"Three day weekend," Antoine mused as he slung his suitcase into the trunk of Preston's car. "Can we do that?"
"Yes," Preston replied putting his bag next to Antoine's, "we can."
"Why now?"
"My parents are out of town. I want to get some more of my stuff out of my old room while they're gone. It'll be easier that way."
Antoine muttered something, and slung his body into the passenger seat. "We're just staying overnight, right?"
Preston nodded as they headed down the familiar blend of highways out of Plateau City, and eventually to the Mass Pike. Preston didn't say much as he drove.
Antoine made several attempts at conversation before eventually giving up. He pulled a handheld game console out of the pocket of his cargo pants and began playing.
Antoine had been to Preston's parents' condo once before. They had a top floor unit of a building that had once upon a time been an old schoolhouse. The ceilings were easily fifteen feet high, and the unit Preston's family called home probably had more floor space than his house.
Preston parked his Cadillac in the designated space, and made his way into the building. Antoine followed at his heel, feeling rather self-conscious. The difference between his upbringing and Preston's was never thrown into quite such stark relief as when he saw how Preston had grown up.
Hell, Antoine thought, Preston's parents had even hired a nanny of sorts to raise Preston and oversee his care while they were busy working.
Antoine followed Preston up a few flights of stairs, which Preston assured him was quicker than taking the elevator, and paused at a tall door, recessed into the wall. Antoine watched as Preston fished out his keys and without hesitation let himself in.
The apartment was just as Antoine remembered it: a tiled-floor entry way with a coat and laundry closet to one side, and a ceiling of normal height. Preston tossed his coat over the back of a chair by a wooden desk, and Antoine did likewise. The foyer had two short halls branching off. One led to the bathroom, the other to the bedrooms: one for Preston, and one for his parents.
They continued past the halls into the apartment, Preston looking around somberly as he went.
The entry way gave way from tile to wood, and the ceiling opened up to the main room. Like many condos, the Tucci residence boasted an open floorplan. The dining room and living room were merged into a shared space, the kitchen accessible through an open arch to the side.
Antoine hadn't had time to look around before. His visit last time, Christmas dinner, had been terribly brief.
Across the dining area a set of double-doors opened onto a steel fire escape that doubled as a balcony. A spiral staircase connected the living room to the upper level; the loft as Preston called it. "I didn't really come in here much," Preston explained, gesturing to the living room. "I was usually in my room, or doing homework in the kitchen under Mrs. O'Mara's watchful eye." He pointed up the stairs. "The library, as my father calls it, is up there."
Antoine strolled into the center of the room, looking up at the tall floor-to-ceiling windows along the western wall. He spun in place, taking it all in. "You know," Antoine remarked, "I thought your folks were just putting on the ritz for Christmas. This place looks like this all the time, eh?"
Preston nodded. "I was allowed to be in the living room, or the library. But at the same time I was to keep things exactly as my parents had it set up."
"There's not much evidence you were here."
Preston gave a dry laugh. "There wasn't much evidence of that when I was a child either."
"Oh," Antoine said sadly.
Preston picked up on it. "Hey, Antoine, it wasn't all bad. There were plenty of good memories too. My parents, especially my father, were tiger parents. They pushed me fairly hard, but I think it was worth it."
"Do you?"
Preston led Antoine down the hall to his room. "I think so," he replied, pushing open the door and holding it for Antoine.
Antoine stopped short, Preston almost colliding with him. The room was not at all what Antoine had expected. Various posters of nineties alternative groups covered the walls. An entertainment stand with dominated one wall, filled with CDs, and VHS cassettes that boasted hand-written labels. An small, boxy TV, the old tube kind, sat next to a VCR. On a shelf nearby was CD player unlike any Antoine had ever seen before. It stood upright, the CD held on edge. A pair of sliding glass doors allowed access to the disk or controls. A matching remote sat next to it.
The headboard to Preston's bed rested against the wall, the bed itself open on both sides. A desk occupied a corner beside the window.
Antoine's eyes fell on a music stand next to the desk. "You play an instrument?" he asked.
Preston blushed a bit. "Yeah…"
"Do you play well?"
Preston pulled a case out from under the bed. "I took lessons since I was eight. So, I'd say fairly well. I haven't played since grad school, and I don't think it was every quite good enough for my parents." He set the case on the desk without opening it and went to the wall of video cassettes. "Where is it?" He trailed his finger across the shelf, head tilted sideways to read the labels.
