What had once been a weekly tradition of Sidney and Dawsey going out for coffee before lunch on a Sunday had recently become something much sadder and far more pathetic. Like clockwork, asĀ heādĀ done for the last 4 Sundays, Sidney found himself nursing a now-cold Cappuccino as he glanced around the bustling cafe, delusion thick in his chest as he hoped his best friend might make a sudden, unprompted appearance this time.Ā HeādĀ chosen the exact same table every weekend; A window seat, exposed to the low, Autumn sun, in clear viewĀ of the entire shop. There was no chance Dawsey might miss him then. If he everĀ showed up.Ā
Shoving his mug away and across the table, his gaze landed on a gaunt looking guy across the room, partially obscured by one of the few booths inĀ A Novel Idea. They were usuallyĀ a pretty hot ticket, asĀ seatingĀ went. It was rare to see one personĀ monopolisingĀ a booth all on their own, tucked away in the vast confines thatĀ couldāveĀ made forĀ aĀ cosyĀ space for a larger group. The man in question was a little...Ā haunting,Ā so to speak. Not that Sidney was against fucking a guy he found a little scary.Ā HeādĀ fucked Lauren, hadnāt he? In a sense. And she was decidedlyĀ notĀ his type in the least. This stranger, though,Ā heādĀ been staring. Ever since Sidney had taken his seat, this guy had been watching him,Ā seemingly ofĀ the belief that his pointed glances were obscured by hisĀ cosyĀ little alcove.Ā
Resigned to the idea that Dawsey would not, in fact, be showing his face, he pushed up from his seat, letting it scrape along the floor before striding confidently across the cafe. Coming to a stop at the broody strangerās table, he tipped his head to the side, appraising him openly,Ā without insecurity.Ā
āDo I know you? I mean, you look vaguely familiar so I can only assumeĀ weāveĀ either fucked or fought,ā he mused, pressing his hands to the edge of the table, ass perky and poised to the air as heĀ bentĀ down to glean a better look at the man. āOrĀ both...āĀ
There was something familiar about him, that much he couldĀ ascertain. He justĀ couldnātĀ wrap his headĀ aroundĀ whatĀ it was exactly.Ā SurelyĀ heādĀ remember fucking the real life equivalent to Jack fucking Skellington?Ā HeādĀ have broken his silence around his sexuality far sooner if it meant recounting to Dawsey thatĀ heādĀ letĀ the Pumpkin King fill his hole. I mean,Ā whatĀ a brag. His memory was vague and blurry, filled withĀ bright flashes of a gay club and this certifiedĀ hottyĀ towering over him.Ā
āWait, shit. Do you follow me on insta?āĀ heĀ asked, lighting up as he recalled the vague follow request.Ā
