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: 12,000

"Hey, Dave."

"Scoop," Dave mumbled, low, as Scoop entered the kitchen of their apartment; Dave was facing downward toward the sink, washing dishes.

"There any of that pizza left from last night?"

"Yeah, I saved half of what was there for you," Dave's reply, though audible, remained low-pitched and quiet.

"Aw, you're the best," Scoop countered, affected sincerity but sincere nonetheless, as he opened the refrigerator and retrieved the grease-spotted box, opening it and reaching in, "Thanks." He placed the box on the counter and fought to wrest a slice of pizza free, mangling it slightly in the process; he lifted the twisted piece to his mouth and bit down, claiming a large bite as he watched Dave finish rinsing some dishes and silverware in the sink.

"How is it you put up with my sloppy ass for this long when you're a borderline neat-freak," Scoop forced, distorted through a mouthful of pizza.

"It's because I'm not one of those belligerent neat-freaks," Dave answered, monotone. "And you're not, like, off-the-hook messy or anything. Besides, I do have my unkempt moments."

"I've never seen one." No answer. "Grouchy."

"Trying not to be, and I'm not, like, in your face about it or anything."

Scoop nodded, chasing a mouthful of pizza with a gulp of soda. "What's eating you anyway?"

"Focusing on schoolwork," Dave replied. "Finals coming up. Have a paper to finish. Stuff like that."

"You talk to that guy since the weekend?"

"The whack-job? Nope."

Scoop silently made the connection. "Sounds like you're trying not to care when you might actually. Seriously, you shouldn't."

"There was something endearingly amusing about the whole thing, but, yeah, you're right, and there's no way for me get in contact with the guy. I need to concentrate on school for the time being anyway. The whack-jobs will still be there when finals are over."

"But you kinda liked him, right?"

Dave snickered, mood lightening. "Yeah: 'liked'. Keep it in past-tense." Dave's face became somewhat pointed as he addressed Scoop straight-on. "You know, before you and I had that talk last Sunday morning, I had dated a few guys. It's not like I'm exactly naïve or new to this drill."

"You make it sound like every available gay dude is nuts," Scoop observed.

"Well, how many girls have you gone out with that you concluded are psycho on some level?"

"Touché," Scoop acknowledged, nodding and widening his eyes on agreement.

"Besides, There's a lot you don't know about where I came from and my life before I moved to Portland, the guy I was back in Ohio and the reasons why I had to get the fuck outta there. I might come off like the guy who's always in control just because I feel like I gotta be careful when I act on impulse."

"Y'know," Scoop pushed the words through another mouthful of pizza, "you seem pretty well-adjusted, way saner than so many of the straight people our same age." Scoop swallowed followed by another swig of soda. "You're my best friend. I want to see you happy with a cool boyfriend or something."

"Why is it that straight society has two exclusive, polar views of dating as it concerns the gay community?"

"What?" The final consonant sound dulled by food and chewing action.

"The people who don't like us assume that all we want to do is go out and fuck anything that moves, and our friends assume that all we want to do is fall into immediate monogamous relationships and get married. Can't there be a middle-ground, especially for a guy my age? I mean, it's considered normal behavior if a young straight-guy wants to go out and get laid; it's just as normal if him and his girlfriend of three weeks decide to get married."

Scoop shook his head slightly, simultaneously chewing another mouthful of pizza, seeming to experience some confusion while processing the conversation. Finally swallowing, he said, "Dave, like I said, I want you to be happy."

"So, what? It doesn't make you happy when you get laid?"

Scoop shook his head. "Sure, but..."

"Scoop, you're not getting it," Dave spoke decisively. "You're holding me to some kind standard that you yourself don't observe. I've hooked up with guys that I can barely hold a conversation with, but that doesn't mean I didn't have an awesome time with them. Then, there's whack-John: I sorta got a kick out of actually talking to the guy, but that's as far as it's likely to go."

"Maybe he's one of those people who just does stuff on the weekends." Scoop swallowed followed by another swig of soda. "You met him last Saturday; you hung out with him on the following Sunday. It's Thursday. Maybe he's just one of those disorganized guys who plays things as they happen when his free time allows."

"Listen to you," Dave shook his head, smirking, "You didn't like the guy five minutes ago, and now you're making excuses for him."

"Forget it, but I have a hunch that you're gonna hear from him again," Scoop surrendered. "Otherwise, sorry, man. I'll try to keep my thoughts about things to which I'm clueless under control, but just know that you can talk to me about anything, okay?"

Dave laughed and shook his head facing back toward the sink. "Yeah, thanks for the offer, and I know I'll take you up on it at some point."

"I've bent your ear enough times, that's for damned sure. I owe you at least that."

Dave exhaled loudly as he rinsed the filter-basket and carafe from their coffee-maker, "Deal."

"You have anything going on early tomorrow?"

"Nah, first Friday class is at one."

"Well, the band is playing a Rickety-Thursday show tonight at the White Boxx, and you've been increasingly quiet all week, excepting the last ten minutes, of course. Might do you some good to come out and have some stupid fun with your friends."

Dave grinned, crooked. "That's actually a pretty good idea. I think it's been all of, what? Not quite two weeks since I've seen them last?" Sarcastic.

"Okay, so it's nothing new, but it is a distraction and you know it's always a good time."

"Alright. I'm in."

"It's amazing how much I have to twist your arm to get you to do things, Dave," Scoop said with a smug, self-congratulatory smirk as he shoved a sizable chunk of pizza crust into his mouth.

"You're an animal," Dave said, affected displeasure, as he turned back to the sink, wiping water droplets and scattered remnants of suds from the immediate counter-top area. "Can't you chew your food? Oh my God, I sound like my mother."

"We're doing shots," called Jack from the bar as Dave stood a small distance away, beer in hand, glancing toward the stage and a couple of guys who were hoisting some speaker cabs. "You in, Karofsky?"

"Nah, guys, I'm driving," Dave threw an answer over his shoulder. "Somebody's got to stay sober enough to drive Scoop's inevitably-trashed ass back home."

"And never let it be said that Scoop doesn't appreciate your unfailingly responsible nature," Scoop replied, referring to himself in the third person, as five sloppy shotglasses were thunked down onto the bar before the group of five young men.

The bar was noisy. "Sweet Jane" was playing on the jukebox: Dave couldn't remember ever coming to this bar and not hearing the song, though he'd never heard it before he frequented the place.

Standin' on the corner
Suitcase in my hand
Jacky's in his corset, Jane is in her vest
And, me, I'm in a rock n roll band

Dave heard a collective growl come from his friends as they slammed their spent shotglasses to the surface of the bar in near-military precision. Jack and Tony left the bar area, walking toward Dave, Jack loudly pronouncing the next two lines of the song.

"All the poets, they study rules of verse,
And those ladies, they roll their eyes."

"You've been staring at the stage solid for, like, ten minutes, Karofsky," Tony noted. "Something interesting going on up there?"

