User: jenish (posted by fizzyblogic) Date: 2007-11-11 14:23 Subject: Or, What You Will [2/7] Security: Public

Or, What You Will
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* * *

By the time Thursday night came, Nick had already had a bad week. Monday had been the staff meeting that landed him with twice as much paperwork as usual, though yoga had indeed been relaxing. He and Robyn had hung out with Brittany a little before and after the class, and that part had been fun; but then Brittany had checked her messages and rushed off, saying something had happened to Kim. Robyn had spent that night and Tuesday evening at Kim’s, and Toad had come over on Tuesday to wait for Robyn to get back, so in the meanwhile he and Nick had had beer and talked about school and the merits of trashy reality TV. They’d ended up watching a movie and dozing off; Nick had woken up with Toad pressed up against his side, thankfully not too near his boner, and pretended to still be asleep when Robyn came in and woke Toad up by straddling him and licking up the curve of his ear. Nick had gone to bed with earplugs in and jerked off, though the fact that it really wasn’t enough and the fact that an image of Tyson’s eyes were the last thing he thought of before he came made him curl up afterwards feeling rather empty. Wednesday was Parent-Teacher Night, so Nick had had to talk to Mike and Chris about Chris’s nephew, and while he honestly was over Mike by now, it still gave him a little pang to see them holding hands. They had invited him over for dinner if he was free at the weekend, and he’d answered, “Depressingly.” Mike had just patted his shoulder and told him to come over on Saturday afternoon for a cook-out.

“This is what it’s come to,” Nick had moaned to Robyn on the way home. “Pity invitations from old married couples I used to date.”

“You never know, things might look up tomorrow night,” Robyn had pointed out. Nick had rolled his eyes.

“Right, yeah, the model. Hey, is Kim okay? What happened to her?”

“She got fired, there was this whole big deal. She’s okay now, though. Got a job interview on Tuesday.”

“Oh. Good.” Nick had watched the lights zip past outside the car window.

Now it was Thursday night, and he had showered, exfoliated, deep conditioned his hair, brushed his teeth, and he was trying to decide what to wear. Robyn had already left for a movie date with Toad, so he couldn’t even ask her what she thought of the shirts he was considering, and he couldn’t exactly call John or Jeff. He really needed more gay friends. Or at least girlfriends.

Then he thought of Kim, and scrolled through his phonebook until he found her number, and hit 'call'.

“Hi, it’s Nick,” he said when she picked up. “Hey, I heard about your job, I’m sorry. I hope Tuesday goes alright.”

“Thanks,” she said. She sounded like she was smiling, so Nick took that as a good sign and plunged on.

“Listen, uh, can I ask you something? Only Robyn’s out with Toad, and I can’t ask any of my guy friends.”

“Okay, fire away.” There was reckless overly-jolly laughter in her tone, which gave Nick pause for a moment, but he figured he didn’t know her well enough to ask.

“I’m trying to figure out what to wear tonight, and I can’t decide between three shirts.”

“Okay. What pants are you wearing?” she asked, her tone switching to professional.

“Black suit pants. Is that too much?”

“Hmm, probably. Ty’s wearing those new jeans with the hip thing, if you’re in suit pants you might feel overdressed.”

“Okay. Thanks. How about black jeans, would they be okay?”

“They’d be fine, Nick. And don’t be so nervous, Tyson doesn’t bite.”

Nick heard a faint voice in the background say, “Well, not unless he asks,” and he swallowed.

“Shh, Brit,” Kim called, and Nick let the air out of his cheeks. “She was joking,” Kim told him, “if you heard that.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, thanks, I think I know which shirt to wear now. I’ll um, I’ll talk to you soon. And good luck on Tuesday.”

“Thanks. Have fun tonight.”

“Yeah.” Nick cleared his throat. “Bye then.”

After he’d hung up, half of his brain said, ‘Bye then’? Could you sound any more awkward, you retard? The other half was sneaking another look at Tyson’s magazine spread.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered to himself, “tonight’s going to go great.”

The restaurant was lovely. The lighting was subdued enough that the place felt intimate, but bright enough that it wasn’t too romantic. The whole room reeked of elegance, style, expense, and first date tension. Though Nick concluded that that was probably just him.

He was there five minutes early, and shown to the table that had been booked in the name of Ritter. The maitre d’ made it very clear by the way he looked down his nose at the bookings list that they had only secured a table because Tyson’s name meant something here. Nick tried hard not to feel like that was ominous somehow.

Twenty agonisingly long minutes later, the door opened and every head in the place turned as if drawn by magnets. A tall, almost ethereally beautiful man strode in and up to the front desk to give his name, but the maitre d’ already had two menus in his hand and smilingly led Tyson over to the table where Nick was sitting.

Nick watched them approach and had a momentary wild hope that Tyson would be led to another table so they wouldn’t have to make conversation because holy shit Tyson was ten times more beautiful without all the makeup and airbrushing and shit, and what the fuck was Nick even doing here?

“Hello,” Tyson said. His voice was pitched low, at a frequency Nick’s brain registered as Seduction. He slid into the seat opposite, and took the menu from the maitre d’. “Thank you, my good man,” he said, grandly yet dismissively, and the maitre d’ bowed and dropped the other menu on the table before leaving.

Nick picked it up. “Uh. Hi. You must be Tyson, right?”

“Yes. And you are Nick?” It was phrased as a question, but there was no uncertainty in Tyson’s voice. His eyes were soft, though. Nick shifted in his seat.

“Yeah. So uh.” His mind instantly went blank. “You … got here okay?”

“Fine, yes.” Tyson smiled at him, eyes smouldering, and Nick blinked rapidly. This was bizarre.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips, and then remembered his water glass. He gulped from it, grateful for something to do so he didn’t have to look at Tyson. “Have you … been here before?”

“No, but I’m told the eg muu is the best in all of Los Angeles,” Tyson replied, eyes burning Nick’s cheeks. He leaned forward and added, voice dropping even lower, “Why don’t we get a banquet?”

Nick swallowed, shifted in his seat, and wished he’d worn looser pants. “Alright.”

Tyson indicated the menu with a hand. “You pick. I’ll eat anything.” The last sentence was delivered slowly and deliberately. Nick sort of felt as if parts of his brain were falling off.

“Er. How about,” he tried very hard to take in the words on the menu, but Tyson was silently doing that smouldering thing again and he had to mentally shake himself before he could concentrate. “Banquet A looks nice. If, uh, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Tyson said, not even looking at the menu. He was folding his hands artfully under his chin, not taking his eyes from Nick’s face. Nick blushed and looked back down.

“Uh, do you – want to order the wine?” he asked, working to keep his voice even.

Tyson was smiling when he looked up, but it was the kind of smile nobody ever directed at Nick. The kind that came with red horns and a forked tail. “Why don’t you pick? I hear you know your wines.” He made it sound like a euphemism. Nick swallowed again and wondered how he was supposed to eat while Tyson was channelling so much sexual energy into the air around their table.

“Uhm. Okay.” He looked back at the menu, flipping to the beverages portion. “Oh, they have a good Chardonnay on here.”

Tyson raised one hand and clicked his fingers. Nick tried not to stare; he could hardly believe that anybody actually did that. Nevertheless, a waiter materialised, and Tyson said, his voice a command but not a harsh one, “Two bottles of your finest Chardonnay, and we shall have Banquet A please.”

“Certainly, sir.” The waiter folded their menus and left with them. Nick wondered what the hell happened now.

“So tell me about yourself,” Tyson said, voice warm but low again, eyes still on him.

Nick was struggling to keep track of his own name, so he stalled for time. “What do you want to know?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound quite as squeaky to Tyson as it did in his own head.

“Oh,” Tyson said, slowly, his mouth curling around the words, “anything. What do you do?”

“I teach music at high school,” Nick answered, on surer ground now.

“Do you like it?” Tyson asked, pouring every ounce of his attention into the conversation. It was disconcerting, so Nick fiddled with his napkin.

“Yeah, it’s – I really like it. I’ve been teaching kids to play guitar since I was eleven,” he added, risking a look up. Tyson was drinking in every word, and Nick’s voice faltered again. “Uh. So I … you’re a model, right?”

“And an actor,” Tyson nodded.

“Do you, uh. How’d you get started?” Nick gripped onto the table for some kind of support, and hoped Tyson wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, you know. I auditioned, eventually the jobs started coming,” Tyson waved the subject dismissively away. “Let’s talk about you, Nick.” He smiled, and Nick suppressed a small sound.

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Well, what – sorry, I just, you know how your mind goes blank?” He tried a half-smile. Tyson matched it warmly. “Yeah, uh, I just – um, I gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Alright.” Tyson very obviously watched his ass as he stood up and made his way through the tables to the door marked ‘Men’.

He looked into the mirror as the tap ran. His face looked hot, though his hair was fine and so was everything else. He did rather have a hunted look around his eyes, he thought as he leaned closer, but aside from that and the flushed cheeks he just looked normal. Nothing special. So Tyson’s constant attention was kind of puzzling, and Robyn had said that he wasn’t some Hollywood model, that he was – what was it? – nice, funny, kind, sweet, kinda goofy. The man with the smouldering eyes and the seductive tone of voice was not what Nick would call kinda goofy. He turned the tap off, sighed, and concluded that Robyn had just said those things to get him onto this date. But now he was here, so he may as well eat some good food and try to at least make conversation.

By the time he got back to the table, the drinks had arrived, and so had the starters. “I said the wine was okay. I hope you don’t mind,” Tyson indicated the bottles as Nick sat down. He sipped from the glass Tyson had filled for him, held it in his mouth for a moment, and swallowed.

“I don’t mind,” he said, “and it’s good.”

Tyson gave another of those smiles, took the ribs from his plate and bit into them. He ate them slowly, savouringly, and with a lot of tongue.

Nick half expected smoke to start rising off Tyson’s body any second.

By the time they’d cleared the main courses – Nick had the best keang phed kai he had ever tasted, Tyson made small but highly obscene noises over his ped pad khing and used his fingers a lot, licking and sucking them until Nick felt dizzy – the conversation still mostly consisted of Tyson asking questions in a low murmuring voice and Nick struggling to answer around the buzzing behind his ears and the rather pressing evidence that he was not at all indifferent to the very obvious attempt at seduction that was going on.

They were also onto their third bottle of Chardonnay, and Nick was feeling drunker than he should have been. He decided that either he was just really nervous, really horny, and really strung out, or Tyson had slipped some roofies into the wine. His erection was, unfortunately, on the exquisitely pleasant side of unbearable; but it was, rather more fortunately, hidden from view by the table, so he pretended as well as he could that he was just fine, thank you very much, despite the fact that he had spent the past ten minutes describing his favourite Iron Maiden guitar solos using seafood metaphors. “Sorry,” he said when he’d reached a breathing point, “I think I’m a little drunk.”

“Oh,” Tyson said, eyes dancing with amusement, “I don’t mind. So am I.”

“Right. Good. Okay then.” Nick surveyed the table, and it took him a moment to realise that it was empty because a waiter had just cleared their plates. “We should have coffee, right?”

“Absolutely,” Tyson nodded, and another waiter seemed to appear out of thin air beside them. “Ah, just who I wanted to see,” Tyson said to him, voice grand once more. “This elegant gentleman and I would like some coffee.”

“And the bill, sir?” the waiter prompted hopefully.

Tyson fished a credit card out of his pocket. “Settle it with this, my good fellow,” he said, and the waiter hurried away.

“You’re very commanding,” Nick noted. He struggled over the word a little, but not too much. “It must be useful.”

“I get what I want,” Tyson agreed, as the waiter returned with the receipt for him to sign. “Please,” he added as Nick fumbled for his wallet, “this is on me.” He leaned forward and said, conspiratorially, “That way it’s not our girls who set us up; it is me taking you out to dinner.”

Nick’s head span. “Okay then,” he said, because there really wasn’t anything else he could say to that. He blew on his coffee until it wasn’t burningly hot, and gulped it down.

He didn’t feel at all sobered until the cool night air hit them on the way out. “Can I take you home?” Tyson asked, and the words ‘demur’ and ‘coquette’ flitted momentarily through Nick’s brain.

“Um. You paid for dinner, I should – I should pay for the taxi,” Nick protested, weakly.

“If you insist,” Tyson acceded gracefully. Nick’s head started spinning again.

It took a good hour for the taxi to get to Malibu; the first half of the hour was spent with the same pattern of Tyson asking questions that made everything sound like a sex act, Nick trying to reply while covering his lap, and the air gradually thickening with the sexual tension that had dispelled nicely when they’d left the restaurant.

