likesboys | last friday night

Entry tags:

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

last friday night

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject