Raw Deal

This story is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in it are 18+ of age.

As usual, I'm very happy to receive any and all feedbacks, whether it's about the writing or direction of the story, other works you wanna see, or just chat in general. Thank you for reading!

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It’s past 8 p.m. at the hospital, and my body is starting to shut down.

It has been almost twenty-four hours since I came here. Hospital stays are nothing new to me, but the sequence of events leading to me coming here was exhausting, to say the least. As I sit on one of the parking lot’s curbs, my body shakes with cold heat. It’s the type that makes your body contract and lock up from the inside when it’s working beyond its waking limits. Adding to the mess is the fact that I barely had anything to eat except for vending machine coffee, and those lost their effectiveness about 3 cups in.

Frank was surprisingly easy to deal with. He was basically unchanged from the moment I first saw him (which I suspect was how he acted even before his heart attack), talking and complaining about anyone and anything that crossed his mind while I nodded my head in empty acceptance. I was once again struck by how similar he and Ernie are. That said, I can only keep up for so long before I start to doze off myself, my head dropping mid-sentence, jolting me awake every time.

The thing that bothers me the most, though, is the fact I missed brushing my teeth yesterday night and this morning. Thing is, I’m not obsessive about my routine. In fact, it’s the opposite. I have a much easier time slipping out of it, so in order to prevent that, I try my best not to fuck it up, or at least always keep it as my goal. That way, I can always have a mental bookmark no matter what I decide to do. A close remnant of my upbringing. Except for brushing my teeth, that’s just a small thing I’m neurotic about.

That’s why, as I stand outside in the hot night air, stretching every two minutes to keep my body awake, I swipe my tongue over my teeth compulsively, as if that’ll make up for it. Ernie texted me about ten minutes ago saying he’s on his way to the hospital and to wait for him outside, and so I do. My head was starting to throb, warning of an incoming migraine due to lack of sleep, but I rub my temples and try to ignore it, all the while wondering why I got myself into this mess in the first place.

The grumble of an engine, low and sputtering like a smoker’s laugh, breaks through the haze. It cuts into the parking lot along with a blinding headlight, which forces me to raise my hand and shield my eyes. I don’t need to see to know who it is.

Ernie’s boots scrape the asphalt as he pulls up and stops short of the curb. He turns off the headlight but doesn’t kill the engine. Just leans slightly, one foot on the ground, looking at me.

“Hey,” I greet him, stifling a yawn.

“Alright, get on,” he says right away.

I shake my head.

“The doctor came by. Said they wanted to keep your dad one more day, but Frank wasn’t having it. So, they let him go as long as he rests and takes his meds. I already approved the discharge papers.”

“You what?” Ernie blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Who paid?”

“Well, obviously not me. Frank said something about insurance. Probably sorted it out when you were gone.”

He knits his brows, processing information he didn’t know he was missing.

“Anyways, he’s good to go. All packed and dressed. You should take him now before the hospital bills him for God knows what,”

“You look like shit, I’m taking you home first.”

“You look worse,” I counter, seeing his equally miserable state now that we’re face to face, “I’ll just take a cab.”

A muscle in his jaw jumps. I can feel it coming before he says it.

“For fuck’s sake, could you just—”

What I don’t see coming is how he stops himself. His hand clenches and releases once by his side, then he jerks the bike fully into a proper parking spot, kicking the stand down with unnecessary force, and he doesn’t argue further as we head inside.

................................................................................................................................

Frank sits behind Ernie on his motorcycle with the small plastic bag of meds slung over his shoulder like it’s military gear. He’s in the same oil-stained clothes he came in, the hospital ID tag still taped loosely around his wrist. He looks like he’s ready to go back to work right now.

“Next time, don’t take this fucking long,” he barks as Ernie starts the engine. “You made me wait all day for nothing.”

Ernie makes a grunt in acknowledgment, too tired to start fighting with his dad again. I stand next to them, my legs feeling like plastic stands.

Frank remembers something and turns to me. He jabs a thumb toward me and shouts at Ernie. “You oughta learn from him, y’know. Get some damn manners. Even if he’s a bit of a…” he waves a hand vaguely “…what’s the word… flower.”

I don’t reply. My head’s throbbing too much to process whether I’m supposed to be insulted or flattered. Ernie just flicks the kickstand up and gets ready to go.

“I’ll be back in less than half an hour,” he says, shooting me a glance that sounds more like a command than a reassurance.

I nod and take a few steps back, too tired to argue anymore. Frank shifts like he wants to say something else, but Ernie revs the engine before he gets a chance.

“What? I’m just saying—” Frank yells over the rising roar, but Ernie shoots off the lot, cutting him off.

Frank shouts something I can’t make out over the fading exhaust, finally getting on the last of Ernie’s nerves as another shouting match ignites between them, their voices fading as they disappear behind the next turn. I chuckle. My legs finally give up on standing, so I drop back onto the curb, lean against the warm brick wall, and close my eyes for what I tell myself is a second.

Suddenly, Ernie’s shaking my shoulder. Not rough, but not gentle either. I jolt awake like I’ve been dunked in cold water.

“Hey. Hey. Wake up.” His voice cuts through the haze. “Don’t fucking sleep in a parking lot, dumbass.”

My eyes sting. My mouth tastes stale. I blink at him, and for a second, his face swims before coming into focus. He’s already back.

“What? How long have I been asleep for?”

“How the fuck should I know? I just got back.”

“Wait, you got Frank home?” I ask as the realization dawns on me.

“Yeah.”

My hands shoot out to check my pockets. Feeling my wallet, phone, and keys, I sigh before letting my head fall back to the wall again with relief.

“HEY,” he yells, making my ears ring, and slaps me lightly, “Don’t fall asleep again!”

“I’m not!” I yell back and punch him away weakly, “Jesus!”

Rubbing my eyes profusely, I stand up as Ernie keeps his hand on my back. We walk to his bike and I sit behind him, leaning against him and closing my struggling eyes.

“Where to? Your place or mine?” He asks me as he starts the engine.

“Whatever’s closer,” I tell him as I yawn.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he blasts off, his reckless driving the same as ever, and I cling to him, the adrenaline from almost falling off keeping me awake.

I don’t remember much of how we got home. I know he helped me open the door when I fumbled with the keys, but that’s about it.

................................................................................................................................

I wake up dry-mouthed with a surprisingly clear head.

The first thing that hits me is the heat. Sweat clings to every inch of my skin, and my clothes feel like damp cardboard. I reek. The sheets are a mess, humid and sour-smelling. They’ll need changing.

I stretch and twist in bed, my eyes still closed, trying to wake up my body, and it helps a little. Once I start feeling the blood flow properly, I haul myself up from the suffocating tangle of damp sheets. My body creaks, but I’m otherwise great, actually. The pressure behind my eyeballs is no more, and the fog in my mind has dissipated. The miracles of a good night’s sleep.

Looking around, I find myself in my room. Ernie’s next to me, flat on his back, snoring faintly through his open mouth. He’s down to just his briefs, a sheen of sweat on his face and chest. His hand rests on his abdomen like he passed out halfway through getting comfortable.

It doesn’t take long to figure out why the heat’s worse than usual. He forgot to open up the only window in the room, and he closed the door behind us, effectively turning the room into a sauna oven.

I get up, yawning and rubbing my itchy eyes, and stumble to the window. The fresh flow of air, no matter how hot, is a proper wake up call. Leaning against the window and taking in big breaths, I look at Ernie. He didn’t move or show any sign of disturbance when I got up or when I opened the window. The hairy fur across his body is suffocating just to look at, and I wonder how he can sleep like this.

“Probably as tired as me…” I think to myself.

Feeling the weight of my own dirt and grime once again, I head to the bathroom for a shower. My sweaty clothes peel off me with effort, resting in a pile outside, and I get into the bathtub under the showerhead immediately. Hot water is my go-to even in this heat, so I turn the blue faucet handle. The plumber who once fixed it for me, after it blew up from faulty water pressure, was good for how cheap he charged, but I ended up with opposite handles. Barely an inconvenience, though.

The scalding hot water is refreshing, and it helps me feel clean as I scrub the layers of dirt and dried sweat off me with a luffa. I sit under the flowing water for some time after I’m done and bask in the good feeling, until I forcibly force myself to end the shower, shutting off the hot water and turning the red handle, the cold water for a quick icy finish. I dry myself off as best as I can before tying the towel around my waist and stepping out of the bathtub a new man, my skin slightly red. Now, I can finally brush my teeth, getting rid of the bugging feeling in the back of my mind. I do it twice, as if to compensate for the times I missed, and take longer than usual each time.

When I come back to the room, towel still around my waist and my hair dripping, I find Ernie turned over in bed. He’s hugging one of the pillows like it’s me, his leg thrown over it and his arm wrapped tight around it. His face is buried into the fabric, most probably soaking it with his drool as usual, and his ass is sticking out slightly, pointed up in a way that would’ve been obscene if it weren’t so unintentionally stupid. I stare at him for a second, drying my hair with the towel, debating whether or not to poke him awake.

