likesboys | last friday night

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last friday night

I've never been in a position to experience the Hollywood movie standard for a Friday night out in the city. Never been even close to being able to see what all the fuss about Gossip Girl and its setting of unrealistic standards is about. Lima doesn't have much of a night scene, particularly not for the young and out man, and even though I've been in Darrow for nearly a year now, I haven't found reason or space to party until now. It's not my thing. It's not what I do, it's not what I prefer; I'd rather spend the night curled up on my couch with a friend, a bowl of popcorn on my lap, with the city lights gently filtering into the room.

Well, until now, anyway. Now, whenever I settle in for a quiet Friday evening, I'm simply reminded of how much has been missing since breaking up with Blaine. It's not that I need him, really. I don't think I'm quite that codependent. But when you get used to something, when it becomes part and parcel of your regular life, having that suddenly changed isn't fun. It always takes a period of adjustment.

And after being good for the first month of our break-up, I just want a change.

That's why I've called up Neil. That's why I asked him for ideas, that's why we're going clubbing. I've decided to invite a little bit of spice, silver eyeshadow blended above my eyelids with a hint of green at the edge. Liquid eyeliner. Bright clothes to match.

If I'm not going to be myself, I may as well dress up as the person I want to be. Colorful. Fun. Confident.

A knock sounds on the door, and I call out, "Coming!" From my side, Cat immediately grows tense, meowing in distaste as I tread towards the front door. She'll whine at me up until I open the door, then probably glower at the newcomer before retreating. She hasn't taken to anyone other than me just yet.

I'm curious to see if she ever grows fond of my friends. For a small, white little furry thing, she comes off as pretty darn judgmental.

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I feel a little bit guilty, leaving Mike at home with the kids, but after a long, bullshit week, I need a little bit of time to unwind. I'm not planning on having too much fun, 'cause with Kurt in tow, I kind of doubt I'm gonna wake up in an alley, crashing down from too much E or whatever.

The jeans I'm wearing are maybe a little tighter than I normally bother with, and I look kind of awesome in the black button-up I'm wearing, my hair actually combed for once, but it's not like I've gone all out. As much as I like sucking dick, the queer club scene was never really my thing.

Guess I'm just a fuckin' humanitarian.

Grinning, I knock again, leaning against the frame and listening to him shuffle around behind the closed door. "Let's get this show on the fuckin' road, man."

Edited 2013-02-22 20:54 (UTC)

Cat's still meowing up a storm by the time I make it to the door, and after two attempts to shoo her away, I give up, sliding open the chain lock and opening the door. After setting an intent stare on Neil for all of five seconds, she darts away to her bed in the corner of the living room. Guess she needs more time to take in someone like him. But that's fine tonight, I figure, since I'll be out. If she wants to be petulant, she can deal with the consequence of that later.

"Neil!" I greet brightly, my smile faltering for half a second when I notice just how put-together he looks. More than usual, anyway, and it looks sharp on him. I really shouldn't be surprised; I mean, I know that face can clean up well, I've seen it happen. It's just that I didn't really expect Neil to do that for me.

(I mean, I assume it's for me. I assume he's really trying to get me to ease up a bit.)

"You look... great," I remark with a tilt of my head, grabbing my jacket to sling on my shoulders and my keys to bury deep in my pocket. "Shall we?"

"Don't look so fuckin' surprised," I say with a low rumble of laughter, reaching out to brush away a silver fleck of glitter on his cheek.

In makeup like this, he reminds me undeniably of Preston, even though Eric's look was never quite so put-together. He was always a freak in black lipstick and neon streaks in his hair, fishnets and fedora hats. I miss the weird little fucker, more than I realize, sometimes.

"Let's go. I need a drink."

"Well, I knew you were handsome, but I didn't know that you knew how to fix yourself up," I protest with a slightly wry, pointed look. Mostly making fun of him, I think. I don't think he'll take it to heart — he probably knows as well as everyone that his usual look has its own sort of charm, it's just different than this one. The brush against my cheek draws a slight grin from my lips, and I take a deep breath, preparing myself for the chill outside.

"What do you need a drink for?" I ask, double-checking to make sure that the door's locked, then turning us in the direction of the elevator. "I'm the one who needs to drown my sorrows. Though I guess you could knock back a shot or two to loosen yourself from all the chaos that the twins must wreak wherever they go."

"Shut up," I laugh, slinging a casual arm across his shoulders as we make our way to the elevator and jabbing at the button with my thumb.

"I just spent the last week in the body of my step-daughters' mother, man. I need a fuckin' drink." I guess it's possible he missed the excitement, somehow. I didn't exactly advertise it.

