So I decided that I was going to try and post a new story monthly. Ideally I'd like to do one weekly but I just don't have many ideas. Literally spent all month trying to come up with something and just spent the last few hours finishing this. I finished it before midnight so I'm counting it even if I did post it on time. I just want to make more time for some writing. This was inspired by Hozier's From Eden. Enjoy.
It's not like it was uncommon for drunks to wander into the cemetery. Drunks tended to wander into all kinds of places in the middle of the night after the bars have given final calls. No, what was peculiar about this one was that it wasn't some middle age sobbing man. This time, it was a young man, one that was quite familiar to Pete, though still the sobbing mess.
Pete scoffed and turned to his friends. "We better call it quits. Last calls are rolling in. Don't want to get caught up in that." The other goth kids turned to watch the distant figure stumble in an attempt to kick down one of the graves. They nodded in agreement before snubbing out their cigarettes and departing. Pete lingered for a moment, watching his friends go, before walking towards the familiar figure.
"Babe, there's something tragic about you." Pete said as he approached the gravestone where Stan was now seated. Stan looked up to glare at Pete before turning back to take another swig of the bottle in his hand. He was definitely angry. Pete crouched down next to him watching the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "Something so magic about you. Don't you agree?" He asked coolly.
Stan laughed a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, tragic, definitely. I don't know about magic though. That's a bit of a stretch." He took one last swing of his bottle before realizing it was empty. With a frown Stan tossed it away. He could hear it thump into the grass in the distance.
Stan didn't even look at him as Pete spoke. "Babe, there's something lonesome about you. Something so wholesome about you." He sat down in the grass, leaning on his hand, before whispering. "Come closer to me."
This time when Stan laughed he sounded genuinely amused. "Is that your big play? Hit on me while I'm down? Hoping for a rebound."
Pete shrugged, shifting so that he was sitting next to Stan and reclining against the stone. "What can I say? I'm an opportunist. Can't say I haven't noticed you. You're sober enough to know exactly what I'm doing and yet, no tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony. No 'who cares', no vacant stares. No time for me?" The last one was a question that earned a curious look from Stan.
"I've always been obvious haven't I? Wear my heart on my sleeve." Stan had gone back to staring at the empty space in front of him. "You can always tell when I'm broken."
"You might wear your heart on your sleeve," Pete began, staring at the same space that held Stan's attention. "But, you know, takes one to know one. I know what it's like to be broken. Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago."
Stan looked suddenly at Pete in surprise, but he merely continued to stare forward. His face remained completely apathetic, giving nothing away to Stan. "So you've been there? Had someone cheat on you?"
Pete's tone remained cool and unwavering. "Yeah. But you know that was ages ago. I've learned and moved on." At this Pete turned to meet Stan's curious gaze. For the first time Pete noticed just how red stained and puffy Stan's face was. He had been crying. "You on the other hand seemed to have never learned your lesson, even after the first time."
Stan felt himself blush a bit. "Well, to be fair the first time I was just heart broken. I didn't get cheated on then." There was a silence then. It settled for a few moments until Stan felt he had to speak. "It just- It's not easy okay. To give up on trying to find a good relationship, the right relationship. It's not easy always seeing the bad in everyone and everything."
Turning away Pete dug into his pocket. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lit one before speaking. "Idealism sits in prison. Chivalry fell on its sword. Innocence died screaming. Honey, ask me I should know."
Stan glared. He was so irate with Pete's casualness of the whole thing. "What do you know?" He exclaimed jumping to his feet. "You're so cynical about the world. Why even bother with trying at anything?"
Pete looked up at Stan, keeping his casual demeanor. "Aren't you just as cynical?" It wasn't spiteful but rather genuine. "Just because you hide it or drown it, doesn't mean it's not still there."
For a moment they just stared, holding each other's gaze, and then Stan sighed, deflated. He crouched down next to Pete. "Why are you even here, Pete?" The question sounded tired though the inquisition was authentic.
"I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door." Pete said, simply.
"Right. Temptation." Stan said with some bitterness. "Trying to take advantage while I'm vulnerable. Hoping to get into my pants, yeah?" Suddenly, Stan was very aware of how sober he was. God, he wished he had another bottle. "You know, just because I was cheated on doesn't mean I want to be a cheater too. We didn't technically break up. I'm not just going to throw away a chance at fixing us for some meaningless fling."
"They did, didn't they?" At Stan's silence, Pete continued. "Contrary to what you think, I do actually like you. Hell if I know why, but I do. Getting into your pants would just be a bonus." Stan contemplated this a moment, trying to absorb the fact that Pete just eluded to actually wanting be with him. Pete held Stan's gaze once more and for the first time, that Stan can remember, Pete smiled. It was beautiful if somewhat lamenting. "Babe, there's something wretched about this; something so precious about this. What a sin."
And Stan couldn't help but actually laugh at the situation he found himself in. Wretched? Yes. He never would have considered it precious though. But here he was with Pete potentially on the verge of something new. "To the strand a picnic plan for you and me?" He asked with a smile.
Pete shrugged. "Why not? Let's get outta here and just drive. A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree." Still, Stan seemed hesitant. Pete stood. His legs felt stiff and he was suddenly aware of the cold, but he turned to Stan and offered a hand. "Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago. Idealism sits in prison. Chivalry fell on its sword. Innocence died screaming. Honey, ask me I should know." Pete reminded him.
Well if anyone understood how Stan felt, it was Pete. He took the offered hand.