Standing outside my apartment door, your hands all over me, I pull all my spirit and strength to push you away from me slightly. I'm sorry to do this, you have no idea just how much. Your slightly intoxicated buzz is absolutely more than a light buzz for me when I see you like this. Your face, flushed red, and your breath smelling sweet and bitter, just like your two rum and Cokes. There's no way you're this buzzed but I think you're hoping I find this overpoweringly errotic. That is something about you I'm still working with myself to decide how I should feel about. You love to hide behind something. You don't have to hide with me.
"Why did you stop kissing meee?" You whine and I bite my lip and look directly up at the ceiling.
I take a sharp breath before answering. "Because I don't want to go in just ye-"
"Why nottt?" Why is that whine so fucking adorable? I've never been weak to something like this before and part of me wants to shoot myself for being so vulnerable to something so trite. "If we go in we can keep making out and maybe I can put my mouth around something else."
I put my hands on your waist and push you back gently. You're encroaching upon me now and it's taking the strength of a literal god to keep you at arms length when you're talking about putting those little lips around my dick. I want nothing else.
Though, that's not exactly true-
"We can go in." I smile gently, holding my teeth tightly shut and taking another steep inhale. "But I don't want to go into my apartment."
"What are you talking about?" You say so fast I'm wondering if you're pretending not to understand what I'm hinting at or if you truly do not know. "We go to your place."
"Yeah." I laugh softly at you, finally looking down at you again. Your blue eyes aren't even looking at me this time. Well, you're looking at me, but not at my eyes. Your hands grip at my Hawaiian shirt, one hand on each side of the front. It's gonna wrinkle, and I'm not sure if I'll want to iron it, or even wash it when I take it off. "That's what I'm talking about." I force myself to continue. "We've never been to your apartment."
Your brows furrow immediately. You don't like this idea, of course. If you wanted me in your apartment, I would have already been there. "Whaaat?" You push out a fake confusion now. Very obviously so. I try so hard not to furrow my brows right back at you. This sort of dodgy behavior isn't what you should be showing me. I need some kind of commitment and this isn't that. I'm going into your apartment tonight, Roxas. It's happening.
My silence gets to you and you pipe up again, this time sounding way less chipper and a little less horny. More down. "Why would you want to go in there…"
"Why wouldn't I?" I try to say coyly. Truly, I'm not good at coy. You should really know by now I'm a very upfront person. I'm completely unlike you in that way. "It's where you live."
"Yeah, but-" You start but stop yourself, your expression shifting again. Your eyes are tearing, this time I'm sure of it. I feel pained, a sharp sensation in my chest, my muscles all tensing. You shouldn't be crying tonight. You should be letting me into your space, and I should be holding. I want to hold you even more now. Why is this going so wrong so fast, Roxas? Did I not absolutely knock it out of the park with your friends tonight? Why is this happening, Roxas?
I'm frozen, I know I shouldn't be frozen, but I can't move to comfort you like I should.
"It's just where I live." You say quietly, breathing carefully not to let that cup pour over. "Not like it matters."
I bite the inside of my cheek. Would you have said that to the soccer captain? To Brent? Would you not let them into your apartment? Why is it just me that you keep at a distance like this? Is it because I'm the rebound? If I'm a rebound, then you can bet everything that-
Wait.
Wait.
Roxas, I'm so stupid.
The soccer captain never came in here. Of course he didn't. This apartment was your safe place of heartbreak. Your den you retreated to. To lick your wounds. No ones ever been in this apartment. I'm so stupid, Roxas, I'm so sorry.
I sweep you up into my arms and press you against my chest, hoping to keep you safe in between my ribs, next to my heart beating for you. Your hands don't relax, but instead grip harder and scrunch my Hawaiian shirt up in your palms even harder. You let some tears out and I feel them evaporate against the muscle of my chest.
"You don't have to let me in yet if you don't want to." I whisper deeply into your ear. Your body reacts in small chills, vibrating against me like a series of earthquakes.
I'm sorry I ever said anything. I need to relax about being a rebound. I need to trust that your soul is purer and warmer than that. I'm flawed more than I thought I was, and I learn that everyday with you more and more. I'm starting to feel more like a dark shadow looming behind you instead of this Prince Charming I'm striving to be. I bite my cheek hard. Feeling you cry against me is making me want to die. I taste blood in my mouth, but I deserve that.
"No," You shake your head vigorously. Roxas, you really don't need to say anything, I understand what happened. I understand the mistake I made- "You can come in."
"What?" I say without even thinking. "What?" God, why did I repeat that? Why am I such a worthless piece of shit?
"I…" You start, breathlessly. "I need to learn to trust you." You push away from me and I'm suddenly freezing cold without you. "I keep thinking I need to put these walls up, and like…maybe this whole thing is gonna fall apart, or you're gonna leave me at the last second and pretend you never knew me." Roxas, I would never do that. I would never leave you, if anything, you'd be the one to leave me if you ever realized what I felt for you- You don't feel the same just yet, and if you knew I- "I need to stop thinking you're gonna disappear." You let out a laugh that shows me you feel stupid for being so guarded. I understand that feeling. But, Roxas, you're not stupid for being guarded. Not after the soccer captain. Not after Brandon. You give me a smile.
"I won't." I use all my strength to solidify that for you.
"Well," Another gust of breath from your stomach. "We don't know that for sure, but-"
"I won't."
You stop, your eyes finally looking up to me. You're not shocked or repelled like I thought you might be. You're just looking between both of my eyes. For the first time, I think you might be really, truly seeing into me. And truthfully, Roxas, it frightened me a little. I felt a shake through my spine. I was afraid you might hate what you see. I'm not this effortlessly cool hipster you find so sexually alluring. I'm hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you. And I think you saw all of that in that one instance. I'm forever thankful my eyes never faltered.
