#jukebox fic

                The night of the outing arrived, and Tristan found himself fretting over his outfit in his bedroom mirror. He was sporting a teal Hawaiian shirt with a tasteful tropical leaf pattern on it, chartreuse shorts, and brightly colored socks sticking out of red high-top converse. He wasn’t going to win a “best dressed” competition by any means, but for him it was a lot of effort.

                He had never been a super fashionable guy—that was definitely Darius’ realm— but he hoped that he looked alright for the evening. It was as much peacocking as he could bring himself to do. The outfit hopefully said “Hey, I’m a fun guy! Super chill and laid back, just like someone on a tropical beach vacation! Please talk to me!”.

                The trick was figuring out how risqué he wanted to be. For him, such a decision came in the form of an obscenely scandalous choice of either buttoning up the top button of his shirt or leaving it open to expose some of his chest. He did and undid the thing several times, but simply couldn’t decide on the look. With a sigh, he gave up. It’s not like it’d make much of a difference, anyway.

                Tristan glanced down at his watch and made a noise of discontentment; it was later than he wanted it to be. Hastily he decided on leaving the shirt buttoned, then headed off down the hall toward their bathroom to collect Darius.

                Something small, circular, and black startled him on the floor, and he flinched back in surprise thinking that it was a spider. Quickly he realized that it was nothing more than one of Darius’ many elastic hair ties. Once his heart stopped racing, Tristan bent down and scooped it up. He figured he’d just toss it into the drawer by the bathroom sink, but something stopped him.

                He twirled the little band between his fingers and was reminded of the time that he had come back from class completely exhausted and down in the dumps. Things really hadn’t gone his way that day- he had multiple projects due that week, one of his professors had added onto that heap by giving him yet another tough assignment, and things in his personal life… weren’t great.

                He had flopped down on the living room couch and given up on the world for the night when something small hit and bounced off his shoulder- a hair tie. Across the room was Darius, leaning against the doorframe trying to play it cool and appear innocent.

                “You looked sad.” Darius observed. Tristan vented the situation to him, and Darius patiently listened, but after the fact he shot another hair tie at him. And another. And another. Apparently, he had squirreled away an entire handful.

                At first Tristan was irritated, and he almost snapped at Darius until he saw the playful smirk creeping across his friend’s face. Darius was playing with him, trying to get him to loosen up a bit and blow off steam. Tristan relented… Laughter was pretty good medicine.

                It wasn’t long before they were engaged in a full-on war in their apartment, complete with furniture flipped over to hide behind as shields as they flung elastic hair ties and rubber bands at each other. It was stupid, but it was fun, and it did in fact melt away Tristan’s stress, making it easier for him to later focus and buckle down to get through that hellish week of work.   

                He needed that now- extra strength to get through the night. It sucked to be on your own again. It’s not like he had dated Spencer for long, and he wasn’t really vibing with him much anyway, but it was the thought of being alone that scared Tristan. He wanted that safety. That stress relief. That companionship…

                Tristan slipped the hair tie around his wrist and quietly decided that it was a good luck charm for the night… A simple reminder that it was okay to let loose and have fun, even when things seemed hard. He was glad that Darius took the time to assure him of things like that.

                … Plus, Darius had a million hair ties anyway. He wouldn’t miss this one. Tristan could probably collect a whole sleeve of them if he picked up every one he randomly found around their house.

                The bathroom door was still shut. Really? Darius was still getting ready? They were going to the club, not the Met Gala. Tristan knocked.

                “Almost done!” Darius called.

                “Hurry up!” Tristan barked.

                The door lazily creaked open, revealing Darius messing with his eyeliner in the mirror.

                “Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know. Being beautiful takes time.”

                Tristan cocked his head to the side. Darius was hopeless. “The universe has given you all the time you needed and then some.” he said, and he meant it, especially when Darius turned around with a flattered twinkle in his eye.

                “Awww, thanks!” he chirped. He probably thought that Tristan was just being nice, but really, truly, Tristan thought that Darius Astor was one of the most beautiful boys he had ever laid eyes on.

                Tonight Darius looked like he would fit in at any goth-themed event in town, which really wasn’t too far from his normal MO aside from looking a little more rave-ready. He wore a cropped black tanktop that hugged his chest in all the right ways and showed off where defined abs would be if he exercised more. Fishnet sleeves trailed down his arms and ended at his black-painted nails. Tripp pants made for a striking silhouette that Darius didn’t often flaunt (he tended to be a skinny jeans guy most of the time), especially with all the bits and bobs dangling down. Those pants always cracked Tristan up- they were so over the top with their straps and chains. On the bright side, with all the resulting jingling, Darius would be hard to lose in a crowd.

                Darius really had nailed the look, right down to his accessories- a matching studded belt and bracelet, a spiked choker, a face full of tastefully spooky makeup, and of course his signature platform leather boots.

                As per usual, he was a vision. A gorgeous sight to behold. Every inch of him was flawless.

                Tristan stared. Man, maybe his stiffest competition for the night would be Darius. With looks like that, everyone would fall for him. After all, he certainly had Tristan’s attention.

                … Wait— O-oh… no… No. Not like that.

                No.

                No.

                Not again…

                Tristan tossed his head, physically shaking the thought away as if he hadn’t considered it a million times before. Fuck. No. He shouldn’t think about Darius that way. He shouldn’t.

                Luckily he was interrupted by Darius studying his look.

                “Ooh, tropical? That’s fun.” he said. “I love it, but why so conservative?”

                “Huh?”

                Darius tapped at his sternum, indicating the top button of Tristan’s shirt.

                Tristan shifted. “I wasn’t sure if I should open it or not. What do you think?”

                “Definitely unbutton it. Show off a little!”

                There really wasn’t much to show off, but Tristan didn’t need to be told twice. If Darius thought that was the better style, he’d listen. He undid his top, and the two were off.

