| |
THE KEY HITCHED IN the lock two thirds of the way through the turn, but rotated silently as Ryan coaxed it open, sneaking into his own home. The dread at what he’d find occupied him the whole cab ride from Steven’s party.
The long hallway was dark all the way down to Ryan’s studio, but the kitchen blazed brightly. At the far end, Ben sat at the small dining table in the nook, head dropped, as Travis, red tie loosened and shirt collar open, stood behind him, digging his thumbs into the muscles where Ben’s shoulders met his neck. Time froze and made it a painting: a domestic tableau, two people obviously intimately acquainted, easing the day’s troubles before bed.
Like any Asian guy who dated a couple white guys, Ryan had been called a Potato Queen, but looking at Travis, the origin of the epithet made sense. Nothing bland about Ben: mahogany hair, pale-honey skin, warm eyes that glittered with Ben’s smile. But Travis was mid-western mashed potato bland. Attractive enough in a banal gay-magazine photoshoot kind of way, he had nothing in particular to recommend him beyond the frat boy jockish aesthetic that too many gay guys found appealing. Travis’s unremarkable ash-brown hair, too long to be clean cut, lacked the cool-guy commitment of Eli’s grunge style, and he affected a soul patch much worse than Eli’s three-day stubble. Parchment skin lined, as if Travis spent too much time in the elements. The cut of his suit and wide tie said he read GQ but managed only a tepid approximation of a hot guy. But Ryan was probably being too hard on Travis because his hands were proprietorially on Ben’s shoulders, mouth pinched between a self-satisfied smirk and disdain for Ryan’s sudden appearance in the kitchen.
“Hey.” Ryan dropped his keys on the counter but stopped a few steps into the kitchen.
Ben looked up, Travis’s hands stilled on his shoulders. Ryan’s anxiety veered wildly into anger. The limiting of bed partners by who they both knew well didn’t extend to Travis. Ryan barely knew him at all. By the strict letter of their rules, Ben was free to fuck Travis, even in this apartment, though it must be in the guest bed, not the master bedroom. Never before jealous of who Ben might fuck, that it was Travis made Ryan angrier. Ryan and Ben shared their conquests, either enjoying them together, or telling each other in great detail.
“Am I interrupting?” Ryan wanted to rip Travis’s hands off for touching Ben. “Should I go?”
“Travis was just helping me relax. Rehearsal wasn’t great.” Ben glanced back at Travis. “Everyone thought you left the party. Where were you?”
“I was unwillingly babysitting a drunk Jamie.” Ryan spoke directly to Travis, who saw him with Jamie.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I’m so tired I couldn’t take it. And Travis didn’t know anyone there after he saw you leave.” Ben started to stand, but Travis’s hands were still on his shoulders, so he sat back down.
“I didn’t leave. Until I heard you’d been there and gone.”
Travis’s innocent expression was more artificial than his slickly combed hair. “I wasn’t even sure it was you at first, and I didn’t see you again.” Travis stepped toward Ryan, hand out to shake like they’d just met. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk about your career tonight. Ben says you need help.”
Given Travis’s wide-eyed simper, what was there to say? Travis told Ben that Ryan left when he knew it was a lie, and now he wanted to smooth it over with a condescending offer.
Fatigue came in waves, threatening to collapse Ryan. He ignored Travis’s outstretched hand. “I’m not sure I’m at a point where I need your help.”
“Ben says you’re ready to show. Better to get it out there while Asian flavored things are still trendy.”
Ryan’s anger burned like coals at Travis’s vulgar, nasty comment. Ryan tried to smother it, waiting for Ben to get Travis the fuck out of his face.
“Think before you speak, Trav. Come on, unless you’re trying to be an asshole.” Ben stood, hand out to Ryan. “It’s late. We’re all tired. I’m glad you’re home.”
Once again inserting himself between Ryan and Ben, Travis said, “Sorry. Still trying to learn political correctness. We do things differently in New York. Hard to think when I’ve been so worried about you, Ben.” Travis’s gaze hit Ryan while a tiny smile flicked at the corners of his mouth. “Ben’s hospice shifts have been really rough. He’s hardly slept for worrying. I’m glad I was here to help around the house, make sure he ate.”
Ryan’s fire blazed higher. Flames surely flashed from his eyes at Travis.
Ben moved past Travis. “Let them know in New York that Asian isn’t a flavor.” Ben’s eyes were bluish underneath, sleep deprived. “Sunshine, let’s go to bed.”
“Up at seven?” Travis asked, unruffled, inserting himself again. “I’ll be up too. I’ll make sure there’s coffee for you in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Ben’s voice was gravelly with exhaustion.
Travis had been here for days alone with Ben, saying who knows what disgusting things. Chest smoldering with rage, Ryan didn’t check to see if Ben followed him to the bedroom.
◊
Ryan undressed slowly, listening for Travis to be done in the bathroom between the two bedrooms.
Neither he nor Ben spoke, unwilling to escalate to a fight. Ryan’s brain limped in exhausted circles, too weakened to remain angry. When Ben and Travis dated, they were together longer than Ben and Ryan had been so far, and they’d only broken up because they each took jobs in other cities. Distance separated them, not animosity, or even the diminished connection like between Ryan and Jamie. It’d be better if they’d broken up because Ben recognized that Travis was an asshole.
