Unwritten

by RugBern

Dave Karofsky has been going to college in Portland for a couple of years and rooming with his best friend. Dave does a favor for his friend on a seemingly typical Saturday night, and things change for Dave and another resident of Portland. Based upon a friend's original idea. Rated M. Foul language, drugs/alcohol, graphic sex

9. Unwritten 2

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: 20,000

This chapter is dedicated to jester2vri. He will know why.

---

A friend in need's a friend indeed,
A friend with weed is better,
A friend with breasts and all the rest,
A friend who's dressed in leather.

Dave laughed. He wasn't sure how exactly this song came to be on his ipod, but it was amusing him at the moment. It wasn't his typical of his preference in music, but he liked the song enough.

A friend in need's a friend indeed,
A friend who'll tease is better,
Our thoughts compressed,Which makes us blessed,
And makes for stormy weather.

Shaking his head at the words and decompressing at the end of the first day of the second week of his internship, Dave's smirk remained. He mused to himself that he was settling into this routine, temporary as the internship would be, and he decided that he was okay with the feeling. He liked it. He liked the hands-on aspect of the work he was doing, he didn't mind coming back to the apartment a little tired from the day, and he was even growing accustomed to the sometimes-long rush-hour bus rides from-and-to the Beaverton park-and-ride.

A friend in need's a friend indeed,
My Japanese is better,
And when she's pressed she will undress,
And then she's boxing clever.

The sheet-metal fabricator where he worked was located near the King area of town and necessitated a transfer in the Pearl District to take him across the Willamette river to the industrial area. Since the buses ran every twenty minutes, his layover between transfers was never lengthy, and it gave him time to stop at the big-box coffeehouse near the Pearl District stop, a stop he often made on either his morning or evening commutes (or both). It wasn't the quality of one of the independent coffee shops (Dave might have been spoiled if Stumptown Roasters was on the path of his daily commute), but it was in the right place while he filled the time between buses.

A friend in need's a friend indeed,
A friend who bleeds is better,
My friend confessed she passed the test,
And we will never sever.

Dave smirked at the song one last time before reaching into his shirt-pocket and switching off his audio device, removing his earphones in the same motion as the bus slowed for the Pearl District stop. He shuffled toward the exit, in line behind the other mostly casually-dressed riders and exited the bus onto the sidewalk.

The mid-June late-afternoon sun was bright, nearly blinding after the shade of the bus interior, and it was warm but not uncomfortably so. He found himself moving, almost habitually at this point, to the coffeehouse. As his eyes adjusted to the light, his vision caught a person across the street, walking clumsily along the opposite sidewalk, burdened with a couple of large canvas bags which were slung over his shoulder. Dave stopped and allowed his eyes to focus on the figure: it was John.

Dave hadn't heard from John since that last text-message over a month before, and he hadn't actually seen John for a couple of weeks before that. Dave stood on the sidewalk for a moment before moving himself to a crosswalk, waiting for the light to halt the quitting-time traffic. When the walk signal lit he lunged into a near-sprint as he crossed the street.

"John," Dave called out, raising his voice to a near shout and waving his arm, signaling, as he approached the man at the opposite bus stop, "John!"

The second time was louder and caused the other man to raise his head and look up and around. When he saw Dave's approach and registered recognition, he almost jumped, an expression of surprise, near-shock, before dropping his gaze toward the pavement and away from Dave's approach, a look of gloomy resignation on his face.

"Hey," Dave lowered his voice to a friendly conversational level as he slowed, arriving a few feet from John, "How've you been?"

"Hey, Dave." No further answer. John continued to face downward and away, nodding slightly.

"So, hey," Dave started again, "Um, how'd that film festival go? Are you still really busy?"

"Film festival went well," John spoke, monotone to the curb, it seemed, "And I picked up a bunch of new editing work, so, yeah, busy."

"You waiting for the bus?" Dave's tone was unfailingly energetic.

John exhaled audibly and squinted, as if trying to restrain himself from the temptation of delivering a cruelly sarcastic and obvious reply, his patience visibly stressed: this meeting was apparently something he'd have rather avoided.

"John, dude, are you okay?" Dave's voice lowered a notch in liveliness and a few notches in volume, "You look really, um, out-of-sorts."

"Yeah," John nodded, exaggerated, in response, finally turning slightly in Dave's direction. "Out-of-sorts, that'd be it."

"Well, I was hoping I'd hear from you and we'd regroup sometime soon," Dave's tone was stronger, an edge of confrontation, his delivery measured. "It's been, like, a couple of months."

John shook his head and exhaled loudly again, sounding defeated this time. His face was visibly disarmed, no longer rigid.

"I was gonna go get a coffee," Dave spoke again, strong but softer than his last reply. "You wanna join me? I'll buy you a... an Italian soda if they have it."

This wrung an involuntary smirk out of John, obviously agreeable to Dave's suggestion despite his hardened pose.

"I catch my bus to the park-n-ride here, but they run every twenty minutes," Dave explained. "Doesn't matter if I catch the next bus or a later one. You have anywhere to be right now?"

John shook his head, still facing the ground. "I don't have anywhere to be for a few hours."

"Join me then? We can catch up on stuff. You okay with that?"

"I'm cool with that, yeah," John nodded and smirked slightly.

Though carrying a gym bag and a briefcase of his own, Dave hoisted one of the large canvas bags with which John was burdened, and the pair crossed the street and entered the coffeehouse. John chose a table close to the door while Dave went to the counter to get their drinks after placing his briefcase and gym bag next to his chair; in the event that the place couldn't supply John with an Italian soda, his only instruction to Dave was, "Surprise me."

The table was close to the front wall of the coffee shop, and John propped his large bags against the wall, out of the way of any likely foot-traffic. He'd just settled into his seat when Dave returned from the counter with a tray holding a large iced-coffee for himself, a creamy-looking concoction which was dotted on top with caramel for John, and a small paper plate which held four brownies.

"Feel like a brownie or two?" Dave smirked, crooked. "I couldn't resist them, and one is never enough for me."

John chuckled and shook his head, grinning. "I appreciate your weakness when faced with the persuasive power of the brownie, and I agree that one is not ever enough."

Dave emptied the tray's contents, one item at a time, before returning the tray to the stack of empty trays above the trash receptacle. John eyed the frothy drink which Dave placed before him with pleasant curiosity as Dave settled in the seat across the table from him.

"So, what am I looking at here?" John queried, "some kinda smoothie or something?"

"It's some kinda apple-caramel drink, I'm guessing something like a milkshake only not so heavy. I didn't think you'd want a warm beverage on a hot afternoon, and I didn't really know if you're a coffee-drinker, but that sounded pretty good, so I went for it."

John took a long drag on the straw of the creamy beverage, swallowed and nodded.

"You're right, a warm drink might have been a little much on a day like today, and I do drink coffee, but I'm not really one for iced-coffee." John smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, registering the drink's flavor and smiling as he addressed Dave's face. "This is really good."

"So I improvised okay in light of the place not offering Italian Soda?"

John exhaled a laugh. "I've had a crappy week; a lousy couple of weeks, actually, and I was in a really bad state when you flagged me down. And what did you do? You put a plate of brownies and a creamy drink in front of me and have me smiling for the first time in a couple of days."

"You did say you were out-of-sorts," Dave's tone and expression voiced concern.

"Grumpy bear is grumpy," John looked away, shaking his head for a moment.

"I hadn't heard from you, so I was guessing that you were still really busy or something."

"Actually, like I said, I have been really busy, got a bunch of new editing work from new people I met at the film festival, new Film Center members," John spoke before raising his eyes to Dave's again. "How've you been?"

Dave nodded, a less-concerned expression, but still measured: a proactive smile as he reached for a brownie.

"I've been pretty busy since classes ended. Went to see my dad in Ohio for a week, started my summer internship, stuff like that. Not much social life right now because I'm kind of tired when I get in for the night, and Scoop and the band have been busy preparing for that European tour thing. We've just been hanging out with the rest of the guys on the weekends: basketball and the typical bar thing. You should join us for a game. Don't be such a stranger."

"Ah, maybe," John exhaled dismissive as he followed Dave's earlier lead and lifted a brownie from the plate and raised it toward his mouth. "How was your time in Ohio?"

Dave shrugged, downing a bite of chocolate cake with a gulp of coffee. "It was okay. I love my dad, and it was great seeing him, and I loved spending time with him, but over the course of ten days, I will admit to a level of homesickness."

"Really?" John piqued, taking a second bite of his brownie.

"Yeah, well, there was the occasional boredom, and my dad told me that I shouldn't try to see my mom. Despite some fun things that week, it just didn't feel right. I guess I realized that Portland is now my home."

John nodded, an empathetic gesture. "What about your old friends? Did you run into any of them while you were there?"

Dave snickered and bobbed his head from side-to-side. "What old friends? I have no old friends in Ohio. Consequence of being outed in my senior year of high school." Dave was silent for a moment, face thoughtful. "Yeah, I did run into this one guy that, yeah, I guess you could say we're friends. No, we're definitely friends. It's weird, though."

"Weird?" John's face gave a curious grin. "Weird how?"

Dave smiled and shook his head, his gaze focused downward. "Weird because he was the first other gay person I knew. We were kinda friends, but before that, we had kind-of a bad history."

"I think you told me about him."

"Yeah, I think I did. You have a good memory." Dave finished his present brownie and his brow creased, in thought for a moment before continuing. "I'm not sure if I changed or if he changed or if we both changed, but, nice as it was to see him, it was strange."

John huffed another laugh, knowing the territory as he finished his first brownie and sipped his drink before responding. "I'm sure you probably both changed, I mean, it's been, what, three years?"

"Yeah, about that."

"What made it so obvious?"

Dave shook his head with a grin of near-embarrassment. "I thought that I liked this guy back then. By the end of the night, I was, like, 'What was I thinking?'"

John let out a guffaw as he reached for his second brownie. "Well, that's what happens when you get the perspective of a couple of years. I mean, when I think about some of the guys I crushed on, yeah, I think about how wrong we would have been for each other. And which is the worse thing: you having a wrongish crush on the guy three years ago or the bad history you had with the guy?"

"Oh, the bad history," Dave answered immediately, becoming emphatic. "I mean, the crush, and I'm not even so sure it was a crush by any regular idea of what a crush should be, was almost cute or bittersweet in retrospect. The bad history, though, was this real-life hell I put the guy through. Nothing excuses that behavior. I was trying to live up to a very poisoned idea of what I should be."

John nodded in response, and the two remained silent for a few moments as John took a bite of his second brownie and Dave eventually slurped from his coffee.

"So, do you like your internship?" John broke the silence after gulping some of his drink.

'Uh, yeah, actually, I am liking it."

The question caught Dave slightly off-guard given the previous silence. "There's a lot of hands-on stuff, but I'll be doing the reporting-end of things in a few weeks."

"What kind of work?"

"It's a sheet-metal manufacturer up out in King, Precision Sheet Metals"

"Ah, so that's what you're doing out here in Pearl District."

"Yeah. My bus transfers here. Anyway, right now, we are doing some really specific conductivity tests and collecting data for a client. After we're done with the tests, I'm going to write up the reports on the results. Supervised, of course. I mean, I am still just an intern."

John nodded, exaggerated, almost melodramatic, and smiled. "Sounds suitably brainy."

Dave returned a raised-eyebrow and a smirk. "And what are you doing out in this part of town with these big bags?"

Dave turned and nodded curiously toward one of the large bags, reached out his arm, and tugged it open just wide enough to peek at the contents. The contents revealed itself to be stretched canvasses, John's paintings.

"Wow," Dave commented as he turned back to face John. "Are you out here selling some of your artwork? That's awesome."

John's face dropped downward toward the table as he pulled his drink closer toward him, shaking his head.

"No. Nothing so glamorous nor remotely successful."

Dave shook his head, a slightly confused expression. "Then, why are you lugging them all around with you?"

"I'm taking them with me downtown to the Film Center when I go there to do editing tonight. There's some spare space they said I could use to stash them for a while. I was just out in this part of town dropping off some of my other stuff, books and things, with some friends who can keep them for me for a while."

