Archive of Our Own

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Rain had just swept through the city leaving the pavement an iridescent mirror of the nighttime lights. Travis Bickle sat in the driver’s seat of his cab, waiting for a green light. Idly he turned the wheel back and forth, finding comfort in the repetition. It distracted him from the thoughts constantly moving through his skull.

Things were better than they were. In the two years since his little incident, Travis had progressed toward paper-thin stability. Of course, things were never going to be normal within him–he had long ago come to terms with that–but now Travis found there was more slack in the ever-tightening line of thread inside him.

For now, the threat of it reaching its breaking point was far off, a distant concern to be dealt with later. There were ways to alleviate it now–certain outlets to which he could turn.

Travis was brought back to reality by the bright glow of green light encroaching into his cab. He accelerated, pushing forward into the night to loop through city streets in search of another passenger. Recently he’d been nagged to meet his quotas. His boss was always on his ass now about their new standards; he hated that fat fuck.

Business was slow tonight: it seemed no matter where he went people were uninterested in him. Other cabs were beating him to the huddled masses desperate to get home before the rain started up again and when he did manage to swoop in they pulled away like so many others before them.

Travis was starting to think there was something in the air. Maybe he was cursed; it didn't matter much to him either way.

There were still a few places to try and a long night beyond that. It wasn’t like he was in a rush and yet, there was something at the back of him pushing him onward, forcing him to feel a strange urgency. Travis reoriented himself, took a few turns, and headed to a place where he knew there’d be people.

Among his friends, Travis held the reputation of not only being a heroic killer but also for being fearless when it came to taxi driving. He’d go anywhere anytime without regard for his own personal safety. Maybe that was his death wish bubbling up; he didn’t care to know.

Even still, where he was headed now ranked among the worst spots in his book. Not because of potential danger, but because the people always tried to talk to him. They’d never shut their goddamn mouths. Autograph freaks, theater fanatics, pushy tourists–it didn’t matter–they annoyed him all the same.

Only desperation could make Travis enter the depraved depths of that area and yet now, he saw the street signs begin to warn him of the encroaching danger. At least the rain hadn’t kicked up again.

Slowly, the enemy appeared in the distance: a slowly dispersing mass of people huddled around the exit of one of those late-night show buildings. Some were passing papers between each other, others loomed over their albums with a protective fervor. Overall, a desperate scene, one Travis was not excited to poach.

Already other taxis were circling in, picking up the stragglers on the outside of the pack. Travis attempted to do the same, slowly pulling closer to the curb. He was eyeing the crowd when a hand shot up, waving frantically in the blooming electric streetlight. His body worked automatically; Travis stopped in front of the stranger, mentally preparing for the ride to come.

The door was flung open, the man slid into the backseat, his powder blue polyester suit assaulting Travis’ eyes through the rear mirror. The door was slammed closed. Their eyes met in the mirror yet Travis made no move to meet face-to-face.

“Where to?”

Travis couldn’t help but look his passenger over. He was wearing the tackiest suit he’d ever seen, all cheap polyester fabric in clashing gaudy colors with a goddamn bowtie to top it off. He looked like a total geek. The mustache wasn’t helping either, nor the bizarre sweeping combover hairstyle.

“
145 34th Street, Union City. That’s alright? I know sometimes you people throw a fit when you have to drive more than a few blocks. No offense.” Travis narrowed his eyes, involuntarily.

“No, that’s fine.” Throwing the meter, Travis pulled out into traffic. It wasn’t going to be more than a good ten minutes, maybe fifteen if he was unlucky. Then maybe he could pick up some poor sap in Jersey trying to get into the city and he’d be nearly covered for the night.

If God was finally on his side then this would be a nice quiet ride without incident.

“It must be hard to be a night driver. I mean this is prime time late night television hours.” The man in the backseat had his hands folded over a briefcase laid across his lap. He looked like a little kid. “I could never work nights. Missing Jerry–now that’s a fate worse than death! Lemme tell you, I’d rather be flat broke than miss Jerry for a paycheck.”

Travis couldn’t help but glance back again, watching as the stranger’s gaze moved across the scenes outside the cab window. His face was familiar–in a strange way, it almost reminded him of his own. More filled out sure, less tired maybe, but strangely similar in a way that made his skin crawl and his hands sweat.

The man thrums his fingertips against the briefcase, face blanketed with a chipper close-lipped smile. His mustache curls up with his lips, following them.

Suddenly, their eyes meet. Travis looks away. The road seems to stretch on forever as the first few drops of rain return.

“Are you famous? I swear you look familiar.” Travis’ stomach drops, despite the chipper tone. It was rare that he was ever recognized nowadays. Rare, but not impossible. He didn’t like the fame that came with the incident those two years back.

Travis shifted, glancing into the mirror again. He shook his head.

“No.”

It didn’t satiate him; the man only smiled wider. His tone was overwhelmingly friendly, but his cadence brought a certain intensity with it. He had a unique way of enunciating things.

“Oh come on now, you can trust me! I always know a famous face when I see one.” Silence. Travis tried to keep his eyes on the road, but couldn’t control them. They seemed to find their way back to the mirror independently of his control. “I’m serious! You. Can. Trust. Me!”

Travis knew he must have the stupidest look on his face right then, all slack-jawed with his lips slightly parted. It was inevitable. He wet his lips only for them to return to their dumb open position.

The man was smiling still, pulling his face up to look down at Travis with one part condescension and another part warm familiarity.

Silence stretched on until the meter ran over into two dollars.

“Suit yourself! If you wanna be mysterious, so be it.” Leaning back, the stranger pauses, refolding his hands in his lap. Momentarily, Travis assumes he is released, free to spend the next five minutes in pleasant silence. Only the man is moving again, leaning forward over his bent elbows until his face is close to Travis’ body.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret of my own: I’m gonna be very very famous one day. And every day that goes by that day gets closer and closer until everyone in the city–hell, the country–will know the name Rupert Pupkin!” At first, the words were a whisper, then a growing frantic energy sent them louder and louder until Rupert was speaking with a determined excitement that made Travis’ ear ache.

Silence; Travis feels frozen in place.

“Oh, I’m Rupert Pupkin by the way. It’s nice to meet you!” He extends his hand out, letting it hover close to where Travis is gripping the wheel. It stays there, unmoving, expectant.

Travis watches the outstretched fingers. There is a slight motion to them, moving up and down ever so slightly. He’s starting to think that this man will never grow tired–that the only way to send him off is to shake that hand.

The angle is awkward; Travis reaches around with his left hand, grasping the warm soft flesh in a rough approximation of a handshake. Immediately, Rupert is vigorously shaking it, clasping his other hand over his, preventing escape.

“I just know there’s something special about you. I’ll remember that when I make it big; I never forget the little guy.”

There is a beat, a moment of expectation from this strange man’s end that makes Travis nearly speak. He never wants to speak in these weird moments and yet now he is struggling to stop himself. ‘Who are you really? What do you see in me? Who am I?’ all roll against his lips.

He restrains himself; Rupert lets go of his hand and returns to lean against the backseat. With his briefcase across his lap and a smile on his soft face, it was as if nothing had ever happened between them.

Before more can be said the end of their journey is upon them: a tiny house with peeling white siding tucked between a long row of identical homes. It is almost offensive in its mundanity; to picture Rupert in front of it in his obnoxious suit makes Travis feel sick.

“Oh, we’re here! Time really does fly when you’re having fun, huh?” He starts gathering himself and moving to the door, but he hesitates. There are three crumpled dollar bills in his hand, waving at Travis from between curled fingers. Rupert extends them to him and again their fingers meet, but this time they are face-to-face.

Travis wonders what Rupert is seeing in him.

“Thanks for the ride, Travis. I know we’ll see each other around again.”

Before he can respond the man is out the door, leaving Travis to roll the crumpled bills between his fingers. He watches Rupert until he’s entering the house–until the front door is shut behind him. Not once did he look back.

Travis stays parked against the curb for quite a while. The entire encounter has left him feeling strange, stranger than these typical odd encounters left him.

People in the backseat read his name off the license card often enough that the rush of fear that came with hearing it from a stranger’s mouth had long disappeared. There was nothing to it, nothing to be read into it or gleaned from its interpretation.

And yet here he was feeling an unplaceable emotion, something between dread and curiosity. It made his brain burn like there was something there that needed excising.

It was a good while before Travis could move on from it. The cab roared to life when he finally admitted it was time to move on and away. In the distance, the city lights were iridescent in the darkness, a brutal attempt to mask the evil truth of the place.

Travis shook the thoughts off as he made his way back home. The night was long and there were plenty of other passengers to pick up. The likelihood he and Rupert would ever cross paths again was miniscule.

It wouldn’t be the first time it happened to him, though.

Forcing himself onward, Travis managed to forget about the bizarre stranger. Days stretched on, and a week passed by. He picked up some odd hours.

Driving the cab during daylight had a sick sort of perversion, despite the vastly superior quality to the patrons. Travis never enjoyed it; the long stalling moments of traffic reminded him of dark days and lonely nights he had been desperate to forget.

