Staying Straight
Disclaimer: The original characters are not mine.
4: Taking a Dude Home
"You sure your leg's okay, dude?" Jo stopped at the top of the stairwell and slung Harley's satchel over his shoulder, as Harley limped up to the midway landing.
"Oh, I'm quite fine." He smiled, but there was a pinched, pained look under the mask. "If I don't use it, the muscles will degrade."
"I'm not sure it works that way, but whatever you say." Jo still waited for him to catch up. "I guess it's supposed to keep the building's electricity costs down, but it sucks that you gotta have a damned doctor's note to use the elevator."
"I don't mind, really." Harley stopped at Jo's side, and Jo threw the door open.
"As long as you're sure. If your leg still feels like shit tomorrow, you might want to call out of work." He started down the hall, over the carpet that was either a modern art pattern or badly stained. The walls were white- past tense, as they now seemed to drip gray from the ceiling, and were scuffed and stained. Jo could smell fish guts and squid ink, and wrinkled his nose- Mrs. Van had been cooking with her door open again, but Harley didn't seem to mind the stench. He picked up his pace, and Harley followed, slower but very much trying to keep up. "I mean, you don't take care of that leg, you could do some permanent damage."
"Ah, I wish it were that easy." Harley giggled, and took a pointedly normal step, even bending the knee completely. "If I don't work, I don't get paid, I'm afraid. Besides, I need to finish your computer, and if I'm not there, nothing gets done."
"A computer ain't more important than someone's health. Ken would say the same, he's actually weirdly cool when it comes to that sort of stuff." Jo chuckled. "Like, this one time, I came in hung over and needed to run out in the middle of a meeting to spill my guts into a trashcan, and he actually stopped to be sure I was okay. Chewed me out when I told him why I was sick, but he was seriously worried something was wrong with me."
"Ken- your immediate manager?"
"Owner of the company. It's a small business," he added, before Harley could ask. "It's him, a couple girls who answer the phone, and five delivery guys."
"Ah." Harley nodded his understanding. "To be honest, I've never even met the real boss of the company. She called during my second week of work, and only spoke to Zack. I believe we're one of several businesses she owns, but she really doesn't do anything for them that I can tell."
"Huh." Jo shrugged. "Well, Ken's, like, the exact opposite of that. I don't think I'll ever have a better boss, y'know?" He grinned back at Harley. "Don't think anyone else'd ever hire me, anyway."
"You can't be all that bad."
"Yeah, well." Jo stopped and set Haku's cage and Harley's bag down, then fished into his back pocket. "I ain't lookin' to change jobs anyway. Keeping regular employment is like, a third of my parole conditions. This here's the next third, or, as I like to call it..." He shoved his key into the slot, jostled it, and shoved the door open. "Welcome to el casa de Jo."
"Don't you mean la ca-" Harley stopped before the language lesson could start as Jo ushered him inside, picking up Haku and the backpack as he did, and gawked at Jo's apartment. He really hadn't been sure what to expect, and he shouldn't have been nearly so surprised. The front hall was crowded with a black mountain bike with red tiger stripes in the shape of a skewed W logo, with a basket strapped to the back, and Jo skirted it into the single room that made up the rest of the apartment. There wasn't much to it- a rumpled, unmade bed in the corner under the window, a sunken-in futon in front of a battered-looking television that might have been older than its owner. There was a laptop computer with sleep lights blinking lazily from the breakfast bar that divided the tiny kitchen and pantry from the rest of the studio, and Harley could see a stack of dishes in the sink. Next to a basket of laundry (one which Harley couldn't discern whether it was clean or dirty, as it was all sort of tossed in) and partly buried under a spare blanket sat a row of hand weights, though the slot for the six-pound barbell was empty and there was a crook in the handle of the three-pound weight. The nicest thing in the room was a nearly-new looking stereo system, dust-free and mounted on a media center overstuffed with CDs, DVDs, even a handful of VHS or tape cassettes, and an off-brand mp3 player seated in the top. Jo seemed to catch him looking and grinned.