"Why, man? What's going on?"

John faced away, shook his head, and exhaled loudly, a repeat of his reaction upon first seeing Dave at the bus stop.

"John, dude," Dave's voice became pressing, "What's happening?"

John raised his head, the casual mirth of a few moments ago gone from his expression.

"My roommate Gene is moving out of the loft. I'm going to be homeless by next Friday."

Dave's jaw dropped as he reclined, almost collapsed, to the back of his chair.

"What?"

"The rental agreement is in Gene's name. I was basically just giving him my share of the rent while I live there. He met some girl in Iowa online, and he's convinced she's the love of his life, so he's moving there to be with her. I don't have the money for a security deposit to put the loft in my name, so I'll have no place to live in a week-and-a-half."

"That's fucked up. How could he just up and do something like that? I thought you and your roommate were friends."

"He doesn't seem to think it's any big deal," John shrugged. "I've been homeless before. He figures it's no big adjustment for me to go back to that." John's expression became urgent, facing Dave directly. "Dave, I don't want to go back to that."

Dave exhaled, silent for a moment, facing the table before him before he directed his eyes at John's face and spoke again.

"Scoop and Katie are still going out. Scoop and I have both asked how you've been, and she says that she hasn't heard from you, like she assumes you're still busy with the film stuff."

John nodded, an expression of exhaustion.

"I didn't tell her. Same way I didn't wanna tell you."

"Huh?"

"Listen. Katie is one of my best friends, and I knew that if I told her, it'd get back to you through Scoop. Look at me. You saw how I looked when you flagged me down across the street fifteen minutes ago. You're the last person I wanted to see right now."

"Why?"

"Dave, you made me feel good. Comfortable, even. Dare I say, desirable on some level. If I had any kind of chance with you, I'd want to be some kinda whole, independent person who was able to take care of himself. But, now, I'm gonna be crashing on friends' couches if I'm lucky or otherwise living in shelters or trying to catch sleep during off-hours in the editing room for the unforseeable future. You think I'd want a guy that I was dating to know that about me? To know that I'd reached that point?"

Dave shook his head, brow creased, staring into the tabletop for a moment before addressing John again.

"What about any of your friends? Can you move in with any of them?"

"Like I said, if it's convenient and for them and for me, I'm sure they'll give me a place to crash once in a while. I don't want to impose on them or anything. I'd think that if a living situation could be arranged, someone would have offered."

"Well, what about your family or anyth..."

"Please," John snapped, cutting Dave's sentence short. "My dad is currently in Wyoming with wife number three. I have step-siblings I've never met. I'm a stranger to these people. My dad is so wrapped-up in ever-fluctuating variations of his religion that I don't even know how he feels about his faggot first-born at this point."

"How about the people you go to church with?" Dave posed, sounding almost out-of breath. "You seemed pretty close to some of them."

John shook his head. "Louis is a great friend. He's part-time clergy at the MCC, but he's really not in a position to offer me any kind of living arrangement. Otherwise, suddenly nobody there seems to want to know right now, and, truth told, I'm tired of the whole thing. A church shouldn't be run like a vanity project for the people in charge, and the ideals by which the church claims to live shouldn't be subject to the members' convenience."

"Oh, man," Dave mumbled, dropping his gaze again into the tabletop.

"Listen, I'm sorry you had to hear all of this," John became more animated, twisting his head and reaching toward his bags. "I should probably let you go. You're probably tired from your day, and my bus will be coming shortly. Sooner I get downtown to the Film Center, the sooner I can find how much room I can weasel out of them to stash my stuff."

"Okay," Dave offered, again a low sound again. "Hey, you have my number. I know my place is kinda out of your way, but if you need anything in a pinch or a ride somewhere or even some place to keep some of your stuff for a while, don't hesitate to call."

John stood first, then Dave rose out of his chair to help John with his large bags.

"Thanks, Dave," John spoke as his eyes met Dave's. "Thanks for the brownies and the drink, and thanks for listening to me. I'll try to keep in touch with you, but don't hold it against me if I can't, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem."

---

Dave pecked his dad's phone number from his list of recent calls, held the device to his ear and listened as he sat on the edge of his bed, alone in his bedroom.

The bus ride from Pearl District to the park-n-ride was uneventful, even consciously unaccompanied: he didn't bother to turn on his ipod, nor did he exchange pleasantries or words of any kind with those around him, merely a habitual greeting to the driver to whose face he'd become recently familiar. Likewise, his drive from the park-n-ride to his apartment was performed in silence: no music, no radio, only the sounds of the streets and the traffic and the hum of his own car.

When Dave entered his apartment, he was conscious of Scoop's presence evidenced by the light coming from his bedroom, but Dave saved his greeting for later in the evening: besides, Scoop was likely busy with something band-related, and Dave felt an urgency to speak with his father.

"Hello," Paul's voice answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Dad."

"David, how are you? We just talked last night. Everything alright?"

Dave exhaled, loud, before answering. "Yeah, I'm okay. I wanted to talk to you about something, maybe get your advice. Um, it's not too late at night, is it?"

Paul laughed before answering. "It's a little before ten here. I was winding down and getting ready to do some reading before I went to sleep, but, truthfully, I'd rather be talking to you than reading. What's up?"

Dave huffed again, not sharing his father's relaxed tone.

"Dad, um, there's this guy I was kinda seeing a while back. We dated a few times, and nothing really came of it. Then we started hanging out as friends, and that seemed good; then we kinda got to be, um, I dunno, more intense than just friends, but just really briefly. Then we lost touch for a while."

"Okay. I think I follow so far."

"Well, I hadn't heard from him in a couple of months, I think. I had finals, and he was really busy with a project he was doing for a job, then I went to Ohio to visit you. He and I texted each other a few times, but never got back in contact with each other, well, until today. I just kinda bumped into him while we were both waiting for buses in the same part of town."

"You sound a little upset, David."

"See, John, that's the guy's name, his roommate is moving, and it's going to leave John without a place to live."

No sound from Paul.

"As in, he's going to be homeless, Dad."

"And he's looking to flop at your place?" Paul's tone was skeptical, slightly accusing.

"No, nothing like that. He didn't even want to tell me about it, like he was ashamed of the whole thing. I was thinking, though, Scoop and I don't have a ton of space, but we certainly have enough room to put someone up for a while, maybe a few weeks until he can get his situation more grounded."

"Tell me something," Paul spoke in a calmer, more analytical tone, "How do you feel about this guy personally?"

"I'm not sure."

"How about this: if he was one of your straight friends, like one of the guys you and your roommate hang out with, or if he was a female friend of yours, or even another gay male friend that you hadn't dated, how would you feel about him?"

"I'd probably talk to Scoop about it and see if he was cool with giving the guy a place to crash for a while, maybe a few weeks."

"Well, do you consider this John person to be a friend at least?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

"Then I can't give you any advice here."

"What?" Dave's voice raised in volume, surprised.

"David, do you remember who your best friend was when you were young, like, when you were in elementary school?"

"Joey," Dave answered without hesitation.

"Yes, Joey. What do you remember about Joey?"

Dave chuckled at the memory. "Um, we were pretty-much best friends until his family moved away. We were in the fourth grade then. We became friends in kindergarten. By the time we were in first grade, we were best friends. We were in the Cub Scouts together. In fact, I quit the Cub Scouts when I was in the fifth grade because I didn't like it as much without him being around."

"Right. You two were pretty inseparable."

"Except that I was in the midget football leagues and little leagues and stuff like that, and he wasn't. He wasn't very athletic, more of a bookish kid."

"Right, but when you were hanging around with your sports friends, you always made sure that Joey was included if he wanted to be."

"Yeah, and those other kids made it hard for him. They used to ask me why I wanted him around. They'd tell me not to ask him along if we were all going to a movie or something."

"But you always did include him."

"Dad, of course. Joey was my best friend. Those other guys would have birthday parties and make it a point to not invite him, really mean stuff like that."

"Yeah, and when they did that, when they excluded him, what did you do?"

"Uh, I'd skip the party, and we usually just get you and mom or his parents to take us to a movie or something. Or we'd hang out and watch superhero videos or play videogames all afternoon."

"That's why I can't give you any advice on this, David."

"Huh?"

"If you consider this John guy to be your friend, you're going to do whatever you think is right by him, regardless of any advice anyone gives you. It's kind-of an amazing thing."

Dave fell silent for a moment.

"And I trust that you'll be able to take care of yourself if this John guy turns out to be trouble, right?"

Dave huffed a laugh. "I really don't think he'll be a problem, certainly not, um, trouble as you said."

"Well, I'm sure you and your roommate can handle things if need be."

"Now you have me thinking about Joey. I wonder whatever happened to him."

"It was kind-of comical," Paul offered, "the way your other friends would come to visit you and bring along a football or their hockey sticks, and Joey would show up with his sketch pad."

"He liked to draw, and he was good at it. We'd come up with ideas for comics and he'd draw them out. When we were in about third grade, he'd made up these two characters based on us. I was a crime-fighting superhero and he was a scientist that would invent all of the special gadgets I used."

"That's too cute," Paul laughed aloud. "Is that why you liked hanging out with Joey?"

"Uh, he wasn't like my other friends, the sports guys. He read a lot and had an imagination, and I liked to read back then also. He was a creative kid; and smart. And I was smart back in elementary school too."

"You're still a smart guy, David."

"Yeah, I know," Dave admitted, a slight whine to his voice. "Joey's family moved away, and we tried to keep in touch, but, when you're young, email just doesn't cut it. Then in about the fifth grade, less than a year after he left, I started to kinda feel like I didn't even really fit in with the other guys so much either."

"How do you mean?"

"Uh, I became the brunt of a few jokes among the other guys. Then, I thought I'd be cool by not being so smart. The cool guys didn't get good grades. Then I quit the Cub Scouts too." Dave paused for a moment before adding, "I don't think Joey would have made fun out of me like those other guys did."

"Probably not," Paul's voice was quiet but clear.

"Ah, it's not important now," Dave remarked, bright. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Paul spoke in a quiet, gritty near-whisper. "Call any time."

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night."

Paul's voice was barely audible as Dave disconnected the call. He stood from his bed, stepped toward the door, opened it, and moved into the hallway, swiveling his head to locate Scoop's whereabouts.

"Scoop, man, where are you? I gotta talk to you."

"Living room. I want to talk to you too, man."

Dave stepped in to the living room to see Scoop seated in the big chair which was situated perpendicular to the couch. Dave sat himself quickly on the edge of the couch and faced Scoop, addressing his eyes, his hands in front, vague gestures, betraying some immediate concern.

"It's kinda important, maybe a little urgent," Dave spoke.

"Mine's kinda important too, but maybe you should go first," Scoop replied, noting Dave's uncharacteristic mannerisms. "You seem a little jittery."

"Yeah, um," Dave faced downward for a moment and audibly swallowed before raising his line of vision again to Scoop's face. "Here goes. I ran into John today. I haven't seen him in weeks."

"Oh yeah?" Scoop's face brightened. "How's he doing? Katie says she hasn't heard from him, like, at all since we all went out that one time."

Dave shook his head. "Not too good. His roommate is moving, and that's gonna leave John without a place to live."

Scoop's interest darkened. "Wow."

"Yeah, um, he's pretty freaked out about it, and he said that he intentionally didn't tell some of his friends, like Katie, for instance. He seems like he's really kinda embarrassed that he's going to be homeless, and he didn't want his friends to have to deal with that."

Scoop was silent, puzzling, and no words were voiced for a few moments until Dave spoke again.

"Um, I was thinking. You and I could probably put him up for a while. The living room is big, and there's a fair amount of closet space if we consolidate some stuff. I mean, how many times have multiple drunk people crashed here after partying a little too hard?"

"Well, what you just said makes what I have to say kinda easy," Scoop addressed Dave's eyes directly as he continued. "I'm gonna be moving in with Katie. I plan to be all moved out of here by the time we leave for the European trip. What you do with the place is entirely your decision. I'll make sure my part of the rent is paid up through July. I felt kinda bad springing this on you all of a sudden, but Katie and I had been talking about it, and it makes sense that, if I was going through my stuff and packing in preparation to be away for a month, we'd take care of the moving stuff while I was at it."