"...Okay." You said with a soft smile. "Okay, come on."
For some reason, perhaps my ignorance or my own bias against the one percent, I expect that your apartment would somehow be endlessly more grandiose than mine. I expected vaulted ceilings, crown molding, and maybe judges panels. Persian rugs, and Jackson Pollocks. I'm here to admit, again, Roxas, I'm truly ignorant. And the Remingway family name, on this occasion, set a precedent that I was not met here.
Knowing you for a little over a week now, I should really have kept in mind how you are as a person, not just your family name, when deciding and imagining what your little apartment would look like. It's hard, that duality. Loving this gentle and precious little soul you have, but knowing that your name held so much weight.
Thinking about it, you really remind me of some of the more tragic figures from royal history. Marie Antoniette beheaded in front of savage crowds for her family name and rumors spread because of it. Mary, Queen of Scots beheaded due to her bloodline, forever a threat to the throne she didn't want. I think my assumptions of what your apartment would be like because of the name Remingway is my own way of beheading you. Seeing you in the halls and turning my lip up at you and your sunny disposition. Putting your head in the stock of the guillotine. I'm sorry I ever sentenced such a judgment upon you, honestly I am. It's hard to fight against human nature. I still fight with it now.
"Well, this is it." You say, standing in the middle of the living room. Your arms spread out wide, your posture insecure. Your little hands look to be shaking a little bit. You can't possibly think that I'm going to judge you on how clean your apartment is. This past week, in post-coital bliss, you spent easily over an hour cleaning up my apartment. You balance me like that. Surely I won't judge you.
"It's cute." I smile. My eyes bounce around. Your walls were a soft blue, your flooring a dark hardwood. Same floor as my apartment. But I never thought to put in the effort to paint the manila cream walls. It makes a big difference, but I'm just too lazy. I like that you're motivated enough to create a space you feel happy in. I could live probably under a bridge and be alright as long as it had a pile of fabric for me to lay on at the end of the day.
"So, yeah," You let a nervous laugh and scratch the back of your head. "This is the living room."
The little cream colored couch sat against the wall, a navy little ottoman pulled up against it, two soft yellow end tables at either side. Lamps, a tv, a boho looking rug. I smiled. It's so regular, Roxas. Those end tables look like you got them off of Facebook Marketplace. You probably did. Maybe even from my store.
"Oh, these?" You saw me looking at them. "My dad hates that I have these in here." You laughed. "I found them on Craigslist. This couple was moving to Europe and needed to get them out of their house quick. Ten dollars for the set." You put a hand down on one softly and lovingly.
"Only ten?" I grinned, watching you stroke the table with care.
"Yep! Kairi and I painted them yellow when we got them back to the apartment. They were just a dark cherry wood and we thought they looked a little dated." No wonder your father hates them. I'm sure he hates that youthful energy covering up all his expensive and coveted family name. Just like that old dated cherry wood. Kairi really is a good friend. Even though she's truly exhausting.
"So your dad hates it?" I cock my head to the side. I'm embarrassed to admit I don't remember if I said I knew if you were furniture royalty or not. I should maybe start keeping a log or something.
"Yeah, it's not exactly an heirloom piece, he says." You snort. That's so adorable. How have you never snorted like that in front of me before? Is it because you're a little tipsy? You start mimicking what I assume to be 's stern paternal voice. "It's not even got dovetail drawers! What is that piece of shit? Why would you want that when we have three entire houses of furniture!"
Wow. "Three entire houses of furniture?" I raise both of my eyebrows. Not trying to raise one and just failing this time.
"Oh, yeah. We've got a big family business selling craftsmen furniture." You seem to think I'm shocked about the furniture part, not the three houses part. Perhaps you're forgetting our class disparity in your intoxication. Normally you're very sensitive about that. You want to seem more homely than you actually are. "We got a ton of furniture because my dad's dad's dad's dad's dad started the company or something like that." You roll your eyes and your top lip shoots up in disgust.
"Does he want you to take over? Sounds like a real father-son ordeal." I say, sitting down on your little couch, resting an arm on a cool navy pillow. You stand there, putting your hands on your hips, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. This is the most honest expression I've seen from you yet.
"Oh boy, that's a real subject of discussion when I'm home for holidays and summers and weekends and whenever my dad wants me back home!"
"So he does?"
"Sort of." You shake your head, your already tousled blond hair falling. "He really wanted my brother to do that."
"Is he not interested?" I don't want you doing something just because a lazy older brother doesn't feel like sticking to something. I never really pictured you with an older brother, but I guess it makes sense. You do have a quiet sense about you. Less entitled.
"My brother actually died." What? You let out an inappropriate sad little laugh. "When I was twelve!"
"W-" I wasn't really sure how to respond. You never once hinted at something like this. A loss in your family, no wonder you're so touchy about speaking about them. "What happened?" I finally stumbled out.
"Ah," You sighed and shrugged, bending down to slip your slide on Vans off. "Accident."
"Roxas, I…" What can I say? I wish I could take that pain away. Endlessly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago. He was fifteen." Your lips slanted up to one side. Giving them this defitist tug. I've never seen this expression. "It's just sort of a big shoe print to try to fill."
"I'm so sorry." Fuck, is that all I can say? I truly never thought I would care so much about the death of a boy I never knew. "Were you close?"
"Yeah." You throw your shoes towards the front door. You seem like you're trying so hard to seem like you don't care. A big shoe print you can't fill or don't want to, Roxas? "Let's go to the bedroom!"