But then I sigh. He probably needs it more than I do.

I leave him alone and head to the kitchen, still rubbing my head. The floor’s warm under my feet from the heat trapped overnight, and the faint hum of the sick fridge is the only sound until I open a cabinet and clink around for a pan. I don’t feel like cooking, so I start some grilled cheese sandwiches for both of us, along with some coffee.

I’m mid-flip on the second sandwich when I hear the bed creak from the other room, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of heavy, uneven steps. Ernie walks in, scratching his bare stomach, his hair a mess, and his eyes barely open, squinting against the light. He lets out a big yawn as he plops himself on the chair next to the tiny kitchen table.

“Mornin’,” I greet him while sliding a cup of sugary coffee and a plate with the finished sandwich.

He grumbles something as he picks it up and bites in, staring at nothing in particular. I get another plate and put the second sandwich on it before cutting it in half and giving him one. I observe him while chewing on my half while the final sandwich cooks slowly, his thoughts a curious mystery. His eyes widen suddenly, like he’s trying to make them forcibly adjust to being awake, before relaxing and taking a deep breath.

“Listen, August. Thank you for yesterday,” he says as he turns to me.

Cutting straight to the matter, ha?

“No need. I already said I didn’t do anything.”

“How hard is it to just say ‘you’re fucking welcome?’” He answers in his usual anger.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, assuming the ‘fucking’ part is optional.

He huffs at me, clearly annoyed at the lack of fight, as if wanting to say more, but who has the energy right after they open their eyes?

"I stand by what I said yesterday, though. You're fucking weird," he settles on bringing up his own weird sentiment.

"I still don't understand why I'm weirding you out."

"Why do you just go along with whatever I say?"

"Do you want me to object?" I counter his question with a question, knowing a clear answer isn't gonna convince him of anything.

"Well, OBVIOUSLY not. But you don't get mad, you don't ask for much. Are you like with everyone you fuck?"

"My fuck buddies don't usually ask me to deliver mystery packages or show up at hospitals out of the blue."

He clicks his tongue at my remark.

"Thanks for the package, too, by the way. You really did me a solid," his face softens up a bit.

"That's the third time you thanked me in three days. Should I be worried?"

"Do you think I'm some psycho or somethin'?"

"You're obviously not.... right?" My answer falters at the end as my tone turns unsure.

"Real fuckin' funny," he scowls before downing some more coffee.

My question was sort of genuine, though...

The last sandwich is done, and I turn off the heat before sitting next to Ernie. Biting in while it’s hot burns the insides of my mouth a bit, but I’m hungry enough not to care.

“So, how was your dad when you left him yesterday?” I ask.

“He’s alive enough to shout and fight. He’s good,” he answers with an annoyed scowl, “Wouldn’t be surprised if he was already back in the shop.”

‘Does he own a garage?’ is what I wanted to ask before I realized how stupid the question is. Of course, he could be a co-owner, or doing a side job, or some other explanation, but I assumed the most obvious one and moved to a different question.

“Did you used to work with him there?”

“Did the old fart tell you?” He knits his brows questioningly.

I shake my head.

“He mentioned something about you 'striking the fear of God’ in the boy who works there, so I just assumed,”

He takes another big bite of his sandwich and continues talking as he chews.

“Worked there as a kid without getting paid. Fucking cheapskate.”

“Aha,” I answer and take a sip of my coffee.

“Old shit didn’t even try to teach me.”

“Then how did you end up learning?”

“You fuck with machinery enough times, you pick up some stuff.” He paused to take a chug from his coffee before licking his lips and continuing, “Sure, I broke a bunch of shit, but it’s his fault really.”

“Do you still work with him now?” I asked absentmindedly. I didn’t care much for their relationship.

“FUCK NO,” he almost spits out the contents of his mouth, “you saw how he is at the hospital. Now, imagine him at full health. One of us’ll blow the other’s brains out before the end of the first day.”

I try to stifle my giggles.

“And what’s so fuckin’ funny?” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Nothing,” I say as I stop to take a breath.

“Well, anyways, don’t get too comfortable around that piece of shit. He’s a pain in the ass once he starts demanding whatever he wants from you.”

“So I’ve noticed…” I say, sipping the last of my coffee. He doesn’t notice me eyeing him and contemplating how similar he looks to his dad.

Talking to him like this, about his dad and about past things in his life, feels domestic in a way I’m not used to, but it’s very enticing, honestly. He feels more real in the moment, unlike the rushed night encounters we usually share.

“What do you have to do today?” He suddenly asks me with the same annoyed tone, his eyes calculating something unknown to me.

“Oh, that’s right. I should ca-”

RINGGGGGGGGGG

As if on cue, my phone sounds out from the bedroom, the loud, blaring noise disturbing the morning quiet.

I go and pick it up, only to be bombarded by Carla's outraged yelling. After I left work last time, I told her it was a family emergency and that I won't be able to make it. Which was true, partly. It just wasn't my family.

Needless to say, she was very cross with me over two unannounced leave days. I tried to calm her as much as possible, but seeing as I was late today as well (I just checked the time. It was a bit before 8. My shift starts at 7), she wasn't having any of it, no matter how much she liked me.

"I'll be right there. Thirty minutes at most."

"Thirty minutes? I want you here rig-"

Her voice mysteriously disappears when I end the call.

Checking my phone for the first time since I woke up, I see that she'd left numerous messages and missed calls. Poor Carla. I probably caused her a lot of trouble. I make a mental note to make it up to her before starting to get ready.

"Who was that?" Ernie yells from the kitchen.

"Work. I'm late," I yell back as I fish out random clothes out to put together an okay outfit.

"Give me a minute. I'll drive you there."

“It’s okay. No need to trouble yourself,” I say as I put in my a pair of underwear.

“I said I’ll drive you,” Ernie’s voice explodes from the kitchen.

“Alright. Thanks for the help,” I sigh and roll my eyes.

I shove one leg through my pants as I walk back into the kitchen, half-dressed. For all his philanthropy, Ernie’s still at the table, munching on the sandwich with more energy than needed.

“I said I’ll drive you,” he repeats with his mouth full, voice slightly more subdued now.

“I heard you the first time. No need to eat quickly.”

He finishes off his sandwich and licks his fingers like an animal, and I turn my face before I get stupid about it. Then he gets up and crosses to my bedroom, where his clothes lie scattered on the floor from last night. I quickly wash the used kitchenware as he dresses up in yesterday’s sweaty clothes, making me regret my decision already.

“Hurry up,” he complains after slipping on his wrinkled blue running suit and jingling the motorcycle keys in his hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” I assure him unenergetically, going back into the room.

I give my pits a couple of sprays of deodorant before slipping on one of the few black shirts I got specifically for work and pocketing my keys, phone, and wallet. At the door, Ernie is waiting, shoes on and door open.

“And stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by coming with me,” he says, his goodwill reaching its very mediocre limit.

“Now, why would I do that?” I answer sarcastically against my preference, “Did you leave anything inside?” I ask as I crouch to tie my shoes.

“No.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” I get up and we exit the apartment, locking the door behind us.

................................................................................................................................

The ride to work is as wild as usual, with his dad’s brush with death seemingly unable to incite any existential grounding in Ernie. When we finally skid to a stop outside the front entrance of the coffee shop, I slide off the bike, legs slightly unsteady. The engine clicks in protest as it starts to cool.

“Thanks,” I say as I get reacquainted with the ground.

Ernie doesn’t say anything, instead wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What time you finish?” He asks.

“My shift’s till two, but I have a uni class after this, so five.” “Cool. I’ll pick you up.” He says nonchalantly.

“What? Why?” I say, taken aback. It’s not like he never picked me up before, but that was from home, and on angry or horny whims.

“Don’t worry about it. Just wait at the entrance. City University, right?” He double-checks the name he heard once before.

“If this is some roundabout way of repaying me for your dad, don’t bother,” I say, trying to make my thoughts clear.

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what—”

“I’ve got somewhere I need to take you, alright?” he snaps, cutting me off.

I stare at him.

“What kind of somewhere?”

He shifts, eyes clearly exasperated.

“Just somewhere. You’ll see.”

“Listen, I’m okay with mystery quests, but you need to give me some heads up on what we’re doing.”

He sighs loudly and plants both hands on his face, dragging them down slowly like he’s sifting through his thoughts. When he looks up again, his expression’s not as agitated.

“It’s nothing bad. I just want you to come with me. This one time, alright?”

I look at him. He’s squinting up at me from the bike, hair still damp with sweat, one hand tapping against the bike handle. He looks sincere, calm. Not agitated.

“…Fine,” I mutter, against my better judgment.

The annoying part is that I like him enough to go along with it.