"Well, that's... cool," Dave's words were copacetic even as his brow creased and his expression became uncertain.

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to going to Europe with the band, and Katie's coming with us, so that should be fun." Scoop's words were low and measured.

"Listen, man, I'm really happy for you that things are going so well with you and Katie, and I'm sure you're really happy to be moving in with her; but you and I logged on a lot of time together. I can't pretend that it doesn't hit me kinda hard. I mean, you've been the closest thing to a family as I've had since I left Ohio."

"Fuck, man, I know."

Scoop and Dave both stood, almost instinctively, and embraced each other.

"We're not losing each other that easily," Scoop spoke, slightly muffled, into Dave's shoulder, pitch wavering and voice quiet. "We're still gonna be best friends."

"Damn right."

"When does John need to be moved out of his present place?"

"I'm not sure. I think he said a week from this Friday."

Dave and Scoop unlocked and returned to their seated postures.

"Um, I mean, I haven't spoken to John about it, moving in that is," Dave spoke, stumbling over his words slightly. "I wanted to run it past my dad and get his take, and then make sure I talked to you about it first before I mentioned anything to John."

"What'd your dad have to say about it?"

Dave shrugged, a smirk on his face. "He said that I'd do whatever I thought was right by my friends, and, yeah, if John's in a bad situation, I can't just sit idly if there might be something I can do."

"So, you and John are still 'just friends'?" Scoop asked with a slightly mischievous grin.

"Oh, c'mon, Scoop," Dave snickered. "Today was the first time I've seen him in over a month. Just because you seem to have found the love of your life is no reason to marry me off any time soon."

"Okay, point taken. Just know that I am really happy with Katie, and I might not be able to prevent myself from envisioning that kinda happiness for my friends."

Dave raised an eyebrow, skeptical but still smirking.

"What?" Scoop blurted.

"Just don't become like one of those chicks who gets married off and feels the need to play matchmaker for all of her friends now that she's found her one-and-only."

Scoop broke into laughter. "Well, Dave, you don't have one of those best-girlfriends that every gay dude is supposed to have. Maybe I feel I gotta play that role until you get one."

Grinning wider, Dave exhaled aloud and raised his head, shaking it. "My hag is a scrawny dude. Can't anything by-the-book ever happen to me?"

---

After six hours of facing a monitor in a darkened editing room, John needed to concentrate to get his eyes to focus properly. After eight hours, his eyes actually ached. At the present ten-hour mark, the ache had migrated further into his head and was currently residing and expanding just behind his eyes.

The time was approaching eight AM, and he'd need to vacate the isolated editing room to make room for the morning classes, but he still had enough time to complete his current editing project, as long as he could depend upon his eyes to focus and the headache to stall development into a major distraction. When he realized that he was actually ahead of his projected schedule and the project's editing would be complete with a solid twenty minutes to spare, his concentration was disrupted by a quiet, polite tapping sound at the editing room door.

"Uh, come in," John spoke out, too loud: a common reaction after hours of darkened isolation.

The door opened and the room flooded with light: both a shock and a pressure-relief to John's taxed eyeballs. Silhouetted against the light, the familiar shape of the girl from the Film Center's office came into focus.

"Hi, John," the girl spoke, polite and quiet, just above a whisper.

"Hey Cherie," John spoke, throat thick from hours of isolated silence, "What's going on?"

"I didn't want to disturb you while you were working..."

"Aw, it's okay. Just about ready to pack up for the day."

"Well, a guy stopped by and left this. Told me to make sure you got it before you left today."

The girl held out a small, white paper bag, the opening of which had been folded over and stapled shut. John reached upward from his seated position and accepted it from her. He could sense the faint aroma of some sweet confection diffusing into the immediate air from within the bag.

John considered the bag curiously in the half-darkness of the editing booth as Cherie turned to exit the room.

"Hey, could you turn on the light before you leave?" John requested of the departing Cherie.

"Sure thing," Cherie grinned coquettish as she switched on the overhead light before exiting and quietly closed the door behind herself.

John held the bag to his nose and breathed deeply: the scent was unmistakable: macaroons. This puzzled him further. He popped the staples on the folded top edge of the bag, pulled the bag open, and looked inside. Within the bag were a half-dozen cookies-and-cream macaroons, a personal favorite of his, along with a post-it note, written upon which he found a short message.

I thought you might enjoy some sugar after your all-night editing job. I want to talk to you sometime today. Text or call me if you want to arrange a meeting somewhere this evening, or just call me after 6 PM. I'll be home from work by then.

Dave

---

John woke late in the afternoon. Gene was nowhere to be seen, and the loft was becoming more barren each day as John had already transferred a fair amount of his personal belongings to various places of storage and Gene had begun packing and (in some cases) shipping his things to his new address in Iowa.

Though curious about Dave's note, John decided to wait until after six o'clock to call Dave. The idea of meeting Dave and talking over coffee or dessert was not an unappealing one, but John felt neither the motivation nor the energy to prepare for even so informal a meeting: his current state of being necessitated nothing more than being awake, presentable, and functional for the purpose of solitary film-editing in a darkened room, and, to be honest, that mode of operation suited his bleak outlook of late.

When he lit the screen on his phone and the time was designated as 6:08 PM, he found Dave's number on his contacts list and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dave."

"Hey, John," Dave's voice was somewhat buoyant-sounding, and this lightened John's mood.

"Thanks for the macaroons. I love those."

"Yeah, I know. Coffee-date. Remember?"

John snickered. "Yeah, but I'm surprised that you do."

"I have a pretty good memory."

"So I see."

"Hey, I'm gonna cut right to the purpose of why I wanted to talk to you. Scoop is moving in with Katie, and I'm looking for a roommate."

An inappropriately long period of silence followed before Dave spoke again.

"Hello?"

"Um, you're asking me?" John's voice was scratchy-sounding and quiet, markedly timid.

"Yeah. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I need a roommate to share the rent expenses, and you need a place to live."

"Dave, man, we hardly know each other."

"Listen, man. I know you enough to say that I care about what happens to you, and I know you enough to define you as a friend with a fair amount of certainty. I'm not asking you to shack-up with me; I'm looking for a roommate, okay? If any of my other friends were in the same circumstances as you are right now and I was able to offer the same to them, I would."

"I don't know what to say." John's words were more breath than actual sound.

"Well, it's not like it would be smart for you to turn the offer down. I know the location isn't optimum, but it's not terrible either."

Silence followed, almost unbearably long, John's audible breathing the only noise, until Dave spoke again.

"Like, I don't need a definite right now or anything, I mean Scoop made sure his end of the rent was covered for a couple of months, but didn't you say that you had to be out of your loft by the end of next week?"

John's breathing had thickened to a whistle, a near-wheezing sound as his mouth stretched and tears began to flow from his eyes.

"John? You there?"

"Yeah," John's thick, wet-sounding speech revealed that he was full-on sobbing. "Like you said, it wouldn't be exactly... wise of me to say no."

"Dude, are you okay? You sound like you're crying."

"I am, damn it! None of my friends offered me anything more than a place to keep some of my stuff until I found a living arrangement. Not one. Then, a guy I was kind-of a royal fuckup toward comes forward to help me out. And I didn't even want him to know."

"John, man, calm down," Dave voiced, soft. "It's gonna be alright. We have a lot of arranging and moving to do. We can load up the car on the weekend and at night after I get back from work: shouldn't take too long to get you moved in here. Scoop doesn't have a whole lot of stuff to pack besides clothes and some of his stereo stuff, but he's leaving his bed here. I guess he won't need it if Katie has one, huh?"

This produced a scratchy-sounding chuckle from John. "If you're helping me move, I'm giving you gas money, and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"That's nothing you need to worry about right now," Dave continued. "Anyway, the living room stuff is mostly gonna stay the way it is, but it's a pretty big living room. Once his desk is out of his bedroom, there should be a decent amount of space for you to set up your art stuff there or maybe some of it in the living room as well, like the way you had it at the loft."

"I don't care where any of that stuff goes right away. I'm just gonna be happy to have a steady place to stay. Me saying 'thank you' would sound so fucking cheesy right now."

"No it wouldn't. It sounds alright to me. And you're welcome, John."

---

Dave stood next to his car, street-parked with the hazard lights flashing, waiting for John who had gone into the loft for (hopefully) the last of his belongings for the fourth and (hopefully) the final time that day. It was late in the summer afternoon, sunny and warm, but not oppressively so.

The last ten days had seen John collecting, organizing, and packing his belongings in preparation to move the bulk of it to Dave's and Scoop's apartment where, once it was moved there, it stayed, still in boxes, until John's move was complete. The majority of the items were moved from John's loft to the apartment on the first weekend, but John and Dave had made some weeknight visits to retrieve some of the items which John had previously left with friends, delivering the items to the apartment in the time before Dave retired for the night and John went downtown to the Film Center's editing room for the overnight.

Though John was to be officially moved out of the loft by the Friday following the first weekend, the building's landlord was lenient enough to allow John the additional weekend in which to complete his move (the typical cleaning and preparation of the space would, realistically, wait until the beginning of the new workweek to begin, so there was no real reason why the premises absolutely needed to be vacated until the following Monday).

As it happened, the additional Sunday wouldn't be required, and all of John's belongings which remained at the loft were moved to the apartment in four trips that Saturday. About ten minutes after leaving Dave at the curbside with his car, John emerged from the front doors of the loft building carrying a rather large but shallow box with a smaller, square-shaped box perched atop the larger, flatter one; John was also gripping a large opaque plastic bag in his right hand (it seemed to be filled with rigid items of various shapes and sizes, possibly art supplies like paintbrushes and tubes of paint), and slung over his shoulder were two canvas gym bags which appeared to be stuffed to capacity. The expression on John's face was serious and fatigued; John's body was visibly struggling with the bulkiness of the items he carried. Dave rushed toward him when he recognized the obvious annoyance registered on John's face, meeting him halfway between the building and the street.

"Dude, let me help you with that stuff," Dave spoke aloud as John stopped in his tracks, allowing Dave to take the clumsy plastic bag from his hand and the gym bags from his shoulders. "You know, you could have made more than one trip. Save yourself the hassle of possibly dropping things or, like, falling down the steps or something."

"That almost happened," John voiced, robotic, cold. "I did almost fall down the steps on the way out of the building, but I don't care. I'm tired and I'm cranky and I want to be done with this."

"Is this the last trip?"

"This is everything."

As the two moved toward Dave's waiting car, Dave eyed the contents of the large, flat box which were visible as the box's closure flaps appeared to have been torn off.

"Um, are those, like, inflatable beach balls, only uninflated?"

John nodded, the traces of a smirk visible on his face. "Yeah, that's exactly what they are. They're for a theater project one of my friends hired me to make props for. I gotta paint them and make them look like something other than inflatable beach balls."

Dave grinned, dumbfounded, as he opened the hatchback on this car and John placed the boxes into the space.

"You get work like that often?"

"Ah, maybe not often, but with some regularity," John answered. "Never a dull moment."

"So," Dave verbalized through a chuckle as he slammed the hatchback door, "I never know when I'm gonna walk into the apartment and find it strewn with car parts or mannequin limbs that you're painting in polka-dot patterns and day-glow colors?"

"Welcome to my life," John answered, sounding bored but wearing a smirk as he and Dave settled into the passenger and driver front seats respectively.

The majority of the drive was quiet: Dave concentrating on the busy street-traffic and John hanging his head forward, closing his eyes and resting.

"You're pretty quiet," Dave finally remarked when they were about halfway back to the apartment.

"I'm tired," John roused, shaking his head slightly as he spoke, "worn-out from this move."

"Well, it's almost over."

"Yippie."

Dave snickered. "Wow, man. Can't ungrouchify you right now, can I?"

"I'm exhausted and I'm cranky and I'm looking forward to collapsing when we get this last bunch of stuff into the apartment."

