Author's Note: This began as a collaborative work, but the co-author has since discontinued work on this piece. The characters will be markedly different than they were previously as this project is now mine alone.

The collaborative work had been four chapters in length, but I have deleted all but the first chapter (as that was my work alone). The work henceforth will be mine. Feedback will be appreciated.

Thank you.

The author claims no ownership to the characters, settings, or events from the television series Glee.

Approximate words this chapter: 8,000

"Hey," John dragged the word out, slightly labored-sounding into his still-buzzing phone while shutting his laptop. He'd had an episode of Supernatural running in the background, but he was feeling the pressure of time and he found the distraction of the show uncharacteristically bothersome at the current moment. "What's up, Mandy?"

"Hey John!" Mandy greeted typically bright. "We still on for Tuesday night? Free the Oods?"

John raised an eyebrow, preoccupied. "Course. Wouldn't miss it."

"Beat Nate!"

"That's our mantra. That's my girl."

"You sound less than convinced, John."

"Maybe I'm not exactly in Whovian fanboy mode at the moment."

"You feeling okay over there?" Mandy sounded exaggerated mock-concern.

John snickered. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just getting ready to go out for coffee, or an Italian soda, more appropriately, after I have breakfast here."

"Where're you going?"

"Stumptown near PNCA. Is Mack working?"

"He has Sundays off. Want me to meet you?"

"Uh, no," John was abrupt. "Meeting a guy."

"Ooh! A date?"

John snickered again. "Yeah, that's what you call it, I guess. Guy I met at Tardis Bar last night."

"Oh, a second date?"

"Uh, naw, just, like, unfinished business."

"Oh." Now Mandy was abrupt. "You didn't score last night so you're going for it this afternoon?"

"That's the idea."

"So, tell me about this," Mandy hesitated before she spat, "conquest."

"Not important."

"Oh, come on, John, I tell you about the guys I'm interested in."

"Um, you volunteer the information," John spoke sassy as he rifled through a laundry basket of dark-colored garments. "I don't recall ever asking for those details."

"You don't cover your ears and do the 'nananana, I can't hear you' thing either." Mandy was having none of this evasiveness. "Spill, John."

"Alright," John surrendered begrudgingly. "He's young. I'm not sure how old he is, but he seems young. He's really handsome but with this boyish cuteness about him. He's kind-of a big fella but he looks like he's solid muscle, and not in a flexi-poser kinda way." John paused for a moment, and the confrontational attitude disappeared from his tone. "He's laid-back and low-key. Humble, even. And his smile is gorgeous."

"Does he have a name?"

"His name's Dave." It sounded almost as if it sighed from John's mouth wrapped in a swoon, and with that, John sounded absolutely defeated.

John could detect Mandy suppressing a laugh.

"What?" his attitude returned.

"You're smitten."

"Yeah, and that's why I gotta do this now before he realizes how far outta my league he is and starts getting particular about who he fools around with."

Mandy made a snapping sound. "Maybe, just maybe, there's a basis for more. Like a potential boyfriend or something?"

"Mandy, the guy's a catch, and I am most definitely not relationship material."

"Oh, when's the last time you even tried?"

"Can't remember, but I remember enough to know that I'm a fuckup where that's concerned. Besides, he's hot, and I'm brown-eyed, balding, pasty-skinned, and overweight; and, at twenty-eight years old, I'm three-to-five years outside of complete trolldom as opposed to the troll-in-training I am right now."

"Y'know, you're adorable," Mandy nearly scolded. "Infuriating but adorable. Plus, you probably have no clue what this guy wants."

"Like I said, once he realizes the potential of guys that want him, he won't even look at a guy like me, so I gotta act now."

Mandy paused to let out an exasperated-sounding breath. "So, what are you wearing?"

"Uh, cargo pants, dark gray t-shirt, long-sleeved button-down over that. Gotta hide those pasty, untoned arms."

"Okay, I better go before I end up saying 'fuck you' or something like that."

"That's fine," John droned. "I was gonna wake Gene up and do chocolate-chip waffles for breakfast."

"And I'm sure I'm not gonna be irked at you forever, I mean, we need to at least have our game on for Tuesday night. And maybe Wednesday night we can get together and you can tell me how things went with this guy today."

"Uh, yeah. There will probably be nothing to tell, but if you want to split an order of Chinese, I'll tell you anything your gay-fetishizing mind wants to hear."

"Sicko."

"You wouldn't have me any other way," John spoke smugly. "Bye, Mandy."

"Later, John."