"Ah, here he go!"
Preston pulled out a tape and slipped it into the VCR.
"This is from when I was about twelve," he explained as he turned on the TV. He chuckled. "My parents weren't too pleased about it. The school I went to did an annual talent contest. It was a private school, so participating wasn't truly optional. Anyhow, I did a piece with my viola. My parents were expecting something classical. They didn't expect this…"
Preston fast-forwarded through the introduction and the first few acts, then paused the video. "Come here," he said, patting a spot on the bed next to him. "Sit down."
Antoine sat, feeling vaguely awkward. It felt strange to think of Preston as a child, and sitting on the same bed young Preston had slept in made him feel slightly uncomfortable. There was something almost too personal about it for Antoine's taste.
Preston didn't notice.
"Here we go," he said, and unpaused the tape.
The stage lights came up, illuminating three boys with shaggy nineties hair that had been popular in that era. One sat behind a drum set, the other stood off to the side, a bass guitar slung across his body on a black strap. Preston was recognizable: the tall, thin lad standing at the center of the stage, his eyes dark and large for his thin face.
Preston held a viola by the neck in his left hand, the bow for the instrument dangled from his right. The kid on the drums beat out a few measures on his sticks. Preston nodded his head in time with the rhythm, then looked up.
I need your arms around me
I need to feel your touch
The boy with the bass joined in, adding a layer to the percussion and Preston's chant.
I need your understanding
I need your love so much
You tell me that you love me so
You tell me that you care
But when I need you
"Baby" the boys all shouted, "you're never there!"
On the phone
long, long distance
always through such strong resistance
First you say you're too busy
I wonder if you even miss me
Young Preston brought his viola into position and began plucking a few chords, wavy hair falling about his eyes.
Never there
You're never there
You're never ever, ever, ever there
"Hey!" the boys yelled.
Preston tucked his chin over the viola and began to play, the notes jazzy yet forlorn. After a moment he paused and lowered the instrument.
A golden bird that flies away
A candle's fickle flame
"Hey!"
To think I held you yesterday
Your love was just a game.
A golden bird that flies away
A candle's fickle flame
You tell me that you love me so
You tell me that you care
But when I need you…
"Baby!"
Take the time to get to know me
If you want me why can't you just show me
Well, always on this roller coaster
If you want me why can't you get closer
Never there
You're never there
You're never ever, ever, ever there
Never there
You're never there
You're never ever, ever, ever there.
Preston whipped his instrument under his chin and closed his eyes, pouring himself into the final instrumental. His slender body swayed with the melody as he rocked his heel in time to the beat. The boys behind him gave an occasional whoop or cheer as he finished the final notes, and lowered his viola.
Young Preston dropped his head his head to his chest and froze, the stage lights dimming around him.
Preston stopped the video and turned off the TV before Antoine could see any more. "Never There," he explained, "by a band called 'Cake.'" He removed the tape from the VCR without rewinding it and put it back on the shelf.
"I don't know what upset my parents more: the fact that I was playing alternative, or the fact they thought I was making a comment about them."
Antoine leaned back on his elbows. "Were you?"
Preston gave a half-smile. "No, not really. Maybe a little bit, but mostly I liked the song and it had parts I could play. While my parents were home I'd practice classical, but when they were out, I'd listen to that song over and over. I'd play along with it to get the notes right. It was a bit of a surprise to them. They weren't too pleased. My friends thought it was good though. I thought so too." Preston smiled.
Antoine regarded the shelves of CDs thoughtfully and leaned back on his elbows. "You have a lot of music. I never knew you listened to so much stuff."
Preston shrugged. "My parents didn't think I should watch TV. But music and books were always encouraged. They didn't always know what I was listening too, and I didn't always tell them, but they'd pretty much buy me any album I asked for." He leaned back next to Antoine, shoulder to shoulder. "Music was kind of an escape for me."
Antoine flopped onto his back and folded his hands across his chest.
"I guess you needed to escape a lot," he said, half-teasingly.
Preston laughed. "Oh, come on. It wasn't bad. Hey!" he protested as Antoine rolled himself to his feet, "where are you going?"
"Mind it I look through your collection?"
Preston shook his head. "Go for it."
"Thanks."