Warm Saturday afternoons were especially cruel. They stretched on forever, reminding him of the impending summer heat. Already the filthy trash that inevitably piled on the street corners was starting to steam and stink. It was around now when his headaches started to flare up again.

Travis sat stuck in traffic, bumper to bumper all the way down one long street flanked by office buildings. Annoyance buzzed about him like so many flies as he watched cabs nowhere near the curb take in frantic rushing passengers. It was a good place to pick up office workers desperate in their midday activities.

So far, his luck was minimal. Too many taxis cluttered the street keeping him away from the prime turf near the curb. Already the lunch rush was beginning to mill about, hungry to get away for their little hour. Plenty would go by foot, but a sizable portion was ripe for the taking.

Travis was surveying the crowd, sipping away at a large Coke with a significant amount of brandy in it when he saw him again. Immediately, his body was filled with anxiety–a rare occurrence. It made him thrust his soda away.

Before he could look away the man was staring right at him. A smile was spreading across his face and, oh God, he was waving. He was waving like he just saw his best friend after years of separation like he had been waiting all his life for this reunion.

Travis felt sick. Rupert Pupkin began pushing his way through the crowd, weaving between cars, determined to get to Travis’ taxi.

There was no escape; the man was relentless.

He only had a moment to prepare before the door was flung open and a powder blue blur jumped into the backseat. Immediately, the energy inside increased. Travis stared via the mirror.

“What a beautiful coincidence this is! I told you we would meet again, but I never expected things to happen again soooo soon.” Rupert tossed his briefcase aside so he could better rock forward as he spoke, getting closer and then pulling away with each word. Travis furrowed his brows.

“You know, I think everything happens for a reason and this–this is just too good to be true. I think someone is trying to tell us something and that something is precisely what I want to figure out.” When he talked, Rupert had a tendency to gesture with his hands, beginning lower to his knees but extending further and further as the energy built up. It was like he was coiling tighter and tighter, ready to burst.

Travis could relate to that.

“Could you turn around and let me get a good look at your face? No need to worry about the road in this traffic. And don’t play shy again!” Rupert smiled, lips tight, mustache mirroring them.

Travis hesitated. Something inside him tried protecting him from the little invisible thread that Rupert was tugging him along by. He could feel it, wrapped around his neck like a leash, pull, pull, pulling him around. It was unique, a feeling Travis hadn’t felt since his time with–

“Come on now, don’t be shy Travis. I already know what you look like anyway; I just want a clearer picture. If you wanna make it in show business you gotta get over this shyness.”

He couldn’t resist anymore. It was involuntary. Travis turned around to look Rupert head-on. Their eyes met instantly.

It was as if he was being greeted by a funhouse version of himself. This mirror made things a little wider–not by much–but enough to make it uncanny to behold. He was staring back at himself except his face was fuller, his hair combed over instead of wild and oily with neglect.

The mustache helped to hide things–to trick his brain into recognizing this man as his own unique being. A brief glance downward and the clothes helped too. It was like someone had slightly stretched himself across and then dressed him like a clown.

Rupert’s unwavering smile remained the most glaring discrepancy–the only thing that kept Travis from tearing this bizarro doppelganger to shreds.

“You know, you have a face for the movies. A little ragged, but with some work and a good stylist I could see you being the next big thing. If I were you I’d seriously consider a future in the pictures.”

Again with the smile. Travis felt hypnotized, and helpless when confronted by it. He could sense anger, frustration even, just behind his own eyes but something else was clouding it. Embarrassment maybe.

“I, uh, don’t really watch movies…” Travis recoils at the sound of his own voice all quiet and timid like he has no confidence in his own ability to speak. In the spotlight of Rupert’s attention, he can only shrink away, minimizing himself. He wants to disappear.

“Well, then you must at least watch television. Everyone watches TV.” Rupert is still looking at him, though occasionally his eyes glance past through the windshield.

“No, not really. I mean, every once in a while I do but–” Travis pauses, reaching for his drink. “–I don’t follow it much.”

But I’d like to

flashes across his mind, desperately begging to force its way out of his mouth. He stops himself, recognizing for once in his life how inappropriate it would be to say that. Travis doesn’t know why, but he knows that now is not the time.

If he said that now he would never get away.

Rupert looks horrified like someone just told him his mother was found murdered in a dim alley. His words come back uncharacteristically slow as if there is great harm in even vocalizing them.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen The Jerry Langford Show?”

Travis’ drink is halfway to his lips when the dire question is asked. He cannot even begin to understand it. In the entirety of his twenty-eight years on Earth, he has never once heard of a Jerry Langford.

Something tells him his response is profoundly important, if not to Rupert than to the universe as a whole. A strange force bearing down on his entire being is telling him that he must proceed with extreme caution.

Travis opens his mouth.

“I’ve–

A car horn interrupts him, sending Rupert jolting in fright. Travis responds similarly, his drink nearly falling from his hand as he whips around in his seat. Cars have begun to move again during their little conversation.

A certain kind of hypervigilance takes over him in these moments. Travis’ palms sweat when they find the wheel again. He knows that if they weren’t occupied they’d be trembling. Imagining it makes a bit of self-loathing bubble in his chest, but he forces it down.

Instead, Travis focuses on lurching the cab forward, anger manifesting against the asshole cabbie behind him who laid on the horn. Rupert was blocking his view, but he was sure that he could take the dumbfuck in a fight anytime.

He could kill him too–in a fight of course.

Travis pushes the thought away.

“I hate people like that. They’re the scum of the Earth–no patience. It makes me sick to think we share a profession.” The words flow out of him, uncharacteristically comfortable. Travis can’t help it; he feels his face pinched tight in annoyance.

For his part, Rupert seems unperturbed.

“Well, what’s a day without a little bit of excitement? Jerry always says–” Rupert stops as if struck by some sudden realization. “Wait a minute, you never answered my question! Travis, you sly fox, don’t think you can get outta this one so easy.”

Travis blinks, weaving into the next lane over to escape a stalling car.

“I–uh.” He finally manages another sip of his Coke; it’s starting to get warm. “I forgot what you asked…”

Rupert barks a laugh, loud and obnoxious and uncouth. It nearly sets Travis off again; he has to take another drink to calm himself. It spreads a distinct warmth through his chest and throat, a sensation he long ago began to draw comfort from.

“Oh Travis, you’re a funny guy! You should try stand-up sometime, I think you have the talent for it. I know talent when I see it.” He pauses, smiling. Travis worries he’s expecting him to answer.

Travis takes a turn and enters some new street with a bit less congestion. He has a sudden realization.

“Where exactly did you want me to take you?” It's the first time he’s sounded in control this entire conversation. Rupert, momentarily confused, laughs again. It makes Travis feel odd.

“Look at me, I get so excited to see a future star again that I entirely forget the purpose of a taxi cab. How incredibly silly of me.” He pauses, feigning thinking. It’s over-exaggerated, his face twisting into a mockery of puzzlement. A part of Travis wonders if it isn’t an act. “Say, do you know anywhere around here that has good coffee? I could really go for a nice cup of coffee right now. Oh, and burgers too. Do you like burgers?”

Eyes meet in the mirror; Travis chooses not to look away this time.

“Yeah, I like burgers. There’s a uh, good place nearby I can take you. Won’t be too long.” Rupert smiles, leaning forward slightly so that he’s physically straddling the invisible border between the front and back seats. Travis chooses to look ahead, hands-on two and ten.

“And will you be joining me for a nice burger?” Travis’ eyes go wide–he can’t help it. The question is posed innocently, as innocent as can be done. Rupert, expectant, still remains bent forward, intensely close to him.

Travis wants to stop the car right there and throw him out. He wants to shove Rupert into the pavement, kick him while he’s down, then drive away. There is no place for friendship in his life right now. Intimacy is a slow-release poison, a leech sucking the blood drop by drop out of his already failing body.

Travis does not need to eat another burger today and he does not need to spend time alone with this delusional freak.

“Uhh…yeah. Sure.”

Idiot

.

Pathetic, pushover, idiot

. Travis cannot comprehend why he agreed. His tongue is revolting against him–it’s joined the side of stomach cancer and headaches. It is his suicidality manifest; a treacherous evil organ hell-bent on ruining his life.

Travis wants to slam his head into the wheel.

He does not.

Rupert’s reaction is physical, explosive in his barely contained excitement. It makes Travis shrink inward. He considers dropping Rupert off at the front of some diner and driving off before he can get a chance to drag him inside.

“Oh boy, you don’t know how excited that makes me! I got some great stuff to workshop and I think you might be the perfect person to help me with one of my bits. It's a great one, I’ll tell you all about it when we get there.” Frantically, he raises up his briefcase, giving it a slight wave. “I’ve got all my material in here. Real top-notch stuff; Jerry-type material. It’ll have you in stitches. You do laugh, don't you?”