Edited 2013-02-26 21:05 (UTC)

"Ah," I blink, then blink again, then — I mean, I'm pretty sure he doesn't mean it in the sense of having intercourse with her. Otherwise he'd point out that she arrived. Maybe somehow, their bodies were swapped? Magic happens around here and all, I just haven't really tried looking for any of it. I already feeling like I'm falling apart every day, I don't really need more details to drive me nuts.

How do people even stay sane around here?

"Yeah, I could... see that. Sorry, I've been — aside from work and school, I haven't really been around at all the past month. Which you know. But I guess I just mean, I haven't been around for anyone."

"It's fine, man. I wasn't exactly broadcasting it," I shrug, nudging him gently onto the elevator with me. "But if you see one of those weird Fortune Teller machines on the boardwalk? Don't put a quarter in, man. Trust me."

Honestly, none of it's anything I wanna spend a lot of time talking about. Not because it hurts too much or anything, but just 'cause I feel like it's over now. We got through it, all in one piece. It could've gone a hell of a lot worse.

"I don't believe in fortune tellers, anyway," I murmur, easily following Neil's direction into the elevator and pressing the button for the lobby. "Or God, for that matter. Honestly, I can't put much stock in anything that isn't tangible or measurable in some way. Like, maybe it exists, maybe fate's real, but if we can't know for sure, it's not like guessing's going to do us good one way or the other."

Licking my lips, I decide that Neil's probably not interested in listening to me prattle on about that. It's not great setup for clubbing, either.

"So... your husband's with the girls, I guess?"

Okay, so maybe I don't know what one talks about before clubbing.

"After all the shit I've seen and the people I've met the last seven years? I kinda have to believe in the intangible shit," I admit, leaning back against the wall as the elevator takes us down.

"I mean, one of my best friends is an angel. Like, a literal, winged warrior of heaven, who can preform minor miracles and shit. I've like, touched his grace with my hands-- which sounds like a euphemism, but it's not."

When the doors open again, I step out, sticking out an arm to hold them open for him. "Maybe his God isn't my God, but Cas believes in him, and it's kinda hard for me not to."

Sliding my hands into my pockets, I nod, "Yeah, Mike's got the night off."

My nose wrinkles slightly at his talk, though I smooth it out soon enough. It's just not something that I want to think about for that long. I don't know if that's me just running from the truth now or what, but I really, really can't balance an existential crisis on top of everything else. I want to just call it tricks, maybe some science beyond what I know. But miracles? No, that word feels far, far too lofty and distant to attach to anything. I mean, everyone said it was a miracle that my dad woke up after such a coma.

And that just feels far too light to fit.

"That's a shame that he couldn't come out too," I say with a purse of my lips. "Do you two go... you know, clubbing together and stuff? For all that I wanted to get married by thirty, I don't actually, I mean, I don't really know what married couples do for fun. My mom passed away before I really realized that there were things couples did beyond kiss and keep the house tidy."

"Yeah, I mean, we do sometimes," I shrug, letting him drop the whole God subject, 'cause I'm not interested in having some meaning of life conversation, either. The truth is, I don't know what I believe in. All I know is that Cas is real, which opens up a whole new world of possibilities.

"Mostly it's me dancing and him stalking me from the shadows, like a creeper," I admit with a snort, "We go to Obsidian, some. Out for drinks and stuff. It's kinda hard to make time for us to both go out, when we've got the girls. We were never really a date night kinda couple, anyway."

Out on the street, I walk to the edge of the curb to hail a cab, which has always been one good thing about this city: It's easy to get around.

I open my mouth in protest, briefly, when the cab pulls up, but... well, truth be told, I'm doing pretty decently for myself in Darrow, even in spite of the couple extra sick days I took after breaking up with Blaine. When in distress, work harder, I guess that's my philosophy. It's done well in the workplace. I've sure earned a lot of extra money through commissions.

So I can afford a luxury now and again. I need to remind myself of that. (And it's not like I'm saving them up to enjoy with Blaine anymore, either.)

"Obsidian?" I ask, tilting my head. "I've never heard of that place. Is it another bar? I guess I — well, I don't expect to barhop regularly, but... you never know."

"Not exactly," I say with a cough of laughter, opening the door to the cab that pulls up and gesturing with a teasing sweep of one hand for him to get inside.

"It's the BDSM club down the street from my shop. Members only."