The call ended, and John's attitude dropped with it. He needed to adjust his demeanor: put the friendly and accommodating faces forward and bury the more overtly predatory instincts behind them. The truth was that Dave made an impression on him beyond the mere superficial, but he couldn't allow his more imaginative thoughts to control his conduct: this was self-preservation and a reality-check as much as it was the desire to get laid; and the previous night's embellished fantasies were reduced to more attainable short-term goals in the next day's light of reason. Or at least that's what John was trying to convince himself.

"Rolling Rock?"

"Yeah, they used to drink it out east. I'm a transplant. Northwestern Ohio. A backward little place called Lima."

"I feel your pain. I'm a former Buckeye too- Toledo, though. Where in the hell is Lima?"

Dave mentally recounted the previous night's conversation as the streetcar approached Stumptown Coffeehouse. He knew he'd be early, a good fifteen or twenty minutes before their agreed-upon meeting time, but he was feeling good, nearly buoyant, and that was likely an unexpected consequence of the previous night's dialogue as well as the morning's exchange with Scoop: a friendly chance-encounter and the reassuring words of his best friend left Dave feeling liberated on a personal level.

"Shit, Toledo is a freaking metropolis next to Lima. I'm Dave, by the way. What's that you're drinking?"

"A metropolis? You poor bastard. John. Nice to meet you. Oh, I'm having a screwdriver since it's the new guy on duty. Usually, I'd have a Rolling Rock but I'm testing his drink-making skill. I'm personally glad Rolling Rock started getting popular up in Seattle or it'd never made it's way down here. This your first time at the Tardis bar? You a fan of Doctor Who or are you just being a tourist?"

"I'm not. I don't really get the show, but it's nice to meet you. I'm here with my roommate. He's trynna score with some chick that hangs here."

John leaned back on his barstool, just far enough to take in the the crowd assembled to Dave's right. "Let me guess. He's the kinda thin-built, dark-haired, obnoxious one."

Dave audibly suppressed a laugh, grinning forward toward the bar. "Hey, his obnoxiousness is part of his charm. But, yeah, that's him."

"Well, your roommate is outta luck. He's gonna strike out with her."

"Would be far from the first time," Dave grinned wide, another stifled chuckle. "Keep makin' me laugh while I have beer in my mouth, I'm gonna end up choking and spewing all over the bar."

"Ha! Careful now, I've been known to accept challenges like that. I knew this frat-boy once that- never mind."

"Oh, listen to you: talking smack about frat-boys to a former jock," Dave said with a chuckle and a little bit of tongue to show he was joking. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure that Portland is exactly screaming for a bar devoted to a TV show from England that's never gonna have anything more than a lunatic-fringe following over here."

"I take offense to that, good sir! We're not lunatics...we're just...pass...okay, I can't even say that with a straight face. We're pretty damn crazy, you're right. You should shout out something like, 'Martha Jones is my favorite companion,' and see what happens."

"I'll pass on that. You come here a lot?" Dave asked.

"Nah, the bar thing's not really my scene, though I do love the decor. There's never really any guys here worth hitting on and the ones that do want to talk to me...well, they've only got one thing on their mind. That's what happens when you're a rare ginger cub in the wilderness, I guess." John's voice trailed to a chuckle.

Dave, turned his head, expression piqued, a slightly-raised eyebrow and slightly-confused hint of a smile. A silence before speaking, quiet, scratchy. "Are you flirting with me?"

John's expression shifted to friendly alarm, holding up his hands. "Wasn't I supposed to? Oh, super. You're straight. And again I hit on the straight guy. Sorry, we can start over if you want or you can just walk away and we'll pretend this never happened."

Dave turned forward to face the bar, grinning to himself, nearly chuckling. "No, it's okay. I just...don't usually get hit on."

Dave swore he could hear the man at his left grin in response; he could detect it in the periphery of his vision. Dave grinned as well and turned his head to his left to see John blushing and smiling, staring into the bar, confirming his hunch.

John's smile was disarming and natural, something different from the sarcastic, aloof expressions of most of the gay men he'd known. Dave felt that he could become accustomed to seeing regularly. And often. And it seemed easy enough to make him smile, and his own facial reaction to it must have been the smile that Scoop was talking about.

"Yeah, I was a Cub Scout too. It was a pretty great experience for a while. Then, ah, I don't know. I'd tell myself I outgrew it, but that's not really it. I'd tell myself I just couldn't be bothered with that kinda do-gooder stuff, that I wanted to be some jock badass when I was in high school. The truth is, though, I knew they wouldn't want me. Until fairly recently, the Boy Scouts of America were pretty clear about the stuff that they consider to be immoral and subhuman."