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm starved, almost to the point of feeling sick."

"Well, then, you're going to have to wait at least until after we eat before you collapse."

"I guess," John mumbled. "Why the heck do you have so much energy anyway? You've been moving stuff all day just like I have."

"I dunno, I'm in pretty good shape. I run every morning. I have decent stamina."

John laughed, almost futile sounding. "You're in great shape, and your energy level is sickening to me right now."

Dave laughed full-on and turned to face John for a moment. "Might not hurt you to join me sometime for a run in the morning, or get in a regular weekend game of racquetball, or join me and my other friends for our Sunday evening basketball game."

John added a grin to his snicker. "Well, it will be a lot easier to do that kinda stuff if the person I'm living with keeps those options available to me. Can't play racquetball by myself; and I'd never be able to motivate myself to run regularly, but, if someone else is around to get me involved, the idea seems a lot more inviting."

Dave's car made the last two turns onto his street and slowed as Dave scanned the area surrounding his apartment for a parking space.

"So, you mentioned food before," John commented. "Did you have something in mind for dinner?"

Dave concentrated on backing the car into a space along the sidewalk before addressing John and speaking. "That's taken care of. Scoop's making us dinner."

"Oh, so I'm gonna get to experience Scoop's legendary grilling skills?" John voiced in a mocking monotone.

"You sound skeptical," Dave returned, grinning but confrontational, as he shifted the car into park, popped open the hatchback, and switched off the ignition.

"Sorry, yeah, I've been skeptical about a lot of things lately, my energy level and irritability threshold are low," John explained as he and Dave both opened the car doors, exited and stepped toward the open hatchback of the car. "I'm sure whatever Scoop has made for us will be awesome, and I'm absolutely not going to complain about someone making dinner for me right now while I'm tired and hungry, almost to a nauseous degree."

"It's cool," Dave replied as both he and John gathered the boxes and bags from the rear compartment of the car before Dave slammed the hatch shut again, "I know all of my talking about Scoop's cooking has built up your expectations."

As the two approached the door, Dave stepped ahead to turn the knob with his free hand, pushing the door open, before stepping aside allowing John to enter first.

"I mean, I didn't want to sound like an ingrate, but..."

John's words stopped short as he was struck speechless when he entered the apartment.

"Gentlemen," Scoop announced from across the darkened living room at the entryway to the kitchen where, behind him, the kitchen table was visible, candle-lit and set for formal dining. "Put down those boxes and bags, and have a seat at the table."

John stood, transfixed, mouth agape, shaking his head, and wrinkling his brow slightly; Dave smirked and rolled his eyes as he placed the bags he had been carrying onto a stack of boxes and proceeded to relieve John of the boxes with which he was burdened.

"Um, can I at least hit the bathroom and wash my hands," John spoke finally. "I've been moving boxes around all day."

"Sure," Scoop replied. "Take your time. Dinner will be ready whenever you get into the kitchen."

As he walked the short hallway to the bathroom, he was stunned at how different the apartment appeared with shades drawn, lights dimmed, and candles burning. He washed his hands, keeping them under the water for a lengthy period as he felt the grime of the day's moving activity lifting from them.

When he arrived in the kitchen, Dave was sitting in a chair on the far side of the kitchen table; the seat opposite Dave's was a longer, bench-style seat, large enough for two or three people though John would be its sole occupant for dinner. There were filled water glasses and wine glasses poured with red wine at the two place-settings. Two burning tapered candles stood offset between the place-settings, and a half-emptied bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sunk into an ice bucket was situated opposite the candles. John slowly lowered himself into his seat at the table opposite Dave.

John's face wore a sort-of pleased confusion. Dave smirked and rolled his eyes before addressing John's face directly with an expression that was something of a silent laugh.

"Dinner, Gentlemen," Scoop spoke formally as he approached the table holding plates in both hands, balancing two additional plates on his left forearm.

"Aren't you eating with us?" John asked, looking upward to Scoop's face from his seated posture, after having noticed only two place-settings.

"No, tonight is the first night that I am officially moved in with Katie," Scoop answered. "I have made dinner for her and me also, and I'll be leaving for her, er... our place as soon as I serve the two of you."

Dave shook his head and grinned a wry smirk while John stared, wide-eyed and curious, as Scoop lowered the plates to the table, announcing each one.

"Grilled zucchini, broccoli, cauliflower, and stuffed green peppers; ribs and chicken wings," Scoop placed two plates filled with food onto a cleared space at the center of the table; the smoky aroma diffusing from the food items was almost maddening.

"For you, John, a hamburger with bacon, colby-jack, and onion strings. I understand that you have a preference for two-star barbecue sauce. My apologies, but I use only my own recipe. I hope you find it to your satisfaction."

"That burger is freaking... huge and amazing-looking," John uttered, almost under his breath as if not meant to be heard, as the plate was set before him.

"And for you, Dave, a burger with bacon, bleu cheese, lettuce, tomato, red onion, just about everything I could fit on that bun."

"Thank you, Scoop," Dave spoke clearly but through a friendly-though-exaggerated smile as he rolled his eyes upward to meet Scoop's.

Scoop walked to the kitchen counter to retrieve one last plate, returning to the table and placing it between the two diners.

"Ketchup, mayo, and extra barbecue sauce," he announced: the plate held a conventional bottle of ketchup, a plastic squeeze-bottle of mayonnaise, and a small serving bowl of spice-colored barbecue sauce with a the handle of a serving spoon rising from the thick liquid, poised for use.

"So, I officially take up residence with Katie tonight, but you can expect to see me around sporadically until the band leaves for Europe," Scoop informed as he gathered two large, insulated food bags. "I still have some stuff here I'll need to pick up, and expect me to do some online work here during the weekday mornings. The internet connection here is better than the one at Katie's place, and I'll need to make sure things are firmed up before we leave for the tour at the end of the month. With that, I'm outta here for the night."

Scoop walked to the front door and gave Dave and John an mock-salute as Dave verbally bade him farewell and John gave a silent, smiling nod and wave in Scoop's direction before Scoop stepped outside and closed the door behind himself.

John turned back to the table and the food in front of him before raising his eyes nervously to meet Dave's.

"Just so you know, all this, the candles, the wine, the crazy amount of food, the romantic atmosphere: this wasn't me," Dave spoke. "I mean, I can be a romantic guy, and I'm sure I'm going to love being that for someone who will be receptive to it someday, but this was Scoop and Katie going nuts on us."

John broke into quiet laughter. "Y'know, I was avoiding talking with Katie for weeks until I talked with you, and then I figured, why not, like what have I got to lose now, right? After she got done yelling at me for not telling her what was going on in my life, she went full-on into this time-for-John-to-get-married mode. Now that she's found the love of her life in Scoop, she's become the annoying-but-well-meaning matchmaker for all of her single friends."

Dave's eyes became sharp and his mouth formed a crooked, sarcastic smile. "I had exactly the same discussion with Scoop about a week-and-a-half ago, and on top of that, I told him that I'm such a loser at being gay that I couldn't even manage to get a proper hag so I hafta settle for him."

John snorted a obnoxious laugh, losing his composure and nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Dave laughed in response, more casually, until John caught his breath, red-faced.

"That made me laugh so hard that it hurt. And I think you enjoyed it."

"I did," Dave affirmed. "It's cool to know that I can make you laugh, that you get my humor."

John nodded as his breathing stabilized. "By the way, your memory is almost scary."

"What do you mean?"

"You remembered the way I like my burger."

Dave smiled, wide, and nodded, reclining to the back of his chair. "It really wasn't hard to remember, I mean, the onion straw part was pretty unforgettable, and I remembered the barbecue sauce, and then the colby-jack seems like a natural pairing with that. Then you made a minor fuss about not liking salad parts on your burgers so no lettuce or tomato or anything like that."

John blushed and smiled at Dave's comments while he tried to appear indifferent, sizing up his burger.

"Um, I'm thinking maybe I'm gonna cut this burger in half. It's seriously huge, and it might be better to attack it a half at a time."

"Well, I just grab onto mine, two-fisted, and I usually don't have a problem keeping it together." Dave wrapped his hands around his sandwich, as if illustrating the technique, then lifted it slightly, waiting for John to make a more definite move to actually consuming something.

"Hmm, well, just the same, I think I'm going to cut mine in half," John said as he visually inspected all sides of the burger, an expression of interest and wonder. "Where the heck does he get buns of this size anyway?"

Dave huffed a laugh, burger still in his hands at the ready but still not bitten. "He's Scoop. Where he finds this stuff or how he gets it is a mystery, and that's part of his charm."

John nodded. Dave watched as John poked at the plate of grilled vegetables then moved on to inspect the ribs and wings.

"I might start with some of these veggies. They look and smell so awesome, and they won't hold the heat like my burger or the ribs will, like, they'll get cold fast."

John reached for his glass of wine and took a sip into his mouth. Dave's eyes took on something of a pointed glare.

"I'm really hungry, and this all looks so good, but I don't know where to start," John said as he fussed with his napkin, locating a knife next to his plate and twirling it in his fingers, baton-style, while eying his burger again.

"How's the wine?" Dave dragged out, monotone and annoyed-sounding, his hands still gripping his undisturbed burger.

"The wine's really good. It's dry though, really dry, so it will probably be better when I start to eat, like it will offset the sweetness of the barbecue sauce. I mean, I'm assuming the barbecue sauce will be sweet. There's almost always some sweetness to barbecue sau..."

"Will you fuckin' eat something already?" Dave voiced, emphatic and low. "I'm hungry. You keep sayin' how hungry you are, and I'm sitting here with a death-grip on this burger, waiting for you to start eating so I don't feel rude biting into the thing prematurely."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry," John nearly jumped, face reddening as he placed the wine glass back down to the table and achieved a more purposeful hold his knife. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I just run at the mouth, but, uh, you've already experienced that. Oh, geeze, doing it again. Okay, I, um, I'm going for the burger."

As John placed a hand on the hamburger and began to cut it in half, Dave shook his head and grinned, letting out a chuckle and catching John's attention.

"What's funny now?" John raised his eyes to meet Dave's, self-conscious, face reddening.

"You're cute. Frustrating but cute. I've been waiting to bite into this burger, holding it like this for maybe two minutes, getting increasingly annoyed at your delaying the process, but suddenly you react in a way that is completely disheveled but charming."

John grinned nervously as he grappled half of his burger and lifted it toward his mouth. "I guess there's something to be said for being unpredictable. Or something like that."

Wasting no time after the words left his mouth, John took a purposefully huge bite out of his burger, as if proving that his desire to actually eat was a match for Dave's.

Dave grinned at the sight, sinking his teeth into his lower lip for a moment before claiming a mouthful of his sandwich.

The two ate for a few minutes in almost conspicuous silence in the dimmed, candle-lit atmosphere before John spoke again.

"Okay, I was just gonna keep quiet, but I gotta say that I completely underestimated Scoop's abilities, which was kind-of unfair of me, I'll admit, and this is possibly the most amazing burger I've ever eaten."

"Mmm," Dave mumbled as he swallowed before speaking intelligibly, "I'm not gonna hold your skepticism against you; it's cool to be skeptical."

"I guess."

"My head is wired that way. Scientifically-minded. Skepticism comes with the territory."

"True enough," John agreed before noting, "It's awfully quiet."

"Huh?"

"I mean, the room is all dark, and the only sounds are being made by two guys chewing food."

Dave perked, suddenly appearing self-conscious now, aware that maybe he could be doing more to make John feel more at-ease. "You want music or the TV on or something?"

John shrugged. "Either/or. Whichever's easier."

"Music's easier," Dave spoke as he lifted his right hand from his sandwich, swiveled in his seat, and switched on a boom-box which was stationed on the counter-top just behind him; after a few seconds, the sound of a rowdy rock song began to play at a fairly loud volume which Dave diminished.

"Better?"

"Mm-hmm," John hummed through a mouthful of food before swallowing. "It just seemed almost too quiet in here."

"Too loud?"