"I got the best movie collection in town. Back when that awesome VHS library shut down last year, I got a bunch of my old favorites for pennies on the dollar. I was happier than a pig in shit- but I guess I gotta be more careful. I think I've damn near wore out 'Glen or Glenda' by now. Plus, music wise, I got a whole shitload of classic albums and rare stuff and B-sides- I mean, I don't think anyone out there's got a better collection of The Ramones catalog than me. Pearl Jam, too- that stripped-down Toronto performance I got'll run ya like two-hundred on eBay."
"I suppose that is a matter of pride," Harley conceded, then took another helpless look around the room. Jo put Haku down next to the laptop, then wagged a finger at him.
"Listen, bird, I need that thing for work and stuff and there ain't no better flat surface for ya. You shit on it, I'm turning you into nuggets." He smirked, and Haku squawked at him and nipped at his finger through the bars. "Ow! Damn!" Jo shook his finger off. "You don't understand me, why the hell are you being a jerk now?!"
"Don't underestimate him." Jo glanced over to Harley, and saw he was testing the futon with his hands, pressing down into it. "I've found that he is very picky about who he likes. I'm not sure why he let you reach into his cage earlier, but it seems he's changed his mind since."
"Eh." Jo sniffed at Haku, nostrils flaring. Haku seemed to sniff right back, though he was a bird and birds can't do much more than coo aggressively. "Never much cared for animals anyway." He whirled back around to Harley. "Now, what the hell're you doin'?"
"Ah, me?" Harley stood upright, dusted his palms on his khakis. "I suppose I'll be sleeping here. I was just curious as to-"
"No way, dude. I have a bed." Jo pointed at the disheveled pile of sheets and blankets. "That futon's comfy for sitting, but it's shit for your back. I wouldn't let you have that, not when you're still busted up."
"And where will you sleep, then?"
"Uh, we'll work it out. Yeah." Jo picked up the spare blanket and tossed it to the futon. "I can sleep on the futon tonight, it's fine for me." He shoved his laundry basket next to the futon. "See, you just go on and put your stuff down there." He stepped back and stuffed his hands in the pockets. "Uh, you can go wherever you want in the house. Not too far to go, really. I mean, pantry's a little shallow, and there's not much but beer and milk in the fridge, but you can have whatever you want if you're hungry. Mi casa, su casa, whatever." He watched as Harley set his bag down and knelt by the media center. "Oh, yeah, and you can watch or listen to whatever you want! I dunno if there's anything in my CD catalog you'll like, but my movie collection rocks." Harley pursed his lips, unimpressed. "Uh, I've got cable, if you don't feel like watching movies."
"Hm. No books?" Harley craned his neck around to look at Jo, and Jo chuckled nervously.
"Never much for reading, sorry. I, uh, I think I get a couple news stations." He had a feeling Harley might like that, and the little smile he got in response indicated that he just might. "So, you know, get comfy, do whatever you want, just keep the blinds shut and don't go anywhere. You're probably tired, so you'll probably be asleep when I get back-"
"Get back?" Harley raised his head at this. "Were you leaving?"
"Uh, yeah. Just for a little while."
"And, where are you going?"
"Out." Jo shrugged. "I mean, it's Wednesday, and it's stopped raining. I was gonna head to Heavy Sands, play a few rounds. Shit," he hesitated, as he realized what he was saying. "Uh, you wanna come with?"
"Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't. I'm still a bit sore." Harley settled on the sofa, hands planted on his knees. "In fact, I may just turn in early. It's been a trying day." He laced his fingers around his knee. "But if you wish to leave, I can't stop you."
"Man, and I brought you here to keep you company." Jo hemmed and hawed for a moment, then sighed. "Look, if I don't go, I ain't gonna be able to afford lunch 'til next Friday."
"Beg pardon?" Harley frowned.