Dave shook his head, breaking away from the distracting vision of the members of one of the opening bands setting up their gear. "Uh, just looking at their, um, guitar rigs." The response sounded every bit as false as it was.

Tony shot Dave a skeptical expression. "Since when do you know, or even care, anything about guitar amplification?"

"This guy's rig is orange. I've never seen one like that."

Tony's brow creased as he turned toward the stage area. "You're right. I've never seen one of those in person. I'm gonna go talk to the guy about it."

Tony departed toward the stage area leaving Jack and Dave standing next to each other.

"So, Karofsky, you up for playing some basketball this weekend?" Jack asked over the sound of the jukebox.

Dave smiled and glanced toward Jack as Scoop and Robbie approached from the other side. "Sure, as long as the rain gives us a break. I remember playing basketball in the rain in February once before, and, I swear, my sinuses weren't right for a week."

Jack and Robbie began to laugh at Dave's observation as Dave's phone buzzed to life, his ringer creating a cacophony with the sound of the jukebox as Scoop sang along with Dave's phone briefly, nodding to the beat as he did: "Exit light, en-ter nieeeeeght!"

Dave smirked crooked and shook his head, considering the screen before taking the call: Number not available.

"Hello?" Dave raised his voice into the phone to assure being heard over the noise of the bar.

"Hey, Dave? Ummm...hi. You... you probably don't remember me. I'm... this is John. From coffee? And the Tardis Bar?"

"Hey, hi. Yeah, I, of course I remember. I didn't think I'd be hearing back from you."

Scoop glanced in Dave's direction, interested in the phone call, while the others remained distracted.

John's voice was hesitant and somewhat staticky. "Sounds like you're, um, busy?"

Dave moved from the crowded center of the space to a quieter corner near the front of the bar. "Just hanging at a bar with my friends. Their band is gonna play later tonight."

"Oh. Cool. Is this the one that Scoop manages or something? Did they rope you into being a roadie for tickets?"

"No," Dave grimaced, dismissing the comment. "Just hanging with my friends and waiting around for stuff to happen. Typical for one of these nights, actually."

"Ah. Well, speaking as an amateur roadie, I always kind of liked the flurry of activity before a performance. So, I was calling... umm, I was wondering, I know you're probably a busy dude but..."

"Yeah?" Dave's tone betrayed impatience at the intrusion.

"There's umm...they're having an artisan burger-off at Saturday market, and I know you said you like burgers, and I really think it would be cool, and it would get me out of the studio for like half a day, and I'm climbing the walls here so it would be really cool... oh God, I'm babbling. I'm sorry."

"No, definitely. I'm in," Dave replied, nominally committal if lacking enthusiasm.

"You... that's... okay. Fantastic. Ummm...so yeah, this is... this is me. Just call, you know, if you get lost or you just wanna hang out or... oh God, I'm just gonna hang up now," John said before ending his side of the call.

Dave looked at his phone as the call abruptly ended, quirked his brow, puzzled, and shook his head. 'Just call,' Dave thought, what kinda insanity is that, never having been given a number? He moved from the secluded corner, rejoining his friends at the center of the room.

"That who I think it was?" Scoop asked, a sarcastic inflection to his voice and hint of suspicion to his expression.

Dave looked downward, a perplexed half-smirk and an unseen eyeroll in the half-light of the bar. "Yeah."

"Told ya." Scoop voiced, affected disinterest, as he shook his head, staring forward toward the stage.

"Yeah, how the hell did you call that one?"

"Experience, maybe?" Scoop offered.

Dave's expression puzzled as Scoop furthered. "Watching the two of you at that Tardis thing? Watching him specifically? It's like I could read his expression, I knew what he was thinking. He was just a little too awestruck to let it go after one goofy misfire date."

Dave nodded, considering the statement. "That's insightful coming from a straight dude."

"Hey, we're all dudes, right?" Scoop answered through an audible snicker. "I think I know the territory." Scoop paused. "Maybe I've been there before. A couple of times. News?"

Dave nodded and slid his phone into his jacket, indifference. "I guess. We're going out again this weekend."

Scoop's brow wrinkled as he tilted his head, smug, before addressing Dave. "Like you said, I called it."

"You're such an unlikely cupid," Dave offered, mirthless, still smirking slightly. "It might be downright nauseating if you weren't on my side."

John ended the call before he said, I missed you, or some equally embarrassing and trite, relieved as much that the conversation was over as he was that Dave had agreed to meet him Saturday afternoon.

John sat on a bench outside the church, his Thursday evening choir rehearsal having ended a half-hour before. He hadn't planned on calling Dave again, but his earlier conversation with Louis put a gentle persuasion to his indecisive thoughts, all-the-more susceptible to suggestion for their ambivalence.

"Hey, John, wait up," Louis called out. Rehearsal had just finished, and John was hurriedly moving toward the exit door of the rehearsal space.

"Um, hey, Louis," John spoke as he slowed slightly, feeling like he'd been busted doing something wrong.

"Where're you off to so fast?"

"Uh, I wanted to get back to the editing room. I have this one little thing I wanted to finish before I headed home."

Louis' expression was patient. "No time to talk for a couple of minutes?"

John exhaled loudly, nodding and turning to face Louis. "Yeah," John shrugged. "I can hang for a few. What's up?" The expression sounded mechanical, like an automatic response, though he tried to make it sound conversational and friendly.

"Did you talk to that guy you went out with on the weekend?"

"Nah."

The response seemed to extend into the air between them: Louis waiting for John to elaborate; John hoping the single-word-answer would suffice.

"C'mon," Louis began after the pause, each man addressing the other's face, "It can't be as simple as that."

"Um, it is. I messed it up."

"What do you mean?"

"Um," John shook his head, breaking from Louis' s eyes, "I lied about my age, and he caught it."

Louis' expression twisted. "What? How old is this guy?"

"Twenty-one."

"And how old are you? Twenty-six?"

"I'm twenty-eight."

"And what'd you tell him? You're twenty-six?"

"Told him I was twenty-five."

Louis shook his head. "That's not like you at all. Why would you even do something like that?"

There was a span of silence before John answered. "Maybe it actually is kinda like me."

"What does that even mean?"

"Maybe I just wanted to get laid."

Louis' expression dropped, puzzlement to sober suddenly, but with an empathy in his eyes, before audibly inhaling and nodding. "We've all been there, and there's no shame in that. But, I don't think that's entirely truthful. Our text-conversation the other day sounded like you were a little more thoughtful than a guy who failed at getting laid would be."

John remained silent.

"Y'know, maybe you've moved on from the bad experieinces of your last attempt at a relationship. Maybe you're ready. And he did say he was open to meeting again, right?"

"Yeah, and how many times have you said that and didn't mean it?"

"Never." Louis' quick and definitive response stunned John.

"Well," John began almost shyly after a moment, "I have."

Louis' face was trained on John's; John eventually resigned to lifting his gaze to meet Louis' whose expression shifted from stoic to a hinted smile: quiet encouragement.