                                              ***

                Even before getting inside, Tristan could tell that Dorothy’s was hopping. It was to be expected though, as almost any club on a Saturday night would be bustling. All the same, it really had been a while since Tristan had been there… he had forgotten just how crazy the crowds could be. Thankfully he knew that soon things would settle down as the masses split up either to sit and watch the drag show downstairs, or to head up to the club’s second story to dance. He and Darius hadn’t even gotten to the front door when he heard someone calling their names.

                “Tristan! Darius! Hey!!” he perked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Was that—?            

                A girl about Darius’ age bounded up to them, and the boys recognized her immediately: Cici, one of their closest friends, and Darius’ ex-girlfriend. Her long brilliant red hair popped against her sparkly lavender crop top and y2k-chic denim bellbottoms adorned with a stenciled-on star pattern.              

                “Oh hey!” Darius’ eyes lit up at the sight of her and he reached out and pulled her into a hello hug, then kissed her on the cheek in greeting. It was just a quick little peck, but all the same, Tristan pretended not to notice. Despite the two having broken up from their romantic relationship not too long ago, Darius and Cici were still close. Very close. That was fine… But like… did he have to kiss her?

                Cici didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and gave Darius a gentle shove back in response.

                “Careful,” she warned, though her tone was sarcastic and playful. “If you act like that then people will think we’re still together... Or worse: straight.”

                Darius flashed a cheeky grin, a mischievous look that could get him into trouble just as easily as it could get him out of it.

                “That’s bi-erasure.” he joked, and Cici shook her head fondly. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

                “Same as you, Lover Boy.” Cici replied. “I’m looking for my rebound. You can’t distract me. I’m the pan with a plan.” They both snickered.

                “Me? Looking for a rebound?” Darius scoffed. “Babe, there’s simply no replacing you.”

                Ah. They were flirting. They were broken up, yet they were still flirting with each other…

                Tristan instantly felt like a third wheel. His shoulders sank and he stared at the two of them, though he didn’t mean to watch so intently.

                Cici was a beautiful, loving girl, and he never was surprised that Darius had fallen so hard for her. She had only been a positive influence on him, and Lord did Darius need that when she first came into their lives. By some miracle, she had managed to mostly calm him down from his rebellious streak and really bring him out of his shell in a way that Tristan had never fully been able to. She was a bright light in Darius’ weird—and at the time, morose—world, and undoubtedly she had changed him for the better.

                Their relationship had been solid for ages, but over time cracks began to form. Small issues compounded, and after a while it became clear that they both had aspects of themselves that they wanted to improve upon or explore. Darius still didn’t fully have a handle on some of his self-destructive habits, and Cici began to realize just how much she was attracted to other women.

                There was no falling out or blowup that ended things, the two just decided that it was best to go at it alone for a while as they figured themselves out and grew up a bit. Maybe once they had lived a little more, they would find their way back together, but only time would tell.

                Despite the split being mutual, it wound up being a lot harder on Darius than he anticipated. Cici had been his longest romantic partner to date, lasting a few years. He missed her company in that respect but was thankful to still have her friendship and support. It was a relief that they were still so close, because Tristan figured that things would get super weird and awkward in the friend group if one or both of them suddenly decided to leave. Cici had been the one to bring them together in the first place; it wouldn’t be right to have her or Darius duck out over personal issues.  

                …

                But again, did he have to kiss her?

                Tristan’s ears felt hot, and he finally came to his senses enough to realize that he was still looking at the pair. He snapped back to reality just in time, because Cici turned her attention to him and stepped around Darius to give Tristan a hug as well. She always wanted to make sure that everyone felt welcome and seen.

                As he hugged her back and said his hellos, he prayed that she missed how flustered he was. And like… why? It made no sense for him to be so out of sorts, especially around her, but tonight he felt caught off guard by her presence. He really hoped it would just be him and Darius, but… the more the merrier he supposed…?

                The three of them headed inside, and it wasn’t long before they decided to go upstairs to check out the bar and dance area. Cici came and went, occasionally striking up chats with lonely-looking girls, but she and Darius kept meeting back up and getting lost in conversation. It was bugging Tristan, and he couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was how he felt like he disappeared when the two started talking, as if the wall swallowed him up and he was nothing more than a decoration in the background- ever present, but ultimately ignored. He really didn’t need that tonight.

                Eventually he gave up, resigned to the fact that Darius had been lost to the land of the ex. Whatever, they could catch up if they wanted to. Tristan had nothing against Cici, but he had his own priorities tonight and really didn’t feel like hanging around her. He hoped he wasn’t being rude when he excused himself to go grab a drink from the bar.

                “What would you like?” The bartender asked him.

                “A White Russian.” Tristan said bitterly, and the irony wasn’t lost on him. Frankly he also would have enjoyed Sex on the Beach. 

                Stop it, Tris. Stop it.

                The server slid his drink over. Maybe Tristan was going a little hard right out of the gate, but he didn’t care.

                As he sipped the cocktail, he scoped out the other clubgoers. There were plenty of cute guys around, but no one really struck his fancy or seemed like they were open to talking. To be honest, Tristan didn’t really know if he was, either.

                His vision kept finding its way back over to Cici and Darius, who were standing close together by the stairwell. Cici beamed and played with her hair while Darius busted up laughing at whatever she had just said.

                Tristan had seen them like that a thousand times before. Afterall, they had been together for years. Why, why, why then was it simply eating him alive tonight? It was so much easier to keep his feelings in check when Darius and Cici were dating, but Darius didn’t belong to her anymore.

                He didn’t belong to anybody.

                That was the problem.

                A song started playing from the DJ booth- something with an industrial sound as heavy as the thoughts pounding in Tristan’s mind.

                I don't wanna share this space                 I don't wanna force a smile                 This one girl taps my insecurities                 Don't know if it's real or if I'm spiraling

                Charlie XCX. Great music, great album. Horrible time for that particular song to play. Tristan forced himself to tear away his gaze and took a large swig of his drink. He needed to forget it. All of it. He needed to forget about the relationship that he so desperately wanted. He needed to forget how lonely he was. He really needed to forget—

                “Hey bud, how you doing?”