"Payday's Friday, yeah?" Jo numbered the days on his fingers. "I just paid rent, and even if this place is pretty small, I'm dropping about half my pay on it." He fidgeted, and talked in a rush. "So, right after rent comes due, I kinda have trouble affording food, so I'll play a few rounds of poker or pool to shore up the ol' budget." He shrugged and put on a nervous little grin. "I'm good, too! Win, most of the time."
"And if you lose?"
"Well, sucks to be me, then." Jo pulled his jacket back on. "You really don't mind?"
"Like I said, I think I'll go to bed early. You're certain you don't mind if I take the, ah, bed?" Harley glanced to the bed, but couldn't quite tell top from bottom. Jo shrugged again and jammed his feet down into his boots.
"You're still busted up. All yours." He tossed Harley an easy grin. "I won't be out late, just keep the door shut, alright?"
Harley smiled, his bangs shaded some of his expression. "I won't open the door, not even for a nice grandmother with a basket of cookies."
"Take the cookies, shoot the witch." Jo grinned and mimicked a pistol with his right hand. "See you in a little while, dude!" He shut the door before he could stall a second longer and made a break for the bus stop, through the smelly, dank hallway, all the way back down the stairs, back out into the humid city.
Heavy Sands was on the South side of the Little Shangri-La quarter, a cozy little dive with dark wood paneling and dust-clouded windows. The name was painted on the side, lit by flickering spot lights, and a neon "Open" sign buzzed like so many mosquitoes in the side window. Jo could hear the rush of water from the pier, see the lights from the high-rises gleaming green against the murky bay. The air was already clouded with smoke, and riding on the cramped 4 Line always made Jo want to pollute the air a little more. One more cigarette would just be gray on gray. Anti-smoker laws be damned, he lit up right off the bus. Jo didn't think he'd ever bother being a regular anywhere, but when he'd gotten out of jail, he'd jumped on the first bus passing the jail house and taken it somewhere that looked like it might sell cigarettes. He ended up at the general goods mart attached to Heavy Sands, heard a pool game starting up, and strolled right in and joined. Nobody carded him, and he didn't try to order beer so they wouldn't. He'd won a stack of fifties off the fiver in his pocket, got into a shouting match, got laid, and now returned to the same dive week after week in hopes of repeating the experience.
The barkeep knew him, knew his order and his tab. Jo'd had his first Natty Boh here, and the bartender greeted him with one every time he walked in now. He didn't even like the piss, but he drank it anyway and hissed as it slid down his throat. "Hey man, how 'bout a Flying Dog?" He grinned over the counter and shook his empty can. "Magic Hat? Or, you got anything new?" The barkeep rolled his eyes and slid him a can with an unfamiliar logo. "Thanks, man." He cracked this one and savored the first sip, then strolled through to the poker tables.
There were a few casinos in Chance Harbor, heavily licensed and regulated, and Heavy Sands wasn't one of them. But just like nobody carded him when he made his way to the tables the first time, nobody ever checked in on Heavy Sands' licenses, so not a single person gave a damn about getting caught gambling. Jo was sure the dim little bar wouldn't feel the same without round tables surrounded by hunched-shouldered card players and waitresses in black aprons weaving around delivering cans and bottles like water currents catching trash in the bay. Jo cast his gaze around for a familiar face, but someone else spotted him first.
"'Ey, Jojo!" A gruff, bombastic with a thick accent voice boomed from a corner, and Jo smirked and slunk across the room to join him. A big hulk of muscle with a square jaw and rectangular forehead and sloppy hair planted on top lifted a meaty arm to wave. "Come, join ze game! I need someone to explain zis American 'hhhhhhold 'em'!"
"Cut the Yakov Smirnof act, Yakim." Jo slid into the chair and kicked his feet out under the table. He didn't recognize the other three guys at the table, but he knew Yakim from work: one of the delivery drivers. Not a friend, but they were cool enough. Yakim chuckled, and some of the accent slipped from his voice.