Damn, that was a lot of information, Dave thought to himself, and how did the conversation even get there? And why did I volunteer that, of all things? Well, at least John wasn't freaked-out by it. Or afraid of it. And within a few more sentences, the smiles returned to both faces, and a few short sentences after that found the two of them moving from the bar to that booth in the far corner.

Dave didn't spend a great amount of time stressing over what he'd wear; his wardrobe boiled down to two options: dressy and casual. This was a Sunday afternoon coffee-date: casual. Despite it being mid-February, the weather was pleasant, springlike actually: a warm and sunny respite after eight-straight days of overcast skies and rain; he wore a short-sleeved button-down (white with wide blue vertical stripes) and jeans with a casual jacket on top (he'd significantly thinned the polo shirts from his wardrobe on the unsolicited advice from one of his acquaintances back in Lima: "The polo shirts are a mixed bag; sometimes they're fine and sometimes they make you look shapeless like a sack of potatoes."). Dave rarely stressed over what he was wearing; his self-esteem where relationships were concerned was another matter, but one which he pushed to a far corner of his mind as he drew nearer the meeting place.

Upon his entry into the coffeehouse, sixteen minutes before their designated meeting-time, Dave was somewhat surprised to see John at an isolated table at the farthest corner of the space, book opened in front of himself and reading. Dave's approach was self-consciously measured, so as to avoid startling the reader.

"Hey."

John lurched in Dave's direction without shifting his vision, a small smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Hey Mack, I told you I'm waiting for," then he looked up, the smirk dragging and falling. "Sorry Dave, I didn't expect you to be early."

Dave chuckled loudly, disarmed by John's friendly greeting and unconsciously dismissible remark. "What are you talking about? You're here before I was."

"Caught. Mack's one of the baristas and one of my old pals from my first film class way back when. I have a habit of stopping by to shoot the shit with him. Come, sit. Stay awhile."

"No biggie. At least I'm not gonna get bored sitting here waiting fifteen minutes before you showed up." Dave looked at the table and noticed a beverage on the table. "Italian soda in a coffee joint?"

"Hey, I used to suck these down in college all the freakin' time during midterms. They are my ramen."

"I'm gonna go get coffee and something to munch on. You want anything?"

"Actually, I fixed my roommate and me waffles a little while ago, not that hungry."

"You sure? I'm buying."

John thought for a moment, twisting his lips. "Fine, if you have to twist my arm, they get cookie and cream macaroons from a great bakery up north. If you have to get me something, they're worth the investment," he pronounced with an affected, good-natured sarcasm.

Dave grinned crooked and nodded. "You got it. Be back in a few. Need a refill on your Italian soda while I'm there?"

"Nah, I'm good for now," John smiled and blushed, looking away from Dave's wise-ass grin, busying himself closing his book and trying to hide his blush. He tried not to look at Dave while Dave was at the counter, chatting with Mack. Mack said something funny, Dave letting out a short bark of a laugh. John bit down his lip. Dave was the first guy he'd wanted to talk to, really talk to, since...god, since Bernard, but his mind pulled back: he was very conscious of how far he wanted it to go. He tapped his fingers on the top of the book, the produced sound designed to dispell any delusions beyond the primal ones at hand.

Dave returned soon enough with a tray which was holding his coffee and two small paper plates: one contained an equal quantity of two different types of macaroons while the other held two salt-sticks.

"What did Mack convince you to order?"

"Well, there're the cookies 'n' cream macaroons you asked for and then these caramel-covered ones. They looked too good to pass up. And salt sticks. I like salty with my sweet."

"Ah. Can't say I've ever had the salted caramel sticks. I think those are actually one of Mack's attempts at haute cuisine. Well, at least I won't feel bad for having a sweet tooth around you. John nodded understanding if not outright approval with a grin, waiting for Dave to seat himself, something Dave didn't do immediately. Dave instead took the plates and beverage-cup from the tray and placed them on the table, taking the tray to the nearest tray-station.

"No sense in cluttering up the table with the tray, right?" Dave said upon his return, seating himself opposite John, and placing a stack of paper napkins at the center of the table. He reached for a macaroon, and John followed.

"Hey, these are awesome," Dave assessed, after biting half of the spongy cookie.

"I know, right! I was super-skeptical about them because I just thought they were kind of the new cupcake fad, but they brought them to the volunteers at the Fire and Ice Gala last year, and they just blew my mind. I've been, what's the word, convinced, I think," John added.

Dave shook his head after swallowing a gulp of coffee. "I guess I wouldn't know. It's been ages since I've gone out for coffee like this. Just usually that endless cycle of school, working out, studying, hanging out with the guys, and hitting the bars on the weekends."

