than me. His boyfriend. His lover. "No, it's not a big deal." Besides, I kind of enjoy the nights when Tony's gone. They're…peaceful. "Uh, what time are you leaving?"

Tony looks down at his watch. "In half an hour, probably. I'm going to go get some work done." He walks past me toward our bedroom, which doubles as his office, his briefcase banging against the apartment walls. I turn off the kitchen lights and sit on the couch in the living room because Tony doesn't like to be bothered while he's working. I turn the T.V. on, channel flipping until I find some nature program, which is only marginally more interesting than just staring at the walls.

Half an hour later, Tony reappears with that self-satisfied smirk on his face that means he's gotten something big done for work and he's proud of himself. Sometimes he gets that look after sex, too, but usually just after work. He storms through the living room without even looking at me, walks into the kitchen, grabs his keys, and is out the door. "Bye, Ryan," he calls.

I twist around, looking over the back of the living room couch, but he's already gone, and I'm staring into darkness. "Bye, Tony," I murmur. Then I turn back around to face the television again. On T.V., a pair of polar bear cubs are frolicking through the snow together, looking young and innocent and...happy. I slump into the couch and sigh, feeling tired and so lonely, even though I'm living in a city of millions. But the apartment is dark and empty, and, though I know I shouldn't do it, I reach for the phone and dial.

Someone picks up on the first ring. "Um, hi," I begin. "This is--"

I hear a soft laugh on the other end of the line, but it's gentle, not mocking. "I have caller I.D., Ryan. I know who it is. How are you?"

"Um--" I'm about to say 'fine', but I'm not, really. "Kind of lonely, I guess." I'm scared to say more--to ask more--but I don't have to.

"Do you want to come over?" His voice is kind, soothing. Cathartic.

"Yes." It shouldn't be so easy for me to say that. It should be a big decision; I should have to wrestle with my morals, my beliefs, my feelings for Tony. I should say no. But I don't.

"All right. Will you be here soon?"

"Yeah. I'll walk. It'll only take a few minutes."

"Don't worry, Ryan. I'll be here."

"Okay." I don't want to hang up, don't want to lose that voice. I keep reminding myself that I'll see him in a few minutes, so why is it such a big deal, anyway? I don't know, but it is. "Bye."

"Bye. See you soon." There's a soft click on the other end of the line, and I hang up, my hand shaking. For a moment, I just sit on the couch, excitement and self-loathing churning inside of me. I shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't want to be with him...but should I really be with Tony, either? We were perfect together--our shared first love, bright and fierce. He was harsh and rough, but he loved me. And I loved him. Love him. But that brightness is fading, and I'm getting scared of the dark.

I stand suddenly and race out of the apartment, barely remembering to lock the door behind me. I don't want to think any more, and I don't want to spend the night alone. When I leave the apartment building and reach the street, I walk as quickly as I can, the rhythm of my feet pounding the sidewalk pushing all other thoughts from my brain. At his apartment building, I stand for a few lengthy seconds in front of the elevators before growing impatient and racing for the stairs. By the time I reach the fourth floor, I am sweating and out of breath. I knock on his apartment door, and then bend forward at the waist, resting my hands on my knees and sucking air into my lungs. The door opens, and I look up into a pair of deep brown eyes. This is Nick; this is--maybe--the man I love. But don't I love Tony?

"Hi, Ryan." I smile at the sound of his voice, and Nick grins down at me. He wraps an arm around my back, helping me stand and pulling me into the apartment. He thrusts a glass of water into my hand and sits me down at his kitchen table. Then he turns away, takes a pan out of the oven, and sets it on the table in front of me. "Are you hungry? I made lasagna."

I nod, and he dishes some onto a plate, setting a fork on the table next to it. For a second, I just stare down at the plate, and then up at Nick, feeling exhausted, exhilarated ...overwhelmed. I've never had this before--someone who would cook for me, care for me, ask me over for sex and then make me lasagna. I watch as Nick smiles, pulls a chair up next to mine, and reaches for my fork. He spears a piece of lasagna and then brings the fork to my mouth, gently prodding my lips with its tongs. "Come on, Ryan. Open up." He's like a parent trying to feed a baby, and I obey, allowing him to feed me a few forkfuls before I take the fork from him and start to eat on my own. Then he dishes up a plate for himself and sits next to me. We eat and talk, and I feel safe and warm and full, full of something more than just food.

When we've finished eating, he takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, where we kiss and grope, and he undresses me slowly, his soft hands brushing tenderly against my skin. And when we're done, he doesn't smirk, but smiles, gathering me in his arms and pressing my head to his chest. I relax into his embrace, listening to the rhythm of his heart, feeling the motion of his breathing. For a moment, I feel all alone in the city again, but this time I'm alone with Nick, and it's a good feeling.

When it's time for me to leave, Nick offers me a ride home, and when I won't accept that, he gives me his coat because it's autumn now, and he's worried I'll be cold. I enter my apartment and see Tony's keys on the kitchen counter. Now he's the one sitting on the couch watching television.

"Where were you at?" I am unsure whether he is suspicious, or merely curious about my whereabouts. I hope he hasn't been home for very long.

"McDonald's," I murmur. "I, uh, I went to get something to eat. Since I didn't make anything for supper."

"All right." Tony stands up and stretches. "I'm going to bed now. Wanna come?"

"Um, no. Not yet. I think--I think I'll watch T.V. for awhile."

"Whatever. Good night." He kisses me quickly, his chapped lips brushing roughly against mine, and then leaves. He never asks whose coat I'm wearing, or why I smell nothing like McDonald's, or why I didn't just eat the goddamn salmon on my own. Or why, when he kisses me, he can taste mozzarella and tomato sauce and another man's breath on my lips.

I should be happy that he doesn't notice, relieved that I won't be discovered. But instead I feel alone all over again, and I wonder how much longer this can last.