"Yeah, the way these assholes play, they think I've never held 'em before."
"Shut up and deal, Yakim," one of the others grumbled, and Yakim chuckled and shuffled the deck.
"Fine by me." He winked at Jo. "Let's make this game a little more interesting, yeah?" Jo snorted and shrugged.
"What, you want special rules?" Another player raised an eyebrow, and Jo took a gulp of his beer and planted his feet.
"I bring the special rules." He smirked. "Let's deal."
He laid down a few dollars and picked up the first few hands. Yakim started cutting back to take some of Jo's winnings, but Jo was careful never to put down more than he'd started with. He only accepted one more can of beer; getting wasted was more fun when he wasn't worried about flushing his next three days of meals down the pisser. Yakim didn't seem to care, from the line of empty bottles stacking up faster than the waitresses thought to take them away. Jo didn't care either- Yakim didn't seem too drunk, and Jo was keeping his winning record easily. It was easy; he'd expected it to be. More interesting to Jo, anyway, was when the 'special rules' showed up.
"Mind if I watch?" A voice like honey washed over his ear, and Jo felt slender, silky fingers slide across the back of his neck. Jo let a dark smirk cross his face, and slid his gaze across the other four players- an obvious dare.
"Darlin', I love an audience." This was the real game. Cards in his hand and cash in his pocket be damned, the brown-eyed beauty on his shoulder was the real prize. He knew every single man at the table was looking at her, distracted or jealous. Jo knew he stood out in a crowd- the red hair would do that, and chicks dug confidence. He had learned it from Benny: smile, and the girls smile with you. The fact that he won most of the games he played didn't hurt. Girls noticed that kind of thing. The stack of cash he was tucking in his jacket pocket screamed 'I'll pay your bar tab if it'll get you home faster.'
When the first girl showed up, a few others joined her, and Jo smoothly flirted with each of them in turn as he played. Talking helped him keep his poker face, and he liked when they toyed with his hair or touched his shoulder and back. Of course he gave the most attention to the lovely lady who'd sidled up first; he was a loyal guy, after all. He made sure his eyes always went back to her, putting on the best smolder he had. The other players scoffed in disgust with every coy line he dealt, except Yakim, who got a good view of the back side of the girl on Jo's left.
"Man, Jojo, you get all the luck." He eyed her with a broad grin, and Jo chuckled and slipped an arm around the waist of the first girl.
"What can I say? The ladies are on my side, so Lady Luck must be somewhere 'round here." He gave her a squeeze, and she giggled. A nip of the arm, and she was in his lap.
"Mm, Jo." She batted her eyes. Her breath smelled like Smirnoff Ice and those soft mints they give out at cheap Chinese restaurants. "You are a lucky guy, huh?"
Jo grinned; he knew he'd taken a gamble, but when that move works, it works. "Guess I'm foldin' for tonight, fellas." He shoved his cards in. "Hey Yakim, don't stay out too late, yeah?"
"Ha." Yakim drained the last of his screwdriver and sniffed hard. "Nobody's waiting for me."
"Kenny'll be waiting for ya if you're late." He waved the waitress over to settle his tab, and traced his finger over the girl's- Chelsea? Kelsey? Whatever- hipbone. "I won't keep you waiting though, darlin'." He gave her a sly wink to seal the deal, and she giggled.
Yeah. Sometimes, it was just that easy. Most times, it was even easier.
Out into the parking lot, she staggered with her arm around his shoulder and crooned a sultry, "My place or yours?" He chuckled, ready to answer- then hesitated.
The brown hair that trailed over her shoulders and drifted in her eyes- wasn't that just a little familiar?
Shit. Harley. All alone in the house, still half-patched up from getting his ass kicked. Jo told himself that whoever took to him first got him first, and here he was walking off with number two. He seized her shoulder and touched his lips to hers.