And then Tyson had leaned over and murmured, “Are you going to keep me in suspense all night or are you going to kiss me?” and Nick had swallowed and tried to make sounds but nothing had come out, so Tyson had smiled and leaned in further and kissed him.

He tasted of ginger and spring onions and coffee and wine, and Nick kissed him back, feeling like his whole head was fizzing, like he was dining out on expensive Thai cuisine all over again just from the taste of Tyson, the way he was kissing him like it was a victory, like it was everything he’d been wanting all night.

Nick paid the fare when they arrived at his place, and when the driver asked if he should wait for Tyson to get back, Nick just opened his mouth and closed it again.

“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary,” Tyson purred, one hand still on Nick’s knee. Nick could hardly breathe.

Tyson got out before him, and as Nick was stepping out of the taxi he leaned over and muttered to the driver, “Wait for him.” The driver nodded and left the engine running.

“So this is your place,” Tyson said, when they got to the front door. He whistled, low. “Nice.”

“It’s Robyn’s.” Nick shifted, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. “She’s over at Toad’s – uh, Kevin, her boyfriend, we call him Toad because he has this mascot, on his desk, and the kids – anyway, yeah, uh.”

Tyson leaned in and kissed him again. He smelled like lemongrass. “You must have a beautiful view,” he murmured, and Nick swallowed. It took him a second to realise what Tyson meant; it wasn’t what he’d made it sound like.

“It – yeah, it is. Um, anyway, I … I’d better go,” he said, trying hard not to stammer.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Tyson moved closer, his limbs lithe and almost breathing the word flexible into the air.

“Uh, no, I’ve got … I gotta teach the kids what an octave is tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you teach high school,” Tyson murmured, mouth still close to Nick’s.

“It – it’s a joke, it. Never mind.” Nick’s voice trailed off. It was hard to look at anything but Tyson’s mouth. “So uh.”

Tyson moved suddenly, pushing Nick up against the door, and kissed him hard. Nick’s spine and knees turned to water, his brain to mush, and he didn’t even fight the whimpers that escaped his throat. Tyson edged a knee between Nick’s thighs, and Nick groaned.

“Um,” he panted when Tyson leaned back again. “Uh. I – I’d better – so uh, goodnight then.”

Tyson blinked. “You’re … really not inviting me in?” He sounded as if Nick had just mentioned that the moon had been painted purple.

“Well, no, I gotta – y’know. Uh. Work tomorrow and. But it was fun tonight, it really was. Thanks. For – for dinner and all.”

Tyson was still blinking rapidly. “Um. Uh. Okay?”

“The … taxi’ll still be there. So. Goodnight, Tyson.” He leaned up slightly and kissed Tyson’s cheek. “I’ll see you again some time, okay?”

He got the door unlocked and closed it softly behind him, hearing Tyson mutter, “What? What? That’s it?” Nick leaned his back against the door for a minute, squeezed his eyes shut, unzipped his pants and silently jerked off. It took three strokes for him to come, suppressing a yelp; he exhaled, and went to look for some tissues.

Robyn bounced up to him in the faculty room the next morning and beamed, “So Kim told me Tyson hadn’t come home this morning. I take it the date went well?”

Nick stared. It was too early for this. He had not had enough coffee. “He wasn’t with me,” he said, abrupt. “He dropped me off at home after dinner, that was that.”

Robyn stared back. “You … he just – dropped you off? That was that?”

“Rob, you told me he was sweet and nice and kind and goofy. Well, he wasn’t. He was just this,” Nick waved his hands vaguely, “model, and he kept asking about me but he never told me anything about himself and he just listened like it was – like he was fucking acting or something. I know I’m desperate, but come on.”

“Wow. I – I’m sorry, Nick, I guess I just. He must be … different on a date, I mean, I’ve only seen him around Kim and they’ve known each other for years, so I guess – it really went that badly?” She looked crestfallen.

“You are never setting me up with anyone again,” Nick told her. “Ever. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I just, y’know – you’re lonely, I wanted to help.” She really did sound upset, so Nick gave her a quick hug.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, it – I mean, thanks, I guess, for trying. I’ll just – keep looking, I suppose. D’you think that guy at yoga class was cute? The one in the green shirt, I swear he kept looking at me.”

