Friday, December 2, 2011
"Coffee?"
"Sure."
Matt pours two cups from the piece of crap coffee maker on the kitchen counter and brings them over to the coffee table. He puts one cup down in front of Mello and takes a sip of the other before sitting down on the couch.
"How is it?" Mello asks.
Matt shrugs. "Same old. Why?"
Mello frowns and takes a sip of his coffee. "Hm. It was spitting yesterday morning. Guess it's fine now."
"We could always get another one. Shit coffee makers aren't expensive, plus they're only supposed to last like a year." Matt and Mello have had this coffee maker since they were eighteen, and Mello's turning twenty-two in a week and a half.
Mello runs a hand through the bottom layer of his hair. "Yeah. I could pick one up later today. I'm gonna run some errands."
"I take it you're at EMBR tonight then." Matt tries his coffee again. Hm. Now that Mello's said something, it does taste a little different. It's probably just because he expects it to, since Mello just said it was fine, but still Matt sets his cup back down on the coffee table and pushes it ever-so-slightly away.
"It's Friday, so...yeah."
Matt checks his phone. So it is. He's got a ten-to-seven, Monday-through-Saturday shift schedule, so days tend to run together for him. Mello, on the other hand, works Monday through Thursday at the Vons warehouse in town, and on Friday and Saturday nights he tends bar at EMBR, a gay club in the city. He and Matt used to have similar schedules, but Vons cut his hours to part time about six months ago, so he had to find another job. EMBR is kind of a shitty commute, but it pays better than the warehouse. Plus, Matt thinks the change in work environment has been good for Mello. He's a lot more social than anyone Matt knows, and warehouse work just wasn't cutting it. Hardly anyone who's on shift with Mello is anywhere near his age, and some only speak enough English to be distantly friendly anyway. At the club, Mello's got his fellow bartenders, his regulars, and even the occasional guy who comes by the bar to try and chat him up like he thinks his life is a T-Pain song.
"Oh, by the way, I don't know if I'll be coming home tonight."
Matt raises an eyebrow. "Going home with T-Pain?"
"What?"
"Nothing. What errands are you running today?" Matt decides he's not going to finish his coffee. He stands up, stretches, and takes his cup to the sink.
"We need food, I guess I'm picking up a coffee maker, we're out of lightbulbs after I changed that one in the bathroom last night, and I wanna get a haircut."
Ooh, a haircut. "So you are going home with T-Pain."
"Still don't know what you're talking about." Mello downs the rest of his coffee and dangles the empty cup in the air by its handle. Prissy bastard.
Matt comes back over to grab Mello's cup. "Well, okay, not T-Pain, but you're planning on getting some from someone tonight." He returns to the kitchen and puts Mello's cup in the sink beside his own.
"And?"
"And nothing, just. You are."
"Okay. Glad that's settled." Mello grabs a pad of paper and a pen from the coffee table. "Hey while you're up, wanna check the fridge and tell me what we need?"
"No." Matt opens the fridge anyway. "Cheese. Probably bread too, and jam...is this jam still good? Looks fine. Scratch the jam. Butter? Butter." He comes across a bag of wrinkled bell peppers. "Do we eat bell peppers?"
"Cheese, bread, butter..."
Matt continues to rummage through the fridge. "So, who's the lucky guy? One of your regulars?" He hears the pantry door open behind him.
"Why the sudden interest? You've never cared who I sleep with before." Mello's voice has an odd tone to it. Matt chalks it up to distortion from the fridge noise. "I'm putting pasta and sauce on the list." There's a distinct crinkling sound that Matt recognizes as a chocolate bar being opened.
"Good idea. Oh also, onions. And I dunno, this is the first time you've ever anticipated getting laid. Usually you just shoot me a text from EMBR on your break or whenever. Why do we have lettuce in here?" The head of romaine lettuce is sad and wilted. It's also full, and looks like it hasn't ever been taken out of its bag.
"For sandwiches. And I'm not anticipating getting laid, like I said I don't know if I'm coming home or not. Can you check and see if we have whipped cream?" Mello likes to eat whipped cream out of the can. It's disgusting.
"Well, make a note. We don't eat lettuce sandwiches." Matt shakes the whipped cream. Almost empty. "Yeah, put whipped cream on the list. And Rockstar-get the four-pack. And okay, that's semantics, but the fact that you don't know must mean you've got someone in mind, yeah?"
"Negative on the Rockstar. I'm not gonna let you kill yourself." Yeah, meaningful words coming from the guy who eats straight whipped cream and thinks that chocolate is a breakfast food. "Oh but check the freezer, we might be low on vodka."