Travis ignores him, choosing to focus on driving. He knows that in two blocks there will be a little diner on the corner, the kind of place that sells cheap greasy food at all hours of the day. He’s been a few times; they have excellent pie.

Rupert plows through the silence, all smiles and hardly contained energy.

“I just knew you were something special, Travis. This is gonna be the start of something very, very incredible.”

God must be punishing him for some transgression because traffic is lightening up and he’s hitting every green light. The diner rears its colossal animal head over the sparse cars between them. Escape is impossible; Travis will be socializing in mere moments.

When it becomes clear that there is no choice but to park, Travis does, pulling into an empty spot nearby. It was a string of impossibly lucky breaks, ones Travis could have used anywhere else in his life. He turned the cab off, throwing the meter.

“Is this it? I’ve been here before! They have excellent pie–I mean real good pie.”

Rupert is making his way out of the cab as he speaks and Travis feels the leash tugging at him, forcing him to follow. Reluctantly, he exits the cab.

The outside air is warm and slightly muggy but broken up sporadically by a refreshingly chilled breeze. It is a fine day, all bright in the sunshine. Travis cannot help but feel out of place.

Standing beside him, Rupert seems to be taking in the light, swinging his briefcase slightly at his side. His head is tilted up, warm rays falling across his half-squinted eyes. Travis can’t tell if it's because he’s smiling or from the light.

A gust of wind sends the scent of cheap cologne his way. It makes his nose scrunch up.

“Looks pretty crowded in there, we better hurry.” Rupert’s voice is loud even in the open; it takes all of Travis’ self-control not to shush him. Before he can, he’s heading toward the restaurant. There’s a confidence in his stride that urges Travis to follow.

His hands are already shoved in the pockets of his jacket; he must look like some pathetic sulking beast. Travis is unfit for sunlight.

Rupert throws the door open, bursting into the crowded room like he’s the king of the world. He forgets to hold the door–it nearly slams into Travis’ face as he follows him. Rupert spins on his heels and lays his hand on Travis’ shoulder as he does.

There is a facsimile of sympathy on his face. Travis is instantly able to register it as a farce.

“How does that table over there look? We don’t have many options now, but eventually, whenever I walk into these places I’ll clear all these schmucks out with a wave of my hand.” He smiles. “Not that I’d ever abuse my powers.”

Travis does not understand what Rupert means but he also doesn’t want to. A glance at the table, a nod of the head in agreement, and a short walk in Rupert’s shadow has them sitting across from each other in a busy corner.

Travis slouches over himself, elbows on the table. He must look like absolute shit. There is a sudden awareness of his appearance that is clawing at his back. It makes him feel the annoying itch of stubble on his jaw, the tiredness in his eyes, or the sticky feeling of his unwashed curls against his temple.

He needs a haircut–he needs a total reconstruction of his body.

“Sir? Sir!” The shrill voice cuts through him, leaving him cleaved in two. Vulnerability oozes down his shoulders.

A burnt-out waitress is staring down at him, apparently desperate for his attention. He must have been somewhere else when she arrived.

“Uh, a water. No ice.” Travis presses his fingers into the tabletop. “A coffee too.”

The waitress nods, turning to go, but Travis intercepts her.

“And a Coke. Please. A big one.” Annoyance radiates off of her as she nods, slinking off into the crowd.

Travis is once again alone with Rupert. Alone in a sea of people. It was the same as it always was for Travis, only now there was someone sitting across from him.

Staring at him.

He shifted. Rupert didn’t stop staring at him, still smiling. He never seemed to stop smiling.

“So, tell me a little bit about yourself. How did you end up becoming a taxi driver when you’ve got the movie star look?” Ruperts got his hands folded on the table, soft fingers folded between each other. Travis can’t help but think it's awfully feminine.

“Well, I uh…was out of a job and–”

Travis is interrupted by the waitress returning with their drinks. She sets down two coffee mugs, one for each of them, and then drops Travis’ water and Coke in front of him. Coffee is poured, then a notepad is drawn from somewhere, and the waitress is again asking for their orders.

“Let’s see.” Rupert makes a big show of unfolding the menu. He scrutinizes it, his face drawn into contemplation, his smile finally gone. It's almost funny. “I’ll have the uh, triple-decker toasted ham and cheese sandwich with a side of french fries and a milkshake. Strawberry please, with whipped cream on top.”

The woman nods, repeats it back to Rupert under her breath, and then all eyes are on Travis. His tongue feels heavy.

“Could I just get a cheeseburger? With fries.”

“Cheeseburger with fries.” She repeats back at him, like some haggard parrot. Travis watches her, his face a blank wall. He stays that way until she’s gone.

Rupert is busying himself digging through his briefcase. It's as if he forgot Travis was there.

There is silence. It stretches on and on until Travis feels like he might explode. Reluctantly, he speaks.

“I, um, thought you wanted a burger?” Rupert looks up, seemingly surprised that Travis is still here.

“A sandwich sounded better. Can a man not change his mind? Sheesh!” He shuffled some papers, knocking them into a neat stack against the table's edge. Smirking, they’re passed across the table to Travis, who hesitantly grabs them. “Check these out,”

Travis flicks through the papers, eyes glancing across the combination of typed and scrawled words. They seem to be transcripts of something, a speech or a show. The margins are full of deranged annotations in a host of colored ink. Some are overlapping into incomprehensibility.

“Those are transcripts of some of Jerry’s best material. I’ve been trying to distill what makes him better than other comedians, you know, why he’s so funny and they’re not and why he’s been such a great success where so many others have failed. And you know, I think I’m really getting close to cracking the code; I mean look at that right there!”

Rupert leans over the table so quickly Travis nearly jumps. He’s jamming a finger into the loose paper, pointing out some scrawled red ink. Travis squints at it, trying to make sense of the words until the picture becomes clear to him. It reads:

Don’t explain the punchline.

Travis glances at Rupert who is staring back like he’s just shared a profound revelation. Now, Travis doesn’t know much of anything about comedy, but he’s pretty sure he knew that. Either way, Rupert is waiting for him to say something.

“It’s very good. Uh, it’s great stuff really.” Rupert leans back, smug. He folds his arms across his chest. Travis returns to skimming through the papers.

“Consider yourself very lucky to see any of that. I don’t let just anyone read my private notes. Not even Masha has seen the one you’re looking at.”

Travis gets to the end of the stack and then gives it one more quick flick to simulate interest before handing it back to Rupert. He takes the opportunity to retrieve his Alka-Seltzer tablets from a jacket pocket. Shaking one out into the glass of water, Travis watches the bubbles begin to form, enthralled by the ensuing foam.

Rupert is ranting about something, but he’s not paying attention. There is no need to: it is clear that nothing will be missed by this little reprieve into his own head. Travis allows himself to become lost in his thoughts again. They bubble up and froth over like the rapidly dissolving tablet.

Why did he come here? Why did his body feel the need to take him here? The questions swam around his skull, unanswerable.

That wasn’t entirely true. A reluctant buzzing thought twisted between the questions, threatening to be acknowledged. It was purposefully being ignored; Travis could not bear to consider it.

Yet here it was, about to be thought. He braced himself.

I am enjoying being here with this person.

It was too late to be undone. Travis sighed out of his nose, so softly even he couldn’t hear it. There was nothing he could do but accept it: Travis Bickle was enjoying the company of this strange man.

Any further chance at introspection was quashed immediately; Travis would not allow it.

It took a great effort to look away from the glass and back to Rupert. He was still talking, gesturing with his arms, seemingly incapable of recognizing Travis’ indifference. Before he could interject, their food was being served.

Travis stared down at the mess of a cheeseburger before him. His stomach growled.

“You know, I already had a burger for breakfast today,” Travis said, the slightest of smiles on his lips.

Rupert already had his sandwich in his mouth, biting into the crispy bread, sending crumbs into his mustache. He did his best to give an incredulous look but was thwarted by the bite.

“Mmmreally?” It was impossible to understand him through a full mouth, but Travis nodded in response. He poured an obscene amount of ketchup onto the cheese-covered patty.

“Yeah. From McDonald’s.” Travis took a large bite, chewing and swallowing it swiftly. Already he was grabbing up a handful of fries. “I, uh, can’t really cook in my apartment.”

Rupert sipped at his milkshake and Travis found himself watching the way his throat bobbed whenever he swallowed.

“I couldn't live like that. My mom is a real jerk sometimes but if I didn’t have home-cooked meals I wouldn’t be able to live. I’d probably, I dunno, waste away and die!” He laughs and Travis can’t help but give a short burst of air from his nose in response.

They continue to eat. Rupert makes a few comments and Travis replies. He finds himself talking more than usual. It’s strange, but there’s something very calming about the mundanity of it all.

He can’t remember the last time he got lunch with someone else like this. Sure, he ate with his coworkers often, but that was different. He was just another body then; here he was something else.

It wasn’t like he was the star of the show–that was clearly Rupert. Yet, there was a certain magnetic quality drawing him in. Travis had expected to hate Rupert, to despise his self-centered ramblings, and here he was basking in the warm glow of his attention. Sure, they were only small scraps, brief moments in larger ramblings about himself or whoever this Jerry person was, but attention regardless.