                Darius. While Tristan was lost in thought, he must have come over. The boy hopped up on the stool beside him, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous sparkle that implied that he had just said something cheeky and maybe a pinch irreverent. He must have sent Cici off with some smart aleck remark or groan-worthy pun. He was alone now, though.

                Tristan couldn’t look at him. “I’m fine.” he replied, not peering up from the glass in his hand.

                “Are you?” God, Darius was good. It was hard to hide anything from him. That was to be expected from your best friend, though, especially when Tristan was so horrible at masking. Darius leaned in a bit, studying him a little more intensely.

                Tristan ran his hand down his face hoping to wipe his expression clear of any sort of outward turmoil, then turned to look at him finally.

                “Yeah, I just…” he wasn’t quite sure where he was going with that sentence, trailing off and ending it with a sigh.

                Darius softened and gave him an understanding look. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

                What was he apologizing for? There was no way he could know that Tristan was thinking about—

                “But screw Spencer. You don’t need him.” 

                Right… Spencer… That was who Tristan was supposed to be upset about tonight. That was who he was supposed to be mourning. That was who he was supposed to want. It was so stupid and fake. So disingenuous…

                He took another sip of his drink, then nodded halfheartedly.

                “You’re right.” Tristan said “I don’t need him. I don’t— I dunno what I need.”

                'Cause I couldn't even be her if I tried                 I'm opposite, I'm on the other side                 I feel all these feelings I can't control                 Oh no, don't know why

                Darius reached out and lightly tapped the back of his knuckle against Tristan’s free hand, sending a tingling spark through him.

                “You can start with a friend.” Darius said, a gentle smile touching his lips.

                Fuck that smile. Fuck that confidence. Fuck that tenderness. It just made Tristan want him more.

                All this sympathy is just a knife                 Why I can't even grit my teeth and lie?                 I feel all these feelings I can't control                 Oh no, don't know

                Tristan was transfixed by Darius’ gaze. Those warm chocolate eyes held him captive, silently telling him that everything was going to be okay… or at least that’s what Tristan wanted to believe.

                “Y-yeah.” Tristan said at last, breaking eye contact. “Thanks.” he chugged the rest of his drink and set the glass down on the counter with a clink.

                “Any time, Tris. I’m here for you.”

                The two sat in silence for a minute or two, Darius peoplewatching and Tristan waiting for some sort of buzz. The song switched to something bouncier and fun, and Tristan noticed Darius nodding along to it absentmindedly.

                Fuck it. He’d shoot his shot.

                “Do you wanna dance?” Tristan asked timidly.

                Darius swiveled back around and regarded him fondly. He wasn’t much one for dancing on his own, but he’d indulge almost any of Tristan’s requests if he asked. He’d do a lot of things for Tristan that he wouldn’t do for anyone else.

                “You coming with me?” he asked.

                “Of course!” Tristan hopped up from his seat and reached out for Darius. His friend took hold of his hands and slid down after him, then they made their way over to the dance floor.

                The crowd’s energy was vivacious and undeniably electric- beautiful people were throwing their arms up in the air and shaking their cares away. It would be impossible to be sad in such company.

                The boys squeezed through the sea of dancers and made their way back to a corner of the room near the video screens. Tristan had intentionally led Darius away from the view of the bar and lounge area, so they’d be relatively hidden and hard to spot.

                Every thump of the bass from the speakers shook Tristan right through his chest, consuming his very being. It didn’t take long at all for him to lose himself in the beat, and his other senses were quickly hijacked as well between the lights spinning dizzyingly overhead, the fog machines, the blinking colors on the ground, the videos on the wall, the disco ball hanging from the ceiling…

                It was overwhelming. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t process anything. He couldn’t feel.

                It was perfect. Maybe he didn’t need that drink after all. Maybe he just needed to be here.

                A blast of the delicately scented fog belched from one of the machines and momentarily swallowed Tristan’s vision. The rest of the club disappeared entirely aside from the flashing colors in the mist. He was alone, but only for a second. Darius emerged, positioned right before him. He grinned as he shimmied back and forth to the music, an expectant look on his face waiting for Tristan to join him.

                Together they jumped, rocked, and hopped from side-to-side to the club classics being spun. During a more trancey song Darius closed his eyes and blissfully brought his head back, clearly enchanted by the rhythm. He was fully relaxed, something he rarely tended to ever be in public spaces. It was a lovely, dreamy scene.

                Another puff of fog hissed from the machine, enveloping the area where the boys were dancing. Once more the rest of the crowd faded away as a song that Tristan recognized came on. He had heard it once before and remembered liking it enough to Shazam it. He tried to recall the title. “Jenny” by… gosh, what was the band… “Studio Killers” or something?  

                Jenny darling, you’re my best friend                 But there’s a few things that you don’t know of                 Why I borrow your lipstick so often                 I’m using your shirt as a pillowcase

                Darius had opened his eyes and was peering at Tristan now, swaying back and forth and bobbing his shoulders up and down to the beat. Did he know the song, too? Their vision connected, and Darius took that as an invitation to move closer. He danced his way up to Tristan with a goofy expression clearly meant to make him laugh, especially when paired with his silly, exaggerated dance moves. It worked, Tristan cracked up during the chorus, entirely missing the words as he twirled in a circle and made his own wacky motions, trying to get Darius to laugh back.

                Jenny, darling, you're my best friend                 I've been doing bad things that you don't know about                 Stealing your stuff now and then                 Nothing you'd miss, but it means the world to me

                During the second verse they were so wrapped up in their lighthearted dance battle that neither was fully aware of just how close they were getting. Before they knew it, they were touching each other. It started with Darius making a very serious expression, grabbing Tristan’s hand and lacing his fingers through his, bringing it up, and staring deeply into his eyes.