"No, it's fine. It was too loud when you turned it on, but it's good now. What are we listening to anyway?"

"Uh, it's a mix CD that Scoop made for me a couple of years back. I was always lost when his friends would talk music, so he said that this would at least familiarize me with the territory. Truthfully, I relate to this a lot more than I related to the music that other friends tried to turn me on to."

"Like what?" John smiled, playful, curiosity piqued.

"Ah, the other football guys when I was in high school were all into Kanye West and Jay-Z, but that kinda music never did much for me. Then, when I tried to make some gay friends, they basically told me what I should be listening to, and that didn't really do it for me either."

"Let me guess," John grinned, "Disco music and showtunes?"

"Yeah," Dave acquiesced with a nod. "A little bit of any of that goes a long way, so I was saturated with three years of jock-hip-hop and six months of Donna Summer and Broadway music, none of which I disliked but I didn't really have a connection to any of it either. By the time I got to Portland, I'd pretty-much flushed all that stuff out of my head."

"So, who's this we're listening to right now?"

"No idea," Dave said through a smirk after downing another mouthful and a gulp of water. "I like the music, but it's a fairly passive activity to me. I can't get so geeked-out on it like those guys, but if you really wanna know who it is, there's a CD case floating around here somewhere."

"That's funny. One of my straight female friends always says that a stereo system is always standard equipment with guys. Girls never need to invest in anything like that."

"Astute observation on her part," Dave snickered as John grinned in return, unhampered by a mouthful of burger.

"So, is a stereo system, then, standard Dave-equipment even though you admit to not being terribly music-centric?"

"Well, I almost always have some kinda music playing, but as for, like, a free-standing sound system, this kinda portable thing is pretty-much all I've got, and even that seems kinda dated. There's the big living-room system, but I think of that as more the sound system for the TV and video games and stuff. Besides, that was mostly Scoop's doing."

"He didn't take it with him?" John queried upon finishing the first half of his burger, reaching for the plate of vegetables, and scooping a portion of them onto his plate.

"No. He kind-of assembled the parts, mostly older stuff that was given to him by friends, and I put it all together into a working system. I'm an electrical engineer, remember? Besides, the stereo system he had in his bedroom is big enough to be a home-theater system so Katie's place will be shakin' soon enough."

"These vegetables are awesome," John noted. "If I could get vegetables like this all the time, I'd probably be a lot healthier."

"For all of Scoop's questionable habits, his dietary practices are almost mom-like," Dave offered before lifting his wine glass and sipping. "And the wine is pretty good. Wine and burgers. Our friends have some weird pairing ideas."

"Hmm, well, maybe the less-obvious pairings merit some exploration."

Though occupied with his hamburger at the time it was said, Dave absorbed the statement after a moment, creasing his brow and looking toward John with a quizzical smile. John was presently occupied, eyes busied with the plate before him: fork in one hand stabbing at random vegetables and the remainder of his burger in the other, face ignorant to Dave's reaction, perhaps consciously so.

"Are you flirting with me?" Dave spoke, smirking and attitudinal, repeating a question he'd asked John the first night they met.

"Huh?" John's face rose to address Dave's.

"Huh. Don't act so oblivious, obvious-guy. At least when I asked that at the Tardis Bar way back when, you admitted to it."

Dave's face took on a crooked, almost devious, grin as John flushed red and faced downward, a slightly embarrassed grin of his own.

"Didn't mean it that way, but yeah, I guess it could apply. I mean, I've been with guys that were less-obvious pairings than you and me are. I mean, I don't think we've done too badly."

"Nah, I can relate," Dave answered, holding the last remaining part of his burger and preparing to finish it as the reply ended.

"So, I'm finishing this awesome burger and facing this plate which is half-full of vegetables, but there's way more vegetables on that serving-plate and a plate full of wings and ribs. There's no way we're gonna eat all of this food."

Dave rolled a paper napkin in his hand, blotting the remnants of the burger from his hands, before reaching for one of the ribs and the plate of vegetables.

"So? We'll have food for tomorrow; that's what refrigerators are for. It'll be kinda nice, actually. You'll be busy unpacking your stuff. I might be helping you do that. You are gonna try one of the ribs after you finish your burger, though, right?"

John shrugged. "Yeah, well, if you insist. I'm sure they'll be just as good tomorrow. And the wings look awesome too."

"It's all awesome," Dave reassured with a raised eyebrow after swallowing part of the barbecued rib, tongue swiping the far side of his upper-lip, "Scoop can pretty-much do no wrong where this is concerned."

The two finished eating, exchanging few words, and there were significant amounts of ribs, wings, and vegetables remaining. Dave stood from his seat, covered the leftovers in plastic film, and placed them into the refrigerator. Rather than return to his chair at the far side of the table, Dave stood beside the bench-style seat on which John was sitting and gestured for John to make room for him to sit on one side. John slid slightly to his left, and Dave seated himself next to John, reaching for his wine glass as he settled.

"So, ribs and wings for breakfast?" John asked with an air of sarcasm.

Dave's mouth dropped to an affected frown. "I was hoping you'd make us something for breakfast tomorrow."

"Me?" John retorted, consciously stand-offish, "You're volunteering me to make breakfast for us already?"

Dave's face brightened to a playful grin. "Aw, c'mon. The first day we met for coffee, you were telling me how you got up early and made waffles for you and your loft-mate."

"You got me. I do like to make things. Things to eat."

"If it bothers you, we can collaborate on breakfast, I'm sure," Dave offered, speaking more softly.

John smirked and opened his mouth as if about to speak, but stopped himself, facing downward with an embarrassed smile and a blush.

"What?"

John shook his head.

"No, you were about to say something."

John shrugged and tilted his head to one side, appearing almost meek for a moment before he began to speak.

"Two weeks ago, I was sure I was gonna be sleeping in a shelter this weekend. A week ago, you and I started to move some of my stuff over here, but it was like I didn't believe it. I'd have sworn I was dreaming and I was gonna wake up at any second, still facing having nowhere to live in seven days. Now, I guess it's sunk in. I mean, I'm here, right? But I'm still kinda blown away that I have somewhere to live."

"You're my friend. I had to do something if I could."

"And I didn't even want to tell you, and all I can say is thanks, and that doesn't really seem to cover it."

"It's enough."

Dave leaned forward and reached across the table, picking up the partially-spent wine bottle and emptied its remaining contents evenly into both John's glass and his.

John smiled, almost giggled, actually, nearly giddy as he reached for his glass.

"What?" Dave asked, louder, a grin of his own.

"Damn it, Scoop and Katie, this is kinda romantic, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dave spoke smooth-sounding, just louder than a whisper, as they both lifted their glasses and drank. "Actually, it feels alright."

Dave reached his left arm around to John's left shoulder, tugging him closer to himself. John offered no resistance, closing his eyes and smiling subtly as he tilted his head onto Dave's shoulder. Dave took this as an invitation to brush lips along the back of John's neck; John started at the soft touch.

"No?" Dave whispered.

"It's okay. Just wasn't ready for that, I guess."

"Are you opposed to the idea?"

"Mm, not sure."

"All worn-out from moving things today?"

"No, actually, I'm kinda re-energized from the food, I think, and the wine has me feeling a little, um, cozy."

"So? Let's be cozy together."

John snickered a quiet half-laugh, smiling wider. "Um, yeah, it's a really sweet idea in theory, but, like, we were moving stuff all day like you said, and I must have broken at least four heavy sweats, and I've been kinda marinading in it for a few hours at this point."

"So have I. No big deal. That's what the shower is for."

John smiled, more definite, as he turned his head to face Dave more directly, and Dave closed the distance between them, meeting John's mouth with his own.

John shuddered momentarily but calmed in the warmth of Dave's embrace.

"So, we're gonna shower together?" John asked with a tone of sarcastic disbelief.

"Why not? Save on water that way."

The two gulped the remainder of the wine from their glasses and stood from the table together, as if on-cue, Dave standing behind John with his hands on John's shoulders, gently leading him toward the hallway.

Dave reached around the corner and switched on the bathroom light, flooding the hallway with light through the open doorway.

"Bathroom's kinda small," Dave said as he entered the bathroom and opened the hot and cold water taps in the shower, returning after a moment. "We should probably just get undressed out here while the water heats up."

"Fine by me," John returned with a smirk, eyes scanning Dave's form as he lifted his T-shirt up and over his head.

The two were undressed quickly, exchanging glances at each other through the process. The water was not quite warm enough when they entered the shower, but a quick adjustment on the cold water tap corrected the temperature to a more agreeable one.

John, markedly shorter than Dave, stepped close to the wall, standing directly under the nozzle, drenching himself, then turning to face Dave with a silly, open-mouthed grin. Dave moved closer, running his hands over John's shoulders, their surface covered in now-wet red fuzz.

"Furry," Dave grinned. "I like it."

John followed in the like, touching Dave's chest, lightly at first, then more aggressively.

"I forgot how beautiful this is."

Dave grasped a bar of soap and held it under the water for a moment, working it in his hands behind John's back as he lowered his head to kiss John's mouth. While their lips were engaged, Dave began running his soapy hands over John's back. John's body became rigid at the first touch but relaxed almost instantly, almost too much as his weight nearly dropped into Dave's slippery hands.

"Whoa!" Dave exclaimed. "Don't slip and smack your head off of something. That wouldn't be cool."

"Sorry," John answered, almost demure-sounding. "You just caught me off-guard."

Dave's hands were still behind John, again working the bar of soap, forearms resting on John's shoulders.

"Maybe I need to be more alert so I can catch you if you lose your balance," Dave spoke with a cocky confidence.

With that, Dave bent his knees, lowering himself to John's level, touching John's lips again with his and swiping his tongue into John's mouth as he moved a lathered hand further down John's back and probing between John's fleshy buttocks.

John emitted a high-pitched noise which was muffled against Dave's mouth, and his body went slack again, but Dave was ready for it this time, bracing John with his left hand even as his right hand continued to rub and apply pressure from beneath.

"You okay?" Dave asked, a huge grin on his face, addressing John's closed-eyed, rapt visage.

"Yes!" John spoke in a hiss. "Yes! I just didn't expect that. And I didn't expect it to feel so amazing."

Dave let out a chuckle as he straightened his knees, standing upright and lifting his hands from John.

"You didn't have to back away," John said, grinning, as he reached outward and pulled Dave close again. "I was enjoying the way you felt against me: your fuzzy chest on mine, our hard cocks rubbing together."

"Well, the whole idea was for us to get cleaned-up. Let's get some soap action going and we can do it all at the same time."

"And save on water," John offered, an intentionally prudish expression.

Dave rubbed the soap into a washcloth and nodded, "That's about the last thing on my mind right now, but, yeah."

Dave swiped the sudsy washcloth between them, slathering the hair on both of their chests with a thick lather. John giggled slightly in reaction.

"What's up?" Dave grinned, cocky again. "You ticklish?"

"No, no, uh, maybe a little. I'm just wondering. You said that you never had much experience with boyfriends, but you seem pretty good at this kinda stuff."

Dave raised his eyebrows momentarily while squeezing the washcloth between himself and John, sending a thick mass of suds flowing slowly down both of their forms, clinging momentarily to their thickly-haired pelvic regions before draining off.

"Maybe I'm just good with the physical end of things."

Dave's words acted as a distraction as he again caught John off-guard, gripping both of their erect members in his soapy hand and sliding it upon them as if they were one.

John gasped, throwing his head back into the falling water; Dave read this accurately as a favorable reaction and met John's lips with his again as he slid his slippery hand from its hold, moving it downward beyond John's scrotum, and upward until he could slide a finger into John. John's body quaked for a moment, then the tension ceased and John's body seemed to surrender to the action.

"Feel okay?"

"Fuck, yeah," John whispered, dazed-sounding, under the spray of the shower.

Dave's form was lowered somewhat, concentrating his lips on John's scruffy neck and his left hand on John's chest as his right hand continued to probe him, finding progressively less resistance and adding a second finger.

"That feels amazing."

"Like that? Feels pretty great on this end too."

"Dave, I want you in my mouth. I want to suck you."