John nodded. "Good lord, you're a busy guy. You go to PSU or do you take the bus out to Lewis and Clark? I'm sorry, I'm nosey. You don't have to tell me, it's cool. I get pretty busy too, actually, between film school, editing stuff outside of class, volunteering, and all kinds of stuff at church, I feel like I get about ten hours a week to myself, no lie."

"PSU. No offense taken at your nosiness. Film editing? That's cool. You'd mentioned yesterday that you'd done some film work."

"Yeah, I guess it's been a couple of years since the documentary and the start of my work with the film festival stuff. Kinda got my foot in the door and I guess I've just been at it ever since. I get really absorbed in my projects, my roommate's always having to lure me home with promise of pasta alfredo and I still end up working on the projects in my sleep," John chuckled.

Dave stifled a laugh, but it was one without mirth, feigning an intrigued expression despite lacking any genuine interest. "Doesn't sound like a good time, exactly."

"Oh, it's horrible but the rewards are also, I mean, I get to preview stuff at film festivals for free, I get showings at the old Hollywood theater, and I get to go all around Portland with a camera in my hand. It's great. I think, for me, though, animation's the direction. Not like the CGI stuff but old claymation-style vignettes. Oh Lord, listen to me. Going on and on, pretty soon I'll have my phone out, showing you videos- I'm sorry."

Dave nodded, trying to mask his disinterest, considering the book on the table which John had been reading.

Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon.

"So doing all this," Dave said as he leaned into the table slightly, "when do you find time to read?"

"I guess I make time for it. I get a lot of inspiration from books and, I don't know, I just've always loved words. It's a thing for me, a part of my nerdy charm, I guess. Is there any particular authors' stuff you like?"

"Ah, well, I like to read, but most of the actual reading I've done lately is for school or news items or research, again, mostly for school." Dave shook his head. "I can't remember the last time I read something for pleasure or because something piqued my interest or just because I wanted to or whatever you want to call it. Just don't seem to have the time for that right now."

John shrugged. "That's the beauty of doing upper-level independent study, I guess."

"Do you write as well?" Dave asked. "I mean, I'm assuming you've written stuff for the films you work on. Do you write things to be, like, read also?"

John's face betrayed an uncertain expression for a moment. "I've done some writing, I guess, though nothing really worth talking about."

A span of slightly tense silence passed before Dave shifted the subject, sensing an uncomfortable area. "So, I had to twist your arm to eat macaroons. Did you have, like, twenty waffles or something?"

"Nah. I'm just not a big morning breakfast guy. I mean, some days I stay up for eighteen hours editing, so sometimes I don't even get my breakfast until about 2 in the afternoon. I guess my body's just kind-of adapted, and I was never a breakfast guy to begin with."

"I was up around nine."

"Nine is kind-of early I guess."

"I usually go for a morning run, but nine is kinda late for me to get up."

"I see," John said jokingly, his smile returning, "so you're a morning person. Do you hog the covers too?"

Dave laughed unsure-sounding, backing away from the table. "In order to hog covers, there would need to be someone from whom I am hogging them. If there's no second party, no hoggage occurs. Yeah, I'm kind-of a morning-person. Besides, my roommate wanted to talk and kinda ambushed me this morning."

"Ooh, that must have been fun. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's good," Dave spoke through a crooked smile, leaning forward again and reaching for another macaroon. "We've been roommates for almost three years and best friends for most of that time."

"He the macho-man from last night?"

"Yeah," Dave choked out through a chuckle, "that'd be Scoop."

"His name is 'Scoop'?" John asked, incredulous.

"Nickname," Dave deadpanned, face sober again. "His actual first name is Thaddeus."

John shook his head. "I didn't want to say anything about it, really, but he's sort of...goofy."

"Well, if your parents named you Thaddeus..."

"I mean, he just kind of looked like a giant string of spaghetti tryin' hard to hit on that poor girl."

"Oh, c'mon, don't be rippin' on Scoop," Dave said through an irritated smile and a half-laugh, "He's my best friend."

"Lord, almighty, and at the Tardis bar, nonetheless."

"You treat it like it's some sacred ground or something," Dave spoke low and direct, shaking his head slightly. "And , I've been meaning to ask," he continued with no less attitude, "is it the Tardis Bar or is it the Fish and Chip Shoppe, because when I put it in my GPS..."

John nodded. "Oh yeah, it's officially the Fish and Chip Shoppe, but everybody calls it the Tardis Bar. I like it a lot better than the gay bars in town, they all get too crowded for my taste. Wall to wall gliteratzi, can't do it. Don't wanna do it."

Dave lowered his voice, looking around. "Damn, you're, um, loud."

"Well," John said with a questioning glance, "you do know we're on a coffee date, right?"