                “Dance with me, Lyubimyy.” he purred in a deep, overly dramatic tone. In the blink of an eye Darius’ other hand was on the small of Tristan’s back, and he dipped him backwards like they were entangled in a passionate tango. Tristan yelped in surprise but trusted that Darius wouldn’t drop him. They both were laughing as Darius hauled him back up. The boy was ridiculous.

                Another blast of fog hid the rest of the club from view. It was just the two of them again, or so it seemed. Tristan and Darius. The only two people in the club. The only two people in the entire world.

                Tristan answered Darius’ moves by grabbing his hips and pulling him in close. Darius’ face lit up with a playful glee, and he took the hint, wrapping his arms around the back of Tristan’s neck. They swayed and grinded against each other as the chorus played once again.

                I wanna ruin our friendship                 We should be lovers instead                 I don’t know how to say this                 ‘Cause you’re really my dearest friend

                Tristan heard the words that time, and his eyes went wide. Oh shit. That was why he remembered liking this song. Darius didn’t seem to notice his panic though- his eyes slipped shut and he pressed his forehead against Tristan’s to catch his breath, knowing that he wouldn’t mind.

                Darius was hot and sweaty, but he was right; Tristan didn’t mind. Not one bit.

                Gingerly Tristan raised a hand up and cupped the side of Darius’ face in a gentle action that he could have easily played off as a caring caress to comfort his winded friend. Darius leaned into the touch with a pleasant grin.

                The blonde held his breath. He wanted to kiss him so badly.

                Jenny, take my hand                 'Cause we are more than friends                 I will follow you until the end                 Jenny, take my hand                 I cannot pretend                 Why I never like your new boyfriends                 Oh, your love for them won’t last long

                Darius’ arms had returned to his sides, and Tristan grabbed one of his hands, then brought it up to spin Darius out and away from him. Darius followed the motion, fully into their continued masquerade game.

                Forget those amigos                 Oh, your love for them won't last long

                Darius wound himself back in and spun into Tristan’s embrace.

                Forget those amigos                 Forget those amigos

                The beat picked up again and Tristan let go, then the two fully broke apart and gave each other some space again, jumping and going all out for the end of the song.

                I wanna ruin our friendship                 We should be lovers instead                 I don't know how to say this                 'Cause you're really my dearest friend                 Oh, your love for them won't last long                 We should be lovers instead                 Oh, your love for them won't last long                 'Cause you really are my dearest friend

                The song faded out and blended into Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck, Babe!”, a welcome break from the higher BPM stuff the DJ had been blasting for the last 10 or 15 minutes. Darius fanned himself with his palms and took a step back, that wonderful blissful look still plastered on his face.

                “Phew! Thanks Tris, that was fun! I think I need a breather, though.” He pulled a water bottle from one of his deep cargo pockets and guzzled it down, then checked his text messages. “Cici’s outside. I’m gonna join her to cool off. You wanna come?”

                Of course she was. Of course he’d be going to see her. Back to reality.

                “You go ahead, I’ll be there in a bit.” Tristan answered. “I’ve just gotta…” he pointed to the bathroom, and Darius nodded in understanding and gave him a friendly pat on the back.

                “Okay man, see you out there.”

                Darius turned and made his way to the stairs and once again Tristan caught himself staring, watching him leave as if he hadn’t seen him walk away a thousand times before.

                You can kiss a hundred boys in bars                 Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling                 You can say it's just the way you are                 Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

                There was a pang in his heart, and he felt like such a damn fool. He hated himself. He really did. He finally broke from his trance and made his way to the bathroom, silently cursing the Midwest Princess’ words as he blinked hard, trying to force back the tears that were welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t keep doing this. Something eventually had to give.

                Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe                 (well, good luck)                 You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

                                              ***

                Tristan descended the staircase down to the main floor and shuffled outside, figuring that Darius and Cici were most likely on the patio. As he rounded the corner, he spotted them, Darius lounging on one of the railings and Cici seated beside him at a table.

                The two were engaged in a conversation with one of the club’s drag performers, Steeple Towers- a very tall queen decked out in a gorgeous sparkly hot pink number, complete with a comically oversized bow on the back of her dress. Her cotton candy-esque wig was so poofy and enormous that it probably should have had a blinking light on top to warn airplanes to steer clear. 

                For a second, Tristan was too shy to approach. He had met several of the local drag performers before when they were their normal selves. Darius knew some of them from school and had even invited them over for dinner a time or two. They were all very kind, sweet guys and loved trading makeup tips and tricks. But man, when they put on their drag personas it was like they were different people. Fierce, confident, scary… not frightening, just scary in how incredible and otherworldly they were. It blew Tristan away how someone could be so well put together and perfect that they were intimidating.

                How cool it would be to have even a shred of that fun, unapologetically outgoing personality…

                He took a step forward but spotted something that he really didn’t like- between Darius’ fingers was a lit cigarette. With utter disdain, Tristan watched as the smoke curled up toward the sky. Ugh. Darius hadn’t indulged in that vice for quite a while.

                Cici had an equally disapproving look on her face, watching judgmentally as Darius took a long drag of it. She had been the one to spearhead the campaign to make him quit, and all of their friends had joined in the journey to help him along the path.

                Darius saw her staring and grinned innocently with the stupid object between his teeth.

                “I love you!” He tried, but Cici shook her head. He withdrew the cigarette and blew the smoke straight up into the air like a chimney, then snuffed the thing out on the railing without it even being half spent. “Fine, fine. Don’t give me that look…”

                Cici’s face melted into a satisfied expression, but she turned to Steeple and crossed her arms.

                “I told you not to enable him, damnit!” she chided. Steeple threw her hands up as if being accosted by a cop, but she was still playing her saucy character.

                “Arrest me then, officer! I’m only guilty of giving this cutie pie what he wants.”

                It was a funny scene. Tristan should have wanted to join in and play along. He should have wanted to take a seat and chat with them in the nice evening air. He should have been enjoying himself tonight… but he couldn’t get up the nerve to go over.

                He felt that same pang in his heart and tried to figure out why. Was it the pain of seeing Darius hurt himself again by smoking? Or was it once again seeing him with her…?