Antoine got up, searching the backs of the jewel boxes for a specific artist; all the while using his body to block Preston's view of his hand. Preston, naturally, had everything organized alphabetically. It didn't take Antoine long to find what he was looking for. Carefully he grabbed the album, and slipped into his shirt. He slid the remaining cases around, hiding the gap he'd created.
"Did you find it?" Preston asked from the bed.
"Nah," Antoine replied, coming back over to him. He lay down, facing Preston, careful not to let the shape of the CD show through his sweatshirt. "So, what next?"
Preston pushed himself up. "I thought I'd take you down to Providence. I'll show you where I went to college. There's a nice hotel down there, we can stay over if you want."
Antoine was a bit taken back. "Uhm, yeah, sure," he agreed.
"Great!" Preston snagged an album off the shelf. "I think you'll have fun." He motioned Antoine to follow him, pausing momentarily to grab a set of keys off a hook by the door.
Preston's uncharacteristically exuberant nature was at odds with the man Antoine had come to know. Antoine followed loyally at Preston's heel, out of the apartment and back down to the street. Instinctively, Antoine turned towards the parking lot.
"No," Preston crowed. "This way."
"But… your car…"
"… Can stay there for a while. Come on, Antoine."
Bemused, Antoine hurried to keep pace.
Preston led Antoine through the narrow urban streets to warehouse-like brick building with a high iron fence surrounding it. Antoine couldn't help but notice the outward pointing spikes on the fence, however decorate they were made to appear. Nor could he ignore the video cameras placed at regular interviews.
A sign on the building proclaimed it to be Dean's Climate Controlled Storage.
Preston didn't hesitate. He strode confidently in through a set of glass doors, and leaned on the counter. An impeccably dressed woman looked up and smiled. "May I help you, sir?" she asked.
Preston held out the keys and his ID. "Bay sixty-seven, if you'd be so kind."
The woman took the keys. "It will take a moment, sir. The vehicle is on the second level."
Preston gave a casual shrug. "We're not in too much of a rush," he shrugged, glancing at Antoine.
Antoine bobbed his head in agreement.
"Yes, sir," the woman replied. She stepped through a swinging door into the back of the building.
Antoine flopped down on a leather couch, and took stock of his surroundings. Everything had an automotive theme to it. The photos on the walls, the 1950s chrome accents and vibrant colors. Slews of car magazines sat on the tables. Luxury cars, not the weekend auto-trader pages from the local classified. Antoine picked one up and flipped through it, looking at pictures, but not really reading anything. He felt the couch yield as Preston dropped down beside him.
"Mind telling me what we're doing?" Antoine asked quietly.
Preston smirked. "Something I've wanted to do for a very long time. We're going to Providence."
"So why are we here?"
"We're going to take the car." Preston's voice through emphasis on the word car, as if it were somehow worthy of proper noun status.
"I see," replied Antoine, still uncertain. "The Car?"
Preston smiled, brown eyes twinkling with an unusual spark. "Oh yes."
Before Antoine could ask further, they heard the throaty purr of an engine circling up front. Preston rose, tugging Antoine by the arm.
Antoine tossed the magazine back on the table, and followed Preston outside.
A stunning, candy-apple red Mercedes-Benz convertible idled out front, roof down in the unseasonably warm weather. A mechanic in spotless white overalls standing beside it, holding the driver's door open for Preston. The license plate hardly escaped Antoine's notice. "TUCCI1" it stated boldly.
Preston slipped into the driver's seat, running his hands over the black leather seats approvingly.
Antoine slid into the passenger's seat next to him.
Preston slipped the mechanic a five dollar bill from his pocket and set back onto the main street towards his parents' condo.
Antoine found himself particularly uncomfortable with the arrangement. "Uhm, Preppy, what are we doing?"
Preston gave him a wink. "Just borrowing my father's car. This is his pride and joy, a 1963 Mercedes 190SL. I've always wanted to drive this thing."
Antoine sunk down into the seat. Memories of his early days driving in the parts yards, long before he had his license, flashed through his mind. "We're not going to get arrested, are we?"
Preston gave him an incredulous look. "No! Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"No reason," Antoine replied. He had to admit it was a gorgeous car. Spotlessly maintained, the dash and front console were painted the same vibrant red as the body. The interior was shades of grey carpet and black leather. The round dials on the dash made Antoine think of portholes on a ship. The single cross-bar steering wheel only added to the nautical theme. The car itself was not overly long, but it sat on the road, solid, gliding rather than rolling.