"No, I know," Dave said moving back, "I'm just-"

"Please tell me you're out. I don't need to transition another straight guy out of the closet."

"No, no. It's not that. I'm just- I feel like a lot of gay guys make it their whole thing and there's so much more to life than that."

John nodded. "I agree. But," John shrugged, "I mean, half the guys in Portland think they're bi just because they get a little horny every now and then and the girlfriend doesn't work for them. And then they think they want to experiment Can't tell you how many coffee dates have been some sort of ambush like that. Not that this one was."

"Flattering," Dave rasped, almost under his breath, unamused and making no secret of it as he rolled his eyes to the side, an almost irritated expression.

John sighed, mentally deciding to play the sympathy card. "Sorry. Word vomit. What I meant was is that I showed up because I think you're a little different than the other guys I've met in Portland. I kind of suck at this, and I had a really good time with you. I don't want to screw up whatever happens after this." Damn, that was off-script, John prodded himself.

"Just to be clear on a couple of things, I can't see how I look to the rest of the world. Look at me, John." John raised his head and met Dave's eyes straight-on. Dave's expression was intense, and John was stunned by the shift in Dave's demeanor. "Just hear me out. I had a really hard time where I came from. That's why I had to get out of Ohio. I had some people that I trusted turn their backs on me. It was hard for me to find people that I could count on for any kind of support-system. Some people within the gay community rejected me. Being gay made me an outcast to a lot of my friends, and, on the other side, I just wasn't gay enough for some people's taste. I don't want to come off like it was harder for me than it was for anyone else, I mean, I don't want to trivialize anyone's experience: that wouldn't be right. As it is, I'm alright with the person I am. I don't want somebody telling me that I'm listening to the wrong music or watching the wrong TV shows or that I just don't dress the part because this is me and this is how I'm comfortable. My best friends are still guys who like to hang out, drink beer, and go to football games. My best-girl-friend that every gay dude is supposed to have never arrived. Do you know how my roommate and best friend found out I'm gay?"

John remained silent but shook his head in a response to Dave's question.

"He asked me this morning after observing you and me at the bar last night. I'm not afraid of being seen on a date with a guy in public. I wouldn't be here right now if I was. I wouldn't say I'm in the closet; by the same token, I wouldn't say I feel that I need to make a public declaration. My friends are gonna know sooner or later, but maybe I don't see a reason to accelerate that process. Maybe some of them already know. Scoop had a hunch before his epiphany last night, and he cared enough to sit down and talk with me about it this morning. If all that makes me unsuitable for anything more than shooting the shit with you over coffee and cookies, I can live with that."

"I've offended you," John spoke softly, sounding deflated. "I am awful at this."

"Listen. You're not the only one who had a good time talking last night. You're different than most of the guys I've met in Portland also. And Portland's been a distinct improvement over Lima." Dave's face hinted at a warm smile as his tone softened. "I think you're doing okay. Hey, nothing's tying me to the chair."

"Well, we could do that, if you're into that sort of thing," John said, suddenly playful again, quirking a brow.

"Oh my God, it's too early for that," Dave huffed, almost fatigued-sounding, under his breath, uncharmed, a mirthless snicker.

"Then why are you laughing?"

Dave shook his head. "That was a laugh of exasperation." No trace of smile remained on Dave's face.

John smirked, embarrassed and red-faced. He'd gone off-script again, and it continued to bother him that he did. What bothered him further was that Dave was far more forthcoming than he'd foreseen, or maybe John wasn't prepared for this level of depth. Suddenly John found himself almost wishing that Dave was just some curious guy looking for a Sunday afternoon blowjob: it certainly would have suited John's agenda more comfortably. As it stood, John found himself in uncharted territory.

"So, what made this seem like a good idea last night?" Dave spoke after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

"Not sure," John said, sounding somewhat garbled, propping his head on his fist as his elbow rested on the table, the stress of his knuckles on his jar distorting his words, his eyes staring vacant into the tabletop. "What made it seem like a good idea to you?"

"Like I said, I had a good time talking to you last night."

"Change the subject?"

"Please."

John exhaled loudly, it almost sounded like a pressure-valve relieving itself. "So, we've established that you and Scoop are best friends. Can I assume that your talk with him this morning didn't change that?"

"Actually, Scoop, the guy you were being pretty merciless toward earlier, was great about it, and I feel really good about the talk we had this morning," Dave spoke through an unbreaking serious expression.

John smiled quickly in response. "And you're one of the mighty many PSU students. What are you going for?"

"Electrical Engineering. I'm in my third year. I'm waiting to hear back on some internships I looked into."

"So you're either a returning student or," John gasped in realization, "oh God, you're a kid."

"I'm twenty-one," Dave's tone nearly defensive, stand-offish.