Dave slipped his hand from behind John, stood straight, and backed away slightly, extending his arms forward.

"It's all yours."

John wasted no time dropping himself forward, face at Dave's waist-level, guiding him under the water to rinse the remaining soap from him and admiring his rigid penis before approaching it with his mouth, running his tongue upward along the underside, and capturing it when he reached the top.

As before, Dave's hips began to move involuntarily, slow but deliberate, machine-like, deep. Though Dave remained conscious of his actions and his partner's reactions, he sensed no sign of discomfort or adverse reflex; if anything, it seemed as if he was reading an invitation to increase the intensity and depth of this actions.

Dave held his hands firmly on John's shoulders, sliding them to the back of his neck and head as he increased in speed and impact. He kept the motion at a brisk, consistent degree, minutes it seemed, until John shifted, adjusting his position. Dave pulled back, sliding from John's mouth.

"You, okay?"

John raised his head, addressing Dave's face, smiling. "Yeah, just felt my leg cramping up a little."

John returned his attention to Dave, brushing his open lips on Dave's scrotum, feeling the soft flesh tighten under his tongue, reacting to the movements. After a few moments, Dave's hands tugged at John's shoulders, coaxing John to a standing position and kissing his face upon arrival.

"I was getting a little worried," Dave joked, grinning, as he broke away. "You didn't seem to be coming up for air."

John giggled in response. "I was kinda enjoying feeling you fuck my mouth like that, but, yeah, if it had gone on much longer, my jaw might have locked up on me. That's a mouthful you've got there."

Dave snickered, face reddening, before directing John, "Turn around."

John turned his back to Dave's chest, facing the wall, standing beneath the source of the falling water. Dave once again worked the soap in his hands, this time running them down the sides of John's torso and back upward under his arms, saturating the areas with slippery lather. John leaned further beneath the water, holding his head down and hands forward bracing himself against the wall. Dave felt himself throb at the sight: John's ass thrust outward toward his aroused member, legs separated and feet flat on the floor as far apart as the space would allow. Dave re-soaped his hands and again worked his right hand between John's legs, sliding upward and inserting two fingers. John was now completely at-ease and the penetration was effortless. Dave worked his fingers in deep, twisting and spreading them apart, adding a third. John reacted, at first bucking forward, but then slowly pushing back against Dave's hand; Dave reached his left hand to John's shoulder and pulled him firmly against himself, still working his fingers forward and back.

"I want you in me," John's words arrived slurred by his rapt state and the water running from his face, distorting his speech.

"Then let's get rinsed and dried off and get to it," Dave intoned in a gravelly whisper, nearly a growl, as he lowered his left hand from John's shoulder, allowing John to stand upright.

Dave joined John under the showerhead, kissing him open-mouthed, water spraying them from above, and, lathering his hands a final time, returned his right hand to John's ass, rubbing and delving inward until his hand and John were rinsed of their soapy slickness.

Dropping slightly, Dave leaned toward John, reached behind him and closed the taps, ceasing the flow of water. He slid the shower curtain and retrieved a pair of towels from a storage shelf, tossing one onto John's soaked chest and blotting his own hair and shoulders with the other.

Both young men toweled themselves quickly, but the process was far from thorough: by the time they had moved across the hall to Dave's bed, their skin was still damp and beaded with sparse droplets of water, particularly the centers of their backs and the lower parts of their legs. Neither of them seemed to notice the only partially-dried state of their bodies as the setting summer sunlight, streaming warm into the bedroom, shot the beads of moisture through with light.

John was initially on his back, head facing Dave on his right; Dave was first on his left side, gripping a handful of John's red-fuzz-decorated chest before he climbed on top of John, kissing his lips, then moving downward to his neck, chest, and belly.

Dave stopped and lifted his head, spitting into his right hand and groping John's erection. John let out a loud breath mixed with a sigh or perhaps an pleading whine as Dave reached to the underside of John's thighs, just above the knees, and lifted upward to expose John's moist, pink orifice.

As Dave lowered himself downward, John could feel hot breath on his sensitive flesh; he reacted with a squirming motion within Dave's grip.

"You okay?" Dave spoke, his eyes breaking to address John's face.

"Um, uh, what are you gonna do?"

Dave's eyes returned to John's sphincter with a nearly hypnotized expression, a obsessed desire.

"I was gonna rim your hole."

"Um, I, I'm not sure, I mean, it's still that part of the body that..."

"Aw, c'mon," Dave replied, smooth, seductive. "I just spent the last fifteen minutes making that part of your body the cleanest it can possibly be."

"I still, um..."

"It'd be a perfect opportunity for you to expand your experiences," Dave's face wore a devious, crooked smile as he lifted his eyes to meet John's.

"Uh,..."

"Just lay back and let me take control," Dave lowered his gaze, wanton, as if again mesmerized by the sight before him. "If you don't like it, I'll stop."

John tilted his head back in surrender to Dave's persuasion, closing his eyes as if not wanting to witness the occurrence. Dave summoned a mouthful of saliva and let it leak slowly onto the fleshy cleft, watching it flow downward onto John's opening. As he closed the space with his tongue, John let out an exhausted-sounding pant as his ass bucked upward, still restrained by Dave's grip; for a moment, Dave felt the folds of flesh tremble against his tongue before he stopped, raising his head to speak.

"You okay?"

"Uh, I, yeah. Just a reaction. I'm okay. Definitely good."

Dave grinned, devilish. "Well, in that case, I'm gonna hafta hold you down a little tighter, so if you're not into it, you're gonna hafta speak up, okay? Otherwise, I'm gonna assume every physical reaction from you is a sign that you're liking it."

"Deal," John expelled, more breath than voice.

Dave returned his attention to John's ass, salivating and swiping his wet tongue on the soft ridges, feeling John squirm within his hands, flesh twitching and quivering against Dave's tongue and lips, closing the spaces, drawing on the flesh with his lips and teasing the aperture with the tip of his tongue.

He could feel John's limbs relax in his grip as he became accustomed, accepting the sensation. Dave's tongue swabbed a circular pattern before pressing again into the breach, and again, swiping, gently stabbing, repetitive, lapping.

John raised his head and opened his eyes, nearly delirious the sensation rendered him.

"Dave, get on top of me," John's words were almost a whimper.

"Am I done down here?" Dave asked, cocky, with a malevolent-looking grin.

"I want you in me so bad."

Dave reached to his bedside table, flung the drawer open, and roughly pulled at a chain of condom packets, linked together; like a foil snake they sprung from the drawer onto the bed beside John's reposing form. Dave also retrieved a bottle of lubricant and tossed it with equal aimlessness onto the bed. He grabbed the train of condom packets and, animal-like, tore the first packet open with his teeth, removing the condom from within, and rolling it quickly onto his penis; with the same measure of abandon, he popped the cap on the bottle of lube and squirted a thick blob onto his covered penis and spread it over with his hand.

"Dave," John's eyes appeared dazed, somehow lost, as he spoke. "It's like I feel crazy inside, empty or something. I'm not gonna feel right until you're in me."

Dave reached his lubed fingers toward John's ass; John reacted by shaking his head.

"Not gonna need it. Your tongue got me ready to go. Just give it to me."

John's legs lifted, calves settling against Dave's chest and shoulders; Dave pulled them close and leaned inward, pushing. Dave stared straight into John's face, the light of the setting sun catching in the greenish-ambler of Dave's eyes: stabbing. John felt a building pressure against him, then an almost unbearable sensation of being stretched, opened; then the pressure relieved, and he felt himself filling with Dave's rigid member.

"Huh... huh," John enunciated, full of breath, high-pitched, nearly whimpering.

"You okay?"

"Fuck, yeah!"

Dave fell onto John and began thrusting, deep and deliberate, his face buried in the scruff at John's throat, kissing, sucking, and nipping the flesh there. John's breathing was pronounced, loud with an audible wheezing component to its sound. Dave lifted his head and met John's lips with his, coaxing them apart and launching his tongue into John's mouth even as he continued to drive his penis deep into John's bowels.

Dave lifted his head and looked, piercing, into John's eyes.

"Is this what you wanted?" his voice was a gruff whisper.

John's expression was awe, near-reverence.

"Dave, I feel like I needed this."

With that, Dave's eyes softened and his movements slowed. His brow wrinkled and his visage shifted to one of wonder, amazement; his mouth formed a subtle, curious smile.

John reciprocated, an open-mouthed smile, almost a relieved laugh, lifting his hands to gently hold the sides of Dave's face.

Dave's smile became definite. He tried to speak for a moment, but only breath arrived.

This was something different. This was suddenly something other than two young men focused on getting themselves off. Dave was still moving, John's body remained receptive, compliant, but they were watching each other, observing some understanding which was registering on the other's face.

"You make me feel amazing, Dave."

Dave addressed John's eyes directly as his hips reflexed forward into John causing his neck to arch, his eyes to roll back, and his mouth gape open with a gasp and a single, wordless noise.

"How close are you?"

"You keep moving like you are, and the friction from your belly is gonna make me lose it. I could go at any time."

"I want to get off when you do."

"Don't worry about that. I can shoot and you can fuck me for as long as it takes you to unload."

"I'm pretty close myself."

Dave wrapped his arms around John's thighs and pulled them onto himself as he rose upright onto his knees; John squirmed and bucked his ass higher onto Dave, not wanting to lose the incredible feeling of being filled. Dave lowered himself, bending slightly at the knees, conforming to the shape of John's buttocks as he pushed John's legs back, penetration engaged, still deep and thrusting, faster again. John reached upward, vainly trying to touch Dave's chest as their eyes locked.

"Work on yourself. I wanna see you shoot."

John's eyes fell from Dave's to his own swollen penis, wet and leaking, matting a patch of fur on his belly. As John reached for himself, Dave read the signal and dripped a long string of saliva onto John's member. John rubbed it, reaching a rhythm upon himself with his hand as Dave's machine-like motion increased in speed within him. John's gaze moved upward into the space above him as his joints began to stiffen, the speed of his hand slowing.

"Cum for me, John. I wanna see you cum."

John inhaled a deep gulp of air as his neck retracted, his chin nearly making contact with his chest. His face twisted, mouth opened, tongue protruding slightly as he watched his penis begin to spill two thick blobs of semen onto his belly.

Dave was watching also, intently, almost awestruck, as the two slow dribbles were followed by a long stream which shot upward, splattering John's neck. Dave, still thrusting, slightly slower but deeper, lifted his hand from John's leg and immersed his fingertips into the thick pool on John's belly, smearing it into the hairy surface.

John's legs trembled for a moment before they stilled, and Dave returned his hand to John, this time gripping him at the ankle. Though John's expression was glazed, his body assumed a structural vocation: a firm receiver to Dave's quicker, deeper penetrations. Dave leaned toward John's recumbent face, engaging his eyes with John's. Despite the intensity of the motion, John felt an expanding, a thickening warmth within: even as their eyes were locked, Dave was emptying, and John could feel the rhythmic throb of Dave pumping his fluid.

Dave slowed though his hips continued to buck erratically. They could clearly see each other's faces in the darkening gold of the remaining daylight; they were both taken by the expressions of equal awe and absorption they saw in the other. Dave's movements were slow but fluid as his eyes moved from John's eyes to his mouth then closed as he faced downward, falling into the embrace. John raised his hand to the back of Dave's head, stroking his hair and his neck for a moment. Dave's eyes opened, and he lifted his head to again address John's eyes briefly before he closed them and met John's lips with his.

Surface kisses, short and tactile, quick though manifold: the period of contact stretched to perhaps minutes. Dave finally turned his face from John's and let himself drop, head to one side, his chest resting on John's. John lifted his arms to Dave's back, letting his hands rest upon Dave's thick shoulders. The two could feel and hear each other's breathing.

Finally, Dave shifted, lifting himself from John and reaching toward his nightstand, retrieving a towel. Dave swabbed his chest and belly, rolled the condom from his penis, the remainder of his erection softening, and blotted himself before gently wiping dry John's sticky, matted mass of red pubic hair, eventually moving the towel upward to John's belly and chest.