He nods, then he leans forward and kisses me. It’s not a peck, nor a full make-out either. His mouth’s on mine, slowly moving against it. His facial hair tickles me, and I can taste the traces of grease from this morning’s sandwich and the sweetness of sugary coffee on his warm lips. It’s a kiss full of context. He pulls back, and I don’t know what to say as he revs up the engine and blasts off, his exhaust pipe coughing behind him.

I turn around, contemplating what to do about this new meetup Ernie suggested, only to be greeted by a terrified-looking new guy and a silently staring Carla behind the shop’s glass display.

I sigh as I push the door open.

“So, who was that?” Carla asks me immediately when I enter the shop with crossed arms and an unreadable expression. No ‘hi’s and no ‘hello’s.

The door shuts behind me with a soft click. The shop’s empty, with music playing for vacant tables.

“A friend,” I say, hanging my bag in the back and preparing myself for the curiosity of a middle-aged bored woman.

“That’s sooo not an answer!” She says, following me behind the counter. “And what in the world was that ‘family business’ that kept you busy for two days. Busy enough to blow off work and my calls, mind you.”

I don’t answer. She narrows her eyes and presses on.

“Come on, come on. Who is he? What were you doing with him? Is he why you were late? Is he in the mob? Did you guys fight? Is that why he had that bruise on his cheek? Are you secretly in the mob? Is he your boyfriend?”

Her questions are fast and tinged with excitement, which is honestly better than her being mad, so I'm okay with it.

“He’s a friend who gave me a lift,” I say, grabbing an apron and tying it around my back.

“Stop dodging and give me details!”

She looks torn between being angry at my disappearance and being giddy over possible drama. Meanwhile, the new guy is trying his hardest to listen while pretending to prepare a Latte Macchiato as training.

“Carla,” I say, “he’s just a friend.”

“You kiss all your friends like that?”

I pause for half a second. “A close friend.”

She smirks. “Mmhm.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

I ask her as I start restocking the counter.

“Because I need entertainment, and you skipped two shifts without notice. I deserve something.”

“Can’t I just pay you for the missed days?”

“No. You owe me.”

“I don’t recall that part of my employment contract,” I mutter.

She watches me for a few seconds, now smiling, then leans in again.

“Come on. Tell me something. He looked like he could beat up ten guys on his own. You owe me a name or something like that!”

I exhale and give her a look.

“Fine. His name is Ernie.”

“God, that’s worse than not telling me anything. You’ve got to tell me the whole story now!” Carla asks excitedly, her appetite for gossip fully unleashed.

“Before that, don’t you think the drink has been burned enough?” I ask her and nod towards the new guy.

Before she can answer, a sharp pop comes from the counter. We both look over just in time to see the new guy yelp and pull his hand back. The sleeve he was heating up with the milk steamer is blackened at one edge.

“I- I wasn’t-!” he says, trying to make up an excuse, eyes darting between us.

“You didn’t have to burn the drink! I would’ve shared the story with you later!” Carla yells, shaking her head as she heads his way.

The new guy is red in the face as Carla lectures him on wasting shop resources, and I mentally thank him for distracting her. A certain feeling settles into my chest as I get lost in work. Seeing my everyday life and Ernie stand side by side like that makes me dream, if only for a moment, about the possibility of a proper relationship. But that’s it. A dream. I can’t build a future based on sex alone, no matter how much I want to. Maybe if I talked to him? Would he even want a relationship? I mean, that kiss outside, still hot on my lips, was something new and more heartfelt than our average interaction. But maybe I had the wrong impression of him?

So many questions swarm my brain, and I decide to smother my thoughts for the moment and focus on getting back into my everyday rhythm.

................................................................................................................................

Work passes by as normally as it could, with the lunch rush thankfully preventing Carla from hounding me for more answers. I do want to make it up to her later, seeing as she’s really helpful when it comes to scheduling and work, but for today, I just take it easy. The moment the clock turns two, I untie my apron, apologize to Carla again, grab my stuff, and leave for university amidst her objections.

University is boring to get through as usual, but I find some solace in the fact that Nate is talking to me. I had assumed my rejection would make him shy away from me, as is the case with these things, but he was chatting to me as usual. Whether this was because he still had hope or just because he’s that friendly, I couldn’t tell. But I was grateful nonetheless.

The day ends up passing quicker than I imagined it would, thoughts of yesterday’s chaos settling into the background. Nate and I laugh about a classmate’s disaster of a presentation that we just finished bearing witness to as we walk outside.

“I’m pretty sure Mustard Gas was not made using actual mustard,” Nate chuckles.

“Poor Eva, once the nerves get you, it’s hard to shake them off,” I laugh along.

We continue chattering until we get to the main gate. Nate suddenly stops and stares up ahead.

“What is it?” I ask as I look where his eyes lead, and I proceed to stop and stare at myself.

Standing out aggressively against a stream of young university students, Ernie takes drag after drag from his cigarette while he leans back on his scuffed-up bike.

He looks out of place in the domestic broad daylight of my university, and his attire doesn’t help either. He’s dressed in crisp white button-up that hangs off him comfortably, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, along with a pair of black pants that look like they’ve never seen an oil stain in their lives, and his hair is slicked back. The crowd parts around him instinctively, students flowing past like he’s a stubborn rock jutting out against a flowing river. Some glance over curiously. Others just walk a little faster, eyes averted. I can’t blame them. I would’ve probably done the same had I not known Ernie.

“So?” Ernie calls out after letting out a big puff of smoke.

“Huh? Are you talking to me?” Nate answers him, stiffening.

Ernie doesn’t even glance his way. He locks eyes with me and jerks his chin. “Come on. Let’s fucking go already.”

Nate starts glancing at the both of us in confusion, and I squeeze his arm reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Nate. He's a friend,” I say, but the word lands weird on my ears.

Putting aside Ernie’s chaos, it’s like every time I introduce us as friends, the definition gets more narrow and forced, the insides struggling to take shape against it.

From the looks of it, Nate is also unconvinced.

“Are you sure? Is everything okay?” He says.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry,” I reassure him.

Ernie’s foot taps twice against the pavement. I click my tongue in annoyance.

“See you next class,” I smile at Nate.

I hop on the bike without a word. Ernie tosses the cigarette to the curb and revs the engine, and we pull out from the gate, diving straight into the lane.

And in usual Ernie fashion, we get to our destination in record-breaking time. I step off, and before I can say anything, Ernie is already getting another cigarette from his pack.

“Go change into something better and come back.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“For fuck’s sake, just do it.”

I stare at him for a second. I’m so tempted to blow back in his face, but I already said I’ll go with him, so I sigh and head towards my apartment. The frustration of dealing with a meathead is not foreign to me, but I guess I was managing our relationship well enough before that I never had to pay attention to it like now.

Back upstairs, I swap my wrinkled clothes for a black polo and dig out a pair of clean jeans. Not too baggy, not too tight. I even pick the nicer shoes. I pause in front of the mirror to give myself a once-over. This is probably fancy enough to pass for more than casual, but not too fancy to make me stand out too much. I run a hand through my hair, grab my stuff, and head back down.

Ernie’s still by the bike, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, but when he sees me, he stops mid-motion. He stares.

“What?” I ask. “Something on my face?”

He blinks once, then shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “Nah. Just… get on.”

I raise an eyebrow, but don’t push it. I climb back onto the seat, and we’re off again, back into traffic, the city blurring by.

................................................................................................................................

The ride isn’t long, but it’s enough to make me start mentally cycling through every possible destination Ernie might drag me to. I just hope it’s not another shady errand.

We finally slow down on a quieter street uptown, where the storefronts get sleeker and the people start dressing like fashion magazines. Ernie pulls up to the curb in front of a fancy-looking restaurant. The dark green awning with cursive gold lettering stitched on the front reads Le Saule Pleureur.

I stare.

The restaurant looks like the kind of place that serves portions the size of a spoonful and still charges you for the cutlery. Soft golden light spills through tall windows, casting mellow shadows over the well-dressed diners inside. There’s a hint of floral perfume in the air, mingling with the scent of wine and herbs, like the street itself is trying to guilt me into better posture.

Unsurprisingly, the feeling that I’m out of place here creeps into me, but not Ernie.

He cuts the engine and hops off like this is normal.

I don’t move.

He shoots me a glance over his shoulder. “You coming, or what?”

“…This is where we’re going?” I ask, finally sliding off the seat.

“Yeah. Hurry up,” he says, already walking toward the double doors.

I jog a few steps to catch up, physically and mentally. “Are you sure we’re allowed here?”

Instead of answering, he pushes the door open and strolls in.

The inside is even more overwhelming. The lighting is low and warm, the kind that makes you feel like you should be whispering. Gold-toned lamps dangle from the ceiling like upside-down tulips, their soft glow painting everything in amber. Tables are spaced out just enough to hint at privacy without isolation, covered in cream linens with neatly folded napkins. The cutlery gleams, and the clink of glass and murmurs of polite conversation float through the air like music. Somewhere, a violin is playing. Not a recording, a real one.