Robyn patted his arm. “I think he was there with his wife.”

“Oh.” Nick sagged against the wall. “Wow, it really must have been a while. I think my gaydar’s rusting.”

When Nick finished guitar club that afternoon, he stopped by the school office. Melissa handed him a slip of paper and said, “A Mr Tyson Ritter called to say that he had a really good time last night and wants to know if you’re free on Tuesday for another date.” She looked at him breathlessly. “It can’t be the model, right?”

“He’s an actor too,” Nick said absently, looking at the slip of paper. There was no phone number. “Thanks, Melissa.”

“Are you going to call him?” Melissa looked almost fit to burst.

“Maybe,” Nick shrugged. From the look on Melissa’s face, she was about to expire with jealousy. All Nick wanted to do was get in his car and go home, not talk about models he may or may not call. “Uh, have a good weekend, okay?”

“Bring him to the Christmas party,” Melissa called after him. Nick just kept walking.

He switched his cell phone on and it beeped. 1 new text message, he read. It was from Kim, and it said Ty said to give you his number, followed by ten digits. Nick leaned against his car and sighed.

He drove home, Euphoria on the CD player, tapping the steering wheel to the beat. When he got inside, he heard Robyn’s giggle coming from the living room, and Toad’s voice, so he waved hi to them and escaped to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He held his cell phone between his palms, thinking it over. The date hadn’t exactly been awful, just really weird. And Tyson hadn’t not been nice, just … strange. And really intense. But, a small voice at the back of his head spoke up, he must really have been listening to you. He tracked you down to your school. And maybe he is just chasing you down for sex and he’ll leave in the morning and break your heart, but for fuck’s sake, at least you’d get laid before the nights of sitting in with Rob eating Bailey’s Haagen Daas from the tub and declaring all men evil. And the sooner you put out, the less you’ll have to be upset about, so call him.

Nick questioned the logic in that last statement, but hit the ‘call’ button on Tyson’s number anyway.

It was picked up within a few rings. “Hello,” Tyson said, and his voice was just as seductive over the phone as in real life, albeit tinnier. “Nick?”

“How did – oh. Kim give you my number?” Nick fiddled with his cuffs.

“She did, yes. Did you get my message?” It sounded as if Tyson were stretching out into a lounging position, possibly on something soft, though that could just be Nick’s imagination. (He realised he was picturing butterflies flitting around Tyson’s head, and maybe some clouds in the background, so yeah, he was imagining things.)

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. So um, I’m free on Tuesday, if you still want to – if you want another date.” He tried to stop sounding so nervous, but the more relaxed and languid Tyson’s voice sounded, the tighter he felt wound.

“Sounds good. Would you like to go for dinner again? Or perhaps for drinks somewhere?”

Nick grasped at the suggestion as though it were oxygen. “Drinks! Yes, um, there’s this bar I’ve been to a couple times. It’s in Malibu, not far from here.”

“Oh – listen, Nick, I have to go, but why don’t you text me the address and I’ll meet you there at, shall we say nine o’clock again?” Tyson’s voice had changed, the seductive tones almost entirely dropping out of it. Nick wondered what was happening near him, and what Tyson’s apparent habit of using different voices for different people might mean. Besides that he was not a bad actor.

“Okay, great.” Nick paused. “Uh, so I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. Sorry to have to – I really have to go, okay, I’ll see you Tuesday bye.” This last was said in a rush, and the line went dead before Nick could say anything.

It was three seconds before Nick let himself think Oh my gosh that was so cute when his words all ran together. Then he shook himself and went in search of some alcohol.

* * *

Kim had spent most of that week, after finally convincing Robyn that she was okay now and no, really, it was fine if she went home, dropping resumes everywhere she could think of, calling old employers, and chasing down Frank so he could give her the reference he’d promised. It practically glowed off the page, and she’d given him a hug in thanks. By Thursday she had four interviews lined up for the next week, starting on Tuesday. Tyson’s read-throughs for the movie began the day after, so Tyson seemed to be cramming in as much Ty-and-Kim time as possible while they were both between jobs.