At a stoplight, Preston reached into his coat and and pulled out a pair of mirror-tinted sunglasses. He took off his regular glasses and folded them into the case, then beamed at Antoine. "We'll get out luggage, and we're good to go."
Out on the open road, Preston took the CD he'd grabbed from his room, and popped it into the dashboard player.
Antoine observed jokingly that the CD player didn't seem like sixties technology.
"My father doesn't show the car, and he likes having a few modern conveniences. He still has the original stereo though." He handed the CD case to Antoine, who read over it before putting it in the glovebox: Best of the 90s Alternative Rock. Antoine said nothing, and put the CD away. He'd never paid much attention to Preston's music choices before. Then again, Preston generally listened through earbuds while he read. It had never occurred to ask Preston what he listened to. Antoine had always assumed it was all Adam Lambert and contemporary pop.
Preston skipped through a few tracks, and turned up the volume. "This was always one of my favorite songs," Preston yelled over the wind and radio. He leaned back in the driver's seat, threw his left arm casually on the door, one hand on the steering wheel; singing along, fingers drumming to the beat.
Have you ever been close to tragedy
Or been close to folks who have?
Have you ever felt a pain so powerful
So heavy you collapse?
No?
Well I've never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if
I've never had to knock on wood
And I'm glad I haven't yet
Because I'm sure it isn't good
That's the impression that I get
He switched his left hand to the wheel, grabbing Antoine's with his right.
Have you ever had the odds stacked up so high
You need a strength most don't possess?
Or has it ever come down to do or die?
You've got to rise above the rest.
No?
Well I've never had to knock on wood
But I know someone who has
Which makes me wonder if I could
It makes me wonder if I've never had to knock on wood
And I'm glad I haven't yet
Because I'm sure it isn't good
That's the impression that I get
Antoine curled his fingers around Preston's and stared at the road ahead of him. The song seemed oddly ironic, and he found himself wondering what (if anything) was going through Preston's mind. Antoine's mind flooded with images from that fateful day in Springfield, at AlkaliStark. The day they'd been trapped like rats, and almost died.
Do or die? Rise above the rest? Yeah, Antoine thought as he squeezed Preston's hand. His meek little PreppyDog had shown himself to be a hero, leaping into the line of fire like that. And the fallout from that, physical, and emotional... It wasn't something he liked to recall.
Sure, Antoine could joke about getting shot with an arrow, but that was different. It was easier to get hurt than it was to see someone else get hurt. It's okay if it's me, Antoine thought, holding Preston's hand tightly. I can handle it.
The song came to an end, but Antoine didn't even notice. It wasn't till Preston started trying to pull his hand back that Antoine snapped into the present again.
"Well?" Preston asked.
Antoine realized the radio had been turned down. "Well, what?" he asked, confused.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I didn't hear you ask one. Sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"I asked if you were okay?"
Antoine licked his lips. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
Preston laid both hands on the wheel. "You seemed distracted."
"I was just thinking."
"About?" Preston nudged.
Antoine ran a hand over his beard. "That song, the words. Made me think of AlkaliStark… and you."
Preston's face clouded over. "I hadn't thought about it."
"It seems, I dunno, prophetic," Antoine confessed.
"I suppose it does."
Several moments of silence passed, both men lost in thought. Eventually, and expectedly, Antoine spoke first. "Where are we going, Prep?"
Preston followed the south-east route he knew by heart. "Down to Providence. Rhode Island; remember? I went to Brown, and there's a club I used to love going to. It's not too far from the college, and there's a hotel nearby with a private lot. The car'll be safe. We can stay overnight, and get my stuff tomorrow before we head back."
Antoine nodded thoughtfully, still lost in thought.
The rest of the drive passed uneventfully.
Though Preston was delighted to be back at his old alma mater, Brown University left Antoine feeling rather unimpressed. He half-listened as Preston happily rambled on about the architecture, how it was a mix of colonial and roman, the histories of the various buildings, where he'd taken this class or that. It all made Antoine's head swim.
It wasn't that Antoine wasn't smart. He considered himself a man of at least average intelligence. He had to be to fly a chopper, right? But he was smart through his hands, with his body. It might've taken him an hour to read what Preston could flip through in a matter of minutes, but the idea of handling machine controls seemed as intuitive as walking for him.