And Ernie, in his rolled-up sleeves and street attitude, walks through it like he owns the place.

A man in a perfectly fitted vest and bowtie, probably the maître d’, approaches with a practiced smile that falters into something more genuine when he sees Ernie.

“Ah, Monsieur Ernie. Welcome back,” he says, his French accent heavy. “Will Mr. Viskov be joining you this evening?”

Ernie waves the question off like he’s shooing a fly. “Nah. Just us tonight.”

“Very good, Monsieur. Please, this way.”

I trail behind in a mild daze as we’re led through the restaurant. The carpet swallows our footsteps, and the scent of aged wine, butter, and slow-cooked meat swirls gently with each step. I try to keep my hands from fidgeting at my sides. It feels like every inch of this place was handcrafted to be above my tax bracket.

We’re seated at a rounded table near the center of the room, not too close to anyone else, but in clear view of the chandeliers hanging above. The lighting hits just right—enough to illuminate the gold trim on the wine glasses and the subtle sheen of the cutlery, but still soft enough to make everything look kind of dreamlike. Even the chair cushions feel like they were handmade with fine silk or something like that.

I sit down slowly, not sure how to act in this foreign environment.

The maître d’ gestures smoothly, and a waiter appears within seconds, pouring cold mineral water into our glasses.

“Here are your menus, gentlemen,” the waiter says, placing them gently on the table. “Please take your time. May I start you with anything to drink?”

Ernie shakes his head, and the waiter bows slightly before stepping away.

I glance at the menu and immediately regret it. Half of it’s in French, the other half is in English, but still doesn’t mean much to me. I don’t know what foie gras torchon is, anyway.

I look across the table.

“What… is this?” I ask, unconsciously whispering.

Ernie’s already reclining in his seat, menu unopened. “It’s a restaurant,” he says simply, as if that explains anything.

“So is Denny’s. Why are we here?”

He snorts a laugh and waves a hand lazily. “Order whatever you like.”

I lower my menu slightly, staring at him. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are on me, and I’m not sure how to react.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough. I’m not doing anything until you tell me why we’re here.”

He leans forward and rests his arms on the table, his expression unreadable.

“I’m treating you, that’s all,” he says.

And for once, there’s no bite in his voice.

“Huh?” The idea doesn’t sink in right away, “again, if this is about your dad, then i-”

“It’s not,” Ernie cuts in, voice sharp but low. “Not really.”

I blink.

“Then what?”

“Just shut up and do what you’re told.”

I scoff, tilting my head. “Oh yeah? And why exactly are you treating me, then?”

He leans back again, jaw tightening like he’s biting down on something unpleasant. “Because I wanted to. Because it’s a thank you,” he says, taking a breath before continuing, “for everything you’ve done. The drop-off. The hospital. My dad. All of it.”

I watch him for a beat, lips curling into a dry, humorless smile. “Is that how you treat all your hookups?”

Ernie’s face goes red fast. “Go fuck yourself,” he spits. “You’re weird, you know that?”

I sip from my water calmly, unfazed. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

He scoffs, incredulous.

“Listen, I’m grateful, but I already told you I don’t need compensation or whatever.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice rises, catching a few glances from nearby tables. “So would you much rather have that bitch you were walking with treat you?”

I blink. “What?”

“That guy. From this morning. The one with the books and the dumb fucking smile.”

“…Nate?”

“Or am I not prissy enough for you, ha?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, my confusion reaching its peak.

Ernie doesn’t reply, but his scowl deepens.

Out of the blue, it clicks.

He thought I didn’t want him to drive me this morning because I didn’t want to be seen with him. He thought I didn’t want him to pick me up because I wanted to be with Nate. He just rolled misunderstanding into misunderstanding.

I exhale through my nose, keeping my expression neutral. A flicker of guilt settles in my chest, but I press it down.

Not yet. I want to be sure.

I lean forward slightly. “Ernie,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Are you… jealous of Nate?”

His eyes practically bug out of his head. He looks like he’s about to explode.

“Fuck both of you,” he mutters, sitting back hard in his chair, arms crossed, face twisted into a scowl.

I can’t help it. I laugh this time. I should be annoyed. But the way he says it, like it’s some terrible accusation, gets to me.

People are watching now, but I don’t care. Neither does Ernie, apparently.

I cover my mouth, trying to rein it in. “Relax. You’re embarrassing us.”

“I’m not the one laughing like a fucking moron,” he spits out.

I take a breath. “Nate actually asked me out,” I say, and his face freezes, but I don’t leave him hanging, “but I turned him down.”

“…Oh.” His voice is low. “Why?”

I laugh again, quieter this time. “Why do you think, dumbass?”

He continues staring at me.

I smirk, watching him stew in his own poorly disguised frustration. “Keep acting like this, and people are gonna think you’re my boyfriend.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just stares at me, jaw set.

“And?” he asks.

My smile fades.

I look at him. For a moment, the restaurant dims, the light nicely accenting Ernie’s rugged features. The music blurs into the background. I only see him, across the table, arms crossed, shoulders stiff, and I feel myself heating up a bit.

He looks handsome when he cleans up, I think to myself.

“…Are you saying you want… more from us?”

His fingers drum on the table.

“It’s a hassle to keep driving around for hookups.”

I cock my head sideways. “Huh?” Was he…

“I’m saying you should just stay at my place. Much easier for both of us,” he says.

We fall into silence after he declares his intentions, not clear but loud.

Then, after a long pause, Ernie mutters, “You’re weird. But you’re… worth trusting.”

I nod slowly, choosing my words with care. “I… Well, I trust you too,” I say it. I say it out loud. We both understand what we mean, and he doesn’t move or flinch, “And… I wouldn’t mind building on that trust.”

Neither of us says anything for a bit. The air feels heavier, with us having gone around the subject like we always do, but this time, the message lands. It’s a subtle one.

A waiter approaches, saving us from ourselves.

“Gentlemen, are you ready to order?”

I glance at the menu again, blanking. I still don’t know what most of this stuff is.

I glance at Ernie, looking for a lifeline.

He raises an eyebrow, and for the first time all night, smiles. “Ask for whatever you like.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Go wild,” he says, calling my dare.

I set the menu down and look the waiter dead in the eye. A quick conversation and explanation later, I end up ordering more food than I ever did in my life.

Might as well enjoy myself.

The waiter beams and excuses himself. I lean back into my chair, looking smugly at Ernie, but he’s smiling at me with the same shit-eating confidence he always has.

“I hope they package leftovers,” I tell him jokingly.

He rolls his eyes, but keeps smiling again.

I wait a beat before picking up where we left off.

“Still, I don’t think I can just move in like that.”

“Why?” he asks, for once, not angry.

“Well… As much as I… trust you…” I say, using the newly established codeword, “I still don’t know you enough to pick my bags and jump on board.”

Ernie doesn’t look offended. “So ask.”

The straightforwardness catches me off guard, having assumed he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Just one example of how little we honestly know each other.

“So… what exactly is it that you do?” I try to ask as casually as I can.

He leans back in his seat, raises his cigarette pack to his face, and bites on a cigarette to pull it out before lighting it up with his other hand. I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke in here, but the staff seemed to like him enough. I just hope it doesn’t trigger some fire alarm.

“Debt collector,” he says it so casually that I have to repeat it.

“Debt collector?”

“Debt collector,” he shrugs as he lets out a puff of smoke.

“Aha…”

To be honest, I’m not sure what to imagine here. The first picture that pops to mind is:

“So, like breaking stuff and threatening people?”

“You’ve watched too many movies,” he shakes his head, “I just show up at some deadbeat shithead’s house and ask for the money he owes. They either pay up or come with me to meet the boss and work out something with him.”

He takes another drag from his cigarette and lets out the smoke before continuing.

“Sometimes, the bastards don’t wanna pay. They try to fight or run away, and I beat them up,” he drops the last part so casually.

“I see…” and I really do.

It makes sense. His constant bruises, his attitude, his constant calls and messages. All symptoms of an employed delinquent.

“So, what’s the deal with the flip phone then?”

“Boss says it’s better for work. Less information on it in case anything goes haywire.”

“You boss… Is he that Voskov guy?”

“It’s Mr. Viskov, and yes. He is,” he says with an uncharacteristic respect.

“Do you like working for him?”

“That’s the first thing you ask?” He raises an eyebrow at me in curious disgust.

I don’t get why he’s so confused. It’s just where my mind went. Flicking his cigarette against a small plate on the table to get rid of the long, ashy line, he licks his lips and answers me anyway.

“Yeah, I do. He pays me to do this because I look the part well enough, and he knew my dad back in the day, apparently. Plus, I get to get some good money off it. It’s an okay gig. Sometimes you get beat up and sometimes you beat someone up, but it’s not the worst.”