At least, that was the only explanation Kim could come up with for the way he was behaving. He’d catch her trying to remember tap steps in the kitchen, or elbow-deep in a cupboard looking for an old sketchbook and her charcoal pencils, or just standing swaying to the song stuck in her head, and he’d rush forward to catch her as if she was falling, and gently coax her onto the couch. They watched endless reruns of Frasier that week, and all of Brittany’s Scrubs DVDs that she’d left there. Tyson suggested them with the air of assumption that comedy would be just what Kim needed in such times of unemployment, but she wasn’t worried and he just never got the hint.

Not that she didn’t want to spend time with him, of course, and she did love Scrubs and Frasier, but sometimes there was something good on Living, and he hadn’t watched the classic movies channel in days. This was unusual for a Tyson between jobs. She tried to talk to him about it, but he’d just change the subject and talk about a funny thing he’d seen in an airport this one time, so in the end she gave up and let him be the comforting gay boyfriend, even though she was pretty sure there was nothing to comfort her about.

On Friday afternoon, when he finally showed up, he made some toast and declared, “I am famished.”

“That’s what being out all night’ll do for you,” Kim agreed, almost quivering with excitement. Tyson watched her for a minute, grinning. “Well?” she exploded at last. “Tell me about it! How did the date go with Nick? Clearly well, since you’re still in yesterday’s – wait a second.” Kim looked hard at his shirt. “That wasn’t what you were wearing last night. Did you … borrow some of his clothes?”

“What? Oh. No, these are some of my things I left over at Brian’s. That’s where I was last night, he called me to say he’d washed them. I went over to collect, we got talking, I fell asleep. After the sex.” Tyson was grinning wider, and Kim just stared at him. “Oh relax, I was kidding about the sex part,” he relented after a few moments. He patted her on the arm. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“And what about Nick?” Kim reminded him, pointedly. He put both hands on her wrists, as if to steady her.

“I tried, honey, I really did. I did everything I could, but he just. He didn’t invite me in, he said goodnight, and I … what was I supposed to do, break the door down and demand he sleep with me? I mean,” he continued, starting to pace now, grin entirely gone, “he was hot. Holy fucking shit he was hot. And I did everything, you know? All that shit you’re supposed to do on dates, all the usual shit that gets me laid. And nothing. I mean – not nothing exactly, he was obviously interested, if you know what I mean.” Tyson nudged her unsubtly with his elbow. Kim rolled her eyes. “So there was – I don’t get it. We were making out, everything was fine, and then he said he had to work in the morning and he’d see me sometime. That’s never happened to me before.” He looked completely bewildered.

“Well, he … really does have to work this morning,” Kim conceded, thoughtfully. “Maybe he just … really had to sleep?”

“But he was practically ready to go off, I could feel it. Literally.” Tyson slumped.

Kim shot him a sharp look. “Do you want to see him again?” she asked, careful to keep it sounding casual.

“Yeah,” he said without thinking. Kim suppressed an Aha! “But I don’t know if he wants to see me, I mean – he did blow me off.”

“Call him,” she said, reaching over to grab the phone and hand it to him. “Ask him for another date.”

Tyson took the phone from her, but then paused. “Shit, he didn’t give me his number.” He tapped the phone against his chin, and before Kim could open her mouth to say that she had it and could give it to him, Tyson said, “I know! He said he works at a high school, let me …” Kim watched, silent, as Tyson dug out a phone book and started flipping through the pages, muttering things to himself. After five or six minutes of searching, he stopped on one page and dialled a number.

She listened to him leave a message, but no return number, and watched him hang up. “You really like this guy, don’t you?” she said, soft. For some reason, she felt like crying.

“What? Kim, are – hey, what’s wrong?” He slid onto the couch next to her and automatically put an arm around her.

“Nothing, nothing, it – hey uh, he doesn’t know your number. Want me to give it to him, so he can call you? I can … give you his number too.” She tried not to let her voice sound too choked up.

“Oh – shit, yeah, thanks. Are you sure you’re okay? That was the deal, I go on that date, you talk to me about what’s wrong.”

“I did talk to you. I’m fine now. Really,” she added, when he just looked at her disbelievingly. “Can we watch Grease?” she asked after a minute. Her voice sounded kind of small.

“Sure,” he nodded, though he seemed reluctant to move from her side. He set the DVD up while she texted Nick and put his number into Ty’s phone, and they watched the movie, Tyson more subdued than usual. He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, but she just absorbed herself in the story, singing along under her breath.