John steeled his expression, almost seeming to brace himself. "Cue foot in mouth a second time then. You seem a lot older than that. Me being twenty-five won't bother you, will it?"

Dave shook his head, a skeptical expression, his eyes addressing John's. "Not at all. Look at it this way: if we were forty-one and forty-five, it wouldn't seem like much of a difference, right? Why should it now?"

John nodded and grinned, satisfied with Dave's logic. "Oh God, I hope I'm a lot better at this when I hit forty-eight. So, you're an Engineering student at PSU. Is that where you met Scoop?"

"Mmhmm," Dave's eyes narrowed as he caught the slip but didn't reveal that he had. "He's finishing his business degree. He also manages a local band."

"Him and about a thousand other people. What'd he name his band?"

"Omnivore, and it's not his band; he just manages them. They're better-known up in Seattle at the Chop Suey room."

John shook his head slowly, a quizzical expression. "I got nothing, sorry. I have a hard time keeping up with Portland's overwhelmingly diverse music scene."

"Old-school hard rock band," Dave answered John's confused expression. "They're really good. You should come see them with us next time they play."

"Now that they've been recommended to me, I probably will. Might want Scoop to tell them to rethink the band's name though, I mean, we're in the land of vegan doughnuts."

Dave shrugged indifference. "There will always be meat-eaters, if only in the musical sense. Omnivore have a decent local following and dates lined up in Germany over the summer."

"That's kind-of awesome."

"Besides, like I said, it's really not Scoop's band to rename."

"I guess this is the point in the conversation in which I horrifically wonder if I've accidentally offended a vegan," John stated tentatively.

"Surely you jest," Dave sassed through his wise-ass grin. "Look at me. Do I look like I subsist on bird and rabbit food?"

John smiled and blushed, facing away for a moment. "Well, thank God for another bear. I can't date someone who doesn't consider hamburgers and bacon to be two of the major food groups."

Dave raised an eyebrow, nodding. "I can relate. If given the choice, I'd rather eat a really killer burger than a steak."

John's eyes narrowed and his grin widened on the statement. He visually traced Dave's shoulders and upper arms and back up to his neck. Then John's eyes met Dave's, and Dave's smile was smug and huge, and this was possibly not John's most tactful moment of the day as he realized he'd been busted. Face flushed red and grinning sheepishly, John faced downward.

"I...ummm...you've got nice neck muscles?" John eventually spoke, still avoiding Dave's grinning face. "Yeah, I'm not really gonna recover from that. You been a runner long, or was it just something you did to fill the gaps in school between sports?"

"I played sports in high school," Dave answered. "Football, hockey. I still play games with the guys, sometimes basketball. Hit the weight room a few times a week."

"Ha! Well God, I'm pretty solid at racquetball- that's about as close to a weight room as I've gotten in a long while. And then there's bowling, which is well, kind of athletic if you don't get cheese fries?" John offered.

"I bowled in a junior league when I was younger, only my big concession-bar weakness was nachos," Dave mentioned, enthusiastic. "I was actually pretty good. It's been a few years, but I'm sure I could still be formidable. I never played racquetball, but I'd be willing to give it a shot."

"Well, it'd be good not to have to beg around for a partner. So, are you living in the city or are you commutin' in from one of the 'burbs? Guessing..." John squinted his eyes, mimicking clairvoyance, "Beaverton!"

"Yeah, actually, right on the edge," Dave confirmed with a brief guffaw. "I have a car but it's easier to park it and take the red Max to get here. Eliminates the parking hassles. Where are you located?"

"I'm at the lofts downtown. The Lotus."

"Gotcha," Dave said as he stretched his arms, glancing at this wristwatch as part of the same action.

"Time to go?"

Dave grimaced a half-smile, shaking his head. "Nah, not any time soon, really. I just have dinner plans with Scoop and my weekly phone call with my dad. He calls me every Sunday night. I usually try not to stay out too late on Sunday nights anyway. I like to get my school stuff in order and get my brain going in preparation for the week."

"You have to make dinner plans with your roommate? That's kind of adorable, not gonna lie."

Dave smiled, open-mouthed, creased forehead, a near double-take: the mixture of signals being thrown at him was interesting, if only in an analytical sense. "It's a nice day," he said as he looked around, nodding toward the plate-glass storefront. "Scoop's gonna fire-up the grill. We have a deck on our apartment, and he fancies himself a barbecue genius. And he kinda is."

John chuckled. "Like Brainiac-style genius or just really good with a spatula?"

"You're just gonna hafta come over for dinner sometime and find out," Dave grinned cocky and noncommittal before continuing, "But, not today. I wouldn't spring a dinner guest on him with no notice."