“So are you in a mafia?” I flat out ask what’s been stewing in my mind ever since I met Ernie.

Damn Carla’s nagging probably got me going, especially with everything that went on, so I couldn’t help but ask.

“He’s not that kind of boss,” Ernie shakes his head again.

“But you didn’t say no, so… he’s not exactly clean either. How legal is your work, technically speaking?”

“As legal as underage drinking,” he smirks at me.

“So have you taken money from a starving family or some helpless widow or something like that before?”

“Nah, I’m not into that shit,” he says, and I stare at him, trying to figure out whether he’s telling the truth, but he keeps going, “they’re not worth the trouble of lending money to in the first place,” and then I have to really figure out if he’s serious or not.

He could be lying. He could be a deranged psycho who gets paid to beat up innocent people. He could be setting me up for unspeakable things.

But he also couldn’t. And my gut further pushes me in that direction. Sure, he’s got the emotional restraint of a wild dog, but I never saw him do anything genuinely unprovoked before. There was that one time when that car almost ran us over, and I remember vividly how he moved with clear intent, but backed off once the guy came out apologizing and practically raising a white flag.

“Ugh…” I cross my arms on the table and drop my head into them.

“Jeez, the fuck’s wrong with you? You can just say no if it’s that below you,” he complains, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“No, no, it’s not that,” I shake my still-slumped head, “I was just reminded of how much we don’t know about each other.”

“So? The fuck’s that got to do with our situation?”

“You don’t think-”

My sentence is interrupted by the waiter placing entrée dishes on the table. I quickly raise my head and try to fix my hair as two waiters unload a bunch of plates and bowls onto our table.

“Oh, wow! That’s a lot of food,” I say after seeing the table filled to the brim with all kinds of dishes.

“Too late for that now,” Ernie smirks, and I gulp.

I’m not even sure what half of this stuff is. Some of it I recognize, like roast beef and some pasta with tomato sauce, and others look like chopped liver to me. That said, it all looks so appetizing that I can feel my mouth drooling a little.

“Like what you see, ha?” Ernie laughs as he snuffs out his cigarette and picks up a spoon.

“Thank Mr. Viskov for me, won’t you?” I say as I take a delicious-looking cheese roll and bite into it, suddenly realizing how hungry I am.

“He actually already likes you,” Ernie says as he scoops too much mashed potatoes onto his plate.

I lower my half-eaten cheese roll to the table and swallow.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah. Obviously, I had to tell him about the delivery and how you did it. Gave him my word that you’re trustworthy, and you didn’t disappoint. He’s actually the one who’s treating us tonight. He’s a very understanding guy, if I’m being honest. Wouldn’t be tellin’ you any of this if he didn’t give the okay.”

He drops important news very casually again, something I’m starting to realize is another way we’re both out of sync. I hope to God it’s nothing more than a simple treat, because I really wouldn’t want to sink deeper into whatever Ernie’s line of work is, even if I don’t mind him doing it. But they do say there’s no such thing as a free meal. A saying I contemplate as I finish my cheese roll and reach for another. The waiter also brings out some wine, some really good stuff too, and I have the urge to join Ernie in complimenting his boss.

Loading my plate with as many types as I can, I start digging in as I resume my conversation with Ernie.

“As I was saying,” I say between bites, “you don’t think it’s important to know each other before we commit to something more?”

“My cock knows your insides better than you do, and you’re willing to come along whenever I need you. I’m not sure what more information do you want?” He says, gnawing on a practically tough piece of meat.

One waiter passing by hears Ernie’s elegant words, I’m sure, but keeps going without so much as batting an eyelash. They’re professionals, that’s for sure.

“I guess you have a point,” I agree with him, “but I still want to know more, you know? Even if we started backwards, you can’t keep it like that forever.”

“Ask whatever the hell you want,” he says with a full mouth.

“Hmmm… Education?” I say the first question that comes to mind.

“High school dropout. Working with he old fart was a better way to spend the time.”

I swallow a particularly large bite of what I assume is chicken before continuing.

“Family?”

“Just the old guy. Mom kicked the can before I could remember. We have some other relatives, but there’s barely a connection.”

“Friends?”

He laughs like he heard something silly.

“Just the guys I work with. I’d hardly call them friends, though.”

I contemplate his answer as another question forms in my mind.

“Exes?”

“Just a bunch of random hookups. Everyone gets scared after a time or two.”

“Imagine that,” I tease him.

“Yeah, it’ll take a special nutjob not to be,” he shoots back, and I raise my hands in defeat, before chugging down some wine.

“Hmmm… I don’t know what to ask at the moment, but I’d like to reserve the right for future questions.”

“Sure, but that’s just narc behaviour. It’s a slippery slope.”

I actually agree with him on that one.

“But anyway, I think that’s enough,” he says, and I stop and look at him, wondering if something happened or if I went too much with the questions.

“What’s YOUR deal?” he asks, suddenly putting me on the spot.

“MY deal?” I ask, unsure.

“Yeah, what do you have going on in your life?”

I purse my lips and think of an answer.

“Well… I don’t really have anything interesting going on in my life. Nothing that could hold a candle to yours, that is.”

“I’ll say. I never see anyone else come near that apartment of yours. No friends, no family. You an orphan or some shit?”

“Yeah, actually,” I say, surprised he guessed it accurately.

His spoon stops halfway to his mouth, and his eyes lock onto mine in a serious look.

“Are you fuckin’ with me?” He asks.

“No? It’s true, I don’t have parents.” I state it clearly, to avoid misunderstanding.

His look changes to one of worry. The same one he had at the hospital when we were waiting for his dad. Like he was worried, but more angry than worried.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything before, then?” He yells at me, and his voice reaches a couple of tables around us.

I’m not sure what he’s angry about as I answer, “Well, it never came up, why the fuck would I mention it?”

“Fuck’s sake, no wonder you’re so weird.”

“Thanks,” I say sarcastically as I drum my fingers on the table.

“Who raised you then, if that was the case? Did they die early, or late in life, or what?”

He’s honestly asking these intimate questions, and it’s refreshing to hear them. It’s quite different from how people usually tiptoe and get awkward around the subject.

“Don’t know, I never knew them.” I answer his curiosity, “My grandparents raised me, and they refused to tell me anything about them. After a while, I lost interest as well.”

“See? You were weird ever since you were a kid.”

“Okay, we get it. Get new material.” I sigh at the overused description of my conduct.

“Are they your mom’s or dad’s parents?”

“Dad’s.”

“Did they seriously never tell you anything about them?”

I shrug, “All I know is that they liked Mom, and that they said they’d tell me if there ever were a need. Guess the need never came.”

“Ah, and where do they live? I don’t think you ever visited them or anything in all the time we were together.”

“Well, I do visit them every week or so, but it doesn’t take much time to visit their graves.”

Ernie drops the spoon and fork he’s holding onto he plate with a loud clang and rubs his eyes with one hand.

“Jesus Christ!”

“What is it now???” I ask, concerned at his surprise.

“Your grandparents are also dead?” He asks me with half-concern, half-anger.

“Yeah?”

“I suddenly feel like a case worker,” he says in a tired voice.

“Yeah, boning orphans is a very serious profession,” I laugh at his apparent surprise.

I’m not sure what he’s surprised about. It’s not world-breaking or anything. But everyone always finds it very important for some reason.

“How old?” He finally asks.

“How old what?”

“How old were you when they died?”

“Oh, about eighteen.”

“And how…?” He says, but doesn’t finish, I guess even Ernie has a semblance of social awareness.

“Grandpa died of a heart attack. Grandma didn’t last a full year after he was gone.” I say, and watch him closely.

Erie doesn’t say anything. He raises his wine glass and takes a big swig, never breaking eye contact with me.

“How did you live?” he asks after a while.

“A teacher of mine let me live with them for a while before I could afford to make it on my own. He was a friend of Grandpa’s and very supportive. He also helped me sort out my university problems when I had to miss a couple of years,” I replay the memories with a certain fondness. I don’t think I’ve told anyone this much about myself in a long, long time.

“What happened with the university?” Ernie asks with caution, afraid of another personal bomb.

“I was taking care of Grandma,” I point out.

“Oh, right…” he says, realizing the obvious answer.

The rest of the story is quite obvious, which is why he doesn’t bother asking. He saw what my life is like now, so it’s not hard to fill in the blanks.

“Do you… like… miss them?” He says, unsure how to phrase his answer, as he resumes eating.

“Obviously, I do,” I exclaim, “But they were pretty old, if we’re being honest. I’m at least glad they passed rather peacefully.”

Once again, Ernie doesn’t say anything and just busies himself with his food. I never took him for the type to get awkward around such subjects, but I guess even he has unknown folds to him.