Rationally, Ryan saw no evidence of wrongdoing on Ben’s part. But never before in their relationship had Ryan been jealous of anyone touching Ben, despite watching plenty of people do intimate things with his boyfriend. Yet Travis’s chaste shoulder massage sent Ryan into unforeseen depths of jealousy.
Or was it simply that the tension lingered from last Sunday morning. The fight remained unresolved over a few weak phone calls and, now, still no time to talk it out.
Ben took off his socks. “Travis said you didn’t even acknowledge him at the party.”
Ryan closed his eyes. Took three breaths. Travis was the last thing Ryan wanted to discuss with Ben right now. Even in his depleted state, he didn’t want this stewing fury to get the best of him. “I didn’t recognize him.”
“Oh.”
“No, I vaguely recognized him. But I thought he was a forgotten hook-up of ours that was stalking me. To avoid him, I went into a corner with Jamie.”
Ben’s laughter rumbled. “Oh my god. Can I tell him that? He’ll hate it. Hilarious.”
The anger flaring in Ryan’s chest fizzled like a wet match. That Ben wanted to laugh at Travis for Ryan’s mistake meant the compass pointed the right direction again: Ben and Ryan against the world.
Tomorrow, another day of every normal thing keeping them apart. Ben leaving early for the office, Ryan following shortly after to spend eight hours smiling and balancing shoe boxes on outstretched arms. At the end of the day, Ben’s chorus would perform at Jamie’s benefit. Travis in there somewhere. When they finally got home, there wouldn’t be time or space enough to address the deadline closing in on their future and their home.
Ryan tried to return it all to normal. “Rehearsal sucked tonight?”
“It was a tire fire.”
Ryan repeated what Jamie said, if for lack of anything clever. “That means it’ll be great tomorrow, right?”
“That only works for high school musicals. Tonight, everyone was being a drama queen. I hope we have it all together tomorrow.”
Ryan chucked his shirt in the general direction of the closet. So natural, so easy. Talk about the everyday things. Kiss and make up. Curl close to Ben, the way he’d been desperate to do for days. He sank down on the edge of the bed next to Ben.
“The world got weird, so we never connected this week. We need to talk about the apartment. I don’t know the details. Price or anything.”
Ben sighed. “We need to talk about the fight. The money doesn’t matter.” He waved a hand. “We can figure that out. We need to talk about the fight, because buying the apartment is about commitment. We both need to be one hundred percent in, if we’re going to do it.”
Ben’s words took Ryan right back to the Sunday fight.
“I’m in, but you can’t handwave away the money. I want to live happily ever after, but for that happen, you need to understand what I need.”
“I know you want to contribute, but is that going to affect your art?” Ben’s voice was a rough hush, asking as gently as possible.
The tension at the base of Ryan’s skull turned to a buzzing vibration. “I’ll figure out how to master the skills I need and find the money we need. But it won’t look like your model of making art just to sell. What I do with my art isn’t negotiable.”
“I didn’t mean—well, if I can help in any way, just ask me.”
Bone-deep fatigue settled in. Ryan yawned. “I don’t know what you could do.”
The words hung between them for a minute.
“Sorry.” The word echoed hollowly. Ryan had said it so many times, it lost all meaning. “I’m too tired to have this conversation right now. I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
“No more trying tonight. We both need sleep.” Ben stroked long lines of comfort down Ryan’s back.
Ryan nodded.
It was quiet behind the bathroom door, but Ryan knocked before opening it. He brushed his teeth quickly, shucked the rest of his clothes, and climbed into bed.
Ben, silent, turned off the light and crawled in on his own side of the bed, stretching, his spine cracking. “Good night, Sunshine. I’m glad you’re home,” he whispered. Under the covers, he searched for Ryan’s hand, twining them together, forearms pressed, palms, fingers threaded.
The connection jolted through Ryan, rousing in him an urgent need to put his hands and mouth where Travis’s had been, recently or long ago; it didn’t matter, Ryan wanted to erase any memory of any lover’s touch except his own. Not devoted passion. This was dark, rotten with jealousy.
Ryan skimmed his hands Ben’s body, lips pressing into the curve of Ben’s neck.
“I’m so tired.” Ben angled to brush his lips across Ryan’s before rolling over. “If we make it through tomorrow, through the benefit concert, I’ll make it up to you. But now we sleep. I love you.” The last words mumbled, Ben’s body went slack as he settled against the mattress.
Ryan curled next to Ben, chest pressed to Ben’s shoulder, pelvis thrust against Ben’s hip. Between them, their fingers were still entwined. Ryan held on as tightly as he dared to keep from waking Ben. Ben’s skin against his, the pulse underneath it, grounded Ryan back to a calm that hadn’t existed since Eli popped up in the art supply store.
“I want everything back to the way it was before.”
Out into the universe like the prayers of his youth. Please, fix this thing I don’t know how to fix myself, whispered into the space between their bodies.
“There is nothing in the past that we can’t make better in the future.”
Ryan didn’t know if Ben said it or if he only dreamed it as sleep clutched at him, finally dragging him into oblivion for the first time in days.