Normally Travis hated having eyes on him. The implications of this new enjoyment were not lost on him; he simply chose to ignore it for now.

His diary would hear all about it tonight.

Pretty soon the food was mostly gone and the conversation was progressing as best it could with Travis nodding along to stories about Jerry Langford. Rupert paused only to suck away at the straw of his milkshake.

“Mmm, anyways, that’s why we were all leaving early last week when you picked us up. It was a real shame too because I’d been saving my spot for most of the day–I got outta work early–and it was all for nothing. Well, not entirely for nothing.”

He looks at Travis and smiles.

Travis smiles back.

Rupert opens his mouth to speak but stops. His face twists in sudden confusion. Frantically, he pulls his sleeve back to reveal a tacky cheap wristwatch. Whatever number he reads sends his eyes bulging out of his head.

“Oh, God, my boss is gonna kill me!” He takes one last sip of his milkshake before sliding it across the table to Travis. “You can have the rest. I really gotta go now, my lunch break was over ten minutes ago and if I keep coming back late they’re gonna start docking my pay.”

Travis feels a tinge of disappointment, though he tries to shake it off. Rupert digs in his pocket, tossing a few bills down onto the table. A bit of change clatters down too. He’s fixing his suit when he seemingly remembers Travis.

“Oh, uh, it was great talking to you, really. I really wish I could stay longer but I gotta run. No, no it’ll be quicker on foot, no need for the taxi. Shoot, this is gonna be bad.” Rupert paces: three steps, turns, three steps, turns.

Again, as if prompted by a lightning bolt of epiphany, Rupert is changing again. He digs in his jacket pocket, retrieving a small card. He pushes it toward Travis, inadvertently getting it wet with condensation.

Travis peers down at it. It’s a business card, only there are two phone numbers on it: one listed under communications the other listed under comedian. Rupert pulls away, smiling through the frustration.

“Just gimme a call whenever you’re free and we can do this again. Goodbye, Travis!” He’s turning to go, maybe making it three steps before he’s facing Travis again. “And I’m gonna figure out where I first saw your face! Don’t play coy with me, tough guy.”

Before Travis can speak, he’s gone. There are little glimpses of him in the crowd, powder blue blurs that Travis can track to the door. He watches Rupert leave, break into an awkward sprint, and then head wild down the three blocks to his office.

When he’s finally out of sight, Travis relaxes. He feels himself sink into the booth.

There is too much to consider–it is impossible to think in the real physical world. He needs to get back to his cab or, even better, his apartment.

Travis could not place why, but there was the strangest feeling overcoming him. It was one he’d felt before, but not for a long while. It first made itself known when he took the taxi job, then later when he first saw Betsy and Iris for the first time.

Of course, it was also there when he walked up to Sport that night.

It was the feverish full-body sensation of a life-changing event.

Travis couldn’t understand why he was feeling it now, but he was sure it would become clear very soon. He only hoped it was for a good reason.

Slowly, Travis took a drink of the nearly melted milkshake.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Travis couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as he and Rupert walked down some half-deserted sidewalk. It was early, around ten o'clock. Rupert had the day off work and Travis finished his shift a few hours ago. Their meeting was impromptu; Rupert’s call had jolted Travis awake from his short nap to propose they get lunch together.

Of course, Travis agreed.

This wasn’t the first time they’d done this since they got burgers last month. At first, Travis refused to contact Rupert, deciding it was best to keep the man at arm’s length. His motivations were impenetrable to Travis. Many long introspective sessions left him no closer to understanding Rupert’s interest in him than when he started.

A few days went by before Travis broke down and called the number. He didn’t know which to try, but a glance at the time of day told him ‘communications’ might garner a better result. Travis waited through the rings with bated breath, a nervousness taking over his normally calm demeanor.

Rupert answered, of course, and the next thing Travis knew they were getting coffee again that afternoon. Soon enough they were regularly meeting up to get food.

It was nice to have a friend. For a long time, Travis avoided the idea of intimacy with anyone; now, for a reason he couldn’t quite place, he felt finally ready to allow someone in. Of course, their conversations remained appropriately surface-level and obviously one-sided. Travis wanted to keep it that way.

Their routine had grown comfortable, except for today. Something was bothering Travis, refusing to allow him to relax. Travis felt the strangest sensation of being watched.

Maybe it wasn’t so much being watched, but the fear of being seen. It was a new fear, one Travis tried to ignore but couldn’t quite shake. Glancing over his shoulder he saw no familiar faces in the sparse crowd. Looking back ahead, he saw Rupert’s curious expression.

“I, uh, just got this weird feeling like someone was watching me.” Travis rubbed one of his arms, feeling the soft corduroy fabric of his red jacket. “You ever get that way?”

“Oh, all the time! You get used to it though.” Rupert smiles and Travis thinks that there is truth in his reassurance. He looks ahead, watching the cracks in the concrete as they walk.

It’s a nice day out, already warmer than it was yesterday. Travis can almost ignore the street trash mulling about them. For once, he is nearly happy.

“So where is this place we’re going?” Rupert is slightly taller than him, just barely. He’s got his hair done so pristinely that it almost looks fake. The light sends a few grey strands near his temple shimmering.

“It's a little place I go to get breakfast after night shifts. I don’t really know much about restaurants but it's pretty good.” He pauses. “They have good pancakes.”

“Oh, I love pancakes. You don’t think ten is too late for breakfast do you?” Travis shakes his head.

“I mean, I usually just eat whenever. It doesn’t really matter if it’s the right time…” Rupert laughs, but Travis doesn’t know what’s so funny. His stomach does a little twist; it must be the cancer.

“You’re a funny guy Travis. It just feels a bit wrong to eat two breakfasts; I mean, there’s no harm in it but it just doesn’t seem right. Do they do sandwiches?”

“I think so,” Travis replies, sunlight warming his forehead. It truly was a wonderful day.

They turn a corner and sure enough, there is the burnt-out electric sign advertising the place. It’s one of those cafeteria-type venues, but the food is exceptionally adequate–the kind of thing that makes for the perfect cap to a long night of driving. Even now the thought of bacon and eggs has Travis’ stomach growling.

“That’s it. I was thinking we could sit by the window; that’s always a nice spot.” He’s holding the door open for Rupert, letting him enter first. The smell of cheap food hits him square in the face, profoundly enticing. Already he’s picturing piling his plastic tray high with all sorts of goodies.

Travis follows Rupert inside, appreciating the electric thrum of the fans overhead. It’s cooler in the building, but not uncomfortably so. The peeling cracked linoleum flooring and buzzing yellow electric lights remind him of home. It’s a comforting moment.

Rupert is chatting away about something that happened to him at work the day before while they move up in the line. It’s a little crowded, which isn’t uncommon, but it’s annoying Travis. He hates waiting around, getting funneled through queues like an animal.

Sometimes he finds it difficult to listen to Rupert talk. There are only two things he talks about: himself or Jerry. It’s not like Travis is much of a talker, but he finds his mind drifting away whenever Rupert tells the same story again. Already he’s recalled the same anecdote about getting Jerry Langford’s autograph last December three times. Travis could tell it himself at this point.

At least Travis can exude an air of listening. He must have the same blank affect all the time because Rupert hasn’t noticed yet whenever he’s off in his head somewhere. Even now he hasn’t realized Travis isn’t paying attention.

It’s one part endearing, one part infuriating.

Shuffling up further, Travis begins to contemplate the delicious meal that’s only moments away now. Eggs and bacon, toast with butter, biscuits and gravy; it’s hard to decide what to choose. He eyes the plate of some stranger passing by, ignorant of Rupert’s words about what he and Masha did last night.

They’re getting close to the front when someone shouts from the dining area.

“Hey, killer!”

Immediately, Travis’ heart is in his throat. He recognizes the voice. His palms start to sweat; his hands jolt with a newly acquired tremor. Travis shoves them in his pockets to hide it.

“Travis! I know you can hear me!”

Slowly, he turns, his face a blank wall of thinly managed disdain. Sitting across the divider at a worn-down table are two of his cabbie buddies. Charlie T was the one calling his name, but Doughboy is sitting next to him. The former smiles wide when their eyes meet, a toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Travis regrets ever coming here.

“Do you know those guys?” Rupert’s voice is intrigued, but also slightly annoyed. Travis’ mouth is parted, his lips open in a dumbfounded look of intense embarrassment and shame. He can barely force himself to speak.

“Yeah, uh, those are some of my cabbie friends…” Rupert glances from him to them to him again, clearly confused as to why Travis seems so suddenly shy.

“Well, are you going to go say hi?” Travis can’t imagine himself moving–his limbs feel locked up. Yet, somehow he’s walking over to the divider, standing there stiffly as his buddies smirk at him.

“Well, well, well, long time no see, killer. Where have you been?” Charlie T’s voice betrays no emotion, but Travis cannot help but read condescension into his words. He always hated him.