"If you really have entertained more than a roll in the hay with this guy, which I suspect you have, and you're unsure of what you're looking for, it might be time for you to see where something like this might lead."

"So, you're telling me to give him a call and see if he's up for meeting again?"

"If you've thought about it, and I can tell you're thinking about it right now, the uncertainlty of not knowing the outcome is gonna bother you. Your choice."

"Y'know, I'll regret the whole thing if he turns me down."

"You'll regret not knowing just as much. Maybe more."

John sat on the cement shell of the steps, watching the river as it moved and ignoring most of the thoroughfare. He swigged root beer out of a bottle and half-listened to a man play on acoustic guitar in the little town square between the vendors and the shell. It was still too early in the season for tourists, so the Market foot-traffic was relatively light at the moment though the crowd would grow within the hour. It was an ideal place and time for a second-and-a-half date.

Dave had driven his car to the park-n-ride to catch the streetcar to the Saturday market. He psyched himself on some level, pushing his misgivings of the awkward last meeting to the back of his mind and assuming a positive attitude for the day. As far as he was concerned, he'd take the mental stance that the coffee-date never happened, at least not in the way it actually did. This was as clean a slate as could be justifiable, and Dave approached it with no expectations or aganeda. He did, however, understand his own limitations. He wasn't always the most patient person, and, given John's track record, his patience had an undeniably low threshold despite Dave's efforts to the contrary.

John swallowed hard as he caught sight of Dave sauntering up the boardwalk toward the market. If it was at all possible, Dave appeared better than before: even hotter in the daylight than John thought anyone had a right to look, and with an approachable, friendly expression and gait.

As the distance between them diminished, John stood up, tense, and reached his hand outward to shake Dave's.

"Good to see you. You look, you look good. Ummm...the burger thing is really nice and it's all locals and yeah, okay, so hi."

"Hi," Dave said with a sidelong glance and a wary shake of his head. "So, I'm guessing you're nervous. You can chill. It's just me. I'm here. Let's eat."

"Yeah, burgers, red meat. Caveguy stuff. Good times," John said as he tried to breathe. They walked side by side, remarking on different vendor stalls as they passed them. The smoke and smell of burgers made them salivate, almost painful, as they stood in line for the burger-off.

"Really, that kind of smell should be illegal," John said off-hand, beginning to relax.

"They smell great," Dave said, "I'm tryin' not to drool. My roommate makes the best in the city but-"

"Oh, ho, don't you think you're settin' the bar kind of high?"

"For him, nah, oh. Menu," Dave pointed out and jogged out of line to pick up menus for himself and John. "Okay, well, menu is not the right word."

"Promotional brochure is more like it," John said as he flipped the giant bookmark in his hand. "Let's see...wow. Well, at least there are choices. What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," Dave said with a shrug. "Anything called 'Mountain Man' kind of snags my attention, but I'm on the fence about a burger made out of bratwurst. That just sounds..."

"Experimental? Destined to fail?"

"Pointless."

"Ah. Well, I have had one of the Mama burgers so unless you like a lot of syrup stay away from them. In theory it's a good idea, but in practice she should just stick to chicken and waffle burgers, I think."

"Okay, well," Dave said as they came up to the makeshift counter, "how about we find out what you actually like?"

"No, I got this," John spoke as he approached the counter to place his order. "Let's see...we'll do the cowboy with the two star barbecue sauce, and don't be skimpy. Colby-jack, hold the tomato, and onion strings right? And bacon. Must have bacon. Good. Thanks."

Dave watched John point and command the counter help's attention, nominally polite; but Dave couldn't shake the feeling that the exchange smacked of some lofty entitlement on John's part. Dave hoped it was a false impression, and his face sobered slightly, even as the payment transaction and incidentals ended congenially enough.

"I mean," John began to Dave as though he were an authority on the subject, "onion rings are like little bites of heaven, don't get me wrong but they're super unwieldy on burgers. Onion strings are like something from the angels to correct the problem," John followed with a small chuckle at his own joke and moved out of the way for Dave to order.

"Okay, I came for a burger, and I want something serious," despite the directness of his words, Dave's voice was friendly and disarming as he addressed the man behind the counter. "I don't want anything fancy or something non-burger trying to be a burger, and I want it to be, like, substantial."

The thin, young-looking man behind the counter smirked and nodded, offering, "I can do a double-burger."

"A double?" the phrase caused an almost inappropriate smile to spread across Dave's face. "Okay, a double burger, bacon definitely, bleu cheese..."

"Um, I don't have bleu cheese right now," the man at the counter replied, caught off-guard and looking behind him at what was available. "We ran out about ten minutes ago, and I sent one of the guys to get more. Should be back soon if you wanna wait."

"Oh, man, I'm pretty hungry..."

"I have some bleu cheese sauce," the man offered.

"Nah, not the same," Dave's expression dropped, thoughtful for a moment. "What other kinds of cheese do you have?"

"Uh, we have the standard American, Swiss, cheddar, the colby-jack," the man rattled off and turned again to the assembly-line to remind himself of the other choices. "We have natural mozzarella, smoked gouda..."

"Smoked gouda," Dave perked suddenly. "You can stop right there. That sounds great."

"What else?" the man behind the counter asked.

"Lettuce, tomato, raw onion, ketchup and mayo on the side: load it up for me."

"Raw onion," John said with a low whistle, "well, I know I ain't kissing you today," he teased.

"Shut up, you're getting onion strings," Dave teased back, smiling and knocking his shoulder into John's, feeling newly at-ease by his exchange, the almost-pornographic mental images of food, and the bromantic common-ground therein.

"Hey, bud?" It required a comment from the counter to reign Dave's focus back in. "You know how to eat. Anything else? Pepper rings, jalapenos?"

"Nah, sometimes I'm in the mood for a kick, but not at the moment," Dave answered, smiling and nodding. "Pickles, maybe?"

"We have standard burger chips, but we also have these really awesome garlic-dills..."

"Oh yeah, that sounds perfect, the garlic-dill," Dave interjected, friendly. "You read my mind, and you are awesome."

"Thank you, gentlemen," the man at the counter pronounced with a chuckle to both John and Dave, taking a bill from Dave and making change. "Give us about five on that."

Dave and John both turned away from the counter to briefly scan the seating area before each addressed the other's face casually.

"Way more adventurous than me," John shook his head. "I don't know what it is about the tomato and pickle on my burger that just screams salad, but I simply... I don't know. Just can't do it."

"That's why there are so many choices, dude," Dave answered, a confidence in his delivery, smiling again as he playfully knocked his arm against John's shoulder a second time.

They compared notes on the different burger-grilling techniques, John eventually pointing out a lettuce-wrapped burger that went out to a young, doe-eyed hippie.

"You know, I'm glad you didn't get that vegan burger. I'm not really one for capital punishment but people that get their burgers wrapped in lettuce instead of on a bun either need therapy or to be shot on sight."