"I'm a jackass, baby. I just remembered, I got an early morning." He trailed his mouth over to her ear. "Any way I can get your number and a rain check?"
Chelsea (oh, now he remembered!) put her number in his phone, and he gave her his just in case, and the two parted ways for different bus lines. Jo just curled up against the greasy velour and wondered what idiotic instinct made him take a guy home and why the hell he cared so damn much. Maybe it was like bringing in a lost kitten- the cute, stupid little thing might be a nuisance, but damn if it wasn't his nuisance now.
It was just as well. That girl was just part of the game. It would have been so easy to take her home and get what he wanted. The thing was, sometimes it wasn't even fun, it was just habit. She probably would have at least been a little fun, but she'd be gone in the morning with her strappy little heels hanging off her index finger, and Jo would go back to work like nothing had happened, because nothing had happened. And wasn't there always something just a little unnerving about the whole thing? The way they smiled at him, that same smirk on every face over or under his, even through heated kisses and gasps and moans, wasn't that always just a little eerie? Sex was nice- fuck it, really nice- and getting off was also really, really nice, but the game was just a little sickening. Jo was proud to be good at it, but it was just a little exhausting.
"At least Harley will be there in the morning. Jesus, I hope so."
He stumbled through the door and fished through the ink-black of his apartment for the light switch, but stopped- the lights were off for a reason, right? With the door shut, the red light gleaming through the curtain from the stoplight outside cast a bloody pall over the room that would have given Jo a chill if he weren't used to it. Harley had sprawled out on the bed, dressed in matching flannels, one knee up over his belly and his arms buried under his chin and nose. The sofa had a pillow and blanket laid out on it, and there was a glass of water and two aspirin set out on the coffee table. Jo felt a weird sense of relief to see Harley there- why had he been so worried? The light changed from red to green, a sickly teal haze washing over them, and Jo sighed and pulled the sheet up to the nape of Harley's neck.
"Christ, you don't need me here. The fuck was I worried about?" He brushed his hand over Harley's shoulder through the sheet, and turned the knob on the blinds to block out the outside city. "Swear to god, first and last time."
He went through the mundane motions of bedtime, washed his face and combed his hair out quick, stripped to his boxer briefs, dropped his clothes in the basket and his phone on the coffee table, and threw himself onto the futon. The room had turned red again, even through the blinds, and there was a rising and falling hum of trucks and taxis past the window. He pulled the pillow under his cheek and propped his feet up on the arm of the sofa- he was all leg, and they had to go somewhere. Someone laid on the horn hard outside, and Jo grunted and found the stereo beside the sofa in the dark. He turned the volume of the speakers as low as they went, turned his uPod on, and set the system on a two-hour kill-switch. He could just hear the music as he buried his ear in the pillow:
"Walk with me, Susie Lee, through the park and by the tree..."
Under the music, he heard a trill of soft laughter from the direction of the bed, but it was just part of the noise. He turned the volume a notch higher, and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He didn't know if anyone else found Jack White soothing, but he could shut his eyes and see white light instead of red.
Jo woke to the clatter of dishes rather than the alarm on his cell phone. A bird chirped, and Jo wondered when he let a fucking pigeon into the house, until he opened his eyes and remembered Haku. And Harley. Fuck, where was Harley? Jo tumbled from the futon, and heard a chuckle somewhere over him.
"Ah, good morning, Joel." Jo untangled his head from the blanket to see Harley up on his feet beside him, fully dressed in chinos and shirtsleeves, nearly identical to the clothes he'd worn the day before. He smelled like almond soap and detergent, and his smile was the same shiny white as his buttons. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"Nah, man- Jeez, what time is it?" Jo found his cell phone on the table and checked the time- 7:04 am. "Ahh, fuck." He let his head fall back against the futon cushion. Harley cocked his head.
"Too early for your tastes?"
"I could have slept for another half hour." His knees hurt from hitting the floor, so going back to bed wasn't an option.