It was true that Travis hasn’t been around much recently. He’s been spending his night breaks alone in the cab, buying his meals from corner stores. His day breaks were more often than not spent with Rupert on park benches eating prepackaged foods or in scuzzy restaurants. He’d been neglecting his peers for some time now.

“I’ve been busy,” he manages to choke out. Doughboy snorts, his mouth full of half-chewed sandwich.

“No shit. I don’t think you’ve taken a day off since you started here.” Charlie T smiles in response, glancing around Travis toward Rupert. Travis can’t help but follow his gaze, peeking over his shoulder to see the man placing his order. He’s leaning forward, one hand behind his back the other pointing at the menu.

“Do you know that guy?” There is ire in the way Charlie T says ‘guy’ like it’s taking all his self-control not to say something derogatory. Travis is still watching Rupert when he responds.

“Yeah…he’s my cousin.” When he looks back, all eyes are on him.

Ever since his incident, Travis has garnered a certain respect from his peers. Perhaps most of it was rooted in the fear that he could retaliate against any slight with violence. Either way, Travis appreciated the way it made them keep him at just the perfect distance. Not too close, but not too far off.

It is clear that they don’t entirely buy the explanation, but no one is about to question him further.

“What’s with the outfit? Got a big date, ladykiller?” Doughboy’s mouth is mostly full of scrambled eggs when he deftly changes the subject. Travis glances down at his jacket, the red color slightly faded with age.

To be honest, he didn’t really know why he chose to wear this instead of his usual fare. Typically he reserved the jacket for more formal outings or when he needed to impress a girl. Travis suddenly felt very stupid.

“I uh, wanted to try something different.”

There is a long awkward silence. Travis felt their eyes digging into him, scrutinizing him and his story. He couldn’t help but hate them; how they claimed to be his friends but bothered and bullied him. Travis wished he’d never left the house this morning.

Before he can say something again, he hears his name being called from across the dining hall. Turning, he sees Rupert sitting alone at a little table by the window, waving at him. Travis gives a pitiful wave back.

“Sorry, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys around, okay?” He knows his voice is strained and he’s sure his expression is pained but Travis decided to escape while he has a chance.

Pushing through the crowd, Travis makes it to Rupert’s table, sliding into the seat across from him. There’s a plate waiting for him with toast and eggs.

“Sorry, I didn’t know what you wanted so I panicked. You can have some of mine if you’d like.” Rupert pauses, frowning slightly. “Were those guys bothering you?”

Travis must not be as good at hiding his annoyance as he thinks he is. He shrugs his shoulders, slumped forward slightly.

“They didn’t mean to, but I don’t know.” Travis pinches the crust of his toast, feeling it crumble beneath his fingertips. “I didn’t want them to see me here.”

Rupert raises an eyebrow, chewing on some pancake.

“Why not?”

Because I’m embarrassed to be seen with you.

“I don’t think they like me.”

Rupert leans around him, comically stretching to try and see the men through the crowd. It nearly makes Travis laugh, but he stifles it. Instead, he nibbles at the corner of his toast. It’s so dry that it becomes nearly inedible. He tosses it back onto the plate.

“Well, I don’t see why they wouldn’t like you. You’re a very likable guy Travis.” Rupert smiles at him in a way that’s supposed to be comforting but only has Travis’ heart pounding further in his chest. He knows his cabbie buddies are watching him–hell everyone is probably watching him.

Travis feels hot, too hot like it’s the middle of a summer heatwave. There’s the vague sensation of warmth in his cheeks, but this goes beyond embarrassment.

Travis realizes suddenly that he feels ashamed. Intensely, thoroughly ashamed.

It must be because he was caught being genuine.

“Are you alright?”

Travis blinks back into the moment. Rupert is staring at him, concerned. There’s so much noise in the room; he wonders how he hadn’t noticed it until just now. Travis furrows his brows.

“I need to leave.” Travis stands up, banging his knees against the table as he does. Rupert is following him, confused as he grabs a piece of Travis’ toast as he goes. He’s right behind Travis while he apologizes under his breath, pushing through the tables and toward the door. It takes all his self-control not to look over at his buddies; he knows they’re staring at him.

Shoving the door open, Travis bursts into the warm pleasant air of the outside world. It's not quiet per se, but comparatively, the sidewalk is incredibly peaceful. Travis starts down the sidewalk with Rupert trailing behind him. His tie is disheveled from the little jog he did to catch up.

“What was that about? I didn’t even get to finish my food!” If anyone else had said it, Travis would have been angry, but instead, he stops midstride. They’re out of sight, away from the cafeteria’s big windows. Travis throws his hands up.

“I dunno, I just–”

He can’t look at Rupert; his eyes are everywhere but him.

It’s impossible to articulate his thoughts, it’s even more difficult to interpret the slew of emotions rolling around his belly. Travis paces in front of Rupert, who has started eating the toast he swiped earlier.

“I don’t like those guys. I don’t like how they look at me.” Travis chews at his lip. He can sense the floodgates starting to open.

“Did they say something?” Travis turns to meet Rupert’s gaze. The wind has picked up again, mussing up his formerly immaculate hair.

“No, but they–when we first met, I guess I just, I felt this special sort of connection between the two of us. You know like we were meant to meet each other somehow and I know you felt it too because if you didn’t I would have never agreed to talk to you. And that’s how I know you’re a real person, because of that connection. They don’t have that; they’re not real people. They go about living their lives and acting like real people, but they’re not real people. But you’re a real person.”

Travis pauses a moment before speaking again.

“I mean, I really just don’t like them is all.”

Rupert is staring at him like he just grew another head. His eyes are slightly wide, his mouth only closed on account of the food he’s chewing. That must have been the most Travis has ever spoken in one go to him.

The two men stand alone on the sidewalk, the wind whipping their hair into scattered birds’ nests. Travis prepares for rejection; it is the only outcome of vulnerability.

Rupert finally speaks.

“There’s this new movie playing about surfers trying to dodge the draft. My company helped promote it and everyone at the office has been saying it's real good. We could go see it if you’re not busy.”

Travis blinks at him, confused. He can’t tell what Rupert wants. He expected rejection or some kind of acknowledgment, instead, he’s being invited to the theater. It was strange.

“Right now?” His voice is small, his demeanor reserved. Rupert shrugs.

“Yeah, I mean, why not go get your mind off things, right? If those guys are bothering you then let's go somewhere else. I know a nice theater a few blocks from here. The owner and I swap autographs sometimes.” Rupert seems completely nonchalant.

Travis furrows his brows but Rupert doesn’t respond. He simply waits there, expectant, with a tiny smile on his lips. It’s impossible to ignore; Travis can’t help but feel compelled to answer him. There’s a compelling quality to his mannerisms that seems to push him forward when he’d like to move back.

“Uh, sure. I don’t go to the movies much–well, I do but, I don’t follow them.” Travis knows better than to bring up his pornography habit now. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pants’ pockets. “We don’t have to. I’m not busy but…”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by Rupert waving his hand. He’s smiling wide again and Travis can’t help but smile back a bit, his lips a closed curled line.

“No, no I insist! Besides I’ve wanted to go with you for a while now.” Rupert walks up to Travis, throwing one arm around his shoulders, pulling him into an awkward half-hug as he starts down the street. Travis is forced to move with him, practically being dragged along.

He can’t recall the last time someone has been so close to him. Travis pushes the thought away, focusing instead on keeping pace with Rupert. He makes an effort to try to avoid stepping on cracks in the sidewalk.

“It’s just a short walk this way. The theater owner, he’s a real great guy. Can’t remember his name now that I think about it, but a real swell guy. He traded me a Harry Morgan for some trash–I can’t even remember what–but it was a loss on his part. Unfortunately, he doesn’t want to give up any of his fancy ones but that’s alright. There are lots of shops around here that deal in the nice stuff. A few months ago, Michael–he owns this pawn place by my house–he called me ‘cus he’d gotten some sap’s collection at a major discount. Now, of course, I rush down there as fast as I can, I mean I was even late for work, and there he is with this big box. This box is huge and it’s all full of signatures.”

Rupert pauses momentarily, patting Travis’ shoulder before finally letting go of him so that he can better talk with his hands.

“Michael starts showing me some of them and it turns out the guy who collected them last used to hang around outside theaters collecting autographs just in case the person ended up famous later on. So here are scrap papers

absolutely

covered in precious names. I’m talking Streeps and Pacinos and whatnot. Now personally, not my cup of tea, but I’m thinking they’ll be good tender for trades and right when I’m about to give an offer–you won’t believe this! Right as I go to make an offer, Michael says ‘You’re a good kid Rup. Why don’t you take a few on the house?’ and sure enough he hands me some.”

At this point, Travis is smirking at the way Rupert throws so much energy into the story. He’s waving his hands around, imitating the store owner while walking slightly ahead of Travis. It’s entertaining enough that the thoughts of the cafeteria are starting to drift away.