"Mmhmm," Dave hummed noncommittal agreement as he waited for his food. "I mean, do monks buy a lot of inflatable sex-dolls? Are Catholic priests keeping the flesh-jack people in business?"

John opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly, not sure what he wanted to say in response. Dave continued talking when he took this as a positive gesture.

"The vegan obsession with making everything meat-like. I mean, I have been known to indulge in veggie trays and awesome salads with fairly-regular frequency, and I like my broccoli to look and taste like broccoli. Vegan-burger? What's the point? I gotta say, though, wrapping a burger in lettuce? That's really no crime in my book."

"Okay, well then, confession time. I have been known, with some regularity, to eat a veggie burger. But only in San Diego and only at Boll Weevils. And, as an added embarrassment bonus, I had a roommate in college that made tofurkey curry that was pretty much one of the best things I've ever eaten. Feel free to run away screaming if you so wish. I won't hold it against you," John guffawed.

"Well, while we are confessing things," Dave contributed, "I will state that I planted myself next to a crock-pot full of not-dogs and sauerkraut at a Halloween party a while back; but there is an advantage to meatless hot-dogs that smell and taste like the real thing."

"And that would be?"

"I was able to eat about six of them without feeling like I ate that many. I'd have never been able to do that with real hot dogs." Dave shrugged, "I like to eat; I make no apologies for that."

"Well," John offered with a shrug. "I think that's a perk of being a bear. Being able to go out and eat, I mean really eat. Not a nibble here and there but I mean, like, enjoy your life and your food, and it's wicked awesome."

Dave's smile hardened skeptically. "Is that a bear thing? I thought it was just, like, a human thing. Guess I'm tired of..."

"Oh, order's up!" John shouted, ignoring Dave's incomplete statement, jumping into action, picking up the food, and handing Dave his plate while pointing to another booth. "So, the tie-dye booth over there. Did I tell you I know that guy? We did a stage production of Godspell, and it was really cool. He does these socks that are wicked awesome."

"Sounds nice," Dave said politely if not a little cold as they moved into the seating area.

They found a far-off table, and Dave placed the complimentary order of curly fries between them. John looked down and thought. "Here, you got macaroons last time, let me get the root beer this time. IBC, cold bottle, you'll love it."

"Wait," Dave said as John rose, "I gotta know, man, are we on a hang out or on a date?"

"I- well, I thought it was a date?" John asked tentatively.

"Okay. Just checking," Dave spoke with a hint of sarcasm and eyes skeptically trained on John's. "And sure, root beer sounds good," Dave added, his voice growing calmer, his expression less uncertain.

John walked back to the area with the booths and bought the soda, attempting to allow the cool of the glass calm his jangled nerves. Was it possible he was actually getting worse at this and not better?

"I mean, I hope it's a date," John tried to say in a way of apology as he placed the bottles on the table and seated himself.

"Honestly, either is fine with me," Dave answered. "I'm just trying to get a sense of where your head is on this."

"It's just that... I don't usually get second dates," John added, an extension of his last sentence, as if oblivious to Dave's statement between.

Dave quirked his head as he finished a bite. "Yeah? Why not? It have something to do with not giving the other guy your number?" Sarcasm masquerading as indifference.

"I," John took a moment to chew on a curly fry, "Yes and no. There haven't been a lot of guys that got a second date, mostly because I'm just not very good at this."

Dave rested his forearms on the edge of the table, his hands keeping the unruly burger-assembly together admirably. "Well, no, of course you're not if you keep acting like a ferret with a firecracker in his ass the whole time. What's making you nervous? I mean, I'm just a guy."

"That's just it," John said as he bored a hole in the table with his stare and picked up his burger to take a bite, "you're a regular guy. I... I guess, maybe I'm not sure exactly what I want, but, whatever that is, I'm trying not to screw this up."

Dave's expression cleared, remaining serious but suddenly curious as well. "That was pretty forthcoming and honest. I appreciate that, but, seriously, screw up what?" Dave hung onto the final consonant, punctuating it with the directness of his eyes.

John swallowed a mouthful of burger and a gulp of rootbeer, exhaling loudly as he finished. "You busted me lying to you about my age last week."

"That's kinda immaterial," Dave offered, indifferent, as he hoisted his burger again. "Who hasn't lied about their age? Hell, I lied about my age to get into a gay bar in Ohio when I was eighteen. I'd be a total fool to think that you're the last guy that's going to misrepresent their age to me."

"Not the same," John answered, slightly stung by Dave's reply and sounding somewhat confrontational but with his eyes still fixed downward toward the table and holding his sandwich as if in preparation to bite into it again.

Dave's face betrayed the edge of a sarcastic smile as he addressed John. "It sounds like you want it to bother me more than it does."

"Why doesn't it bother you?" John sounded almost disillusioned as his eyes met Dave's.

"It just doesn't," Dave turned his attention back to his burger, finding it more interesting than John's ineffectual stare, opening his mouth and taking a large, gratifying bite.

John was silent for some time, brow creasing, speaking finally. "Either way, I appreciate you seeing me after how I screwed up last time."

Dave tilted his head and licked a smear of ketchup from his thumb, indifferent. "We don't have anything to screw up yet."

"Yet?"

"Oh, c'mon," Dave shook his head and rolled his eyes upward. "You're acting like the gravity of this situation is killing you. In reality, we had a really cool icebreaker in a bar over drinks, an awkward coffee-date, and, I don't know what to make of this; but you're asking for a 'yet'?"

"Why shouldn't there be a yet?" John's eyes met Dave's, almost stunned, conscious of a realization that they might on vastly different pages.

"I didn't say that there couldn't be a 'yet', but, really, I'm not thinking that way. This is the third time we've gone out, and the results have been all over the freaking map. It's not like we're gonna be moving in together next week, and, in your own words, you don't know what you're looking for. I came here with no expectations today. Why are you trying to force an agenda?"

John was silent, eyes unfocused but aimed at the tabletop, burger in his hands before him.

"Well?" Dave asked, curious but not pressing.

"Because I still believe in fairy tale romance and no guy wants that hassle," John stated with an edge of hard honesty in his voice, seeming to find a sesame seed on his bun very interesting in that moment.

Now Dave was momentarily silent. "I got nothin'. You just lost me on that one." Dave spoke finally, wanting to add as well, 'now you're just talkin' crazy.'

"I knew this was a bad idea."

Dave suppressed a laugh. "It was your idea. You called me, remember?"

"Why did you agree to meet me?"

"Listen, I'm up for making friends, ones that I can relate to and go out and have fun with. If something else happens along the way, whether it's once or twice or a few times, I could be up for that. If something bigger develops, I'm open to that also. All of a sudden, you seem to have some immediate everything-or-nothing attitude in mind that I didn't see before. I'm young. You're not exactly old. Neither of us should feel like we need to be married off any time soon." Dave's face was serious, nodding like a punctuation mark at the end of his statement while addressing John's eyes causing his gaze to drop away immediately.