                ‘I love you!’ Darius had said in that cutesy voice that begged “Don’t be mad at me!”. He said stuff like that all the time to get out of trouble.

                But he had said it to Cici, and once, he did love her.

                … God, was he ever gonna stop?

                Tristan clenched his fists. This wasn’t healthy. He shouldn’t be thinking about Cici like that, like she was “the other woman” or something. Competition. She wasn’t.

                No… he wasn’t.

                There wasn’t a contest. He wasn’t in the running. He never had been in the running. Darius had been hers for years. Tristan had been fine with it then. Why was it now that he was suddenly so…

                So…

                … so fucking jealous?

                With a frustrated noise in the back of his throat he spun on his heel, turning and making his way back inside. He had to get out of there. He didn’t want to hate Cici. He didn’t hate her. He couldn’t. He hated himself. He hated himself and his stupid fucking crush and how he couldn’t ever, ever let it go. Why was it flaring up so badly tonight?! Jesus!!

                As he reentered the building, he heard that “Mr. Brightside” was playing. Of course it was. Tristan wished that it all would fucking end.

                If Darius could indulge in one of his unhealthy vices, Tristan would, too. He plopped down at the bar and ordered two Skittle shots. At least that was one surefire way to taste the rainbow tonight. He slammed the drinks back and shuddered at the vodka's sting, then took a long deep inhale through his nose and buried his face in his hands, trying to get a grip on himself.

                “Boyfriend trouble, eh?”

                Tristan peeked out and over to where the voice came from, a little way down the bar. A man sat there, a big burly guy jacked to all smithereens with close cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a sort of military look going: a tank top, camo pants, and big heavy combat boots. Man, what did this random older guy care? … But Tristan supposed he could chat with a stranger for a bit anyway. Maybe it’d help him calm down.

                “Something like that.” Tristan said miserably. “He’s not my boyfriend, though, just—” he sighed and lowered his head again, eyeing the menu on the table in search of his next drink selection.

                “Ya wish he was.” The man said knowingly.

                Tristan sat silently, now staring at nothing, but eventually he nodded smally.

                “Hey, it’s rough.” The man said. He had a country drawl that somehow disarmed Tristan. The guy could be spewing pure bullshit, but with an accent like that, it was hard to believe that he would be capable of saying anything unkind. “Some guys ain’t worth the heartache.”

                “I feel like he is.” Tristan picked at the hair tie on his wrist. “It’s stupid, but I’d go to the ends of the Earth for him if he needed me to.” He took a beat, his dewy-eyed expression dissolving back into full on sorrow. “Love is stupid. It’s so fucking stupid and unfair. I hate it.”

                “You should stay away from him.”

                “What?” Tristan couldn’t help but look back up at the guy. That advice felt like it came out of left field.

                “You're only gonna get hurt if ya don’t.” The man said.

                Tristan frowned. “He wouldn’t do that intentionally.”

                “Of course not. But is he tryin' to hurt you now?”

                “… Well, no…”

                “And are ya feelin' hurt anyway?”

                Tristan dropped his gaze.

                “Trust me kid, cut ties now for your own good. It’ll be a lot easier on you that way when he’s not around anymore.”

                ‘When he’s not around anymore’? Geez, that was pessimistic. The drawl didn’t cover up bleak sounding things after all. This dude must have seriously been burned by past relationships to instantly assume that someone would leave, not could. Darius wouldn’t just up and disappear someday… right? Their friendship was solid. Even if things got awkward, they could work it out.

                Perhaps the guy meant something else though… Darius not being around in the future… it hurt to think about, but they were nearing the end of college. Despite both being from the same town, they probably would have to part ways eventually for their careers. That didn’t mean the friendship needed to end, but things weren’t going to be the same once they moved out and were no longer roommates.

                ‘When he’s not around anymore’… Ugh… How would Tristan handle that? It would be a sad goodbye, that’s for sure. He hoped that they’d keep in touch and maybe see each other a few times a year if they were lucky.

                Tristan scrunched up his nose, not wanting to think about it anymore. Hopefully that was a long way off in the future still… No need to dwell on it now. Darius wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. They’d just have to make the most of whatever time they had left together… to live it up while they still could.  

                The man seemed to notice Tristan wrestling with that idea; his face gave it away.

                “Look, you're an innocent, nice fella.” The guy said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt.”

                Tristan lightly chuckled at that. This stranger didn’t know him at all, but it was nice that he still wanted the best for him.

                “Thanks.” Tristan said quietly. He had no intention of cutting Darius out of his life, but hey, free advice was free advice, even if he wasn’t going to follow it. The guy only seemed to mean well.

                The man tipped his head and went back to nursing his beer. Tristan sat quietly and stewed in thought.

                Suddenly there was a commotion from outside: a high-pitched shriek, a loud and angry yell, the sound of a scuffle, then more shouting and screaming. Tristan sat up and craned his neck to get a look, moving to hop off the barstool when Darius stormed through the front door clutching his face with one hand and waving Cici and Steeple off dismissively with the other.

                “Are you fucking insane?!” Steeple shrieked, her heels clicking loudly against the wood floor as she followed him. “You could’ve been killed!”

                “I got your fucking bow back, didn’t I?!” Darius snapped.

                “He was an asshole, Dair! Just some fucking loser! I much rather would have preferred for him to walk off with it than for you to get hurt! How could you be so stupid?!”

                Cici ran over to the counter and frantically asked the bartender for a first aid kit.

                “What’s going on?!” Tristan exclaimed. Cici turned and relief flooded her face when she noticed him.

                “Tris! Oh, thank God! Darius, he… Stupid idiot! There was this guy—”

                “Is that blood?!” Darius had finally gotten close enough for Tristan to see him in the dim light. His roommate blew past on the way to the bathroom, too distracted to see him.