There's all different kinds of smarts, Antoine thought contentedly as he strolled beside Preston, enjoying both the company and the weather. He tucked his hands into his pockets and sighed happily. It felt good to get out of the car, be back on his feet. Sitting still for long periods had never been Antoine's forte.
It didn't really matter what Preston was saying. Antoine was simply pleased to be near him. It's a nice place, Antoine reflected, looking up at some pillared tower as they walked. Not for me, but nice.
"This place totally fits you, Preppy," Antoine noted, moving a step closer. He hesitated a moment, then draped an arm around Preston's shoulder in an utterly friendly way. "So this is where you learned to be you, eh?"
Preston blushed unexpectedly. "It's where I was finally able to get some space from my parents; yes."
"Why the blushing?"
Preston's face reddened further. "Oh, I… nothing really. It felt good to cut loose a bit. Nothing too wild, of course. I couldn't risk my grades, naturally. But I was able to get to know myself a bit better."
Antoine paused in mid-stride. He hesitated for a moment before falling back into step with Preston. "I… see?" He peered into Preston's face.
Preston returned the look. "You had a good idea of who you were and what you wanted to do with your life by the time early on. By the time you were fifteen, you were paying your own way in life."
Antoine shrugged as they passed the steps of a building Preston identified as the Ratty.
"Sharpe Refectory," he explained, seeing Antoine's mildly disgusted expression. "Refectory; the dining hall."
"Oh." Refectory didn't sound all that better to Antoine's ears than "Ratty." Why not just call it a cafeteria? He wondered silently.
Preston left the Mercedes with the valet outside of a classic colonial looking hotel. Antoine carried their bags out of habit as Preston got them checked in. The decorations were simple, but elegant: dark wood fitting (once again) the colonial time period, with furniture in the appropriate styles thereof.
Their room itself continued the theme: splendor of the 1600s, Antoine noted.
Preston had gotten them a room with a single king bed. Antoine hadn't even noticed him mention anything about that at the front desk. Again, Antoine felt a weird sensation in his stomach. He had no idea what it was from. They shared a bed this size most nights back at home; Antoine sprawled on his half, Preston on the other side. Occasionally they'd curl up together when the mood struck. Antoine liked the feeling of holding Preston against him. Preston apparently liked it too.
But that was at home. No one had to know about it. Here, Preston requesting a room for the two of them with one place to sleep? That was different. Antoine exhaled through his teeth.
While Preston showered Antoine continued to eye the bed nervously. Please, he muttered to himself, please don't let him be thinking this is more than it is…
What was it anyway? To Antoine it was a great friendship that he didn't want to ruin. Without a doubt the most satisfying dynamic he'd ever been in. With Preston, he had everything he could've ever hoped to find in a companion. If it works, don't mess with it, Antoine mused as he sat in a Victorian arm chair by the window. And Preston seemed happy, right? So why change anything.
After what seemed like forever, Preston emerged from the bathroom. His hair was gelled up in spikes. He wore a loose button-up shirt, untucked, and a pair of tight blue jeans. Very non-Preston attire, in Antoine's eyes.
Preston patted Antoine on the shoulder. "Ready to go?"
"Where?" Antoine asked hesitantly.
"There's a bar down the way that I used to go to in college," Preston explained. "They have music, drinks. Stuff like that."
"Most bars do." Antoine felt that sense of uneasiness curl in his stomach again.
"It feels like you're not telling me everything," Antoine remarked as they followed the tree-lined sidewalk.
Preston shrugged, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He led Antoine up to a relatively unmarked steel door, and stepped inside.
Antoine followed, eyes adjusting to the dim light. He blinked, looked around, his apprehension intensifying by the moment. "Wait? What? Oh, c'mon, no Preppy," he balked. The inside was packed with patrons, nearly all men. Music, a steady and lively pulse wafted up from the sunken dancefloor in the back. A well-stocked bar graced the main wall, and along the far side several tidy booths had been placed, offering a bit of privacy for those who wanted a break from dancing, or to split a pizza.
"It'll be fun," Preston insisted, tugging on Antoine's sleeve.