When Dave reached John's neck with the towel, John let out a lazy chuckle.

"I guess I got some distance, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah you did."

Dave grinned, brushing the surface of the bed, pushing the train of condom packets to the floor, and returning the bottle of lubricant to the bedside table before he reclined onto his back.

The two men lay apart, the distance of several inches separating them, until John shifted, almost crawled, next to Dave and slid himself against the other man, resting his head on the flat of Dave's shoulder and nestling his shoulder beneath Dave's armpit.

Dave quietly welcomed the unexpected contact, wrapping his arm around John's shoulder and turning his face to brush his lips against the top of John's head, speaking, soft and breathy.

"You know, the other time we did this, I had to talk you into getting close to me when we were done."

"I know."

"It feels nice. Just thought I'd mention it."

"Okay, Dave, confession time."

"Huh?" Dave lifted his head, mildly stunned.

"Not you, silly," John grinned. "Me. I wanna say something."

"Oh. Okay." Dave smirked, crooked, uncertain.

"I missed you. I missed you terribly. I wanted to call you and talk, just hang out, do anything. I couldn't do that, though, without mentioning what was happening in my living situation. I mean, I don't know what we are exactly, but, okay, I kinda let my mind get run away with the idea that, like, maybe you and me had some possibility of being together, but I couldn't come to you in that state. You're still in school, but you seem to have a handle on where you're going. I was just kinda winging it."

"Hey. It's alright. I missed you too. Truthfully, I was a little bothered that I hadn't heard from you, but guess I just kinda assumed that you were still busy."

"I can't count the number of times I'd think about calling you or texting you, but my life just felt like it was out of control. Even though your reaction was, like, great, perfect, I was so worried about what you might think about me."

"I get that. I know what that's like, being afraid of how you think someone might react to something. I mean, we're gay. We've already been through that on some level. I can't hold that against you."

John sighed, sounding almost defeated. "Yeah, and I should have known that because if it applies to one thing, it should be true across the board."

"Well, Just like I can't hold your reluctance to talk to me against you, I'd never fault you for being cautious either. You never know how someone's going to react, and assuming the best in people can get you into trouble. Dude, I'm twenty-one years old, and I still stress about people knowing that I'm gay even though I'm out to my family and friends. Hell, some of them have been more accepting of me than other gay people I've met."

"Yeah, I hear that."

The two were still for a while as the room darkened, no sound except their breathing. Occasionally Dave would playfully squeeze John's biceps, wringing a giggle out of John; for his part, John's fingertips grazed the fine coating of shiny, dark hair which uniformly covered Dave's chest. Finally, John gently broke the quiet,

"So, um, when you first asked me if I wanted to move in, you said you were looking for a roommate, not someone to shack up with."

"Mmm. Mmhmm," Dave hummed.

"Well, we just had sex. Preceded by an unconventionally romantic dinner and a fair amount of foreplay."

"Your point is?"

John chuckled, flip, "I think you know what I'm getting at."

"Alright," Dave began, sounding slightly beleaguered, "We're two gay young men sharing the same apartment. We like each other. We find each other attractive. It's pointless to think that something like this wouldn't happen."

"Nothing beyond that?"

"I didn't say that. You're here. I'm here. Besides, it's not like we haven't fucked before."

"Yeah. You're right, but I guess I've never been in an, um, living situation with..."

John's statement ended incomplete.

"With?"

John remained conspicuously silent.

"You mean, you've never been in a situation like this with someone who could be a potential boyfriend?" Dave completed.

"Yeah," John whispered, barely audible.

"If it makes you feel any better, you could sleep for the rest of the night in Scoop's old room, that would be your current room. You could even pretend that none of this happened. I'll even play along if you want me to."

"No, that's not what I meant," John sounded uncomfortable that he'd changed the mood of the moment. "It's just that, like, I haven't been with anyone since you and I kinda started hanging out a couple of months back. We've talked about it a little, and you've said that you're not sure what you're looking for. And, yeah, you're young, and there's no reason why you shouldn't keep your options open, and yeah, now I'm talking too much again."

"Calm down, John," Dave scolded quietly. "If it makes you feel any better, I haven't been actively dating, or even trying to date, since then either. Granted, it's been because I've been too busy between finals and going to see my dad and being the token gay friend to my regular crowd of straight friends, but the end result is the same. So, if it's just convenient that we're here together now, well, I'm cool with that."

"So, you're conveniently single?" John sassed, his humor returning.

"Something wrong with that?"

"If you're not complaining I won't. Just, like, if you're gonna go out and be a social butterfly at the bars, you better take me along with you. If you're out trying to find someone to hook up with, I want equal opportunity."

Dave laughed. "What are you talking about? You'd do better than I would."

John let out a stuttered hiss, a breathy chuckle. "I'm not even going to dignify that one, other than it was very kind of you to say that."

"It's the truth. I'm a totally socially inept gay dude, and I'm okay with that. You can at least talk to people."

"Whatever," John spoke, airy but dismissive, weary of the current topic. "Besides, I couldn't sleep in my room tonight without dealing with a bunch of boxes that need to be unpacked, and I don't really feel like dealing with that right now."

"Oh, so that's the only thing that's keeping you in my bed? Your current desire to avoid moving a few boxes around?"

"That's my excuse, and I'm sticking with it."

"This arrangement is better anyway. I mean, if we were sleeping in our separate rooms, we'd just be beating off thinking about having crazy monkey-sex together."

John snorted a laugh, almost spitting.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"No, it was totally accurate, just a little blunter than I was ready for," John countered. "So, anything on your agenda for tomorrow?"

"Nothing in particular," Dave offered. "Helping you unpack your stuff if you need it, the special Father's Day edition of my regular Sunday telephone call with my dad, stuff like that."

"Mmm. So, you're gonna help me unpack?"

"Sure. That surprise you?"

"Nah, didn't really think about it one way or the other, but, again, you're really nice to offer."

"You gonna call your dad tomorrow?"

"Nah."

"No? You send him a card or anything?"

"Nope."

"You and him don't get along?"

"It's not really that. Sometimes I think he forgets he has a twenty-eight year-old son living in Portland."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dave voiced, clear but low.

"Don't be. I'm used to it."

"Are you out to your family? Your dad?"

"Not in so many words. I'm not sure how he'd take it either. He's a pretty easy-going guy, but he's also gotten into so many different Christian denominations: liberal ones, medieval ones, and everything in between, seems to get a new religion every couple of years. I wouldn't know where his head is at any given time."

"What about your church? You seemed pretty big on that when we first started going out."

"I don't know about that either."

"This one of the things you've been skeptical about lately?"

"Yeah. It's the main thing, actually. I mean, there are hundreds of religions based on the Bible, but the specifics of them are all so totally different. The adherents of any one of these sects protect and defend their protocols with irrational fanaticism. Just because one religion is embraced by a society and another isn't doesn't make one any more or less rational than the other. I mean, if I go to a church with batshit-crazy beliefs and the church has twenty members total, the rest of society calls it a cult. If I go to a church with equally batshit ideas that has thousands of followers worldwide, it's a religion. What's the difference?"

"Geeze, I didn't expect to hear that from you."

"Sorry. Honestly, I was having these feeling when you and I met, but I kept, like, forcing myself to be into my church whether it made any sense to me or not."

"You seemed pretty into it."

"I really wanted to believe in something, and I went to crazy, irrational lengths to convince myself of that. I almost had a falling-out with one of my best friends over it. He's smart enough to get that I had to work out that internal conflict myself, and, yeah, we remain friends. The other people at the church, though, not so much. The way they reacted to the news that I was imminently homeless revealed a lot about them and to what degree they actually put their beliefs into practice. And even before that, I came to realize that the internal mechanisms of the church had more to do with the clergy having delusions of being local celebrities, complete with a pecking-order determined by a popularity system straight out of high-school social politics."

"Wow," Dave inhaled long before he spoke again. "I never really thought about it, never having been too involved in the church thing, but what you say about church people equating themselves with celebrities makes sense."

"Well, not all of them. I have met some good people. Some of them, though, well, if they're not ruling the place, they're spreading rumors about the people who are. Seems hypocritical."

"That puts it mildly, I'd say."

"Anyone in your family religious?"

"Not really," Dave answered, shaking his head subtly. "When I was little, my parents and I went to church as a family, but I think they just got tired of it. The Cub Scouts troop I was part of operated out of our church, and when I dropped out of the Cub Scouts, I guess my parents lost interest in the church part of it as well."

"So, you said that your mom didn't take your being gay well?"

"Understatement," Dave snickered.

"So, that wasn't because of a specific religious or moral objection?"

"My mom's side of the family, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins on her side, they're not religious, I'd say, so much as they're hateful and bigoted, but they use the religion as the basis for that behavior. To me that's not really religion, but, then, maybe it is to them."

"It's sad, but it's far from an isolated case," John offered, sounding weary of the matter.

"Seems to me that faith is very simple, just believing in something. Religion is complicated, really complicated. You gotta follow all the rules and restrictions and dietary regulations, and those all change with every church even within specific denominations. I've heard friends talk about it. Makes my head spin."

John chuckled but remained silent, Dave's words lingering in his thoughts.

"So, okay, confession time for me," Dave spoke again, piquing John's interest. "I did a little research. I read some of your writing, your fan-fiction."

"Huh?" John started, nearly jumped.

"You're a good writer, I mean, I really didn't have any idea of the characters you were writing about, but, it was well-written and it might have been really interesting if I'd have been familiar with the source material."

"How did you...?" John, agog, turned to face Dave.

Dave grinned, snickering a half-chuckle. "I saw the desktop image on your laptop at your loft the one night. I googled 'redcub 87' and found you.

"Huh," John noised again, sounding far calmer this time, downright secure. "You really think my writing's good?"

"Yeah, I mean, it seems a little sloppy, like maybe you could do with a proofreader or something, but it was really readable for something I knew basically nothing about."

"Well, it's fan-fiction. Not really stuff that anyone takes seriously, so half the time I'm not really too bothered if it gets out with some grammatical or spelling errors."

"Gotcha. But, I mean, your work is good. If you wanted to write something that people would take seriously, I'm sure you could."

"Well, some of the people, the readers, do take that stuff seriously."

"I also saw some stuff about that documentary film you made, but only that it had played a couple of film festivals. The couple of reviews I saw were really positive."

John turned to Dave, an affected disturbed expression. "Now I'm creeped out, Dave."

Dave chuckled. "What? You never googled me?"

"Okay, yeah I did," John admitted. "Wasn't much to find except your Facebook and something about a high school football championship back in 2011."

"Yeah, not a whole lotta news about me out there, I guess," Dave confirmed before continuing. "So, um, besides the good reviews you got for your documentary, did other stuff come out of it?"

"Yeah, definitely. See, that's what got my foot in the door of the Film Center. I was taking classes that semester, but I lost my student status and had to move out of the dorm I was living in, so, yeah effectively homeless for the first time."

"Geeze. But, like, wasn't your film about the homeless kids living around Portland."

"Yeah, but it definitely wasn't voluntary. I went with that subject because I was living it, and not the other way around. And it wasn't all bad, really, but I'd never want to go back there again."

"Well, how did that work? How could you even get it made?"

"That was actually easy. I had a lot of time to do nothing but work on it as long as I could sign out the equipment and use the editing facilities. I was sleeping at friends' houses on living room floors and couches and showering at the Y. More than a couple of times, I hid in the school buildings or the film center rooms and stayed there when they locked up at night, but that was usually when I couldn't find a place to crash otherwise."

"That sounds terrible, John."

"Not gonna lie, in a lot of ways it sucked out loud, but I was creating the entire time. It was probably the most creative period of my life. That was also right around the time that I met Gene at the film center. When my project was done and the film was shown and word got out that I did the editing myself, suddenly there were people hiring me to edit their work, so then I'm one of the regulars at the Film Center. Since I seemed to be there all the time and there are always so many entries to be screened for the festivals, I got tasked with that for a while, and then my further involvement just kinda happened out of that. And in the middle of all of that, Gene's roommate at the time moved out, and he put out the word that he was looking for someone to share his loft with, so I got a place to live out of it."