"Oh, goodness." Harley clicked his tongue and wandered back to the kitchen. Haku was pecking at a fresh serving of birdseed, and Harley had brought out a skillet. "Don't you have to be at work at nine?"
"Yeah, but I usually just roll out of bed, grab a shower, and run out the door." Jo groaned and got up to his feet. "So, what's up? How's the leg healing?" He dipped his head behind Harley, and Harley folded his arms in.
"Just fine. A bit sore, but I'll manage." He turned himself away from Jo, an odd discomfort pulling his lips thin. Jo started to ask, but Harley put on a reflective, bright smile. "I was going to make you some breakfast, but I'm having some trouble navigating your kitchen."
"Ah, yeah, that's easy. I got cereal." Jo passed Harley for the cupboard and pulled out a box of 'Frosty Flecks,' and shook it with a grin. "I don't care if Timmy the Tiger doesn't say they're 'grrrr-eat,' but these taste better than the brand stuff in milk, and then you can drink the sugary milk, and-"
"Oh, dear." Harley frowned again, and Jo felt really bad for whatever reason. "I'm afraid I'm lactose intolerant. Milk, dairy, anything in that family makes me ill." Jo tried to shake off the pity- how was he supposed to know his usual breakfast would make his surprise guest sick?- but Harley put a smile on. "Do you have any bread? I can just make myself some toast."
"I can't keep it in the house, I don't eat it enough, it just rots." Jo shrugged, and Harley started to study him. He hunched his shoulders- Harley looked weirdly like an owl, turning his chin side to side, and it was a little unnerving.
"Perhaps some eggs? I can poach, or I can make frittata out of anything." Jo hunched a little further, and Harley's eyes followed him. "I fry and scramble, too."
"No eggs. Sorry, man."
"Oh. If you have flour, I'll make some simple pancakes." He slipped around Jo to the pantry, and his jaw hung slack. Jo felt heat in his cheeks, as Harley looked at the selection. "Joel."
"Yes?" He winced- that stern tone. Jo was waiting for the wallop. Harley instead took a deep breath, and spun on his heel.
"How can one man eat this much Top Ramen?!" He threw his hands out, face wrought, and Jo flinched. "I didn't even know they made some of these flavors!"
"Well, uh, variety's the spice of life, right?" Jo grinned nervously, and straightened his back. With the distraught expression under Harley's glasses, Jo wasn't getting the idea that he was about to get scolded anymore. "Sometimes, I'll mix the spice packets together, like a combo!"
"Good grief, Joel!" Harley whirled back around and gawked at the stacks and boxes of freeze-dried noodles. "You're an adult! Living on nothing but Top Ramen- this is inexcusable!"
"Hey, it's not like all I eat is Top Ramen!" Jo folded his arms. "I got Maruchan, and Yakisoba, and Cup o' Noodle- hell, I got powdered miso soup in there for when I order in!"
"Order in?" Harley echoed.
"Yeah, don't you ever get takeout? I'll get the number 6 combo from the Golden Bowl around the corner some weekends- you get an egg roll and fried rice and bourbon chicken, and with the soup, it's so much I can reheat it for dinner." Harley looked ready to faint, but Jo added, "I got options! I get Subway sometimes, there's a pizza place that does this awesome meat-lover's personal pan-"
"Dear god, don't say McDonald's."
"Hell no, I got standards." Jo folded his arms. "Don't tell me you never go to restaurants."
"On special occasions. Most nights, I cook for the shelter." Harley wiped his brow, then scrubbed his cheeks. He slumped, his back against the pantry door. "You see, I have free reign of the kitchen there. Once I cook for the visitors, I can cook for myself. Father Steele will even give me money to go to the grocery store over on Second for him."
"Hey, I go to that grocery store sometimes too!" Jo beamed. "They got this awesome lunch buffet, you just pay by the pound! Best fried chicken I've ever had!"