“So, I take them and realize that I don’t have enough cash on me. ‘Oh God, what am I gonna do?’ I thought. It was Sunday, meaning the banks were closed as you know, so I ran home as fast as I could, full sprint straight into my room and I started trying to get the safe open. But it’s not working. I tried the code and it won’t budge. I’m starting to panic by this point and right when I’ve just about given up BAM!” Rupert claps his hands together, eyes wide.

“It opens! All my cash goes straight into my pockets. I go sprinting up the stairs, straight to the front door, and before I can go–right as I’m at the gates–who shows up but my own dear mother!”

Rupert’s voice gets exasperated, comically sad. He throws his hands up into the air, feigning annoyance.

“‘MOM!’ I say, ‘What the hell do you want?!’ and I remember that I was supposed to be at work an hour ago. She’s furious, we start fighting, and before I know it I’m on the next bus into the city with my pockets still full of my life’s savings. But just when all hope is lost, I think about the signatures Michael comped me–as you recall they’re still in my pocket too. So I take them out, hold them up to the light, and you won’t believe this.”

Rupert pauses, looking at Travis expectantly as if he should be guessing the punchline. He doesn’t know what to say, but he mirrors Rupert’s energy, letting his teeth show in a preemptive smile.

“They’re all junk!” Rupert laughs, but there’s clear annoyance there. It’s like he still feels angry over the incident. “It’s all a bunch of schmucks you’ve never heard of. I mean, who the hell is Joe Spinell?! I can’t even get rid of that trash if I tried!”

Rupert hangs his head down in disappointment, shaking it back and forth, his windswept hair wagging along with the motion. It’s funny; Travis finally laughs. The sound jolts Rupert back upright, his face beaming with excitement.

“Did you think that was funny?” Travis doesn’t get a chance to answer before Rupert goes on again. “Because I could workshop that into a great bit I’m sure. There are some other stories too, a few one-liners, all on the same topic of course. It would make an excellent routine.”

“It was good.” Travis doesn’t know anything about comedy or stand-up or how to be funny. He doesn’t tell jokes too often and when he does the reactions are never good. Travis has a sense of humor, but he’s sure it doesn’t align with the rest of his peers.

Rupert is the only person who has ever called him funny in the true sense of the word.

Before they can continue on, they’ve arrived at the theater. It’s small, sticking out of the side of a much larger building, sandwiched between an abandoned storefront and a pawn shop. The marquis outside reads “

Big Wednesday

” and “

Martin

”. A poster advertises late-night showings of erotic films.

A bored girl is working the front ticket booth. Rupert walks right up to her, already ordering two for the next showing of the first film. Travis is right behind him. He can’t help but look at the girl while they complete the transaction.

She’s probably around his age, slightly pudgy with strawberry blonde hair that hangs straight around her face. There are freckles on her round cheeks; her lips are a glossy pink. Travis’ gaze drags downward until his eyes land on her chest, half-exposed in her low-cut top.

He’s always had a thing for blondes. If Rupert wasn’t there he’d have already asked for her name, smiling to try to seem friendly. Normally, Travis couldn’t help himself–he’d try whenever the opportunity arose to get a woman to notice him. Now though, it felt inappropriate. He got the feeling Rupert would be displeased.

Tickets are passed through a small slot by manicured plump fingers. Rupert swipes them with a smile, gesturing for Travis to follow him inside. The girl slips away, entering the vast collection of missed connections that Travis has gathered over the years. They enter the theater.

Immediately, before he can take in the scenery, Travis is struck by the concessions counter. There is the smell of popcorn in the air–a mix of stale and fresh. His stomach growls at the thought.

“Um, did you want anything? I know you didn’t get to finish your food earlier.” Travis is already reaching for his wallet when Rupert shrugs.

“Popcorn is always nice. You can’t go wrong with popcorn.” Rupert follows him to the counter. There’s an older man working it, a blessing really because now Travis can focus on ordering.

Beneath the glass counter are displays of candy and snack foods. Travis’ eyes glaze over while he peruses them as if he doesn’t know what he wants. He waits a beat, pretending to be stumped. Beside him Rupert is staring at the soda fountain, humming to himself.

“Could I get some of those chocolate malt balls and uh two of those Choco-Lite bars. Some Chuckles too and large butter popcorn. Oh, and a Coca-Cola. Large, no ice.” Travis taps his fingers along the edge of his wallet, feeling the bulging worn leather. Rupert looks at him wide-eyed.

“You’re really gonna order all that?” Travis shrugs, looking away.

“I didn’t get to have breakfast…” His order is lined up before him, seeming absurd now that it was all together. Travis sheepishly hands over three dollars. “Could you carry the popcorn?”

Rupert nods, taking it while Travis shoves his candy into his jacket pockets. He’s got the soda to his lips before they make it to the ticket taker. Beyond him is the dim door into one of two screening rooms. Light trickles out from under the shabby door.

Travis follows Rupert inside and to his slight surprise, finds they are alone in the theater. It makes sense given the time of day, but Travis wasn’t expecting it. He shuffles along to the seat Rupert deems best.

They’re early–only dim advertisements are playing on loop. Rupert kicks his feet up onto the seat in front of him while Travis slouches into his chair.

“Aren’t we lucky? A private showing and we didn’t even have to pay extra for it!” He’s shoveling popcorn into his mouth and Travis is smiling.

“It’s nice.” Unwrapping his candy, Travis gnaws at the end of one of the aerated chocolate bars. The lights go down; somewhere behind them, an underpaid projectionist is switching the reels. Rupert makes an excited sound when the projection starts up again and the first images flicker to life.

Getting comfortable, Travis prepares himself for the film. It opens on a bunch of hippie surfer friends. Travis thinks they’re awfully annoying, a few reminding him of men who had served in Vietnam with him. A long time is spent watching them party and Travis finds himself rooting for which one he wants to die most.

Rupert laughs loud at every joke, so loud Travis is grateful they’re alone. He creeps his hand over into the popcorn bucket whenever the moment is right. At some point, Rupert asks for a few of his malt balls and he reluctantly shakes some out into his hand.

The guys in the movie get drafted. Rupert is making smart comments whenever he feels he needs to, which turns out to be through most of the movie. One of the surfers pretends to be a fag to dodge enlistment and it actually works. Maybe if he had tried that one he’d have gotten to stay home.

“I knew a guy who tried that.” Travis can’t help but voice his thoughts out loud. Rupert seems surprised to hear him speak.

“Oh yeah? What happened to him?” There’s curiosity in Rupert’s tone; he’s lost all interest in the scenes playing out on the screen. Travis looks at him in the dark, their faces half lit up by the projection. It feels intimate.

“Well he ended up in the hospital with me so it didn’t work. He got his hand maimed by some crazy fuck out in the jungle.” Travis was only partially lying as he recalled the story–they had met in a hospital and the guy was wounded bad but it wasn’t no regular hospital. He wonders if Rupert can tell.

“How do you know he was faking it? I mean, he could have really been a…” Rupert trails off, waving his popcorn filled hand to fill in the dead space. Travis snorts.

“Then he did a pretty good job faking being normal.” Travis tries to remember more about the guy but its all one blur on account of the medications the psych nurses shoved down his throat. Rupert giggles at his response and is back to the screen thankfully, sparing any further questions.

Travis tries to focus on the film again.

Pretty soon one of the kids is dead, which is about when Travis stops paying attention. He’s getting into his head again. The Vietnam scenes aren’t really doing anything for him–they’re too fake to illicit more than the occasional snort of amusement from his nose. Eventually, he’s completely lost in his thoughts.

It’s strange to Travis that Rupert was able to move on from his rant earlier. He was sure that would have driven him away–not that he wanted to do that–but then again…

Did he not always try to scare off the people who liked him? It was hard to deny it, but Travis couldn’t quite place why he did it. Maybe he knew that he deserved to be alone and other people just needed a reminder of it. His attempt with Rupert failed, however.

Travis looked at Rupert from the corner of his eyes, slouched down so deeply in his chair like he had something to hide. Rupert was transfixed by the screen, his face animated as he made some snarky comment. He was always engrossed in everything he did as long as it pleased him.

“Were those bits accurate? With the Viet Cong and the shooting.” Travis is jolted to awareness. He manages a shrug.

“Uh, no not really. I mean, I saw some action but nothing like that. They play it up for the movies, I think.”

Rupert moves his neck in an odd way, trying to catch a glimpse of something. He’s looking down at Travis, peering at him. Travis shrank deeper into his seat.

“Is that how you got this?” Before Travis can get away Rupert is poking lightly at the scar on his neck.

A jolt of electricity rushes through his body from the tip of Rupert’s finger. Travis scrunches up his brows.

“...Yeah…” He’s never felt so guilty about lying.

“Wow! You must have been so brave.” Rupert sounds so genuine that Travis wants to throw up. He can feel all the junk he just ate revolting in his stomach, ready to burst out. He shrugs best he can, tries to look at the screen.

“I guess you could call it that…” He hopes that satisfies Rupert. Travis waits for another comment, another question, but none comes. It seems he’s performed well enough.