"I," John felt his hand start to tremble. "It doesn't really matter," John spoke, almost a whisper.

"You'll have to speak up. Live band a couple of nights back gave me a bit of tinnitus. What?"

"I said it doesn't matter," John voiced serious and decisive with a swallow.

Dave quirked his brow. "Alright, so it doesn't matter. Sure, why not? Let's go with that." Dave turned away for a moment, an expression of near-frustration, before addressing John straight-on again. "Then why the heck are we here? And why the sudden weirdness?"

"Weirdness?" John spoke the word quietly, taken aback, visibly stung.

Dave's face sobered, hinting at concern. "I'm sorry if that came off as mean. I didn't mean it that way."

John shook his head as he smeared a fry in ketchup. "I have a couple of friends who kinda pulled me aside recently, got me thinking about boyfriend and relationship stuff. I gotta say that when we first met, I wasn't really thinking that way."

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't thinking about anything other than getting laid the first time I met you."

John raised his eyes to meet Dave's, stunned and stung again.

"Geeze, man," Dave reacted to John's expression. "I didn't mean anything negative by it. If anything, what I'm trying to say is that I thought you were kinda cute and fun and funny. I won't apologize if that got me thinking with the wrong head, I mean, all that stuff is complimentary, I'd think."

John faced downward again, away from Dave's eyes, into the table, exhaled loudly again, and met Dave's eyes once more as he began to speak. "Look, you hit all my major points for a good guy, the right kind of the guy, the guy I've been looking for all my life, and I know... I know it's crazy and early and I've obviously got the nerves of a small chihuahua until you've known me longer than two weeks on a daily basis, but I've got bad boyfriend history, and I've buried myself in work to forget it, and I don't, I don't think I remember what John is actually like with a guy. I mean, even at church..."

"Is the not-going-to-church thing a deal-breaker?" Dave sounded quietly, not sure if he was reaching for an understanding approach or a quick way out.

John shrugged. "Wren makes it work, says he respects his partner's decisions and they seem happy, but I don't know, I was always hoping a guy would show up at MCC and somehow they'd just be the right one and I could do all the bible stuff with them and not feel like... never mind. It's silly."

"Look, you've got nothing to worry about. If you only knew about some of the guys I've tried to be involved with, nothing is silly," Dave said quietly, shaking his head. "Going to church with you is not something I wouldn't do. Just, like, don't expect it to profoundly change me or me to get suddenly filled with the Holy Spirit or something. And it's not exactly something I'd jump right into, like I'm not dying to try out the church thing. Other than any presumptions like that, I'm open to new experiences." Dave wasn't sure if he was feigning interest just to make John feel better, having possibly hurt him a minute earlier.

John shook his head. "No, sorry. I'm not sure you're gonna find that there either. I mean, I did the charismatic thing for a while. My dad, for instance," John said while a nabbing a piece of free bacon on the side of his burger while Dave's mind drifted to the sound of John's voice as he said something about the Graham family and tent revivals and televangelists: all fairly uninteresting and definitely foreign to Dave's personal concerns.

Dave dutifully made occasional eye contact while John rambled though he was retaining almost nothing. Finally through all the words which were registering , Blah, blah, blah, on Dave's radar, Dave's senses cleared just as John was winding down his conversational drift.

"As far as I'm concerned, the charismatic movement had its place, but there's new stuff now. Like MCC."

"Okay, so I don't know the acronym." Dave caught three letters and thought he should at least appear like he'd been paying attention.

"Oh, yeah, umm...Metropolitan Community Church. It's a whole movement around the world with this special ministry for people wanting to embrace their faith and sexuality as God made it, though I daresay we have it easy in Portland. Too easy sometimes I think. You know, our pastor's pretty funny too. Doesn't even want to be called pastor, kinda weird. Wants me to call him Jason of all things, like seriously, I get it's your name, but-"

John stopped himself when he noticed Dave was chuckling. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just that you're kinda funny." Dave wasn't lying, but he was finding humor in the absurdity of John's rambling, not the content or manner of John's speech.

John shook his head, unaware of the silent critique. "Nah. I'm just super-opinionated like a good little Aries."

Dave's face sobered slightly, a hint of confrontation. "Well, I'm a Cancer. Excepting that that's really not my thing at all."

"A fire and a water sign together?" John noted.

"Well, if you believe that kinda stuff, maybe could make some steam," Dave feigned indifference, nodding and facing upward, eventually landing his gaze directly on John's eyes.

John's blush lightened the area as he took off the top of his bun and pilfered a couple of onion strings. "You like to talk about sex a little more than I'm used to. A little more than I kinda do."

"Is that bad?"

"No, it's just... I... I think you're too attractive for me. I mean, how could we ever do stuff out in public? I'm always gonna be jealous cause you're, well, I mean, you're you."

"What, me? Come on!" Dave scowled playfully. "Besides, who said anything about doing anything in public?"

John's blush deepened. "No, I'm serious. You're kind of beyond handsome."

Dave grinned sheepishly if unintentionally exaggerated by an edge of discomfort. "I'll take that as a compliment. And, my guess, but it's not like this is the first time you've wondered what I look like naked," Dave whispered conspiratorially. "I mean, come on, we're both dudes. It's okay. Isn't that what you said that your church was all about earlier?"

John's face shaded beet-red. "I can't believe we're still having this conversation."

"Better than no conversation at all, and you were the one to suggest tying me to my chair at the coffee place last week." Dave crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows: an expression of challenge on his face. "I don't get the jealously thing. I could maybe see, like, admiration or something. I remember the first real crush I had. I look back on it and I can't believe that I thought that guy was really attractive. I mean, I admired his personality and how unafraid he was to be himself, but he wouldn't turn my head if I saw him walking down the street right now."

"Caught, but I didn't mean, I'm not into, guhh. What was that guy like, if you don't mind me asking? I mean, I had a thing for jocks so I don't think you can really get more mismatched than a bookworm and a jock in high school," John stated as he reached for another fry.

Dave's face became serious, first appearing insecure, taking on a blush of his own, but he faced upward and addressed John's eyes directly, an almost piercing, quietly accusing expression. "He was fussy and fastidious and incredibly obvious. And confrontational about it, like, punk-rock-confrontational, only instead of a giant graffiti letter A, he waved a metaphorical glittery rainbow in everyone's face. Everyone knew he was gay before he actually made it public. I knew he was gay before I knew I was gay." All of the color drained from Dave's face, and he became as warm and inviting as a tombstone.

Dave continued, his expression taking on an almost accusing directness. "For a mismatch to happen, two things need to be placed together for a nominal amount of time so the clash can be observed. We were never even remotely together; we were just in the same place at the same time. We even pledged to become friends, and in doing so, he became the first in a seemingly unending parade of gay men who made me feel like the biggest misfit to walk on the planet. No real acceptance. Just fashion tips and a sarcastically-verbalized checklist of handbook violations as they occurred." Dave's color began to return as his expression finally softened. "You know that thing they always say about love and hate not being opposites but really being separated only by a thin line?"