I seat myself inside, but I can't help the way my eyes widen so suddenly that I feel them practically bugging out of my skull. That, um. It shouldn't be a surprise, considering how Neil partially owns a porn shop, but I didn't really think that someone would go to one of those clubs regularly as a sort of date. Fetishes... I guess I just don't really think of them as the norm.

Granted, I love the look of belts, of being restrained in some capacity. But I guess there's just a lot I've never done.

"Uhhh... you... dabble in that, then?"

Climbing in after him, I give the driver the address, slouching down low in the seat and flashing Kurt a playful smirk.

"Yeah, I dabble. Mike does more than dabble. I take it you don't."

That is definitely not a surprise. I know the kid isn't some virgin, but I can't imagine ever seeing him inside Obsidian. Which is cool, anyway. The place isn't for everybody.

"No, I..."

I don't know how to phrase it in a way that doesn't give me away, or expose a part of myself that I'm unwilling to let surface yet: the fact that everything that I know where romance and sexual intimacy is concerned is bottled up in one individual who's been torn away from me against my will. And my faith in him, ripped up like it's nothing. I want to blame the city sometimes. I really do.

"I haven't. I mean, I guess I don't have that much experience at all where sex is concerned. Would I be completely scandalized?"

"In a place like that, probably," I say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, "Usually, you wanna start out a little smaller. I mean, if you're not used to bein' in a room with people fucking right in front of you."

Not to even mention how they're doing it. I walked right through the doors and didn't really bat an eye, but I'm not exactly a prime example of normal.

"Mike and I have always messed around with that shit, but we started off at home. There wasn't a place like Obsidian, on the island."

It's a really stupid thing to suddenly start tearing up over. I know that. To my credit, I don't actually cry, but I get pretty close, eyes burning at the corners and everything feeling a bit too tight and on edge. Honestly, it's not that I want to try BDSM, it's not that I even think I'd be genuinely into that sort of thing, but there's only one person I would have felt comfortable going that far with, and we're not together anymore. That's... it's over.

Getting hit with that realization, even when I'm heading out to forget, isn't any fun.

I glance quickly away, out the window of the taxi door, just trying to settle my nerves down. "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't be one for watching... something like that."

He turns away, but I catch a quick glimpse of the way his face crumbles, the brightness of his eyes reflected back in the cab's window.

Without a word, I reach over and rest a hand on his shoulder, giving it a faint squeeze. He oughta talk to him, I wanna say. To try and work things out. But tonight's about having some fun, not heart-to-hearts in the back of a fuckin' cab.

"Come on, kid. We're almost there."

I should shake myself out of this, I know it. Neil's hand on my shoulder comforts for the most part, but it also drives home just how mired in all of this drama I still am, in spite of my best efforts to distance myself. You're not supposed to miss your exes after they cheat on you. You're not supposed to care, I think. But actually being in this situation makes me suspect that these situations are never quite as black and white as I originally assumed.

"You'll dance with me, right?" I ask lightly, trying to turn a casual smile on Neil. I don't know how well I manage, but the effort's genuine, at least. "I mean, unless I get hit on by someone devilishly handsome and decide I want to be left alone, in which case I'll wave you off."

Barking out a laugh, I say, "Wow, man. It's good to know I'm just a fuckin' stand in."

I'm joking, obviously. I've got no intention of cockblocking him, if that's what he's on the lookout for, tonight.

"Yeah, I'll dance with you."

"You're not a stand in," I complain with a laugh, shaking my head. "It's just that I'm a crazy romantic, and however unlikely it seems that I'll find my soulmate on a club dance floor, you can't rule out the possibilities. If I find someone..."

In my gut, I already know that I won't. It's not for me, hook-ups. I'm surprised that Blaine could even stomach the thought of one at all.

"...well, I'll grab on and beg forgiveness from my friends later."

Barking out a laugh, I say, "Whatever, man. I figure I'll pull through, without you."

The taxi rolls to a stop and I hand over a wad of cash through the little window, then I'm opening the door and catching hold of Kurt's sleeve to drag him out with me.

"I'll try not to send out any accidental jealous boyfriend vibes or anything."

"Oh, I'm sure you won't have a problem in that area, at least," I say as I clamor out of the taxi, making a mental note to buy Neil or his daughters some clothes later to send as a thank-you. "Since I'm very clearly the opposite of your type. The opposite of most people's types, honestly, I'd assume. Otherwise I might have had more luck in the love department over the years."

Smoothing down my outfit, I decide that this probably isn't the best train of thought to go down as we step towards the club. I'm supposed to be confident. Trust in my appeal. It's just a little harder these days, that's all. I don't think anyone can blame me.