The movie seemed to be winding down. Travis didn’t know what was happening anymore, but it seemed like the kids had all grown up and realized things changed. Travis couldn’t relate; his life was a constant flat note, constant from day to night to day again. Maybe if the characters experienced that they’d appreciate what they had.

A bit later, when his candy is depleted and his soda is long gone, the credits start rolling. Rupert stretches, yawning.

“That was alright, but I’ve seen better. No wonder it’s getting pulled from theaters next week.” Rupert covers his hand with his mouth, looking sly. “Don’t tell anyone I let that slip. I trust you, Travis.”

Travis nods. A moment later he’s standing with Rupert, rolling his stiff shoulders back. Ever since he was shot he hasn’t been able to sit still for that long without his arm cramping up. Rupert gestures to the door; Travis obediently follows him.

There is a strange disappointment as they go. At first, Travis chocks it up to the movie being bad, but he soon realizes that wasn’t it. No, it’s something else, something he’s not quite ready to consider.

Shrugging his jacket into place, Travis shoves his hands into his pockets and steps into the bright afternoon light. Rupert’s telling him he has to get going now, how it was a lot of fun, and that they need to get together again soon. Maybe dinner next time and Travis is nodding in agreement. Then they’re parting and Travis is alone on the sidewalk.

He feels as if something was meant to happen, but was cut down before it could start. What that event was, he does not know. There is nothing he can do about it now.