"Right, so I can't kill myself with Rockstar, but you can kill yourself with rubbing alcohol." Matt opens the freezer. "Vodka's half full. The rum, though..."
"Buy your own damn rum."
"You still didn't answer my question."
"What question?"
"Who's the guy, Mel?" Matt closes the freezer door and leans against it, watching Mello scribble something else on his list. He pulls out his phone to check the time. 8:40. He's gonna have to leave pretty soon if he wants to catch his bus. "Come on, at least let me know before I go, otherwise I'll be thinking about it all day."
Mello's face takes on a weird expression, but when he turns to face Matt, the expression is gone. "Well, maybe I want-" he starts to say, then stops, turns back to look inside the pantry, and writes something else down. "Cereal. I forgot to write down cereal. Milk?"
"Maybe you want...?"
Mello rubs the back of his neck. "Never mind. Just this guy who comes in sometimes, once or twice a month."
"Is he cute?"
"Of course he's cute. You think I sleep with ugly guys?"
Matt shrugs. He has no idea who Mello sleeps with, since they never talk about it. Mello tends to be pretty private about his guys, which has led Matt to be pretty private about his girls. They even have a rule against bringing lays back to the apartment. This right here, this discussion, is just a special case, since Mello's got his eye on someone more than twelve hours before that person will be in his presence. "So you think you've got a shot with him?"
"Fair chance, yeah."
"Care to explain?"
Mello rolls his eyes. "I thought you said you had to leave."
"In due time. I wanna hear about your boo."
"Ugh." Mello retreats back to the couch. Matt follows. "He was in last week, came in pretty early. Not many people around to order drinks, so he and I started talking. He kept checking back and flirting when I wasn't too busy, then around last call he came around again, said 'See you next Friday,' and left with his friends."
Somehow that's not the story Matt wanted. He's not sure what type of story he was looking for, but he's sure it involved either flowers, romance, and copious amounts of chocolate or heavy urban grit and guns. Too bad life is realistic. He sighs. "That's so normal," he says.
"What were you expecting? Cinderella? Pumpkins, fairy godmothers, guns?"
"I could see you in glass slippers. Also what version of Cinderella has guns?" Mello knows him too well. He could probably smell the guns in Matt's mind, or something.
"You know, it's almost nine."
Shit. Matt stands up and does the standard pat-down. Phone in the front right, keys in the front left, wallet in the back right. Everything's accounted for. "You start at nine tonight, right?" Maybe he can catch Mello as he's running out the door.
"Eight-thirty. Club opens at nine."
"Crap, I never remember. Okay, I gotta run. See you tomorrow, stay safe, use protection, don't get pregnant."
"Bye Matt."
Matt arrives at the bus station ten seconds before the bus pulls up. He's smooth.
Three hours into his shift, his phone buzzes. Matt does a quick once-around to make sure no supervisor is around, then checks the text.
[2:13 PM] From Mello: the bartender song.
Matt grins and puts his phone away.
In the early hours of the morning, Matt wakes up to the sound of the door opening. His first instinct is to go back to sleep, but then he remembers that Mello wasn't planning on being home tonight. He looks at his phone. 3:45 AM, just enough time for Mello to finish his shift and drive back in no traffic.
"Mel?" he calls down the hall. Still fighting off sleep, he sits up, wraps his duvet around himself, and heads into the living room.
Mello's only turned one lamp on, which is great for Matt's eyes, and is at the sink pouring himself a glass of water. It doesn't look like he heard Matt call him. He looks slightly disheveled-from what Matt can see, his hair's frizzy and the rolled-up sleeves of his black button-up are coming unrolled. Probably just the end result of a six-and-a-half-hour shift at a raucous, humid club, but Matt rarely sees Mello when he comes home from EMBR, so he uses the silence to observe.
After a second, Matt repeats, "Mello?"
"Oh, hey," Mello says, turning around. He looks tired. "What are you doing up? Don't you have work tomorrow morning?"
Matt shrugs and the whole duvet moves with his shoulders. "Heard you come in."
"Sorry."
"Nah, don't be, I wanted to say hi." Matt's voice is starting to lose its sleepy, scratchy edge, but he's still in the process of waking up. He stays at the border between the hallway and the kitchen, leaning against the wall and watching Mello drink his water. "So what happened?"
"What happened what?" Mello makes his way over to the couch. "Come over here and sit down. You look dead."
"You know." Matt follows Mello and sits down next to him. "Between you and that guy."
Mello drums his fingers against the glass. "Nothing really."
"Well I kind of figured that, since you're here."