"No. No, no, no." Antoine held out his hands "I don't dance, I don't 'club.' This is not my scene, Preppy." He folded his arms across his chest, feeling utterly self-conscious. It was a rare sensation for him, and he didn't much like it.
Preston's face fell. "Not even a little?"
Antoine looked at the mass of humanity down on the dance floor. "Go enjoy yourself, Prep. I'm going to get a drink."
Preston let go of Antoine's sleeve. With one last look over his shoulder he turned and slipped easily through the crowds.
Antoine sidled up to the bar, found a stool at the end, and ordered a jack-and-coke. He stared at the reflective surface of the bar, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Occasionally a friendly face popped by, asking him if he'd like to dance or share a drink. Antoine would smile with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "Eh… actually I'm here with someone."
"Oh, your loss. I love that blue though," the man said nonchalantly. "It looks good on a bear like you."
Antoine tried to smile. He wasn't sure if he managed it. "Thanks," he replied.
"If you change your mind," the man added, as he took a step back. He gave Antoine a wink before disappearing back into the crowd. Antoine sighed and ordered yet another jack-and-coke. He spun on his stool and leaned his back against the bar. Where on earth was Preston anyhow? Antoine's keen eyes scanned the crowd for the familiar face.
There, he was more or less in the center. Antoine felt a surge of relief, but it only lasted a second. Preston had unbuttoned his loose shirt, to expose the mesh tank top he wore beneath.
That wasn't what bothered Antoine however.
Clothing was a personal choice Antoine was fairly liberal with.
No, what upset him had nothing to do with Preston's attire.
"Aww, what?" he groaned with incredulity. "Ah… no."
Antoine paid for his drink, detached himself from his barstool and made his way through the sea of warm bodies. He slipped up between Preston and another young man. "Mind if I cut in?" Antoine asked. "Thanks."
He leaned close to Preston, trying to imitate the dancing figured around him. "Okay," he hissed in his housemate's ear: "What gives, Preston!?"
Preston regarded him, expression innocent. "I was dancing," Preston replied, not bothering to stand still.
Antoine felt an unpleasant feeling in his chest. It was a feeling of some sort, he reasoned. Perhaps the same thing he'd felt before, or maybe it was a different one. He wasn't even sure. In his own words, he wasn't good with 'feels.' Whatever he felt, he knew exactly the reason. He glared at Preston.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "This is dancing," Antoine explained, holding his hands about three feet apart. Antoine moved his hands closer till there was about a foot of space between them. "This is 'close dancing.'"
Preston watched him, expression neutral.
"This!" Antoine snapped, holding his fingers about three inches apart, "is not 'dancing,' and I am not okay with it."
Preston gave an annoyed roll of his eyes. "I'm just unwinding. And why does it matter? You're not even gay."
Antoine straightened himself up to his full height. It still put him a few inches shorter than Preston, but he didn't care. "Look," he said, agitated, "that's not important right now. You came here with me, you'll be leaving with me, and don't you dare get any ideas otherwise."
With that, Antoine stalked back to the bar and sat heavily down. He ordered another drink, and was fiddling with the edge of the coaster when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
The familiar scent of Preston's cologne filled his nostrils. He looked up, oddly deflated.
"Mind if I sit?" Preston asked, gesturing to the stool next to him.
Antoine pulled it out and held it.
Preston sat down.
His hair was rather rumpled, his shirt still unbuttoned. Sweat glistened on his brow and down his throat. Antoine took a moment to notice the faint five o'clock shadow of a beard on Preston's face. Technically more of a ten-PM shadow, Antoine thought ruefully. He resisted the urge to reach up and wrap an arm about Preston's neck. He wasn't sure that would be a good idea. Things suddenly didn't feel so simple anymore.
"Do you want to go?" Preston asked.
Antoine looked down at his drink and nodded.
"How many of those have you had?" Preston asked.
Antoine closed his eyes, and tried to count, but the numbers kept getting jumbled in his mind. "I honestly don't remember, Prep," he replied. "Either too many, or not enough. I'm not sure which, you know?"
Preston gave Antoine's shoulder a squeeze. "I know the feeling. Come on, Antoine, let's go home." He paid for Antoine's final drink.
Antoine let Preston guide him through the upbeat crowd to the door. As they walked back to the hotel, Antoine paused to tie his shoe at a bus stop. "The funny thing about crowds, Preppy, is they can be one of the loneliest places on earth."