"That's okay. I'm pretty sure that he'd have a meltdown if I just all-of-a-sudden showed up after him seein' us in a booth together."

"Gotcha. Completely understandable."

"Well, at least I didn't have to be the one to look at my watch."

"What's in your immediate future for this fine, mild afternoon?"

John chuckled again. "Dark room, actually. Into the hole of editing. Have a friend who wanted me to look over the work she was submitting to a women's film fest in Montana. Then there are meetings for a retrospective and I don't even know. There's one fun thing tonight and I don't want to bore you with details about my craptastically full schedule."

Both sat silent for a brief time, eyeing the empty paper plates and crumpled napkins collected together in a stack at the table's center, John biting down on his lip.

"We gonna do this again?" It was difficult to tell if Dave was asking or telling.

"Yeah, definitely," John responded, almost abruptly.

Dave nodded, a small-but-smug grin: cocky. "Good. Only one thing, though."

"What's that?" John asked, raising his gaze to meet Dave's eyes as Dave stood from the table and scooped up the empty paper plates and napkins.

"You're not really twenty-five. You're twenty-eight. You slipped-up before."

John's eyes dropped, and his mouth gaped: busted again.

"Call me sometime," Dave spoke as stepped from the table carrying the refuse to one of the trash cans.

"Scoop?" Dave called out as he let himself into his apartment; the sun was nearing the horizon, coloring golden the nearly-barren white walls. "You around?"

"Hey, Dave," Scoop's voice shouted from a distance, "Kitchen."

A moment later, Dave appeared in the entryway to the kitchen. Scoop was busying himself in preparation for dinner that evening. A few of the other guys were going to stop by, and Scoop was preparing ribs and some vegetables for the grill.

"How'd everything go?" Scoop asked loudly, not looking up from his cutting board but seeing Dave in his periphery.

"It was okay. Kinda odd, I guess. Not sure what I expected, actually." Dave shrugged before his voice perked, a changed tone, "Hey, Scoop?"

"Yeah?" Scoop looked up from his chopping, a piqued, interested expression.

"Thanks for this morning. I don't know if you realize how important that talk was to me."

Scoop exhaled and smiled, small but pleasant, reaching into the sink and rinsing his hands. "Listen, Dave. We're friends. I wanna see you happy, and I wanna see you happy for real. I'd never be able to see you that happy if there was something you were trying to keep hidden." Scoop reached for a towel, drying his hands.

"Well, it feels good to know that that barrier is gone," Dave spoke quietly but firmly. "It's good to know that I don't feel that I need to keep anything like that hidden. I'm kinda kicking myself for not telling you first, though."

Scoop chuckled. "Hey, what's important is that it happened and everything's good. Honestly, if you'd told me when we were first dorm-mates, I don't know how I would have reacted, not knowing you and being just out of high-school; but it's pretty-much a nonissue at this point. A couple of years of growing up and understanding the people around me, yeah, it was the right time. Probably would have been the right time a year-and-a-half ago, but maybe neither one of us would have been comfortable talking about it."

"Well, you were the one to initiate it, and I'm glad you did," Dave said, nodding. "I think maybe I'm ready to tell the other guys pretty soon. I know now, worst-case scenario, I'm not gonna end up friendless."

Scoop stepped toward Dave who was leaning against the wall. Scoop addressed Dave's face and patted his shoulder firmly. "Damned right." Dave chuckled as if reacting to being tickled by the action. "So, tell me more about John," Scoop continued.

Dave rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Um, we laughed a little, it was awkward, it got kinda intense. He's unpretentious, but he's not exactly laid-back." Dave paused for a moment. "I'd hang with him again, I guess."

"What else?" Scoop prodded, smiling.

"Uh, he's artsy, but he's not that fake-artsy like so many other gay guys are. He actually does stuff rather than just talking about doing stuff."

"Like...?"

"Um, artsy endeavors," Dave recounted. "Documentary filmmaker, old-school animation, he writes: that kinda stuff."

"Can I say something?" Scoop offered.

"Sure. Shoot."

"Comparing him to that Mark guy you were seeing a while back and some of the other guys you've hung around short-term in the past, you and John looked comfortable together the other night. I can't say that about those other guys."

Dave looked downward, nodding. "Yeah, well, I busted him lying about his age, something he really didn't need to do."

"What?" Scoop nearly choked on the word.

"Yeah, and I can't take it too seriously."

"That's kinda fucked-up, though."

Dave laughed. "Non-issue. Scoop, I'm twenty-one. I'm not gonna be marrying anyone any time soon. Besides, how long have I been not-exactly honest with you about my orientation?"