“Alright. My turn again…”

As I launch into another round of what basically became a two-way Q&A with Ernie, my heart swells with feelings. The one I can make out clearly is probably content. I’m eating delicious food, getting to know the guy I like, and my life is very stable at the moment. It makes me wonder if I can even handle all the good fortune that was put into my plate.

At least, I hope I can.

..................................................................…...........................................................

“I can’t eat another bite,” I sigh as I slouch back in my chair, with a good amount of food left on the table.

“You sure? I was waiting for you to bite off the fuckin’ fork,” Ernie says with a smirk.

“Thanks for the treat, Ernie…” I relay my satisfaction wholeheartedly.

“You got it,” he grins at me, eyes softer than usual.

Seeing that we’re done, he snaps his fingers to signal a passing waiter to start clearing the table, and the guy immediately gets to work.

“Hey, if it’s not trouble,” I interrupt him right as he grabs the first plates, “Do you think you can pack the leftovers to go?”

The waiter’s expression never changes, but he takes a beat to reply. “Of course, sir.”

“Food that good?” Ernie says before the waiter leaves the table.

“It’s great. But it’s mainly cause they’ll throw it out otherwise, and I don’t like waste.”

“Sure, sure,” he laughs like he’s in on an inside joke.

We ended up talking a lot. His own grandparents, what he did after he dropped out of high school, jobs I had to support myself, a distant cousin he was once close to, what life was like with my grandparents, and various other things. It felt nice. It was a new side I didn’t expect to see from Ernie, but it sure as hell was a welcome one.

I admit I did feel like I was holding my breath around him sometimes, but that stress was born out of caution. It’s a healthy thing to have, in my opinion.

“So, where to next?” Ernie asks as we stand outside the restaurant, takeaway bags in my hands.

The staff saw us off with great enthusiasm, and the maitre d’ even asked Ernie to come again. Only God knows what that Viskov guy is paying them.

“What do you mean?”

“I said I’m treatin’ ya, and the night is still ain’t over. Got anywhere else you wanna go?”

I think for a second, pondering his heartfelt invitation. I’m plenty tired, but the restaurant was so much fun, and riding along Ernie just a bit more sounds better than it ever did before.

“I wanna get drunk,” I look him in the eye and smile.

He meets me with a wicked grin.

“Now we’re talking!” He says, his excitement flaring up.

................................................................................................................................

We end up hitting a seedy-looking bar in a less-than-safe alley with no name I could see anywhere. When I ask him if he knows the owner or something, Ernie asks me what shit I'm saying, and that he’s never been here before as he parks his bike.

“Fair enough,” I laugh as I stash my takeout in his bike’s compartment and walk down the dark stairway to the entrance after him.

Inside, the atmosphere’s mellow. The place is neither empty nor full. It has just enough people to get you in the right headspace. There’s a small karaoke setup wedged into the corner of the bar. A couple of drunk regulars are taking turns belting out old pop songs with off-key passion, while the screen flickers behind them with sun-faded subtitles. Some people watch them, but no one really interacts with them as they do their own thing. We sit at the bar and are greeted by a hairy bartender with rolled-up sleeves showing off his tattoos.

“What’ll it be tonight, guys?” He asks us with the composure of a person having a good day at work.

“Get me your cheapest whiskey, neat,” Ernie locks in his choice right away.

“A Rusty Nail for me, please,” I say, and both the guy and Ernie get a confused look.

“What the hell’s a Rusty Nail?” Ernie asks first.

“Uhh… It’s a Scotch and Drambuie,“ I say, slightly embarrassed.

“Drambuie!” Ernie laughs as he says it, “What are you, eighty?“

I knew the drink’s not popular, but I didn’t expect a style critique from Ernie of all people.

“I guess I did spend a lot of time with my Grandparents,” I stop and correct myself, “Well, most of the time actually. Life is really slow when your caretakers are old people.”

Ernie’s order arrives, probably cause of how easy it was. A part of me wishes I had just ordered the same, but I silence it and wait for my order.

“Tell me about it,” he says, downing a huge part of his whiskey in one gulp.

I’m not sure if he’s referring to his dad or someone else, and he moves on before I ask.

“You act like you couldn’t be bothered, like you already lived your life and are just retiring now. No wonder you creep me out,” he says, slamming his drink on the table.

“Yet you’re sleeping with me. What does that say about you?” I counter.

“That my taste is shit,” he declares triumphantly, and I chuckle.

“Guess that makes two of us,” I say as my drink arrives.

The first sip tells me the bartender screwed up the ratios, but the second sip makes me realize I don’t care as long as it's alcohol.

The conversation flows even more with the liquor paving the way. It isn’t long before we order our second round of drinks, except this time, we switch orders so he can try out mine.

“Tastes like shit,” Ernie announces and switches our drinks back.

“Told you you wouldn’t like it,” I laugh at the scrunched face he makes.

Pretty soon, we’re both drunk. Not wasted, but well past the point of counting rounds.

Ernie’s halfway through some story about a job gone wrong, gesturing with the hand holding his glass while the bartender yells at him to stop spilling.

“So this asshole swings at me, right? And I duck, grab the pipe from his hand, and crack his skull open.”

“Cool,” I mumble, trying to focus on his face.

Ernie pauses, then clears his throat. “I mean- I didn’t crack it. Just broke his arm. That’s all.”

He says it like it’s embarrassing and he’s trying to be real about it.

I squint at him, trying to decide if that’s supposed to make me feel better. I can’t tell. My brain’s too foggy to do the math, and the sound from the karaoke session happening next to us makes it hard to focus.

I direct my gaze to the guys at the machine, and Ernie turns around too. His head turns between them and me a few times before slapping me on the back, laughing wildly.

“You shoulda just told me you wanted to sing, I could’ve taken you somewhere better to show you off!” He says with joy, and I’m too drunk to get flustered.

“I don-” and I don’t even finish my sentence before he’s shouting for the guys to give us a turn.

I sigh and turn to ask the bartender if we can use the machine, and he nods. Steeling myself for the coming chore, I raise my drink to my mouth to take another chug.

“CALIFORNIAAA LOVEEEEE”

The music blasts throughout the bar at a volume much higher than what was set. I spit out mt drink and get some of it in my nose.

“Californiaaaa knows how to partyyy!!!”

Ernie’s offbeat, enthusiastic singing drills into my ears as I stare with my mouth wide open as he performs California Love.

“HEY! Watch the spilling!” The bartender yells at me, seeing my drink spill forward as I stare at Ernie with an open mouth, my eyes refusing to believe what they see.

Needless to say, Ernie’s cover is pretty… energetic. I’ll use that word, yes. Most of his singing was just a bit off, but he had such passion that it was endearing to see. Well, almost.

There was the part where he started humping the air while pointing at me and singing “We keep it rockin’! We keep it rockin’!” which I thought was less than classy, but I still yelled a “WOAH!” in support.

I mean, he got some claps and cheers from the other bar goers when he finished as well, so I think it was great overall.

“Was I awesome or what?” Ernie says, sitting back next to me, a bit closer than before.

“It was something, that’s for sure,” I say, trying to hide my obvious enjoyment.

“Your turn, show me what you got, Auggie!” He says with too much enthusiasm, his breath hot on my face.

He looks like such a happy dog at that moment.

“I’m such a sucker,” I think to myself, and drag my woozy body to the machine.

I fumble for a while before the bartender comes over to help. I’m not sure what to sing, but a sweet memory comes up through the haze, and I ask him to put on What’ll I Do by Frank Sinatra.

The song’s hard to get right, but there’s a trick to make it work with the timing, regardless of your voice. I remember the way Grandpa told me about it, the way he’d put it on all the time and dance slowly through the house like a sad romantic until Grandma yelled at him.

“What’ll I do… When you are farrrr awayyy…”

Back in reality, I can feel it even before I glance his way. Ernie’s got his chin propped on his hand, eyes fixed on me. His grin is gone, replaced with a lazy expression like he’s lost deep in thought. I return his gaze as I pull the lyrics from memory, the one on screen unneeded.

“What I’ll dooo… with just a photograph…”

I go on singing, slower than I intended. My voice isn’t perfect, but it holds.

Somewhere in my head, the images of my grandparents standing next to Ernie appear, and it evokes feelings in me. I know these feelings were born out of my liking him, but they’re not as clear-cut as love. I’m not sure of their nature, and I’m too high up to think them through right now. The only thing I’m sure of is the next and final lyrics.

“Only dreams… of you… that won’t come true… What’ll I do…”

By the time the final note plays, there’s a moment of quiet. I look out over the bar, not expecting much. Then a few people clap. A couple of whistles. It's not a big ovation, but it’s more than Ernie got, and definitely more heartfelt.

I walk back toward him, slow and slightly unsteady. He claps with exaggerated flair, grinning widely again.

“You trying to outshine me?” he says, hooking his arm around my neck and pulling me close to him, close enough to smell the sweat underneath his shirt.