"You didn't have a good time?"
Antoine shook his head. "No, not at all."
Preston looked away. "I was hoping you would."
"Why would I?" Antoine asked as they resumed their walk. "I like doing things with you. When we go someplace and you're doing things with other people, well, then you're not doing them with me." Antoine kicked at a pebble. "I'm not okay with that, you know?"
Preston didn't say anything.
Neither man spoke as they took the elevator to their floor, and got ready for bed. Preston shrugged off his shirt, and pulled his tank top off over his head. Antoine sat on the bed, eyes never leaving Preston's body. "There is one good thing out of all this," Antoine began cautiously.
Preston paused, tank top in hands. "Oh? What's that, Antoine?"
Antoine pointed to Preston's stomach, to an area to the left of Preston's naval: a circular patch of pale skin. "You're not self-conscious about your scar."
Preston paused, running his fingertips over the slight depression. "I didn't even think about it tonight," he said softly. He turned, arching his spine, trying to see the exit wound on his back. After that proved fruitless, he stopped and reached back, feeling his skin.
Antoine said nothing. The divot in Preston's back, just below the ribs was still there. That would probably never change. But the healed skin was lighter, closer to Preston's pale peach tone; not the dark rose hue it had originally been shortly after the incident. Preston twisted his body in front of the mirror, looking over his shoulder.
"It's fading, if that's what you're trying to see," Antoine offered. "It's a good thing," he added.
The two men finished their evening routines without much further discussion, Preston taking his medication and slipping between the covers. While Antoine tended to sleep in his in nothing but his trunks, Preston preferred to wear a tee-shirt for modesty.
Antoine felt the mattress shift as Preston got himself comfortable. After a minute of thrashing around, Preston settled down, facing the edge of the bed. Antoine slid closer and pressed his back against Preston's, feeling the warmth of Preston's body through his housemate's thin shirt. "Good night, Prep," he muttered.
"Good night, Antoine. Tomorrow we'll drop off my father's car, get the stuff out of my room, then go back to Plateau."
"What about our three day weekend?" Antoine asked, thinking of the CD he'd stealthily liberated from Preston's collection.
"I think we'll need a day off just to get back to normal from this one."
Antoine rolled on to his back, allowing Preston to snuggle closer. "Ah, Preppy," he whispered. "What is normal anyhow?"
Preston gave a faint giggle. "I think it's a town in Ohio."
Antoine gave Preston a gentle squeeze. "That stuff's kicking in, eh?"
"I guess so," Preston replied sleepily. He burrowed his head under the covers, and within minutes was breathing slow and regular.
Antoine folded an arm behind his head. A small town in Ohio? I guess he does have a sense of humor after all. Antoine yawned, stretched, and closed his eyes. Maybe on the drive home, he'd play that song for Preston. If there was one song that summed up his feelings that one would be it. Antoine could hear it already… Change a few words, and it fit perfectly. Yes, Antoine thought decisively. That would be precisely what he'd do.
He don't care about my car
He don't care about my money
And that's real good because I don't got a lot to spend
But if I did it wouldn't mean nothin'
He likes me for me
Not because I look like Tyson Beckford
With the charm of Robert Redford
Oozing out my ears
But what he sees
Are my faults and indecisions
My insecure conditions
And the tears upon the pillow that I shed
He don't care about my big screen
Or my collection of DVD's
Things like that just never mattered much to him
Plus he don't watch too much TV
And he don't care that I can fly him
To places he ain't never been
But if he really wants to go
I think deep down he knows that
All he has to say is when
He likes me for me
Not because I hang with Leonardo
Or that guy who played in "Fargo"
I think his name is Steve
He's the one for me
And I just can't live without him
My arms belong around him
And I'm so glad I found him once again
Gazing at the ceiling
As we entertain our feelings in the dark
The things that we're afraid of are gonna show us
what we're made of in the end
He likes me for me
Not because I sing like Pavarotti
Or because I am such a hottie
I like him for him
Not because he's rich like Cindy Crawford
He has got so much to offer
Why does he waste all his time with me
There must be something there that I don't see
He likes me for me
Not because I'm tough like Dirty Hairy
Make him laugh just like Jim Carrey
Unlike the Cable Guy
But what he sees
Is that I can't live without him
My arms belong around him
And I'm so glad I found him once again
I'm so glad I found him once again
Once again