"Man, that's some serious fuckin' bullshit," I say, cutting him a look, "I mean, yeah, you're not my type. When I even have a type, which isn't always, anymore."

If he needs real proof of his appeal, all he has to do is pay attention to the bouncer, who takes one look at us and waves us inside. No lines, no waiting.

"You've been trying to pull from fuckin' high school guys, man. That's your problem."

Well, I can concede his first point, at least. I used to have a type. I don't know if I do anymore — I mean, I'm paying closer attention to people with features that I loved so well in Blaine. Large, hazel eyes. Dark hair and lashes. Muscular arms. But I didn't pay close attention to any of those things before Blaine.

I guess the person matters more than the appearance. You always hope for that, but it's nice to think that more people prioritize that way than you'd expect.

"You think it has to do with age?" I ask, arching a brow as we pass the bouncer, surprised that we're somehow allowed to cut through the line. I assume Neil has some pull.

"Maybe," I shrug, stopping just inside, where we have to get wristbands and hand over our coats.

"High school guys are weird. Half of 'em are neck deep in the closet, and bein' with somebody who's out and obviously out is a risk to their delicate masculinity or whatever," I say, rolling their eyes. "Plus... The whole sweet, young, delicate flower thing you've got going? It'd be really fuckin' easy for you to find somebody who wants to be your daddy."

Holding my hand out for the wristband, I reluctantly release my coat, hoping that nothing ill will come to it as I glance around the place with widened eyes, more watchful now than I would have been with Neil giving me that additional insight. True to his word, there are a lot of men looking our way. A lot of them. Many of them are burlier than Karofsky was, even, but there are some of all sorts glancing our way, including others with similarly slight frames, or those in well tailored suits.

It's... interesting.

"Like... a pimp?" I ask, quietly to keep others from overhearing. "But wow, uh. Do I really come off as that delicate? I'd like to think that I've had a good amount of experience with intimacy. I mean, when Blaine and I got going..." I pull a face, a little too embarrassed to say more. Over or not, it's still pretty private.

I notice the looks, but I don't really pay much attention. I'm used to it. I have been since I was a kid. And this time, I'm not the only focus. I used to pull off that wide-eyed innocent look, and I still can if I want to, but more often than not, I come off with a bit more edge. There's a little too much confidence in the way that I hold myself, in the looks that I give, in the way that I walk.

Guys that come after me, these days, are looking for someone with experience. The ring on my finger doesn't always scare them away. A pointed fuck off usually does the trick, though.

Giving him a quick once-over, I say, "Yeah, man. You do. I mean, it's not a bad thing, but the fact that you can't talk about fucking without making a face?"

Catching hold of his hand, I say, "Come on, let's get a drink."

"Is that such a bad thing? Maybe I just like keeping that between myself and whoever I'm with," I say quietly, not really intending to bite back so much as I'm actually curious to find out what Neil thinks. I've loosened up a lot since where I was two years ago, but I feel like where I am now with things is pretty comfortable. There's no shame that comes with wanting, with being sexually active — or well, I was until recently, anyway — but I prefer to keep a tight hold on all of that.

Maybe I could stand to be more open with Neil, though. He hasn't judged me yet, as far as I can tell, and it's a nice feeling.

Either way, I easily follow Neil along to the bar. "Oh, boy," I breathe when we draw up close. "Is anyone going to judge me if my drinks end up being pink for the most part? I have a pretty major sweet tooth."

"I said it wasn't, man. It's just... not how I've ever been. But you don't wanna be like me," I say, matter-of-fact. I know I've come along way, and I've got a good life now, but I also know that my sexual history is majorly fucked up. Do I wanna change anything about myself? Not really. Do I wanna this kid to get fucked up like me, when he's got the chance of having something halfway normal? Fuck no.

Coughing out a laugh, I say, "Do you really give a shit?" Leaning against the bar, I order myself a bourbon, straight. It's always either that, or beer.

"Maybe I don't want to be like me, either," I point out, and maybe my hair and make-up allude to that, slightly. It all... feels like me, in a way. But I know it isn't. I'm dressed up, I'm hiding the most vulnerable parts of myself away — honestly, all of fashion has always been some amount of that over the years. I love what I wear, but it also helps protect me, like if I put my identity brazenly out there, I can draw courage from that alone.

Fat lot of good that did me.

"And no, I really don't give a shit," I confess, before leaning towards the bartender and ordering a cosmopolitan. By the time I turn back around, there are a couple guys I notice standing a lot closer than they were before.

I wonder.

"You don't seem so bad, to me," I shrug, taking a sip of my drink and cutting a look at one of the guys down the bar.

