Perchance to Dream
Disclaimer: See prologue
Summary: Stan finds out what Matt's been up to on the phone.
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Elsewhere IV
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7:24
I've been staring at my alarm clock for the last half hour. Matt wanted to be gone by seven. That's when he said the thing wherever the hell it is starts. And yet, I'm waiting on him. He's probably got somebody's dick in his mouth, though, and he can't really keep track of time when he's in the middle of sex. I've called him a couple times, no answer, of course. I've been dressed since 6:45. I figured since it's a bar, I could go casual, but since it's a gay bar, I should probably do a bit better than Goodwill jeans and a knockoff Rolling Stones tee shirt. So I decided to go with Wal-Mart jeans and a Buffs tee shirt I got at Orientation. Hopefully, I won't be hit on, but maybe I can talk Matt into pretending to be my boyfriend. Doubtful, since he'll probably be casing the place for a lay. Thankfully, I've got a photo of Bebe in my wallet. I'll use it if I have to.
7:46
Key in the lock. It's gotta be him. The door swings open and admits Matt, who is looking rather satisfied.
"I'm not even going to ask," I say, rolling my eyes.
"The desk receptionist who was on duty when we went to dinner," Matt answers anyway. "Don't worry, I only blew him…this time." I sigh, exasperated.
"Warming up?" I ask, somewhat sarcastically.
"Oh Stanny, you should know by now I'm always ready to go…I don't need to warm up," Matt replies, waving at me dismissively. "Now…what to wear? I can't wear this, it's got a stain," he says, turning his attention to his closet and stripping out of his Abercrombie shirt. I sigh and turn on my TV, choosing to watch MTV instead of Matt standing around half-naked mulling over his outfit.
8:12
Is he ever going to just pick a Goddamn outfit!? I swear to God, he's gone through five different clothing arrangements.
"I thought you wanted to be there an hour ago?" I ask, looking at him quite exasperated. "Is it that important whether or not you wear a polo with your emo jeans? It's a bar, for Christ's sake!"
"It's a gay bar, Stanley! My people understand and care about looks! Besides, he'll be there for at least another hour. He knows how I am, and understands the concept of patience." I raise an eyebrow.
"Matt, you look fine. Honestly, it doesn't really matter what you wear, plenty of guys aren't going to be looking at anything but your ass."
"I think you're learning, Stan," Matt says with a grin. "OK, fine, let's go. I'll give you directions to the place."
"We're taking my car?" I ask, uncertain. "Dude, you know my car is a piece of crap. Let's take yours. I'll just catch a cab or something."
Matt shrugs. "OK. If you wanna ride in the purple Toyota pimpmobile…"
"Don't worry, I'll slouch so I can't be seen."
"That's my blustery homophobic roommate," Matt says, patting me on the back. "C'mon."
8:24
The place has a fairly generic name. Pretty gay generic name, but "Hardwood Pub" is a lot better than "Sparkling Rainbow Bar," at least to me. I almost wish I had a mask, or fake glasses or something just in case I know somebody in here besides Matt.
"Beer first, then I'll introduce you, OK?" Matt says, pocketing his keys, which stick out like a bulge in his tight jeans.
"Fine. I think I'm going to need more than a little liquid courage to get through tonight," I mutter. "Lead on, Liberace." Matt glares, but opens the door anyway and leads me to the bar. At least the place is well lit, so I'll know if somebody gropes me.
"Any particular brand you want?" I ask. "Or should I just ask for what's on tap?"
"Sam Adams," Matt says. "It's always a good decision."
"We need to get you to try different beer," I reply with a grimace. "OK, wait here, I'll be right back." Matt grabs a seat at a small table while I head to the bar.
"21?" the shirtless (of course) bartender asks. I pull out my ID saying yes indeed I am and hand it over.
"OK," he replies, glancing at it and handing it back. "What do you and your boyfriend want?" I wince inside hearing him call Matt my boyfriend, but decide to roll with it.
"Sam Adams for him, and I'll have a shot of whiskey, a scotch on the rocks, and a Coors," I say. The more liquor for me tonight, the better.
"Coming right up." He sets a tray on the counter, uncaps a Sam Adams, pours a shot glass of whiskey, a glass of scotch over ice, and uncaps a bottle of Coors.