"Ah. I see."

"Okay, Gene's kinda flaky."

"Honestly, leaving you without a place to live before you had time to find something, even if it lasted only a few weeks, was an awful thing for him to do."

"I can't disagree, but in his crazy thought process, Gene said that it might help me to get creative again."

"What?" Dave asked: loud, confounded, grimacing.

"Yeah, when I was bouncing around from place-to-place with nowhere steady to live, I was able to get a documentary film made, I was doing a ton of writing, I had some cool ideas for original screenplays, I was busy creating stuff the whole time. By the time I moved in with Gene, I was editing other people's films, writing fan fiction about characters other people created, and spending my spare time playing fanboy games. If nothing else, maybe it was a wake-up call."

"A wake-up call for what?"

"Uh, maybe that I could be making better use of my time."

"I still can't see what Gene did here as a good-intentioned thing."

"Nah, it was selfish, terribly inconsiderate. The idea that it would make me more creative was probably just Gene rationalizing his guilt."

"Yeah, that I can buy."

"So, now that you've made me spill about my past, tell me something about yours."

Dave's face took on a sheepish grin. "Um, not sure there's much to tell. What do you want to know?"

"I dunno. That thing I found when I searched on you, the football championship. Tell me about that. It was accompanied by a team photo where you looked all game-faced and scary-cute."

"There was nothing cute about me back then."

"Oh, c'mon, your face was cute."

"Okay, anything the least bit attractive about me would have ended with my physical appearance."

"Was this the same time when you were crushing on that guy you were telling me about? The one you ran into when you were visiting your dad in Ohio?"

"Gawd, he was there. He was part of it. I don't think I was crushing on him at the time, but I envied a lot about him. I was so messed-up back then."

Dave's tone had shifted to darker places, darker memories, and John's followed similarly.

"If you don't mind talking about it, I'm really interested," John spoke, calming, comforting.

"As I got into junior-high and high school, I knew something was up. All the other guys were talking about hot girls, but it just wasn't happening for me. One of the other guys on the junior-high football team had a stack of old Penthouse and Playboy magazines hidden in his basement. We'd get together and hang out in his garage, and all the guys would be carrying on about how hot and turned on the women in the magazines made them feel, but I wasn't feeling anything. I mean, I'd talk like I was, but it was just an act. I got really worried about it, about the way I felt. I was conscious of gay people on TV and in the media, but, I mean, I had it set in my mind that I wasn't gay, that I couldn't be gay. I'd think about the pictures of the women in those magazines and try to get into it, but I just felt unaffected. I remember that guy on the team, he had one Hustler magazine. It was raunchier than the others. One day when we were all hanging out in his basement, I stole that Hustler magazine, hid it under my jacket. I figured that if I was gonna learn to do this, I needed the most explicit magazine he had because I needed all the help I could get. I got home and went to my bedroom. I was actually excited about it. I thought it was gonna be some kinda breakthrough for me, the moment when I'd realize that I desired women. Ha."

John was quiet, troubled at the direction the conversation had gone under his suggestion.

"I had a breakthrough, alright," Dave continued. "See, Hustler always has a couple of photo-sections with guys in them as well as girls. I remember getting aroused at the pictures of the faked sex acts thinking that it was working, that I was getting turned-on by the pictures in the magazine. I was successfully jerking myself off to the pictures in a naughty magazine like my friends were. I felt like I was finally in 'the club'. I remember getting home from school the next day and going right up to my bedroom. I tried to jerk off thinking about one of the more top-heavy girls in school, but it wasn't working. Nothing was happening. I pulled out the magazine and opened to this girl-on-girl photo-spread. Still nothing. I kinda got panicked. I started flipping through the magazine until I found the pictures of the men and the women together, and I was finally able to jack off. Afterward, I started to kinda freak out. I was thinking about how I was only looking at the guys in those pictures, concentrating on the details of their bodies and imagining how it would feel to touch them. I ended up throwing that magazine away. It went out with the trash that week."

"I think we all pretended we were straight when we were younger, Dave," John spoke quietly, voice quaking slightly.

"Nah, I was messed-up. 'Angry' would be too simple a term to describe me at the time. When I was a sophomore in high school, there was this girl who went to one of the other schools in the area. All the guys thought she was the hottest thing. She had a stuck-up personality, and that made her even hotter to the rest of the guys. Anyway, I asked her out, and she actually agreed to go out with me. She had turned all of my friends down and actually went out with me. So, we went out to dinner and a movie. Later that night, we were parked somewhere in my parents' car, and I guess I had something I wanted to prove to myself. She wanted to make out, but I wasn't into that. Instead, I asked her if she'd give me a blow job. It surprised me when she was really into the idea. Then I started to kinda freak out. I tried to make excuses and weasel out of it, but before I knew it, she had my pants open and was sucking my dick. I was breaking out in a cold sweat while this was going on. It almost worked for a little while. I shut my eyes and pretended that it was a guy sucking me off. The thing was, it didn't feel like a guy, or like I'd imagine a guy would feel like. It felt all kinda gentle and soft. And girl hands don't feel like guy hands, so when I did start to get hard, she'd start stroking with her hand, and that would just totally kill it. It seemed like it went on for hours. Finally, she just kinda gave up. I drove her home. She didn't try to get me to kiss her good night. I don't think she said anything between us being parked and me getting her to her parents' house. Then I drove home and went up to my room, and I cried. I just fucking cried. I failed myself, I was failing the expectations of my parents and my friends, I probably made that poor girl feel like shit. The sickest part of it is that I was so fucking relieved that she didn't go to my school because, if the word got out that I didn't function while the queen-of-hotness was sucking my dick, I'd have felt like my life was over."

"Your life wasn't over, though, Dave," John offered, trying to be consoling.

"No. I had to wait a couple more years before I felt that my life had genuinely ended." The sentence crushed the appealing compassion of John's statement. "That guy I was telling you about came out during our junior year. I was terrible with the guy, like I couldn't reconcile his existence in my world. I'd pound on him every chance I had, throw him into lockers, call him degrading names. Maybe I thought that if I abused him enough, he'd just disappear. Then, one day it went too far. He figured out that I was gay, and I told him I'd kill him if he told anyone. I can be a pretty scary guy."

"I have no doubt."

"Anyway, I somehow managed to make things even worse for him. Then he transferred schools because of me, and I didn't have to see him in front of me all the time. That was okay for a while until someone else figured out I was gay. The gay kid transferred back to the school, and he was really understanding with me. He offered to help me, but I still wasn't ready to deal with who I was. I transferred schools for my senior year just to get out of there."

"And that's the guy you crushed on?"

"Yep. I'd got a fake ID and started hanging out at the only gay bar in town. He showed up there one night, and everything seemed kinda friendly. And then I just kinda obsessed on him. He was a nice kid who sincerely tried to help me despite all the pain I dished out to him. I thought there was some kinda connection. I really thought I loved the guy."

"So you, like, fantasized about being with him?"

"Yeah, but not like you think."

"What do you mean?"

"I absolutely did not masturbate to thoughts of him."

"Huh?"

"Seriously. I thought about holding his hand and cuddling him and stuff like that. When I jerked off, I usually thought about guys on the football team or, just, like, regular guys that I knew. Sometimes a male teacher or something. My connection to Kurt was purely an emotional fantasy. There was no erotic component to it at all."

"Did you ever tell this guy that you thought you had feelings for him?"

"Yeah," Dave began with a nervous laugh. "Gifts and cards for a week from a secret admirer leading up to an elaborate Valentine's Day surprise dinner where I told him."

"Damn."

"Yeah, well, that began the worst couple of weeks of my life. Rejection from him. The whole thing was witnessed by one of the guys on the football team. I was outed at school a week later to the day. That was when I really felt like my life was over. Waking up in the hospital."

"How come?"

"Tried to kill myself."

"Geeze, Dave."

"I'm still here, though. That guy, okay, he would have been the totally wrong boyfriend for me, but he came to see me in the hospital, and he said that he was gonna help me, and he did. I'll always love him as a friend for that, unlikely as the whole thing was. By then, it was everything I could do to get my high school obligations finished and get out of that house and out of that town. My parents weren't getting along. It was toxic. I had one friend. I tried to make some others, but I really didn't fit in with the other guys my age."

"I'm sorry I dragged all of that out of you."

"Dude. Nobody was forcing me to say all of that."

"Some of it was pretty harsh."

"Okay, so I'm blunt. Life is better for me now."

The two were quiet for a time, broken when John's arms suddenly gripped Dave tightly for a moment, an involuntary reaction, a spasm triggered by a chill.

"You okay?" Dave asked.

"Yeah. I think it got a little cool in here."

Dave stirred, sitting up and reaching downward to the foot of the bed, retrieving a blanket, unfolding it, and spreading it over both of them.

"Well, we did go straight from the shower to the bed, and we did work up a sweat, but we've been lying here uncovered for a while. Now that we've cooled off, it does feel a little chilly."

As Dave settled back to the bed under the blanket, John returned himself to Dave's side, again resting his head on the front of Dave's shoulder, perhaps closer, tighter than he'd been previously.

"Even after I spilled my guts like that, you're okay with cuddling up to me?"

John sighed before answering, pressing himself against Dave for a moment.

"It was all stuff in your past. Happened years ago. You're not that person now."

"Yeah, I know."

"I remember you telling me not to stress about my past at one point, not to let it affect the way I related to other people. You, us specifically."

"Like we said before, though, you never know how somebody's going to react, even the people you feel pretty close to."

"Does that mean you feel pretty close to me?" John asked with an insulating edge of sarcasm.

"Well, you couldn't physically be any closer to me than you are right now," Dave answered, equally mordant. "Seriously, though, I told you some stuff I never told anyone else. Scoop doesn't know some of that stuff about me."

"Well, I can't imagine the circumstances under which you might tell your best straight friend some of that stuff."

"Seriously," Dave agreed, and they shared a chuckle.

"I think about how nuts I was the first couple of dates we had. And then that karaoke thing and how wrong it was."

"Don't stress on that. I honestly haven't thought about it since the night it happened, though the first couple of dates could have been easier."

"I'm such an idiot. I mean, you're so easy for me to talk to and be with, and I was making things difficult."

"Well, sometimes you get so excited or nervous or something, that it gets kinda hard to take..."

"You mean like earlier tonight when I wouldn't stop talking and start eating?" John interjected.

"Yeah, exactly like that," Dave agreed, snickering. "But, then, it's kinda endearing too. Seeing you get all excited like that."

"My anxiety is endearing. That's a new one."

"Naw, not exactly," Dave laughed again. "I could just imagine how it would look on you if you were all stoked to do something, like, I dunno, something you were really looking forward to doing, like, maybe going to a concert or planning a dinner for your friends or something. Seeing that nervousness turn into enthusiasm would be an amazing thing. Watching it on you would be an amazing thing."

John's face widened into an uncontrolled smile.

"If I'd have just let myself be myself the first couple of times we went out, it might have saved both of us some trouble."

"Yeah, but I can't be bothered with that," Dave offered. "This feels pretty good. If things had happened different at all, easier or not, we might not be having this time we're having right now."

"This is hard."

"What is?"

"Meeting people. Reacting to people. The dating thing. There are websites and books and all kinds of self-help stuff available to straight couples, people who will never have the kinda baggage that just comes with the territory of being queer. I mean, just being queer means that we've dealt with stuff that other people our same age will never have to deal with."

"Preaching to the choir. I told you about how messed-up my high school years were. Straight people would have never had to deal with that."

"And, for gay men, it seems like all of the self-help books are fashion primers. The closest thing we get to usable couples-information are websites which give tips on things like changing your diet to make your bodily fluids tastier."

Dave huffed a laugh. "I don't believe I've seen that one."

"You know what I mean, though. We gotta figure this stuff out on-the-fly. There isn't any rule-book or manual for gay dating."

"Well, then, maybe it's up to us to write one."

---

referenced song: "Pure Morning" by Placebo