                “Some jerk on the street was harassing us… Darius went after him and there was a fight, and, and—” Cici was tearing up, the fright suddenly catching up to her. “I didn’t know what to do! It all happened so fast, I—”

                Tristan caressed her upper arms and tried to calm her down.

                “Hey, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Cici. I’ll go help him.”

                Cici threw her arms around him, and Tristan felt like a complete idiot. All night he had been vilifying her and feeling horribly jealous as if she wasn’t like a sister to him. She loved and trusted him, and now she was vulnerable and scared and chose to come to him for comfort.

                How could he have been so heartless?

                She was trembling. Tristan returned her embrace and gently rubbed her back, lingering in the hug for longer than he originally intended, hoping that she’d feel better. She needed this. Maybe he did, too.

                Cici straightened with a sniffle and handed him the first aid kit that the bartender had slid over.

                “Thanks Tris… You know how he is… I just—”

                She worried. So did he. They had this conversation before as two of the people who knew Darius the best. The guy could be bullheaded and impulsive, rushing into almost anything—even something dangerous—to help someone that he thought needed it. A self-sacrificing dumbass who occasionally leaped before he looked.

                Again, Tristan felt so foolish. He had shared many late nights with Cici where they had deep, heartfelt talks, even without Darius around. She was one of his closest friends, too; that was how he knew exactly what she was feeling and thinking in the moment. Boy did he feel terrible.

                “It has to be you. I can’t go in there.” Cici sobbed. Almost on cue, Darius shut the men’s room door behind him.

                Tristan stood and the world swayed. Fuck, the shots! Not now… not now! What a horrible time for them to kick in! He steadied himself against the barstool and flashed Cici as confident of a smile as he could muster, praying that he looked sober enough that she wouldn’t worry. He focused extra hard on walking straight and hoped that he was nailing it.

                In the bathroom Darius sat on the sink counter looking pissed off and ill-tempered as Steeple patted at his wounds with a wet paper towel. Darius shoved her hand away.

                “Knock it off! I’m fine. You’re gonna get blood on your outfit.” he complained.

                “I don’t give a shit, Darius. Shut up and let me help you.” she pulled the bloody paper towel away and tossed it in the trashcan.

                “I’ve got a first aid kit.” Tristan announced, holding up the supplies. Steeple gave him the same look of relief that Cici had. Darius must have been giving her a rough time.

                “Oh, thank God! I think it looks worse than it actually is, but still, let’s get him cleaned up.” Long manicured nails be damned, the queen dug into the box and ripped open a hand wipe, then reached for Darius’ face again, dabbing at a cut. Darius flinched away.   

                “Fucking stop it! That hurts!”

                Steeple looked exasperated and opened her mouth to snap back at him, but her thought was cut off by a tinkling melodic alarm.

                “Shit!” She reached between her fake bosoms and pulled out a cellphone, then shut off the alarm and checked the time.

                “The show’s about to start. I’ve gotta run… will you be okay?”

                Darius looked terrifying with the streams of red trickling down his face, even more so when he fixed Steeple with a deathly serious stare.

                “Get out there and be fabulous.” It was a threat. An encouraging one, but hostile all the same. “Do it for me.”

                Tristan gave the queen a proper answer. “I’ve got him. Thanks Steeple.”

                “Thank you Tristan.” Steeple turned and punched Darius lightly in the arm. “Don’t. be. stupid! And don’t be mean to this nice boy! He loves you just as much as I do! We’re your friends, you dick!” She rinsed her hands and grabbed her bow.

                Tristan’s throat bobbed. Just as much as Steeple loved him? Oh, no. No. Tristan loved him more. Far, far more.

                “Good luck. He’s still riled up.” Steeple whispered to Tristan, then set off to head backstage.

                Once she was gone, Darius deflated and bent forward, his defensive walls tumbling down. It was just him and Tristan now. He didn’t have to act tough and put up a brave front anymore.

                “Motherfucker…” he groaned. “Fuck, that hurt.”

                Tristan put a comforting hand on Darius’ knee.

                “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

                Darius peered up at Tristan, his face ragged and tired, though he forced a wry smile.

                “You should see the other guy.” He laughed darkly.

                Tristan scoffed, then took a moment to assess Darius’ condition. He was pretty roughed up. Blood trickled down his face and cemented clumps of his flowing black mane to his temple. Gently Tristan swept those out of the way, but the strands flopped back down again.

                “Here,” Tristan said, slipping the hair tie from his wrist. “put your hair up.”

                “My friend the Boy Scout.” Darius teased, taking the elastic and pulling his hair into a ponytail. “Always prepared…”

                “Shut up.” Tristan lifted a towelette, then carefully reached up to go over the cuts on Darius’ face and hands. Judging by the injuries, it seemed like he had been forced to the ground either from being pushed or punched.

                “What happened anyway?” Tristan asked.

                “We were sitting outside talking and some homophobic asshole came by and started slinging slurs.” Darius sucked in a sharp hiss with the sting of the wipe, but didn’t pull away. “He ripped Steeple’s bow off and started running, and I went after him. I don’t know who threw the first punch. It’s kind of a blur…”

                Tristan finished cleaning Darius’ wounds and pulled out a few band-aids. Luckily Steeple had been right: he wasn’t as bad as he looked, head wounds just tended to bleed a lot and look really dramatic.

                Darius watched Tristan studying him when he took a step back.

                “Is it bad?” Darius asked warily.

                Tristan tsked, his voice gentle.

                “I think you’ll live, idiot.”

                ‘Idiot’. He didn’t have to say anything more. The corners of Darius’ mouth pulled up slightly in a tiny, knowing smile. That one word expressed everything that Tristan was feeling regarding the whole situation. Darius knew him well enough to figure that out. ‘Idiot’, meaning something more along the lines of ‘How could you be so reckless? You care too much. You shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way, even if it was the noble thing to do for a friend.’

                Tristan was slow with bandaging up Darius’ hands, his movements a little unsteady. Darius took notice, especially when Tristan started swaying.

                “Are you okay?” he asked.