John stopped with his burger in his hand, barbecue sauce starting to run down his fingers. He put the burger down and wiped off his hand with a napkin then thought for a moment. "I was like him in high school then. I mean, I didn't come out until college but I was sassy and theatrical and, for God's sake, I performed Celine Dion for a talent show when I wasn't desperately trying to be the popular nerd." John sighed. "Of course, I never hit on any one and we had one guy who joined the cheerleading team and the things people said about him man, and that was in Vegas. I can only imagine how tough it was still bein' in Ohio."

"Tell me something," Dave interjected although it didn't seem that John was completely finished with what he was saying, "if, ummm..." Dave paused for a long moment before completing quietly, "Forget it."

"No, what?" John asked, sounding interested, "What were you going to say?"

"If you knew someone like I was back when you were in high school, a jock-kinda guy who was gay and having a hard time dealing with it, would you have been sympathetic with him, or would you have kinda mocked him because you thought you were so much further ahead of the curve than he was?" Dave stared forward, shaking his head slightly, expression slightly pained. "You don't hafta answer that," he spoke downward toward the table, almost a whisper.

John thought for a moment. "Peter took a lot of crap for becoming the first male cheerleader. I never personally harassed him and I only ever vaguely stood up for him. Truth was, I was a mess back then and coming out was the furthest thing from my mind. Hell, knowing me back then, I wouldn't have had a clue. I had no space to mock anybody, in fact, I'm pretty sure I was the guy wrecking the grade curve that was more than mocked without help from anybody else."

Dave shook his head, still facing downward, a serious, confused expression. "I probably would have been pretty terrible to someone like you. Sucks to admit that. Sorry for bringing the mood down."

John shook his head sadly, looking at Dave with a sigh. "I would have deserved it. I was a real mouthy shit during high school. I didn't have any friends outside of the teachers. And frankly, I've changed so much since graduation that I don't hold anything against anyone at this point. I've learned we're nothing like the people we thought we were when we were eighteen. I think, thank you, for sharing that. It was brave."

Dave remained stoic. "You call it brave, I call it terrifying."

John shook his head, a smile nearly forming on his face. "No, you know what was terrifying? Not being a fan of the Buckeyes and living in Toledo. I always supported Purdue during all those stupid midwestern college games. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that's just the way I feel about it," John raised his hands in mock-surrender, trying to make them both feel more at ease. "Don't blame me for being a wannabe Hoosier. I'm just an imperfect bear tryin' to make his way in the world."

"Well," said with a visible shrug as he warmed again after an awkward tension, "at least you're out of there now. That makes things better. You and I are kinda in the same boat, and it's refreshing to hear you talking football. And as far as being a Buckeye, well, I've been a Notre Dame fan a lot longer than I ever preferred the Buckeyes. Sometimes I thought the Buckeye fans were just a little off, though I must confess to getting teary-eyed when I hear 'Hang on Sloopy'. Scoop and the guys from the band will never understand. I guess us Ohioans can't shake that"

John nodded. "Oh God, I remember that it used to split churches clear down the middle during football season. I used to, uhh, I used to joke that for about a month a year I was just going to run away to Frankenmouth and avoid all the hullabaloo and live on fried chicken and sell Christmas ornaments," John guffawed. "I'm totally not imagining you in Christmas lederhosen by the way."

Dave chuckled. "Well thanks for that. Now I am envisioning myself in German gear. I hope your visual is as fun as mine."

At this point, Dave's burger was gone, the plate of french fries contained little more than crumbs and the remainder of a smear of ketchup, and John's burger was dwindling. "So, how was your burger?" John asked as he considered the best way to wrest the next bite from his.

"It was seriously awesome."

Dave inclined his neck, taking a deep gulp and finishing his rootbeer; as he returned his his head to its conversational level, his eyes fell upon John as he finished his sandwich, and Dave's face took a thoughtful expression.

John became aware of Dave's eyes trained upon him and decided to play along, feeling as if Dave was admiring his appearance from across the table. John wiped his mouth with a napkin and reached for his bottle of rootbeer, curling his hand around it, lifting and pulling it toward him to casually drink from the bottle's lip. He swallowed and addressed Dave in an intentionally-hushed tone.

"You know, you weren't the only one who was thinking with his other head the two previous times we met."

Dave shook his head for a moment, and his eyes dropped away from John, finally raising his gaze to meet John's eyes again.

John lowered his head and grinned devilishly, eyes trained upward at Dave's face. "What say we skip outta here and act on that?"

Shaking his head more quickly, Dave squeezed his eyes closed tight for a moment, reopened them and addressed John directly. "That is an entirely tempting suggestion, and if we'd eaten our lunch in relative silence, I might be up for it. As it is, though, with all of the talking and back-and-forth and the absolutely bipolar tone of our discussion, I don't think I'm up for that today. I'm not sure what you're looking for. By your own admission, you're not sure what you're looking for. If it was as simple as getting laid, we'd have made it happen by now."

John's face reddened as he dropped his eyes from Dave's. "I'm sorry. Now I feel like I made things really awkward."

"It was awkward already."

"But it was winding down kinda nicely, like, if I hadn't opened my mouth just now, thinking with my dick, we might be getting together again."

"I'm not opposed to the idea of seeing you again. We just maybe talked too much today."

"Bad habit of mine," John mumbled.

"If you want to hang out again sometime, I'm game. I'd welcome the idea of someone to hang with and talk with. It might go further than that, who knows? The thing is, you have some thinking to do. For my part, I'm not focused on anything specific yet."

"You'd really do this again?"

Dave's expression became sarcastic. "I wouldn't volunteer to have the same kinda conversation we had today all over again, not under the pretense of a fun, happy afternoon of burgers and suggestive chatter."

John laughed, then apologized. "I'm sorry. You're delivery cracks me up sometimes. Yeah, I know this wasn't any fun."

"Some of it was fun," Dave admitted, a natural-but-still-crooked smile formed on his face. "But the stuff that wasn't exactly fun was still kinda interesting. Thing is, you never know where any conversation is going to go. I had no expectations going into this today. You have my number." Dave paused for a moment, his expression benign. "It wouldn't hurt if you gave me yours."

John stood slowly from the table, hanging his head and nodding, smiling slightly but not addressing Dave. "Thanks. Hope the rest of your weekend is good."

With that, John walked away into the crowd and was lost to Dave's eyes in a moment. Dave, still sitting, shook his head, baffled at John's departure but chuckling again at the absurdity of the situation.

John took the wings out of the crockpot and handed a plate of them to Katie, whose eyes brightened at the smell of wafting barbecue.

She took the plate gratefully and sat it down on the breakfast bar of Gene and John's loft, the bar doubling as the table of the small apartment. "God bless your home cooking."

John nodded, almost a bow. "God bless your ability to withstand my new weird recipe crazes."