Mello sighs. "It's not a big deal," he says, turning his face away slightly and bringing a hand up to his neck. "He came in early again, we talked, then he disappeared and I didn't see him for the rest of the night."
"Talked?"
"Talked."
"Like, 'hi how are you nice weather we're having how's the family' talking? Or like, 'hey baby what size pants do you wear i'd like to try to get in them' talking?" Matt shifts around under the duvet. It's too warm in the apartment for the modesty covering he's chosen, and he's starting to sweat. At the same time, he can't just take it off, so he's stuck awkwardly fanning himself with one corner.
Mello snorts quietly and spits a mouthful of water back into his glass. He moves the hand on his neck down to his lap. "Neither. But closer to the latter."
"And he didn't even kiss you?"
"No, he didn't, he didn't stick around long enough."
Matt shakes his head. "What a dingleberry."
Mello chuckles. "Yeah."
Beat. "So, you have no idea what happened?"
"No clue," says Mello. "But like I said, it's not that big of a deal. It happens sometimes."
Which is a first for Matt to hear, because this is the first time in...ever, really, that they've talked about getting laid. Or, in this case, not getting laid. Really the only evidence Matt has that Mello tries is the texts he sends when he succeeds. Now that Matt thinks about it, it makes sense that Mello wouldn't succeed every time he tried. Matt doesn't have a perfect track record either. But for some reason, he's always thought that Mello could have whomever he wanted.
It's probably just that he's known Mello since they were thirteen, and now he's incapable of seeing him through a stranger's eyes. When Matt looks at Mello, he can't see any of the reasons why a stranger wouldn't want him. Mello's smart-really, really smart-and you can see it in his eyes before he even opens his mouth. They're like, sharp, his eyes. And intense. Everything about Mello is intense, or maybe Matt remembers Mello's intense moments most because he likes them best. Something like that. He supposes a schoolteacher or babysitter would say that Mello gets carried away. But he likes that about Mello. It's part of his charm.
Mello's also really hot, and Matt only says this because he's been inside EMBR once before (to bring Mello a change of clothes after some asshole dumped a vodka Sprite all over him because a standard pour just isn't good enough for some people. That asshole got himself kicked out), and it's pretty clear that the place practices severe hiring discrimination. Plus, bartender. That's got to add hotness points.
"Really," Matt thinks out loud, "that guy would be dumb to pick some sweaty, club-happy yahoo over you. How could any other guy be hotter than you? I mean, you're the bartender. What happened to T-Pain?"
Mello looks away really suddenly. "What happened," he says, still facing away from Matt, "is that song came out like five years ago. Seriously, stop making that reference. It's dating you."
"Hey, are you feeling okay?" Matt thought he was doing okay at this 'talking' thing. Guess he screwed up somewhere.
"Yeah, fine." Mello still doesn't turn back.
"You sure?" Matt nudges Mello's knee with his own. "Come on, did I say something?"
Mello still won't look at Matt. "Nothing, you didn't say anything, everything's fine." Everything is definitely not fine. But, at least for now, Matt drops the subject. If Mello's mad at him, this moment will come back in an argument a week or so down the line. Then, Matt will learn what it is he's done.
"Okay." Matt fidgets. This duvet is uncomfortably hot, to the point that he's almost ready to throw it off and display his boxer brief-clad body to Mello. He's sure Mello would appreciate that. "Well, sorry you didn't get any tonight. I was really rooting for you."
"Yeah. Thanks. Night." Mello hunches over so his elbows are on his knees and starts playing with his water glass again. There's a little spit ring on top of the water that Matt takes complete credit for.
Matt starts to get up to shuffle back to bed, but something stops him. He turns to look at Mello, who's resting his weight on his elbows, tapping alternating index fingers against the glass, and staring at the coffee table. His face, mostly in shadow now, seems dragged down by some invisible force; his upper body sags. Every so often he takes a breath that looks too big for his lungs to handle, then slowly lets it out. He looks exhausted.
Matt remembers seeing this look almost nightly, back when they were eighteen and Mello was still trying to make college happen. He got into every college he could afford to apply to. But the money just wasn't there. Financial aid would cover tuition and textbooks, but that still left rent, food, phone bills, Internet bills, car payments, the list went on. Mello worked 14-hour days to try and save enough up that he could leave, but no matter how hard he worked or how much he saved, it couldn't be enough. Finally Mello went back to a normal work schedule. He took a couple classes at the local community college, but with no transfer potential, he couldn't find the motivation to keep up with the workload of classes that didn't challenge him enough. The higher education route turned out to be too costly, in terms of money, time, and sanity, so in the end, Mello let it all go. All that's left of Mello's former ambition is this look, Matt thinks. Worn out, mussed, and defeated. When Matt sees him like this, it's like a crushing reminder that the world isn't fair. Mello deserves so much more than his life can give him.