"Wouldn’t be hard,” I mutter with a smirk, “I actually have this trick for it. It’s a way my gra-”

Then, Ernie interrupts me for the hundredth time that day.

“I mean, you had the whole bar listenin’ and everythin’, you’re like one of those expensive singing birds that get put in gold cages, or… ummm…” his thoughts trail off as he himself forgets what he wanted to say.

He keeps his arm slung around me, palm squeezing my shoulder now and then like I’m a teammate and we just won a match. There’s a lightness in the way he leans into me, and a newfound intimacy. I can’t tell if it’s just the liquor making his skin warmer than usual, or if it's me noticing it more than I should.

Ernie’s hand drifts for a second down my back, then hooks lazily into the hem of my shirt. Unsure if it’s intentional or not, I glance at him, but he just grins at me and doesn’t say anything. I don’t push him off.

“You two killed it,” the bartender calls out from behind the counter, towel slung over one shoulder. “Wanna do a duet? Got the bar all warmed up now.”

“I’m go-,” I start to say, raising my hand in polite refusal.

“We’d love to!” Ernie hollers into my ear, loud enough to rattle my molars.

I wince and jerk away, elbowing him in the ribs. “Jesus. You’re not on stage!”

“C’mon, Auggie!” he shouts again, pulling me back to him and shaking me like a rag doll. “You and me, we’re gonna blow the roof off.”

I slump forward on the table, resting my forehead against my arms. “You’re gonna blow out my eardrum.”

“I’ll pick one for you,” the bartender says, already tapping at the machine. “Just trust me.”

A moment later, he picks up the mic and announces it loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

“This one goes out to the romantic lovebirds!”

I groan, head still on the table. Ernie whoops even louder.

“We’re not—” I start to say, but no one’s listening. Least of all Ernie, who’s already yanking me up by the arm.

We end up singing Summer Nights from Grease. Neither of us knew it at the time, and we went in blind. Right away, Ernie gets angry when he gets assigned the girl’s lyrics, and I laugh loudly through mine as I nudge him with my hip. He slowly got back into the song, both of us making mistakes and not hitting notes due to not knowing the song beforehand and being shit faced, but it gets the bar laughing, which is a success in of itself.

By the end, we’re just yelling into the mic, totally out of sync with each other, off-key, and half-giggling between lines. Ernie starts doing exaggerated twirls, nearly knocking over a stool. I drop half a lyric because I’m laughing too hard at his fake falsetto.

We botch the ending together, and the whole bar bursts into laughter and applause anyway. Someone whistles, and the bartender gives us a big thumbs up.

“See?” Ernie grins, grabbing both mics and holding them up like trophies with one hand, and pulling me closer to him with the other. “We crushed it.”

“We crushed something, alright,” I say, breathless, grinning despite myself.

He’s warm. Too warm. And I find myself leaning in to meet his face, which was already too close. Our lips lock, and we share a quick kiss amidst the hollering of the crowd. Sober me might have been embarrassed, but drunk me was having the time of his life.

I pull back and look at him, and he’s looking at me with wide, open eyes that are burning with something new. I can’t help but smile.

As we stumble back to our seats, one of the guys who were hogging the machine earlier leans over to his friend and mutters, “Fags.”

It’s way too quiet as he probably didn’t want to be heard, but we both do hear him.

And Ernie is on him before his drink hits the floor.

.....................................................................

We stumble into my apartment with the kind of clumsiness that only comes from shared intoxication and poor impulse control. Ernie kicks the door shut with the heel of his boot, nearly trips over his own foot, then makes a beeline for the bed and falls face-first into it.

“I'll grab water,” I mutter, tossing my keys onto the counter. The overhead light feels like a miniature sun, so I switch it off and let the dim kitchen bulb do the work instead.

Behind me, Ernie flops onto the couch and lets out a long exhale. “Hey,” he says, his voice lower now, like something sobered him just enough to be serious. “Sorry.”

I pause with the cabinet door half open. “For what?”

“For screwin’ up your day,” he says. “This was supposed to be your treat.”

I grab two glasses and fill them. “The apologies and thanks from you these past couple of days have been surprising, to say the least,” I say as I set one down next to him.

He scratches the back of his neck before raising himself and trying to drink with a shaky hand.

“Plus, I fucked up just like you, didn’t I?”

He breaks into a laugh as he drinks. He finished gulping down the water before turning to me.

“Oh yeah, did not see that coming at all.”

What he didn’t see coming was that after I pulled him off the guy he was beating bloody with extreme effort, the bartender quickly got between us and tried to calm things down. Except, the smartass trying to wipe his bloody nose had the gall to utter that word again. Ernie shook next to me, readying himself for another round, only for me to beat him to the punch. Literally.

“I mean, damn Auggie. I did not expect for me to be the one to pull you off someone,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“He pissed me off,” I give a poor excuse, but a solid one at the time.

Ernie chuckles again, softer this time. “Still. Didn't expect you to get kickin' too. You surprised me.”

Ah yeah, I did that too.

I shrug and sit down next to him on the edge of the bed. The silence creeps in. Heavy, but not unwelcome. A natural lull after a long day and a big fight. Luckily, we were able to get out of there before things got worse, not that either of us was sober enough to care.

I sip my water and feel the inside of my cheek where the adrenaline still lingers like static.

Ernie nudges me with his foot. “So what else don’t I know about you, huh?”

“Plenty.”

His hand reaches for my cheek, and I instantly recognize the shift in mood.

“Good, cause I wanna know more and more,” he says, his voice low but sure.

Fuck, was he able to be romantic when he wanted to.

Our lips meet in a drunken haze, seeking out each other for support. His hands cup my face and pull me against his. My hands are unsure of what to do and so they press against the bed. We make out slowly and with new found longing. I can taste the whiskey on his lips, when he swipes his tongue across mine, and on his breath. I steady myself with one hand on his thigh as he twists his face, trying to get a more comfortable angle to kiss me through. I'm not sure if it's the alcohol or the fatigue, but this all feels so new even though we've done this hundreds of times. There's something so comforting about knowing the person you place your needy kisses on will remain by your side.

I breath out against his mouth as we pause for a second, then slump my head against his chest.

"What's wrong?" He asks, and I can hear it in his voice. He's having the same thoughts.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just..." I sigh.

"What? Spit it out," he asks impatiently.

"I need to take a shower."

"What?" He looks at me, unsure if I'm being sexy or genuine. 

"I'm too dizzy. I want a quick cold water shower to wake up. Plus, I need to prep myself..." I say, tracing random lines into his thigh.

"Oh..." he says, realizing he's equally hammered, "let me help you, then. We can take a rinse together."

Now, it was my turn to wonder if he's being sexy or genuine. Nevertheless, his hand squeezes my arm as we get up, leaning against each other, and move to the bathroom. We help each other undress down to our underwear, and Ernie kisses my shoulders with hunger.  His hairy body is tough against me, the friction between us building our desires harder.

"Come on, ten minutes. Quick in and out," I urge him to stop as much as I don't want him to.

He grumbles something and steps aside as I get into the shower.

"Do you want to step in as well? You're not so steady yourself," I suggest.

"Sure," he accepts and steps in next to me, then turns around and reaches for the faucet handle.

It occurs to me that Ernie never took a shower at my place before, and doesn't know about the reversed faucet

"Ah, wai-" I try to warn him, but the words don't make it in time.

The hot, scalding water comes cascading down on Ernie's hand, causing him to jump back in pain and surprise.

"FUCKIN' HELL," he yells as he punches the faucet closed.

"The faucet's on backwards," I explain too late.

"YEAH, I NOTICED," he snaps, waving his hand in pain.

I turn on the cold water and grab his hand.

"Here, lemme see," I pass it under the cold water. He winces, but I ignore him and bring it closer to my face. 

It's red, but hardly worth the worry.

"Fuck this, I'm getting some ice," he complains and steps out of the shower, partially wet.

"Well, the fridge is still broken, so you'll have to do with cold water bottles in the freezer," I tell him and he doesn't reply.

"At least dry yourself off before you go outside," I tell him but he continues ignoring me and leaves a trail of wet spots behind him.

It's another ten minutes before I finish my business in the bathroom while Ernie curses from the kitchen. Once I'm out and dry, towel wrapped around my waist, much more focused and awake, I slide next to Ernie, who was now sitting on the bed, and take another look at his hand.

"It's nothing, you'll be okay."

"When did you become a fucking doctor?"

Taking care of dying grandparents gave me some medical experience actually, but I don't think it's the best idea to say that now.

I set the water bottle he was holding on the bed side table and put his hand down as I press my body to his.

"So... where were we?" I ask him with a small smile.

"You good to go now, princess?" He replies with a question, half-annoyed, half-sarcastic.

"Aha," I nod, and plant my mouth on his.