"Thirty bucks." I scowl and toss over two twenties, and he hands me a ten back from the register. I do the whiskey shot even before taking the tray to Matt.
"Feel the burn?" he asks as I hand him his beer.
"You owe me seven bucks." The burn from the whiskey feels good. So does the burn from the scotch. So does the warmth in my stomach the alcohol makes. So good, in fact, I actually manage to chug the beer.
"Let's get this over with," I mutter, my eyes roving around the place. "A couple of these guys are ogling me, and I don't like it. That bartender thinks you're my boyfriend."
Matt finds this funny, giggling while he sips his beer.
"It's not funny, jackass," I grouse. "Hurry up."
"Fine, fine," Matt says, and tosses back the rest of his beer expertly. He gets up, and I follow, as he leads me towards a dark room.
"The musical acts are back here," he says, pushing open the door. I hear an acoustic guitar just then, which either means this room is soundproofed, or that he's just starting a new song. The room is dark, but there's a spotlight on the performer onstage. I look up there, expecting to see a younger guy, blond or brown hair playing some Elton John or Billy Joel or some gay shit like that.
Instead, my blood begins to boil and I clench a fist as I see Kyle goddamn motherfucking Brofagski standing up there strumming a guitar the same color as his hair like it's nobody's business. Then he starts singing, and he stares right at me, I swear. He looks straight at the door, and straight at me. I'm going to kill Matt. Those two cocksuckers plotted this. It all makes sense now, at least. He hung up immediately because he figured I'd be able to identify Kyle's voice. I don't even wanna know how he got the number to the dorm, or how he was able to talk Matt into tricking me into going here, all I wanna know is who I'm going to get to give me an alibi for tonight, because somebody's going to die for this.
I'm not a perfect person, Kyle begins, and I die a little inside, because first of I know he's singing to me, and secondly because it's fucking HOOBASTANK, of all bands.
There's many things I wish I didn't do
But I continue learning
I never meant to do those things to you
And so, I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know
I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you
At least he can sing. I mean, it's still kinda hard on the ears, but Kyle at least knows how to carry a tune. He looks like a douchebag with his eyes closed, like the fucking guitar is sucking his cock, but he's still looking in my general direction.
I look over to Matt. "I want to leave now."
"Wait til the end," he says, his eyes on some tall dark and handsome thing in the corner. I scowl and return my attention to Kyle, who's starting the second verse.
I'm sorry that I hurt you
It's something I must live with everyday
And all the pain I put you through
I wish that I could take it all away
And be the one who catches all your tears
That's why I need you to hear
I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you
And the reason is you
And the reason is you
And the reason is you
God, this is so gay. I'm trying to be calm here, but I can't help thinking somebody is going to rape me. Probably Kyle, since he's looking at me with a pathetic pleading impression. I think he wants me to think that he's not a douchebag anymore, that he's sorry for everything he's put me through, and wants me to forgive him so we can live a life of him putting it in me 'til we both die of syphilis or AIDS or some other terrible disease.
I'm not a perfect person
I never meant to do those things to you
And so I have to say before I go
That I just want you to know
I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you
I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you
The crowd predictably applauds and whistles and other forms of congratulatory fellatio (figurative, not literal, fellatio, thank God). Kyle bows and looks at me. I scowl and stalk forward, grabbing the guitar out of his hands and staring him down. The chords come from memory, as I was practicing this song close to the end of High School just in case he bothered me at the shop again.
Here we are, dear old friend, you and I drunk again.
Laughs have been had and tears have been shed; maybe the whiskey's gone to my head:
But if I were gay, I would give you my heart;
and if I were gay you'd be my work of art;
and if I were gay, we would swim in romance, but I'm not gay
so get your hand out of my pants.
It's not that I don't care – I do – I just don't see myself in you.
Another time, another scene, I'd be right behind you -if you know what I mean.
'Cause if I were gay, I would give you my soul;
and if I were gay, I would give you my whole…being.
and if I were gay, we would tear down the walls
but I'm not gay, so wont you stop cupping my…hand.
Finished, I throw the guitar back at Kyle and stalk off. Nobody impedes my progress on the way out, not even Matt. I'm halfway across the parking lot before somebody grabs me. I'm spun around and find myself face to face with that red-headed devil himself.
"Hi," he says, quite simply and quite stupidly.
"Hi, assface," I reply.
"We need to talk," he says.