Matt and Mello look up at the same time, and their eyes lock.
Mello's gaze snaps back to the coffee table. "Thought you were going to bed," he says softly. Matt realizes they've both been zoning out. Time has been standing still.
He shakes his head, to clear it. "Yeah. Soon. What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing important." Mello sets his glass down on the coffee table and stands up. "Well even if you're not going to bed, I am. Good-"
"Mello?"
"Yeah?" Mello turns to face Matt again.
"You really didn't even get a kiss out of tonight?"
Mello makes a face. "Stop fucking asking that. No, I didn't. All right? I'm going to bed now." He starts walking away.
Matt feels the sudden urge to do something that might be really stupid. Or it might be pretty cool, he's not sure yet. "Mello, wait." He gives a few steps' chase and catches Mello by the wrist right before he walks into his room.
Mello whips around again. "Matt, what-"
Their eyes meet, and Mello's voice trails off. He sinks his back against the wall with a slight thud, and his hair flips up just slightly from the movement. Mello did get a haircut today, Matt notices. From far away it's almost unnoticeable, but so close up, it's easy to see-it's shorter in the back than it is in the front now, and his bangs are more even. It looks good. Mello always looks good. And he tries so hard, all the time, and he deserves the world, or at least…
Matt licks his lips and leans in. "This."
Mello says, "Oh," but it's softer than a breath, and then they're kissing.
The kiss starts out hesitant, their breaths mingling but their lips barely touching. Mello kisses like it's his first time, all slow and light and unsure, and even though it's a little dry, it's kind of exhilarating to get kissed like it's new and exciting. Matt thinks that it's exactly new and exciting, but he can't imagine that it is for Mello. Maybe he's just shy. Matt's never known Mello to be shy, but the thought gives Matt an unexplainable fuzzy feeling, like it's...cute. He matches Mello's energy, trying to coax him out of his shell. Eventually, Mello starts to open up, but even as they settle into each other, the kiss stays innocent. They're not making out as much as they are exploring, exchanging heart-poundingly soft little open-mouthed kisses. It's definitely pretty cool, Matt thinks, and smiles against Mello's lips.
Mello abruptly breaks the kiss with a cold hand pressed against Matt's chest. Their eyes meet again, for just a fraction of a second, then Mello looks down and clears his throat.
"Uh. Thanks," he says, and brings a hand up to rest on the back of his neck.
Uh. Thanks? Was what just happened between them a favor? Like a...pity kiss? Matt feels uncomfortable thinking about it in that sort of light-he doesn't want to see Mello as someone who needs, or accepts, the pity of others. It makes Mello look pathetic. But on the other hand, Matt's straight, which means the other interpretation has an equally-discomforting "I was curious and he was there" aspect to it that makes Matt look opportunistic and kind of predatory. And in the end he guesses that yeah, maybe it was a favor. Some sort of consolation for Mello not having the life he wanted, or not getting laid, or something. That doesn't make it any easier to find an appropriate response. What do you say when you get thanked for a kiss? 'You're welcome, man'? 'No problem, bro'?
"Anytime, dude," is what comes out of his mouth. Shit.
Mello's eyes go wide and there's a suddenly-strained moment of silence. "Yeah."
Regret. Heavy, soul-crushing regret. Why did he say that? Wasn't he just thinking of all the ways not to say that? 'Anytime, dude?' Worse than 'No problem, bro.' Much, much worse. "Okay. Uh."
He really needs to go to bed.
"I'll, uh. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Uh, yeah. Night."
"Night."
Matt returns to his room and collapses on his bed, only bothering to un-bundle himself enough that he's not sweaty. He's awkward. But Mello knows that, right? Mello knows that occasionally Matt just says and does dumb shit, and doesn't mean anything weird or shitty or cryptic by it. He's got to. Matt hopes Mello doesn't feel bad about the kiss, or anything that happened afterward. Matt didn't mean it to be a pity kiss, even though he's straight.
...Or is he, really. Matt's just kind of always assumed so, though he imagines that tonight is grounds for a thorough investigation of that assumption. Then he lays his head down on his pillow and realizes that he is too exhausted to investigate much of anything. So, as much as he'd love to obsess over the kiss and everything he said and whether "anytime" meant "you're welcome" or if it meant "any time" and how tonight may have destabilized his presupposed heterosexuality-"the foundation of everything he's ever believed about himself"-he decides that all that can wait until tomorrow at 7 PM at least, and falls asleep instead.