"This from the man who made the giant cookie sundae sandwich? Perish the thought. So, tell me about this guy you keep refusing to tell me about over skype."

"Which guy?"

"The guy that's keeping you from finishing your written conversation in the roleplay. That guy."

John made a noise in the back of his throat and screwed up his face. "Excuse you, you're not even in that writing group."

"All the same. Spill, tell me things. Illicit things. Juicy things. Things I can vicariously live through."

John stared forward as he took a wing into his hands, acting nearly oblivious to her question, stoic. "No."

"Are there no illicit things to tell?"

John took a bite of the wing. "That's right. Nothing to tell."

"Have you even talked about?"

"We met three times. I keep messing it up. He's not going to want to meet me again, and I still haven't given him my number. What do you think?"

"Well, one, you're evading the question. And two, so...you're tossing aside writing to go on dates with a guy you don't plan on seeing again?"

"Well, that last part, true as it is, was an unplanned, recent development."

"God, I can't imagine what you'd do for a guy you adore." She faced upward, a dreamy expression, mocking John.

"That guy doesn't exist He's some combination of old Russell Crowe and new Joaquin Phoenix. And no," John said with punctuation, "my standards aren't too high."

"No, they're just the stuff of fantasy, and you keep defining them in terms of the unattainable. And please get some music going."

John gave a little henpecked bow. "Of course, you know I love you the most, my dear."

"Too bad you're into guys or you'd be perfect."

"Nowhere near perfect," John answered as the oven dinged. "Oh, cornbread." John pivoted and sprang toward the oven, speaking again as he pulled the door open. "So you tell me, what do you think my perfect guy would be like since you're so interested in finding me one, poor bastard though he'd be?"

"Well, he'd have to be husky since you love cooking all kinds of weird crap. He'd have to have some kind of sense of humor. A fan of some kind of show you two could giggle about like little Japanese school girls. Let's see, faith in something but not necessarily religious. Dark hair, 'cause blondes never seem to do it for you. Cleans up nicely in case you wanna go on a fancy date. How am I doing?"

John crossed his arms as he set the cornbread on top of the little stove. "I hate you a little bit right now, to be honest."

"Why? Cause I'm telling the truth? You'd better have something good to drink around here if you're roping me into helping you find a guy."

"You're not, I mean, I do," John sighed by way of an answer as he cut the cornbread into squares. "It's complicated."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Everything with you is complicated. You are going to kill yourself with an anxiety attack one of these days, and that is going to be written on your tombstone in big letters: It's complicated."

"And then the world will forever know," John said as he slid a piece of cornbread onto the lip of Katie's plate and began chewing a piece himself while thinking.

Everything Katie had just described was Dave, well, with the exception of giggling like Japanese schoolgirls because Dave just didn't seem the type to get that enthusiastic over any television show excepting a televised sporting event. And the 'cleans up nicely' part was fantasy speculation on John's part, though Dave had always appeared presentable. Very presentable. And it wasn't complicated; it was dead. John had put another nail into the coffin. Dave still didn't have his number, and John was too damned embarrassed to call him again.

In his silence, John mused further: 'It's Dead' would have a certain blunt gallows-humor-appeal on a tombstone as well.

Dave stepped into his darkened apartment. He could see light coming from the hallway, from within Scoop's bedroom, the door ajar.

"That you, Dave?" he heard Scoop call.

"No, it's the Portland Strangler," Dave joked, chuckling. "Of course it's me."

"Hey, man, I'll be out in a second," Scoop answered back.

Dave switched on a small table lamp, casting a pool of light into the living room, and seated himself on the couch facing the television, shaking his head slightly with a perplexed grin on his face. Scoop joined him almost directly, energetic, seating himself on the chair perpendicular to the couch.

"Hey," Scoop smiled, addressing Dave, "how'd that date go?"

Dave snorted a laugh and faced Scoop with a big smile. "Honestly, I don't know, man."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Scoop seemed almost inappropriately concerned.

"The food was awesome," Dave began. "We talked for maybe an hour. Or maybe I should say that he talked for fifty minutes and we talked for about ten."

"Oh geeze..." Scoop rolled his eyes. "I've been out with chicks who, I swear, talk just to fill the silence because they fear it. Hell, I've done that myself. Insecurity thing usually."

"I might have been able to live with that. I mean, even when I'm not interested in what he's saying, at least he's not rattling on about stuff that would be typical of the other guys I've gone out with."

"What do you mean?"

Dave shook his head and smirked. "He was talking about food like it's something he thinks about more than he actually eats. That was okay. Then he went off on this tangent about this church thing he's in. I tuned most of that out."

"What do the other guys you've gone out with normally talk about?"

"Remember that Mark guy?" Dave turned his head and addressed Scoop, grinning. "The first conversation we had was about how great it was that he just scored a Louis Vuitton handbag for his 3-year-old niece and couldn't wait until she was older so he could give it to her for her sweet-sixteen birthday gift."

Scoop puzzled. "What's Louis Baton and what does that even mean?"

"You'd know if you were gay," Dave said after chuckling at Scoop's blunt reaction.

"You mean, like, congenitally?"

Dave nearly choked on a laugh. "No, you'd have googled it like I did a few years back, found out that Louis Vuitton is a purse-designer, and probably, like I did, filed the information away as totally unimportant."

Scoop nodded, simultaneously making a humming sound, grasping the cognitive disconnect at work within the hypothetical conversation.

"But, at one point, we got talking about how things were for us back in high school. Stuff I hadn't thought about in years. Stuff that I really never talked with anyone about but stuff that I sure thought about and agonized about back then."

"Ah," Scoop nodded. "You never talked to me much about high school. Definitely not about stuff like that."

Dave smirked though his expression betrayed an awkwardness. "There was never any reason to talk to you about that part of my past. It was kinda painful stuff. Stuff I probably couldn't have verbalized back then, and stuff that I just don't think about every day. I probably made a conscious-though-failed effort to bury a lot of it."

"You know you can talk to me about anything, Dave."

"You're my best friend. Nobody's gonna be taking that title away from you, okay?" Dave's face lost its smirk, understanding Scoop's overture. "The thing is, people like me and John, anyone who's ever grown up with some identity problem that way, anyone who gets thinking at some point that they're falling short of societal expectations, we've all lived through something that you never did."

Scoop was silent for a moment, processing, finally answering, "I can be an unconditional friend and offer you nonjudgmental support, but I can never know what it is to be you."

Dave nodded, seeming relieved. "Yeah, exactly. I hope that doesn't bother you or something."

Scoop smiled small but genuine, shaking his head. "Nah, Dave, it's cool."

"But you're an incredible confidant in the here-and-now," Dave offered, sincere.

"You've been that to me more than I've been that to you," Scoop spoke, serious and definitive.

"True as that might be, I know that you'll listen to me if I need to talk," Dave spoke as he raised his arm and reached, placing his hand on Scoop's shoulder momentarily. "And you've dated a lot more than I have. I mean, I'm gay and you're straight, but we're all human. The process can't be that different, right? And I know you're not gonna give me some societally-dictated guy-ness or bros-before-hoes nonsense. We know each other too well for that."