Tyson’s phone rang just as Danny spotted the new leather-clad Sandy, and he ducked out into his room to take the call. Kim sang along under her breath for a few lines, but as Danny watched Sandy’s ass as she climbed up the fairground ride, Kim felt something in her chest snap and she sobbed. It hadn’t been particularly loud, but she half registered a movement from Tyson’s doorway, and a few moments later, as she let out another sob, he said something quickly and darted back into the room. He wrapped his arms around her and she shook, crying hard, until the car on the screen took off.

“What’s wrong, baby, what’s the matter?” Tyson murmured, stroking his fingertips through her hair, smoothing it down.

“I don’t know,” she whispered through gulps of air. “I don’t know, I feel like I’m – I’m falling apart at the seams, like I’m coming apart, am I – is it all still there, is it – Ty,” she whispered. She didn’t even realise she was clinging too hard to him until he gently moved her hand away and she saw the red marks. “Shit, Ty, I’m sorry, I –” And just like that, the world righted itself again. She sat up, extracting herself from his arms. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I – I’m fine now, I’m –”

“You are not fine,” Tyson stated. “Kim, what the fuck, what’s going on?” He tried to pull her back towards him, but she stood up instead.

“Listen, I – I’m going to go have a shower. I’m fine, I’m fine, really. It was just a – a weird moment. Guess it was the movie, or something, I get so overemotional sometimes – I’ll uh.” She gestured, and then escaped out of the room.

The pounding water made her realise just how tight her shoulders were. She kneaded them under the spray, letting the steam rise around her in billows, slowly relaxing all of the muscles in her back. She’d had a few moments like that one this week, but usually in the middle of the night, and she’d sneak out to the bathroom so as not to disturb Brittany with her crying. She figured it must just be stress, what with being fired and looking for a new job, the uncertainty of it, not that it was the end of the world if it took her a little while, she’d still be able to eat, and if the worst came to the worst Ty would help her out, and so would Brit, and she’d get through this. But maybe it snuck up on her, just for moments, because there was no other explanation for them. So that must be it.

When she got out of the shower, she found Tyson and Brittany in huddled whispers in the living room. “Hey,” she greeted them, “I’ve got a headache, I think I’m just gonna. Maybe take something and go get some rest. I guess I’ve,” she carried on, because they were both watching her with concerned eyes and she just wanted to escape into bed, “just been stressed lately, I’m not feeling so good.”

Brittany got up, came over to her, and wrapped both arms around her. She kissed her, gently. “Rest is good,” she agreed. “Want me to come with?”

“No, I’ll be alright, I’ll just. Take something, y’know, for the headache.” She kissed Brittany’s cheek and said, “Goodnight, Ty,” and left the room.

She lay in bed for a minute before taking anything, just to close her eyes for a second, but she was asleep almost instantly. She didn’t wake when Brittany slid into the bed later that night, nor when she got up again in the morning and got ready for work. When she finally did wake up, Brittany was gone, but she’d left a note on the pillow that read At work until 3. Love you, B xx

Kim looked at the clock, remembered that it was Saturday, and closed her eyes again.

When she finally opened them, feeling like only a few minutes had passed, it was dark and Mr Whiskers was curled around her ankles. She got up, stumbling and reeling even after she’d found the light switch, and discovered Tyson in the kitchen. She started making some coffee, but Tyson took the jar out of her hand and began making it for her. “Ugh,” she moaned, “what time is it? How long was I asleep?”

“It’s ten, Brittany went home, and you’ve pretty much been out for twenty-four hours.” He handed her the coffee. “Are you coming down with something? Here, let me check for a fever.” He pressed a palm to her forehead. It felt deliciously cool. “Shit, your head’s all warm. You should probably take something.”

“I’m getting sick?” she asked, feeling small and young but at least like this would make sense of how awful she’d been pretending she didn’t feel.

“Looks like. My poor girl,” Tyson soothed, pulling her close for a warm hug. “I’ll make you soup and feed you medicine and you’ll feel all better.” He said it in the small squeaky voice they’d always used when either one of them was sick, calculated entirely to make the sick one smile. It worked.

“What would I do without you, Ty?” Kim muttered, as the percolator popped and bubbled.

Instead of his usual answer (“Die, clearly”) Tyson just looked at her and said, “Don’t find out, okay?”



[cont.]

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