"Not the same thing," Scoop countered, shaking his head and facing forward.

"Well, everyone like me grew up under the assumption that we're straight. It's difficult to break patterns when we think the truth might be counter to one's expectations, and it tends to apply to other things as well."

"Well, I can't see that perspective like you can. Did you lie to him about yourself also?"

Dave suppressed a breathy chuckle. "No, but it's probably not the first time someone has misrepresented themselves in a dating situation, I mean, I should probably get used to that, right? Also, unlike most other guys I've gone out with, he actually seemed to be interested in what I was saying and paid attention to me when I talked. And actually wanted me to talk."

"But you're not really considering seeing this guy again, are you?"

Dave began to laugh at Scoop's over-reaction and the unspecified nature of the situation. "That's going to be up to him. If he can bring himself to call me again and ask me out after a jerky move like that age thing, I might take him up on it. After all, it would be kinda gutsy. And he didn't give me his phone number anyway."

"You don't seem busted-up about that," Scoop voiced an observation as he returned his attention to the cutting board.

Dave laughed heartily. "Listen, Scoop, the high point of my day so far was the conversation you and I had this morning. Dinner might eclipse that. Yeah, I was kinda psyched about meeting this guy for coffee, but it wasn't, like, fireworks or anything. Even if it didn't live up to any best-case expectations, I've had worse dates, believe me. If nothing else, he's down-to-earth enough for me to carry on a conversation with, and some of it was awkwardly amusing in retrospect. Frankly, until I busted him lying about his age, the conversation was pretty uninteresting."

"Good attitude," Scoop opined. "Wish some of that would rub off on me for those times when I've entertained whack-job-chicks."

Dave chuckled again. "Well, he wasn't quiet to the point of creepy like some guys I've gone out with, and, truth told, his obvious verbal slips gave me some leverage when I called him on it, like I wasn't gonna let him talk down to me like so many guys do; and he's not totally uninteresting."

"If you can believe what he says about himself, that is," Scoop snorted. "It's cool that you called him on it."

"You know me: I wasn't gonna let him get away with that," Dave spoke through a cocky smirk. "Plus the guy's willing to lie to me about himself. Must want something if he's willing to be unethical that way."

"You have a point there," Scoop muttered, a disapproving air, "Maybe he just wanted to get laid."

"That thought had occurred to me, and it's not a completely unappealing one."

Scoop appeared momentarily stunned before shaking his head and smirking down toward the cutting board.

John sighed as he cut through the dog park on his roundabout way to the editing studio. He couldn't stop thinking about how much of a fiasco the coffee-date turned out to be, envisioning what future dates with Dave might have been if he hadn't shot that one in the ass, and then mentally scolding himself: why must you keep going off-script into relationship territory when you know it's not going to happen, especially with this guy? He sat on a bench and watched three golden retrievers being chased playfully by their owners. Soon, the frisbees would be out, it was getting warmer and lighter all the time.

John looked up at the mostly blue sky. What am I doing? I don't want to like this guy like this, but I do, so much so that I completely lost control of that conversation and my focus.

John's phone buzzed and he looked from the sky to his phone at Louis' name on the text screen.

Louis: Hey John! Meeting Tuesday! It's nice that you have a phone now so I can tell you these things without having to track you down.

John: True. Ah, is this that meeting for Lenten stuff or ...?

Louis: Six of one, half a dozen of another.

John: Ah. Sorry I couldn't make this morning. I was...

John started to type busy and then erased it. It didn't sound right to say that he had bounced on morning service at church for a date. A date during which he shot himself in the ass more than once.

Louis: You were...

Louis: Oh! It's like a guessing game!

John: Not exactly

John: There was this guy

Louis: Awesome! Way to go!

John: Don't get excited. I'm my own worst enemy, and I don't want to talk about it.

Louis: Awww...why?

Louis: Also, don't think that about yourself.

John: Can't argue with the evidence before me.

John: I didn't even give him my phone number, and he probably doesn't want it anyway.

Louis: Well, does he want to meet again?

John: Said he would. You know how that goes.

John: It hasn't even been a year since my last disastrous relationship.

Louis: I know

Louis: And life is a healing process

Louis: And I certainly don't want to push you into anything

Louis: But if there's a green light sign, I'd say take the chance

John: Really doesn't apply in this situation.

Louis: Why?

John: Not going there. But I'll think about it, the green-light and taking-the-chance thing, that is.

Louis: Liar, but it's considerate of you to say

Louis: Maybe that's what you should have told him

John: Yeah, that totally doesn't make me feel like crap.

Louis: Sarcasm or ...?

John: I don't even know anymore, and maybe you don't know me, and maybe I just don't know what I want either.