"So, you know a grocery store exists?" Harley lifted his eyes from his fingers. Jo blew a bit of hair out of his face.
"Where'd you think I got the ramen?"
"You know that there is, in fact, a magical place just a few blocks away where food exists for purchase, including reasonably priced, healthful options that only require minimal amounts of effort to prepare into meals. We live in a city that suffers from a blight of food deserts, but you use this lovely resource as a wellspring for pre-fried noodles and previously frozen fried chicken?" Harley put his hands on his hips. "I must ask, do you bleed, or is there just a steady stream of sodium in your veins?"
"You know, I got this funny feeling you're mocking me."
"Ahaha." Jo snorted- that laugh was totally genuine- and Harley patted his shoulder. "I'm going shopping. You shower and dress. I'll be back soon."
"W-wait, where're you goin'?" Jo flailed after him as he toed his loafers on and slicked his hair down.
"I saw a convenience store while we were walking here last night. I'm sure they have some acceptable options." He smiled a gentle, patronizing smile. "It's broad daylight, and the street's not a quiet one. If there is anyone looking for me, they wouldn't dare try anything now."
"Then, let me-" Jo dove for the coffee table, scrambled through the pile of stuff he'd emptied from his jacket pockets to find his wallet, but Harley giggled as soon as he came up with it.
"No, no, I'll cover this. In fact, if you'd like, I could visit the store for you tonight. Consider it repayment for your favors to me."
"Aw, man." Jo scratched his head and knit up his eyebrows, but put his wallet down. "A favor's a favor, you don't need to pay me back."
"I want to." Harley smiled. "Unless you really rather I didn't."
"Nah." Jo smirked back, and set his hands on his hips. He looked Harley up and down again. "If you buy stuff for the house, that means you'll come back, right?"
"Come back?" Harley's echo held confusion this time.
"Yeah, y'know. If you didn't hate it, and if you like this any better than the shelter, you can come back tonight." Jo's mouth moved without him even thinking: "I'll walk you to work today, walk you to the shelter if you wanted to help them out, then bring ya right on back here for some rest and relaxation. I'll show you some of my favorite movies, you can bring some books in, y'know, nice and safe here with me." He stopped, rolled back everything he'd just said, and flushed at how stupid he sounded. "Look, we can just call the grocery thing your half of the rent. And that's if you want to stay."
"Joel, I'm afraid I just don't understand." Harley wasn't quite frowning, but the shadows from the close walls made his eyes dark. "You barely know me, and you're asking me to move in?"
Jo folded his arms tight around his chest, and hummed in his throat as he tried to think. "Dammit. It just feels right, okay?"
Harley flicked him with his eyes, then smiled warmly. "I'm borrowing your keys. I'll be back." He took a few long strides, swiped up the house key from Jo's mess, then whipped right back around and out the door. Jo blinked a few times, then looked to Haku, who crooned and cocked his feathered little head.
"Sounded like a 'yeah' to you, right, birdie?" He approached the cage and tapped the bars. "Guess that means you an' me are roomies too, now." Haku pecked at his finger through the bars, and Jo chuckled and made for the bathroom.
Jo emerged clean and dressed for the day half an hour later, chin freshly shaved and hot aftershave still burning in the nicks, to find he wasn't the best smelling thing in his little apartment. Harley had moved Haku to a space cleared on the coffee table, and there were two plates of pancakes dolloped with some sort of dark blue jam, eggs over easy, and bacon waiting at the table. Harley turned from the refrigerator, orange juice in hand. "I hope you don't mind pulp in your juice."
"I think I'll live." Jo whistled as he looked over the feast. "Man, you're fast. I had no idea we got married last night."
Harley laughed, and it was real- Jo could tell from the way his eyes turned up at the edges- and poured the juice into what was probably the only two matching glasses in the house. "Well, you'll have a busy day, and from what I can tell, you're not very good at nourishing yourself appropriately. Perhaps I'll cook dinner tonight. If a bit of dairy-free pancake mix impresses you, you'll be amazed at what I can do with a chicken."