"We can talk right here," I reply. Of course, Kyle's not really one for airing his grievances in parking lots, or any public place. Not to mention, the place is probably monitored by security cameras, so he can't really do anything to "convince" me to see his point of view/come over to the fabulous side. Unless, of course, he wouldn't mind being open to battery charges, or coercion, or rape…
"In private," he clarifies. "I'm not talking to you here, there's a camera right on that light pole."
"Where's private, jackass? I'm not riding to Fort Collins to talk to you."
"You don't have to. I have a hotel room just across the street."
"Days Inn?" I ask, looking skeptically across the road. "Fucking cheapskate."
"Funny," Kyle sneers. "Just c'mon."
"What about Matt?"
"I saw him dragging that black guy he was ogling towards the bathroom. I think he'll probably be … occupied for the rest of the evening." Goddamnit. He would do that, and give me no way back to campus. Of course, he's probably taking the guy to our room anyway, so I don't want to be there, but still…he's left me here with KYLE.
"Fine," I mutter. "But no funny business. Just talking."
Kyle says nothing, just heads off towards the road. Of course, being nine p.m. on a Friday night, it's a little busy, so we have to wait ten minutes before we have a chance to cross. I follow him silently across the street, across the hotel's parking lot, through the hotel lobby, into the elevator, and down the hall to his room.
Once he shuts the door and throws the deadbolt, I speak up.
"What the fuck do you want to talk about?" I ask.
"The same thing I've been trying to talk with you about since February," he says. "You and me."
"There is no me and you," I growl. "Just like I've fucking told you every time you've brought this up, you dropped me like a hot potato with cancer three years ago. You can't just walk in and say 'Oops my bad,' and expect me to just fall into your goddamn arms like the last three years never happened."
"You can't be fucking serious," he says. "There's no way there's not one part of you, no matter how small, that regrets the fact that we were apart for all those years. Now, I'll admit, I did a very stupid, very selfish thing by forcing you away, but I was fifteen, just discovered I was gay, and I was scared as hell! Sure, I should have been honest with you and maybe this wouldn't have happened, but fifteen-year-old me didn't want to risk being rejected at all. Turns out all I did was prolong it four years, and I've been kicking myself when everybody else hasn't for losing that time with you for nothing."
"Why the fuck do you think I wouldn't have kicked you out of the group myself for being gay for me?" I ask. "I wasn't any more open to gay advances then than I am now."
"Stanley," Kyle says, putting on his serious face, "if you weren't open to gay advances at all, there's no way I would have been able to kiss you once, much less the two times I've managed it, and neither time have you objected until after five seconds."
"You fucking ambushed me both times!" I object.
"If you weren't looking to be gay-kissed on any level, you wouldn't have left yourself open for ambushing!" Kyle retorts.
"The whole definition of ambush is an unexpected, unanticipated, out-of-the-blue attack!" I reply. "There's no way to not leave yourself open for an ambush, except for turning into Tweek, and my life sucked enough with out that, thank you very much!"
Kyle flops onto the bed and buries his head in a pillow to scream in frustration.
"I'll make you a bet," he says, rolling over. "You give me one roll in the hay, and I'll prove that you're gay for me back."
I quirk an eyebrow. It sounds like an utterly ridiculous bet, because it would involve actually submitting to Kyle and letting him fuck me. The rational part of my brain says to tell Kyle "Hell no!" and leave.
Instead, I set a condition of my own: "And if you don't prove it, you'll drop this and leave me the fuck alone?"
"If you truly, truly hate it, I will drop it and leave you the fuck alone," Kyle promises. Before I can stop myself, I'm kicking off my shoes and reaching for my belt.
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Notes: Aren't I a bastard? Well, before y'all try to hunt me down for making you wait two months and then teasing you like this, let me explain that I'm going to finish this during finals week, which is roughly three weeks from now. The next chapter will start with the aftermath of this scene, and I will put the scene itself up on dA between now and then.
The reason you've been waiting this long is because I'm a lazy bastard and I'm sorry for that. I planned on writing this during my Spring Break, which was the week of St. Patrick's Day (about a month ago). Unfortunately, the way Break shook out, I did not have the chance to do so. Blame the NCAA basketball tournament, a crap-tastic home computer, and an uncooperative car.
See you again in a few weeks,
Phoenix II