                “Yeah, I just… alcohol…” Tristan admitted. The multiple drinks were finally fully hitting him.

                Darius’ thick dark brows pulled into a frown. “How much more did you have?”

                “Two more shots… I’m fine…”

                “Yeah, okay. Come up here and have a seat with me.”

                The blonde finished dressing the wounds and sloppily tucked the remaining supplies back into the first aid kit. Clumsily he hopped onto the countertop next to Darius.

                “Thanks Tris.” Darius said, a pinch of embarrassment in his otherwise grateful tone.

                Tristan nodded heavily. “I agree with Steeple.” he replied. “Don’t be stupid.”

                Darius chuckled. “I try not to be as a general rule.” but they both knew that wasn’t always the case.

                Without looking at him, Darius leaned over wearily and rested his head on Tristan’s shoulder in an appreciative gesture. He must have been crashing from the adrenaline rush. Tristan tried to keep cool and bite his tongue, but the liquid courage in his system was making him… well, courageous.

                What would he even say in a moment like this? 'I love you, don’t you ever scare me like that again!'? 'Hey, could you stop flirting with your ex? You’re kind of killing me.'? 'Please promise you won’t ever leave me.'?

                Instead, he pressed his lips together and simply rested his head on top of Darius’. The two of them sat there for a moment in silence to recover from the chaos.

                The moment lingered on.

                And on…

                It was weirdly peaceful.

                “You know we can’t stay like this forever…” Darius finally mumbled.

                Tristan didn’t realize that he had closed his eyes until they were open again. Had he just taken a three second nap? His heart beat faster, his half-asleep, alcohol impaired mind trying to figure out what Darius meant. They couldn’t stay like this forever? What was he saying? Darius must be about to dump him as a friend. That was the only explanation. The guy at the bar was right. Tristan was convinced. In the span of a millisecond, Tristan spiraled. It was over. Their entire friendship was over. It had to be.

                “I’m not staying the night in a dirty club bathroom.”

                The flurry of paranoia swirling in Tristan’s brain stopped on a dime and his panic dissolved. Darius was right, this place wasn’t fit for them to stay in at all.

                “Mm…” Tristan nodded in agreement and groggily sat back up.

                “I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough clubbing for tonight. You wanna head home?” Darius asked.

                “Uh huh.” Tristan was woozy. It was a nice buzz, and his heart wasn’t aching as badly, but he was definitely done with the evening. Darius hopped off the counter, then helped him down, supporting him until he could stand better. Tristan collected the first aid kit and they moved toward the bathroom door.

                “You’ve gotta tell Cici you’re ok.” Tristan uttered. “She was really worried about you.”

                Darius' face fell. “Yeah… Well, that’s partially why she left me... Too scrappy. I sure did a great job of proving her point tonight.” His tone was bitter as he reflected on his own actions. Perhaps the breakup hadn’t been as mutual as Tristan initially thought.

                “You still love each other.” Tristan said. It was a statement, not a question.

                “Yeah, as friends.” Darius answered.

                “You mean you’re not trying to get back together?”

                “No. Of course not. What makes you think—”

                “Flirting.” Tristan blurted out. “You’ve been flirting with her all night.”

                Darius looked perplexed. “I’ve been flirting with everyone all night. Even you.”

                What little shred of sanity Tristan had left broke at those words, and temporarily he was speechless. His dumbstruck expression must have read, because Darius gave him a weird look. 

                Tristan wanted to ask a thousand questions- ‘How seriously were you flirting?’, ‘Was it just for fun, or are you actually romantically interested in me?’, ‘Is this a joke to you?’, ‘Are you trying to lead me on?’, ‘Do you know how badly something like that could destroy me?’ but all that came out was one simple word:

                “Why?”

                Darius shrugged.

                “Because I love you, Tris.” he said it so nonchalantly, like it was simply a matter of fact. There was no sense of gravity to the thought. It was light. Airy. Easy.

                Tristan was silent. Dead freaking silent.

                As a friend. Darius didn’t say it, but somehow, Tristan knew that was what he meant. Darius loved him as a friend. Nothing more. Clearly, he was still completely clueless as to how Tristan felt. He had to be. He wouldn’t just speak that sentiment so casually otherwise.

                All the same, Tristan’s insides felt warm.

                “I—”

                ‘I want to be with you.’, ‘I need you to know just how much I care about you.’, ‘I don’t ever want to leave your side.’, ‘I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead.’

                … Careful, Tris.

                “I love you, too, Dair.” Not even Tristan knew what level of intensity he was putting behind those words. He would never force something on Darius like that, no matter how badly he wanted it. It felt nice just to voice the thought out loud either way… to officially release it into the universe. 

                They loved each other. It didn’t matter in what capacity. At least now they both knew. 

                Darius beamed and wrapped an arm around Tristan’s shoulders to keep him steady.

                “I’m glad. Now let’s go home.”

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Previous | Next

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“Blessed Virgin prayer line, how may I help you?”

Laughter explodes from the other end of the phone. Julie pulls the receiver away from her face as the loud guffaws continue on the other line. A few of the other volunteers in the room glance at her, and Julie shrugs in response. She answered the phone the exact way they always do. From the corner of her eye she sees Tía watching her from across the room. Julie gives her a wide grin and firmly reattaches the receiver to her ear. 

“Holy shit — oh I probably shouldn’t say that, sorry — holy crap!” A soft baritone says on the other end. The guy sounds young, his voice smooth, his vowels rounded with a slight accent. 

“I just,” more laughter, and it’s so heartfelt Julie can’t help the way the corners of her lips curve just a bit, “I’m just honestly trying to decide if I’m more impressed or insulted right now.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow?”

Julie keeps her voice kind, the way she’s been trained to when working the prayer line. Usually it’s older folks calling in, either lonely or in poor health. Sometimes it’s a parishioner with an emergency, though ‘emergency’ can stem from a disagreement over a Bible passage to someone in a life or death situation who maybe should have called a different 24/7 phone line. This particular caller doesn’t sound familiar, which isn’t necessarily weird, but he does sound at least a bit confused, which definitely is. 