"Good goddamn." Jo slid into one of the two stools and took up his fork. He had enough manners to wait for Harley to join him, but not by much, and he started to shovel it down the moment Harley's backside touched the seat. Harley giggled again, and took a long sip of his orange juice.
"You know, you surprised me this morning as well. I wouldn't have thought a man who smokes as much as you do could sing so well." Jo lifted his head and tried to say 'what?' but couldn't around a mouthful of pancake and boysenberry jelly. Harley chuckled. "In the shower. I could hear you. Your singing voice, it's quite nice."
Jo swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Oh." He looked down at his plate. "Sorry, man. I'll be quieter tomorrow."
"It's not a problem. You might even inspire Haku, if you sing something more melodic; I haven't heard him sing yet, not once." Harley cut off a little triangle of pancake with his fork, and Jo lowered his brow.
"I'll, uh, learn some new songs, yeah?" He chuckled, and scooped up some of his eggs.
The rest of breakfast was marked with pleasant conversation, but Jo didn't lift his head to meet Harley's eyes once. He hadn't thought of what he was getting into, but a mouthful of bacon could blow off any doubts he might have had, at least for the moment.
Jo walked his bike on one side, and Harley walked on the other, Haku in hand. "So, why's the bird coming with you?" Jo squinted at the covered cage, sure the bird was leering back out of it at him through the sheet.
"He seems to have some sort of attachment difficulties." Harley gave the cage a rub. "I tried to leave him at the shelter the first day I found him, secured in Father Steele's office to keep him away from anyone who might do him harm, but shortly after I left, he started to throw an awful tantrum." Harley cupped a hand over his mouth to giggle. "Feathers everywhere, fecal matter on the good Father's paperwork, screeching his lungs off, the poor thing. Father Steele called me and demanded I take him to a veterinarian, but the moment Haku saw me, he calmed, unruffled his feathers, and greeted me, as pleasant as you please." He gave the cage another stroke. "So, for the good of society, I bring Haku with me."
"Oh, brother." Jo chuckled, and stopped near the door of the shop. "As long as he doesn't shit in the computer, we're golden." He stepped back. "Here's your stop, man. Let me know when the computer's done, and hey, give me a shout if you wanna meet for lunch, I can mostly set my own schedule."
"That'll be lovely." Harley took out his flip-phone and slid the keyboard out. "Let me put your number in my contacts."
They exchanged numbers, and Harley offered Zack a polite greeting as he brushed past. Zack sneered, then called out to Jo: "Hey, now I get it! I had no idea he wet your fuckin' whistle!" Zack put a finger in his cheek into a round lump, and popped it out. "Or maybe the other way 'round?"
"Fuck you, man, I ain't gay. Ain't a dude fuckin' allowed to have dude friends? Jesus!" Jo sniffed, and slung his leg up over the seat of his bike. "You don't have sports buddies and call that gay."
"Yeah, you're real fuckin' buddy-buddy with a dude you just met." Zack snickered, and Jo grunted and snapped his helmet on.
"Yeah, yeah, fuck off, Zack." He looked up to the second floor window, and saw Harley peer down at him through blinds parted between his long, thin fingers. Jo could see a little smile on his face. He felt weirdly warm at the sight, even as Harley dropped the blinds closed again. "Maybe I'm just happy to have a friend." The blinds flew wide open when Jo put one of his earbuds in and turned the shuffle on his uPod on. Harley waved from his window as the music came on, and Jo hopped up onto his bike.
"I can tell that we are going to be friends..."
This, Jo thought as Harley saw him off, was kind of nice. Someone who gave back as good as he got? That was practically fairy tale stuff to Jo, and he kind of liked it. Who knew that he could take someone home and really, genuinely want to keep them there?
Not him, that was for damn sure.
End Notes: The song referenced is "We Are Going To Be Friends" by The White Stripes.