"You wanna have a little fun," I say to Kurt, jerking a nod toward the guys lingering nearby, "I don't think that's a bad thing."

I'm not an especially religious guy, but with the way Neil's talking right now, it almost feels like my sins are being absolved. Like I'm being told that it's okay for me to cave every now and again, that I don't need to keep myself up to these ridiculous standards that I've set up for myself, and that it's okay for me to be confused sometimes, full stop.

Honestly, it lifts some of the weight off my chest. I glance at the men, considering. I'm almost there. Almost at the point of wanting to reach out to either of them.

Almost.

"It's a little hard not to feel... down about yourself when you get cheated on, I guess? I don't know. Even though a loss of interest wasn't what caused everything, I still feel less confident than I was for a while. Is it okay that I'm hoping to find a way to fix that? Maybe even tonight."

"It's definitely okay," I say with a huff of laughter, taking another sip of my drink.

"I've been cheated on. Not by Mike, but... my first boyfriend. I know what it feels like. It fuckin' sucks."

I don't think about Logan that much, these days, which is a change from being fucking obsessed with him for going on three years. It's one of the many parts of my life that I'm not really proud of, but I also know that Logan wasn't some kind of villain. Not really.

"Come on, finish your drink and we'll dance. The next one, I'm pretty sure somebody else is gonna buy for you."

"The worst part of it is that I can't get... really mad. I feel mad, sometimes. Lots of the time. But I can't stay mad at him, I can't villainize him, I can't think of him as anything but the best friend that I've essentially lost," I tell him, frowning down at my drink before starting to tilt it back for a long draw. It's not that strong, but I find everything a little hard to swallow right now. "And moping sucks. There's nothing cathartic about it."

Maybe talking about being unable to stay angry with Blaine helps, though. I find myself suddenly frustrated at my own behavior, knocking the rest of my drink back and reaching for Neil's hand, closing mine around it and tugging gently in the direction of the dance floor.

Even though we're just friends, it's a little strange holding another guy's hand. Different.

"At least I know I can still make the spotlight love me," I mention as we draw closer to the crowd. I hope Neil doesn't mind a bit of closer dancing.

"You know, he made a mistake," I say, finishing off my drink and putting my glass down on the bar, his hand slim and smooth in mine, where I'm used to big joints and rough skin. "You could forgive him. Even if you don't take him back, maybe you wouldn't have to lose a friend."

On the dance floor, I slide in close. I might not be a great dancer or anything, but I know how to move and I sure as hell know how to draw attention. I learned young. I had a good teacher.

It's my expression that I think about most closely right now, trying not to let too much show while we dance. After all, if I look upset on this dance floor... I wouldn't anticipate drawing lots of healthy attention. Instead, I let my hands carefully snake around Neil's waist, pulling him in close.

Even this feels like it's toeing the line. Neil's taller, slimmer, the details are all off.

"I did forgive him. My problem isn't forgiving him for what happened, it's trusting him. I don't know if we can work again in a romantic relationship," I confess, tilting my head lightly. "But he obviously wants that again. Whenever I want to keep it at bay, he looks at me like I've broken his heart all over again. But I don't think forcing myself to take him back is a good idea."

"You shouldn't force it," I say, moving with him, my hand at the small of his back, the other sliding along the back of his neck.

"I took him back. My first boyfriend. He... begged. Wouldn't leave me the fuck alone. So, I took him back. I guess it was a mistake, but... it didn't feel like one at the time, you know?"

I don't know how it helps, but hearing about Neil's past really does. More than I ever expected. Probably more than is reasonable, considering how distracting the venue we're in right now is; I keep expecting that my expression's somehow going to give me away to the guys surrounding us, but either my poker face has improved, or the sight of melancholy gets them more excited than ever.

I try not to think too much about which one's the case, instead just continuing to move with Neil, licking along the line of my lips.

"That's how it's kind of been with Blaine and me. He told me how much this was tearing him apart, kept on texting me, leaving voice messages. And sometimes, I swear, it feels like it'd be the right choice to get back together with him. But... I worry that it's just how I feel because I don't remember what it's like to be single. So, I'm trying to wait. Calm down a bit. Stop hurting so much."

"I talked to him, a couple weeks back. He said he was afraid you'd think he didn't give a shit, if he backed off too much," I admit, and maybe I shouldn't-- maybe it was a private confession that Blaine didn't want him to know, but I can't see the harm in it.

"I told him he needed to, anyway," I say, and we're pressed close now-- maybe a little too close, but it doesn't feel dangerous.

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last friday night

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