“Look,” he says after a moment, “I met a girl at a bar last night, and I asked for her number, and this is the number she gave me. I was trying to call her up to see if she wants to go out, but clearly she doesn’t.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound particularly upset about it. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been turned down before, but never by a church prayer line. That’s a new one. Do you think she was trying to send me a message?”

This time, Julie’s the one who can’t help but laugh. 

“What kind of message would making you call a prayer line be?”

“I don’t know, maybe that I need to have a come to Jesus talk? Oh, oh, I know! That I haven’t got a prayer with her! Damn, that’s actually pretty clever,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her she thinks. 

Julie can’t help but be amused at the thought of this girl passing out prayer line numbers, and she finds herself abruptly wondering how badly this guy was flirting. His voice, at least, is fairly charming. And so far he’s been a pretty good sport about the whole thing. Occasionally they’ll get an addict calling in that was given their number by someone claiming it belongs to a dealer in an ill fated attempt to help them get clean. Those callers are never this nice about the bait and switch. 

“Well, in that case, I’ll be sure to include you in our Sunday prayer requests,” Julie vows, just a hint of tease dancing along the edges of her words, slipping through the half curved smile she can’t seem to hold back. 

“Oh man, that’s a real thing? Like, people call you up to request a prayer for ‘Ol Boi in the sky to deliver on?”

Julie swallows the snort that threatens to burst out and forces her voice to remain cheerful and church approved. 

“Well sometimes, yes. Mostly people call in to pray together over the phone, but sometimes they want to be added to the Sunday list. Usually when it’s a really important prayer, or a really big one. Having the support of the congregation makes them feel closer to God.”

She doesn’t really know why she’s explaining this to him. Clearly he isn’t Catholic, and he probably won’t ever call the line again. Plus, despite what others may think, she doesn’t volunteer for the prayer line in an attempt to convert people. 

“Damn, who knew church could be so transactional. Oh shit, sorry, I probably shouldn’t say the d-word. Ya know, I’ve got a buddy that used to go to church, and he never mentioned anything about prayer lines or requests. And we totally coulda used some of those back in the day...”

His tone sounds genuinely bummed, but in a way that tells Julie whatever they would have prayed for back then is something this guy would do anything to obtain. She’s said that kind of prayer before, too. 

“Well, you’re here now. Could be as good a time as any to start. Is there something specific you’d like me to include in your Sunday prayer? You know, other than a plea for better game.”

“Hey now!” The guy laughs, surprised but not upset, “I’ve got plenty of game, thank you very much. Church girls notwithstanding.”

Julie makes a noncommittal noise. She doesn’t know him well enough to offer a comment on this subject matter. He laughs again, the sound carefree and open in a way she almost envies. She doesn’t know the last time she felt an emotion so unrestrained. Her heart has been under lock and key for years at this point, almost everything feels dulled and muted through layers of survival. 

“Okay, okay, how ‘bout this: you can say a prayer for me, but it has to be cool.”

“A cool prayer?” Julie doesn’t quite manage to keep the slight sarcasm from her tone. He chuckles, just two little ha-ha’s, but the sound splits her lips into a grin again. 

“Yeah, dude! Like, pray that I wake up a millionaire or with a sold-out international tour or – oh! Oh! I know!! Pray we cinch our record deal next week! Think you and Sky Daddy can make it happen?”

“You can’t call Him that if you want me to put your prayer in,” Julie says with a mockingly stern voice, ignoring the pulse of pain that rockets through her chest at his mention of touring and record deals. 

“Okay, fair enough, my bad. No disrespect, I promise. We just talk like that around Alex, my friend that went to church, ‘cause, ya know, religious trauma. It helps him when we joke about it.”

He’s slipped into a more casual cadence, his words blurring a little and she thinks, this must be what he sounds like around his friends, and then ignores the way that thought makes her heart jump a little. She has friends. Well, she has Flynn. And Flynn has friends that sometimes Julie also spends time with. Usually because Flynn invited her to something. It’s fine, though. It’s hard to make friends in your twenties, everyone knows that. 

“Oop, sorry, probably shouldn’t bring that kinda stuff up on a prayer line either, eh?”

She can hear the smile in his voice, and she has no way of knowing what it looks like, but she knows it’s kind. She just…knows. It makes the pain from earlier flare back to life. And suddenly Julie is struck with an intense, overwhelming sense of loneliness. Which is why she lets just a little bit of her real self leak out across the line.

“That’s something Alex and I have in common actually, so it’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Silence.

Shit. 

“Forget I said that,” she says in a rush, tone bright and perky the way it should be, foot moving a mile a minute against the linoleum floor. It squeaks in protest and Julie doesn’t even flinch at the sound. Maybe if she moves her legs fast enough her brain will believe she’s outrunning the awkwardness of this situation and she’ll be able to chill the fuck out before her Tía catches on. 

“I’ll put you down for one prayer on Sunday, a record deal special. Thank you for calling the Blessed Virgin prayer line, may the Lord be with you.”

She hangs up the phone before he can get a word in. Not like he was going to anyway. She holds her breath for a long moment, but it doesn’t ring. She exhales in a rush, slumping over the table with her head resting in her hands. A warm hand falls to rest on her shoulder seconds later. 

“Everything okay, sobrina?”

Julie spits hair out of her mouth and sits upright, turning to her aunt with a practiced smile.

“Everything’s fine, Tía. Just a prank call, but I handled it.”

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises as hazel eyes sweep her head to toe checking for any signs of distress, and then Victoria nods decisively. 

“We’ll pray for them.”

She squeezes Julie’s shoulder once before releasing her, heels click-clacking across the floor as she turns and makes her way over to where Mr. Martinez is holding his receiver upside down again. 

And that’s that. A weird occurrence at her weekly prayer line volunteering, for sure, but not really anything more than a funny story to share with Flynn over delivery pizza later that night.