Scoop turned his head to face Dave, raising an eyebrow, puzzled expression. "Huh?"

"If you were messed-up over some girl that you really liked, what would you do? You'd probably buy a case of beer and invite a bunch of the guys over to get drunk with you and tell you things like, 'forget her' and 'you're better-off without her' and 'she wasn't good enough for you anyway,' because that's how society tells us guys that we're supposed to act. That may or may not be how you actually feel about it, though. Am I right?"

Scoop looked hard at Dave for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I think I kinda get what you mean."

"What I'm saying is that the bros-before-hoes thing is really all just a cover for what's really going on."

"You messed-up over this dude?" Scoop asked, a mixture of concern and dismay.

"Geeze, no," Dave shook his head and nearly laughed. "As far as I know, this is done. The conversation ended with him trying to get me to go off somewhere to fool around with him and me declining and him walking away, barely saying goodbye."

Scoop's brow creased as he cocked his head. "I thought you just wanted to get laid or something."

"The conversation kinda changed that," Dave exhaled loudly. "This guy doesn't know what he wants, and his nervous rambling was kinda unattractive. Us getting into each other's heads when we were talking about our past kinda moved it to a different level. Not bad, just different. Intriguing, actually."

"But you don't think you're gonna see him again."

Dave shook his head. "I told him I would, he never gave me his number, ball's in his court, and he looked kinda humiliated when he left."

"Self-centered."

"Huh?" Dave's expression piqued.

"You left the door open, and he's bitter about not scoring," Scoop answered. "Sounds kinda like he thinks a bit much of himself."

"Well, I can't be in his head, and the timing wasn't right for me. I could have talked with him for another hour, and that might have changed my feelings about getting in the sack with him, but he kinda stalled by talking too much and then jumped the gun."

"Do you want to see him again?"

"I don't know," Dave reached up and scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe he's more effort than he's worth, though the absurdity of the situation does have its entertainment value."

Scoop chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Any hypotheticals or theories as to why he wouldn't give me his number? I mean, I asked him for it."

"I've never done that," Scoop recalled almost self-mocking. "I'm the guy who writes his phone number on bar napkins and annoys girls by trying to give it out to them only to find the napkins soggy and disintegrating on vacated bars and tables in puddles of spilt beer by the end of the night. That's me. But I can understand why someone might not give their number out if they like someone."

Dave stared at Scoop for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for him to expand that last thought.

"Well?" Dave spoke loudly, startling Scoop and causing him to jump in the otherwise quiet apartment. "Why would someone do that?"

"It's like, pre-emptive damage-control," Scoop answered, sounding almost authoritative.

Dave's brow wrinkled, confused, shaking his head slowly.

"It's like, he's maybe afraid that you aren't into him," Scoop explained. "Or maybe that you aren't into him the way he's into you. Whatever the case, regardless of whether you like him or not, he always can choose to believe that you'd call him if you had his number. By keeping his number from you, he has the option to think that you'd be calling him if you could."

"Wow. That's kinda messed-up." Dave chucked and shook his head. "That ups the absurdity, definitely. There's a logic to it, but it's screwy."

Scoop spoke quietly through a cocky snicker. "This guy sounds like he might have an excess amount of baggage. Um, he might be a lot to take on even if you were really interested."

Dave nodded, a crooked smile on his face. "I'd be the first person to say that to you if you lived my date this afternoon. The first night we met at that Tardis Bar thing, yeah, I had a great time talking with him. If it had just stayed like that, I might have been just friends with the guy. Or gotten laid. Or both. The thing is, he never made me feel like he expected me to be someone other than who I am. I don't have many gay friends or acquaintances, but I can't name another one who didn't make me feel clueless on some level." Dave paused for a moment before continuing. "I think I need to do something about expanding my circle of gay friends. And I have a fair amount of baggage too, stuff I never told you about. Stuff that's never really been important in the way you and I relate to each other."

Scoop nodded. "Yeah, well, there's stuff about me that you're not aware of either, and it's probably better that way. Suffice to know this: I'd never hold anything from your past against you. We've logged-on too much best-friend time."

"I hear you," Dave spoke through a smirk, feeling somewhat relaxed again.

"You know, for as many times as I've been busted-up over some girl, you've never given me the bros-before-hoes spiel," Scoop confided.

"That's because I always knew it was only a temporary fix to whatever was bothering you."

"You remember that Laney girl from a couple of years ago?"

Dave rolled his eyes, an exasperated expression. "How could I forget? I thought she was gonna get a restraining order against you."

Scoop chuckled aloud.

"Okay, laugh about it," Dave teased, nearly laughing himself, "It wasn't any fun at all when it was happening."

"Oh, I know, man," Scoop returned. "But, you know, you gave me some solid advice when I was dealing with that. It really helped me out."

"What'd I say?" Dave sounded curious, as if genuinely drawing a blank.

"Well, I'd tell you that Laney always said that I was difficult to deal with, but, as far as I was concerned, that was me, and I'm not that simple. Like, complex people are difficult. You told me that people don't want to be around difficult people all the time. The people that other people choose to be with are generally people who make it easy for them to be around. I was wearing my complexity proudly on my sleeve while Laney just probably wanted someone who wasn't like a damned psychological test every time she saw him. Then I'd go on about how she was my soulmate if only she could only come to that realization. You told me that she wasn't my soulmate. You said that she couldn't possibly be the perfect girl for me if I wasn't the perfect guy for her. It sucked to be told that, but it was the truth, and it made a hell of a lot more sense than anything my other friends told me at the time."

Dave's brow creased, thoughtful. "You know, you haven't been hung up on anyone since then. Not like that, at least."

"Well, I've grown up, I think. If I feel like I'm getting pulled into that mindset about some girl, I think about what you said to me and how much sense it makes, and that helps me sort stuff out." Scoop paused for a moment, measuring his thoughts. "Tell me, Dave, this John guy: is he easy for you to be around?"

"Like I said, unlike some other dudes I've hung out with, he doesn't make me feel uncomfortable or tell me I'm listening to the wrong kinda music or watching the wrong TV shows. On the other hand, maybe it's nervous chatter, but he talks so much he makes my freaking ears tired. Sometimes I feel like I can feel my blood-pressure skyrocket sympathetically with his own. That brief part of the conversation where we found some kinda common ground, though? I feel like I could get close to someone like that. If that was ten minutes out of the hour that we hung out, that's sixteen-point-six-six-six percent: forty-three points shy of a passing grade, percentage-wise."

Scoop let out a hearty laugh. "That is so you! Math calculations and percentage-points to pull things into perspective. Sometimes I wish I had your sense of logic in such matters."

Referenced music:
"Sweet Jane" by the Velvet Underground, a rock-bar standard
"Enter Sandman" by Metallica (the default ringer on Dave's phone)