It's the same when the food was placed in front of me at the restaurant. You never realize how hungry you are until it hits you like this. In a flash, I'm kissing him, tracing my tongue over his teeth and cheeks and face,  trying to taste as much of him as possible. He kisses me back with greater force, twisting us around and laying me down on the bed.

He pauses and draws his face away so we can see each other, and the dim lighting catches his features perfectly, making me unsure if I'm just viewing things differently because of my affection, or honestly realizing he's more handsome than I originally thought. Ernie looks back at me, his eyes full of emotions too complex to decipher. His body rides on mine, pushing his knee between my legs and forcing them open. I put my hands around his neck and a small gasp escapes me when he pressed against my cock and balls, making my body tense up.

"Someone's tensed up," he teases, and I bring my hand down to his briefs.

"Yeah," I say as I cup his cock through the white fabric.

I can feel the heat of it, the weight of his hard piece, and I want it more than I ever did. He takes a step back to help me take my shorts off, and my own hard erection springs back and slams my tummy, leaving an arc of precum in its way. I raise my body slightly and help him get his underwear off, making his thick cock dangle between his legs, like a sleeping beast. I give it a few tugs out of reflex, captivated by its appearnace, and that seems to ignite something in him. He pushed into me with his whole body, his cock sliding against my taint and junk as he renews his assault on my mouth, biting and pulling, trying to get his tongue on every part of me. I let him ravish me, my hands grabbing his powerful, hairy back for support, feeling the buried strength in those street-built muscles as they push and pull against me.

He lets go of my mouth, allowing me to breath, and starts kissing down along my neck and chest, playfully teasing my nipples from my process as I squeeze his head into my chest in pleasure, before reaching my happy trail. He stops there, and I raise my head to see what he's doing, honry and impatient, only to be flung back into the bed when Ernie raises my legs high and exposes my hole. His tongue extends hungrily, and he swipes it across my asshole with firm accuracy, making my whole body shiver and causing me to squeeze my ring in anticipation. Soon enough, he's eating me out, licking and sucking on my hole and ass. I moan loudly with every touch of his hot, wet tongue, electricity surging through me from my ass and up my spine.

When he feels my hole finally relax, he comes back up, pushing my legs with his shoulders and locking me into missionary position. We stare at each again, my emotions all over the place as I assume his are as well, and then I raise my head and kiss him, pactically begging him to take me. He obliges, his hand going down to part my cheeks and prod my hole. It feels good, and I convulse my asshole, desperate to be filled. He positions his cock against my hole with one hand, and kisses me deeply as he pushes in. I moan loudly into him, his girth splitting me apart as it pushes its way inside against my inner walls, digging me out with vigor. All the while, Ernie's kiss never breaks, his tongue resting cozily in my mouth, savoring the sublime connection through our mouths as he gets set in my ass. His cock finally bottoms out, and I feel something in me push upwards, his size getting something going when it lodges itself inside. 

"All good?" He asks, in an uncharacteristic display of care.

"I am now," I suprise myself with the words that come out of my mouth.

I swear his eyes glint in the dark room, and a smile splits his face as a soft 'fuck' lets loose from his lips. He's breathing heavy against my face, our foreheads resting agaisnt each other, and he starts thrusting in me, getting me all mixed inside and scratching the itches no one else can. My nails dig into his back, and I try to push out, to let him have his way, which he doesn't miss. The rhythm starts off slow, carefully moving around to press every spot inside me, and quite soon, I'm squirming against his crotch, trying to get his cock head to kiss my walls harder. Ernie chuckles and seals my lips with his again, slamming into me with great force.

My breath catches in my throat, and I try to steady my self helplessly as he starts hammering into me, a beastial drive behind each thrust. His ass goes up and down in the air, breeding me like a dog in heat. I realize I'm calling out his name, my voice high with lust, gasping and groaning. He's even louder, yelling and fucking like a man possessed. 

"You're mine. You hear that, Auggie? You're mine!" 

I nod, too worked up for words, my head swaying powerlessly as all the pleasure and stimulation builds up in my ass, pushing at my special place and sending danger signals all over my body.

"Ah, ah, ah, ahhh, aahhhhh. aaAAAHHHHHH!" I'm screaming now, the grinding of my dick between his solid guts and my stomach squeezing the soul out of my body.

Ernie senses my impending release, and renews fucking like he's trying to split me apart with his cock, rutting into me in a mad haze. That does it, and I feel myself tip over the edge, my cock shooting its load between us, coating us in the proof of his fucking. 

The orgasm hits me hard,  and I raise my ass to meet him. I squeeze down on his cock as hard as I could, my fleshy insides trying to milk his load as fast as possible. It works, and he buries his face between my neck and shoulder, yelling out in ecstasy as his cock unloads inside me, filling me up with thick, heavy cum. We both lay shaking for a minute or so, shuddering from the ripples of our orgasms.

Eventually, I unclench, having kept his cock in a iron grip throughout everything, and he slides off next to me. His cum is still churning inside me, making me buzz with pleasure.

"Fuck, is this what romantic sex is like? This shit was better than usual!" Ernie exclaims, still breathing heavily and looking up at the ceiling.

I can't help it. I burst out laughing.

"HAHAHAH.... No.. no, you're just drunk," I reply through my own labored breathing and laughs as I work myself into a sitting position next to him. Maybe it was a bit different this time, and not just because of the booze, but neither of us was in the right headspace to call it.

He stares back at me, his eyes swimming with something unknown. It gives me a sudden urge. His eyes follows me as I move and sit behind him, cradling his head in my lap and placing it atop my now-cold cum. He doesn't resist, but relaxes instead, closing his eyes while he basks in the afterglow. It's not like we never cuddled after sex, but this was new in many ways. The sex, the ease, the comfort. It was a new found level of trust. 

I start playing with the tufts of his hair, swiping it away from his forehead and twirling it in my hand. He doesn't comment, but I get the feeling he likes it. We sit like that, enjoying the silence of a healthy love making, until Ernie opens his eyes again and talks to me.

"Frank always said I had bad hair. It was a pain to cut and a bigger pain to clean." 

"I think it's cute. I like how scruffy it is," I answer spontaneously.

He looks at me, his whole demeanor calmer than ever before. I do not know what he's thinking, but I respond naturally, without overthinking myself.

"I like how calm you are. You always make it work," he says, eyes never leaving me.

"I'm happy you think of me that way," I tell him, his emotions taking me by surprise, "I like how wild you are. It makes me feel alive."

"What's that mean?"

"It's... you see, when I was growing up, everything I did, I did with my grandparents, and everthing they did was..." I struggle to find the right words, "bottom line is, they raised me well, but they weren't my parents. So, I ended up like them. It's like you said, actually. I feel like I'm retired, acting on the same sentiment they had, the one where you pass the days after a life well-lived."

I stop to get my thoughts in order, and he looks like he wants to say something, but I continue, afraid to lose my line of thought.

"That type of living was fine for them, but it's not very correct for me."

"Sounds like a pain in the ass."

I laugh. "I'm finding that out, yeah. I mean, I still like the way I am, but I think there's some stuff that needs to change."

"And you're using me for that?" He says, voice ragged.

"Not using you, jeez," I pinch his cheek playfully and squeeze it, "It's like when you see a kid having fun, and you get a warm feeling inside."

"So, I'm your fucking kid now?" He says, now clearly annoyed.

"No, you dumbass," I laugh again at his confusion. I'm not sure if I called him a dumbass before, but it comes out naturally. "I'm just saying you bring me happiness." 

"You..." he starts then stops, then continues again, "I want you for myself."

There's something so raw in his words, in the way he says it. I bend myself and plant an clumsy upside down kiss on lips.

"I'm all yours," I assure him.

He turns around and moves me with him, making me lay on his chest with his arm slung around me. I nuzzle into his hairy chest, relishing the warmth of the moment. 

"You know..." I suddenly remember, "when we first met, I was coming back from a run after visiting their graves." 

"Wait, you mean when we..."

"Yeah, when I blew you in the park."

"Fucking creep."

"Yeah, yeah,  you enjoyed it too."

"So your midnight runs were all visits?"

"Not all of them. I'd say half."

He falls silent, and I can feel him stare at the ceiling. It's quite enough that I can hear his heartbeat, pounding rhythmically against my ear. I trace lines on his chest, enjoying his rough hair and supple muscles. I really like doing that. 

"Ernie..."

"Yeah?"

I don't answer.

"What is it?"  He asks again.

"Forget it."

"What? Spit it out!" He tightens his arm around me in an attmept to get me to cough up.

"It's nothing forget it,"

I tune out his objections as I rest against his body, his familiar scent lulling me to sleep.

It wasn't the right time.

Those words would have to wait, at least for now.

END

---

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading till the end! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think this is a satisfying conclusion, but I wonder if anyone would be interested in a short future epilogue? Either way, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this story, or what you'd like to see in my next works!

Thanks again!

-Luke