Slowly, Travis makes his way home. He makes sure to stop at the corner store on the way for a fresh bottle of peach brandy.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Travis stood on a bright neon-lit street beneath a host of electric signs. It was a distinctly nicer area than where he typically spent his evenings and the present activity was especially out of the ordinary for his Saturday nights. He had his hands firmly planted in his pockets and his head on a swivel–every few seconds he’d look down the sidewalk in either direction.
For the first time ever, Travis had asked for a night off work.
There of course were a few times when he was forced to do so–stomach viruses mostly, the occasional cold as well. The coma too; he couldn’t forget the coma. He rationalized those as inevitabilities of his lifestyle.
This, however, could not be handwaved away.
Travis felt the jittery itch to smoke. He didn’t often, but on occasion the urge overcame him and he went running for the pack he kept tucked under his bed. It slept well next to his crusted fifty-cent pornographic spreads and long-forgotten food wrappers. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated this; the pack lay untouched where it hid and Travis was left out of cigarettes.
Not that he knew why he wanted one so bad. Every time he did smoke it was because of some nervousness, some unplaceable fear that kept him from standing still. He didn’t quite feel any of that now, besides standing still. It was difficult not to shift from leg to leg as he waited.Waiting. Travis sighs, running his hand through his neatly combed hair. He’s been waiting for thirty minutes now. It was starting to worry him.
This whole thing was Rupert’s idea. He was the one who called Travis up and asked if he could meet him tonight and that it was no big deal if he couldn’t but he’d really really love it if he could find the time. Of course, Rupert kept exactly what they were doing a secret, but his pleading tone got to Travis.
Now he was here, waiting. Waiting for Rupert to show up. Of course, he was late.
Travis’ fingers fidget in his pocket like so many nervous worms. A frantic energy was building in him, winding inward. He needed to be relieved of it–to be given permission to relax.
There was so much noise coming from the bar behind him. It was making it hard to think. The smell of cheap pizza drifts to him making his stomach growl. Glancing in the smell’s direction he saw the small restaurant it came from. It would only take a minute to go grab a slice.But if he left then Rupert would show up, see he wasn’t there, and never speak to him again. Travis resolves to stay hungry.As he contemplates food someone emerges from the restaurant. Travis watches them from the corner of his eye. They were actually two people–a couple–departing tipsily to their next haunt. Travis eyes the pack of cigarettes in the man’s hand, shining bright like a beautiful diamond.
It wouldn’t be so hard to ask for one. People bummed cigarettes from strangers all the time. All he needed to do was open his mouth, smile so slightly, and ask politely. It was normal human behavior.He could manage it.Travis turns to ask but is stopped by the piercing blue eyes of the woman hanging off the man’s arm. She’s slipping a cigarette from the pack. She’s placing it between her bright red lips. She’s staring right at him.
There is clear unfiltered disdain in her face. Travis cannot stand it–he turns his face to the ground in shame.
It’s impossible to exist among other people. Even when he put on his nicest clothes or combed his hair and plastered on a friendly look they saw right through him. Sometimes Travis felt transparent like his very soul was on display. Other times it was as if he wasn’t visible at all.At the tip of his boot is a snubbed cigarette butt–there were still a few good puffs left on it. Involuntarily, the corner of his lip twitches.
Travis watches it as if it could start moving at any moment. He imagines it inching away from him like a dirty white caterpillar. Better to grab it now before it escapes.
Hesitantly, Travis reaches down and swipes it. Between his fingers, it feels supremely natural, as if it were an extension of his own body. Already he feels better at the prospect of having a smoke. Rolling it between his fingers, Travis realizes he doesn’t have a light.
That’s fine. It was easier to ask for a light after all than to ask for a smoke and a light.Glancing around for someone to ask, Travis recognizes a distant figure approaching down the sidewalk.
He quickly shoves the cigarette butt in his pocket and leans back against the wall in an attempt to appear casual. Travis knows it’s a useless gesture–nothing he did would lift the curse of inherent unease that radiated off of him–but it felt necessary either way.
Rupert is rushing down the sidewalk, dressed as usual in his powder blue suit, though this time with a bright blue dress shirt and yellow tie tucked into the vest. He’s like a cartoon character–always in the same clothes. Travis shook the thought away; it felt too hypocritical.
“Travis, I know I’m late, but I have an excellent excuse. Don’t tell me you were here too long?” Rupert's speaking before he’s even within earshot and Travis isn’t given the chance to answer him before he’s speaking again. “It doesn’t matter; I’m here now! I hope you’re hungry because I grabbed some snacks on the way here. I wanted to pick up something more substantial but well, time is just flying by.”
Rupert claps Travis on the shoulder, his other hand shoving a package of Hostess cupcakes into his chest. Sheepishly he accepts the food.
“It wasn’t a problem. Waiting, I mean.” Travis shoves off the wall. “How was your day?”Rupert is already taking off down the sidewalk, a gesture which Travis appropriately reads as ‘follow me’. He’s trying to keep pace with him as he weaves down the increasingly more crowded pathway in the direction from where he just came.“Oh, it was fine, very fine until an hour ago. I’ve been camping in line all day in my spot–it’s a real terrific spot by the way–you’re gonna love it. Except when it came time to go collect you, Masha refused to hold it for me! Can you believe that?”“No,” Travis replies with a feigned incredulity. It’s a skill he’s been working heavily on over the past few weeks. Rupert shakes his head, throwing his arms up.“Well, I couldn’t either! I mean after everything I’ve done for her, this is how she treats me. I said ‘Masha puh-lease just do this for me this once, you’re killing me!’ and all she did was go on with the whining and complaining. ‘Oh, you expect me to lose my spot for you!’ and ‘Don’t expect any favors after last time, Rupert!’. Give me a break!”Rupert cuts a corner a little too tight and nearly runs face-first into some poor tourists. He digs his heels in, leaning back so that Travis is forced to grab him by the jacket and pull him out of the way. He holds on for a second, waiting for Rupert to jump right back into his rant. Sure enough, he’s rushing forward again, unphased.
“Thanks,” he sputters–a shockingly valuable statement from him. Travis feels very pleased with himself as he keeps pace with Rupert. “Anyways, because of that untimely betrayal, I had to find someone else trustworthy enough to hold it for me. Of course, a little incentive never hurts either.”
Rupert rubs two fingers together, which Travis can only assume means he paid some poor sap to stand in his spot. What this spot was, Travis did not quite know, but soon enough he was sure he’d be finding out.
“And that’s why I was late!” Rupert deftly weaves his way forward, through an increasingly thicker crowd. In the distance, Travis can see a large pack of them. It seems impenetrable–one solid mass of human flesh tightly formed around a neon-lit back door. He recognizes it immediately as the place he and Rupert first met.
“Anywho, what did you get up to today?” Rupert reaches the end of the sidewalk, stopping patiently to wait for the traffic to die down. Across the road is the crowd. It makes Travis nervous; a fear is growing in his chest that soon they might be thrust into it.“It was alright. I slept a little; watched some TV. It was weird not working.”
“I bet. You’re a real workaholic.” Travis smiles, shrugging.“I guess so.” There’s a beat, a moment where they’re looking at each other warmly. It lasts just a moment and then it’s gone–Rupert is diving into the street, forcing his way across. Travis follows close behind.
Before he knows it, they’re at the edge of the crowd, which is pushed against the curb. It reminds him of Palentine’s rallies. There’s a similar fervor in the air–a cultish energy that flows between bodies like a malevolent spirit. Travis feels the hairs on the back of his neck perk up.“Jeez, it’s tight in there! Some more people must have showed up while I was gone.” Rupert raises up onto his toes, attempting to see over the crowd. Travis feels out of place.“Ugh, my guy is still there, thank God. We’re gonna have to push in. Have you ever done this before?” Travis blinks at Rupert, clearly incredulous. Rupert always did seem to have a hard time understanding that their experiences didn’t entirely align. It was almost endearing.
“No–well, kind of but, not really,” Travis recalls pushing his way into the crowd the day of the incident, feeling the people part around him like cattle. He pushes the thought aside.
“Just think of it like going to battle then. It’s easy if you stand your ground.” Rupert flashes a smile at him–all bright white teeth framed by his dark mustache. Travis’ spirits swell within him, despite wanting nothing more than to turn and leave this place.
Rupert turns to the edge of the crowd, braces his shoulder towards them, and starts pushing in. Travis follows close behind, realizing quickly that he needs to remain near if they want to stay together. The threat of separation is all around him as they enter.The first few people part with ease, albeit with some mild expletives of annoyance. Travis has no trouble following Rupert’s lead. He can’t remember the last time so many people have been in contact with him–it feels strangely exhilarating.
They are maybe three layers of people deep before it becomes difficult to move. Rupert’s yelling the same few phrases over and over again. ‘Move aside’ and ‘I got a spot up there’ and ‘Get out of the way’. He’s a real professional about it.
Except now it’s getting too hard to keep up. Travis is swallowed up by the crowd, lost among the bodies like just another stranger.
“Rupert!” His voice is raised, but not quite yelling. Rupert doesn’t hear him, already the gulf between them is extending. Travis feels the buzz of anxiety in his limbs. Again he yells, only louder. “Rupert!”This time he hears him. Rupert whips around and their eyes meet. Immediately he turns back for him, reaching out. Travis doesn’t realize it but he’s doing the same too. For a moment they’re both forcing their way to each other until Travis feels Rupert’s fingertips on his wrist and then a moment later they’re–“Out of the way folks, this man is with me! Move aside!” Rupert’s yelling in the funny voice he does when he wants to be taken seriously. Travis hardly registers it; he’s too distracted by Rupert’s hand clasped around his wrist.
Travis is pulled forward by Rupert, inadvertently nearly knocking a woman over. She spills the papers in her hands–sending her furiously to the floor to retrieve them. Travis has to step over her, but it works to slightly part the crowd. There’s room now–room enough for him to get right behind Rupert.
They’re within ten feet of the door now and things are getting cramped. Rupert looks around for a means of moving forward and as he does so his hand slips down from Travis’ wrist. It moves down like a snake until it's flush with Travis’ hand. His fingers part for Rupert’s without his permission.
It is absolutely, completely, totally involuntary.
A jolt of electricity shoots out from Travis’ belly. At first, it is pleasant–a hot burst of swelling emotion he only ever feels on the rarest of occasions. It is replaced by something else, however, something Travis registers as disgust.
Rupert evidently found a route because he was moving again, dragging Travis along by the hand. Disgust rolls in his throat, threatening to spill out. To put it simply, Travis does not hold men’s hands. Faggots do that and Travis knows he is not a faggot.And yet, he knows this is simply an act of necessity like sleeping together for warmth in some inhospitable snowscape. Travis was nearly left behind before–this was to ensure they remained together. It meant nothing more.They were nearly there now. Travis keeps his head down which means his eyes are glued to the image of their hands woven together.Rupert’s fingers are just a little bit larger than his, but they are so much softer. Travis knows his hands are rough–they’d been that way for a long time. They were just another hideous part of him like his crooked gray teeth or shallow sunken chest.
If anything, Rupert should be the one feeling disgusted.
Travis is wondering if Rupert could notice how sweaty his palms are when they suddenly burst out of the crowd and against a small barricade. A large man is standing there, but they deftly swap places with him as Rupert hands him a few bills with his free hand.
“Keep the change!” Rupert says in the forced comedic tone he often takes on when he thinks he’s being funny. He pats the man on the chest as he shuffles back behind them, leaving the two of them in line among the first row of people.Travis looks to his left and then his right. Down one side are a host of energized fanatics, all clasping various booklets in their hands. The other side is the same, albeit much shorter as it butts against the wall. Travis feels distinctly out of place.
Rupert is smiling, however. He’s beaming, practically vibrating with excitement. The energy is hard to ignore; Travis feels the anticipation himself if only tinged with a bit more dread.He’s about to say something when he realizes their hands are still intertwined.
Travis’ stomach sinks. No longer can he ignore the elephant in the room.
Consciously he knows that he is disgusted by this action. He hates it. He hates it because it is wrong. It is wrong because it is a perverse behavior. Perverse behaviors characterize the trash that walks the streets at night. He hates the trash, the filth, and the grime. Travis is better than those people.Thus, Travis should hate holding Rupert’s hand.Except he does not feel that way. He knows he should feel that way–he’s thinking right now about how he is repulsed–except his actual emotions do not align. There is an incongruence.
Travis is horrified when he realizes that despite an awareness of the appropriate reaction, his body has revolted against him. He feels the opposite.
Travis enjoys the action.
Feeling Rupert’s soft skin against his; how his fingers fit so snugly against his own fingers. The intimacy of it all–how in the crowd it was difficult to even notice that they were conjoined–made his blood rush through his body. It was almost grounding him when the fears of being in the crowd threatened to creep in.Travis hates it. He hates himself.He keeps holding Rupert’s hand.
“See that girl over there? With the curly hair by the road. The skinny one.” Rupert points with his other hand, guiding Travis’ eyes down the line of faces to that of a younger scowling woman. She is looking blankly into the distance, a package in her hands, but Travis can sense that out of the corner of her eye, she is really looking at them. “That’s Masha. I told you about her.”
Travis wonders if Rupert realizes what he’s doing. There is always the potential he simply forgot–the man was prone to forgetfulness. Of course, if he was doing this on purpose then that poses a whole new string of questions–questions Travis was not sure he was ready to propose.“Oh, I almost forgot!” Before he has time to react, Rupert has let go of his hand. Just like that, the moment is over. Travis is thrust back into the present; the other man digs into one of his jacket pockets retrieving some crumpled papers and two cheap pens. He hands a pair to Travis. “For when Jerry comes out.”Travis blinks at him. He must have stared for a minute because Ruperts thrust the paper at him again. Slowly, Travis takes it. He’s about to shove it in his pocket when he remembers the cupcakes. Swapping them, Travis hesitantly undoes the wrapper.The little cake is moist under his fingertips; it’s even softer between his lips. There’s vanilla cream inside. Travis devours it, then the other one, refusing to take the time to savor them. He needs the rush of pleasure that follows eating sweet processed foods more than ever right now. Sure enough, the bitter edge is forced from his mind after he licks the last bit of cream off his fingertips.
“If things had gone right I would have gotten us some pizza or something.” Rupert sighs, fiddling with his pen, ensuring the ink is flowing. “Think you’ve got the energy to get an autograph?”
Travis shrugs, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
“I can try.” Rupert pats his shoulder, his hand staying there slightly too long. Travis desperately wants to speak, but he no longer can. His tongue is dead in his mouth.“That’s the spirit.” Rupert checks his watch. “It’ll be any second now, so get ready. Now when Jerry comes out, it’s gonna get very rowdy, so be prepared. Sometimes, when people rush forward, you get a little crushed so try to be ready for that. Oh and don’t get separated or else I’ll never be able to find you again!”
Rupert smiles at Travis and Travis can’t help it any longer–he smiles back.
Travis wants to be angry. He took a night off work to get dragged down here just to go autograph hunting. There’s a certain sense of betrayal like they should have done something mutually enjoyable and yet Travis cannot find it in him to be upset. He knows he should be furious that Rupert seemingly made a pass at him just then but he can’t be. If anything, Travis is happy that Rupert likes him enough to bring him to his most personal outing.
There is something else there, though. Something negative. Travis would not recognize what it was until much later.
Rupert makes small talk for a few minutes, but Travis’ mind is elsewhere. He’s nearly ready to say something when the door opens and Travis is completely forgotten about.
“Oh my God, that’s him. He’s coming. Jerry! JERRY!” Rupert presses himself as far over the barrier as he can manage with his arms waving in front of him with the pen and paper. It’s comical, perhaps the funniest thing Travis has ever seen him do. He’s desperately repeating the man’s name as the crowd swells forward. It was just as he warned–Travis is pushed into the barricade against his will.With little else to do, Travis is forced to watch the door. It opens from the inside, pushing outward, illuminated by a bright white overhead lamp. It’s like the center spotlight of a grand stage. Travis watches a security guard emerge followed by a man.If that’s Jerry Langford, then Travis is disappointed.
He expected someone younger. The man emerging into the light is maybe in his mid-forties at best with gray hair and a wrinkled face. His eyes are hidden behind huge glasses. Travis can’t help but find him incredibly repulsive.Jerry puts on a big smile, replacing the earlier look of total disregard on his face. It makes Travis smirk; it was probably the most relatable thing that man could ever do. He starts strutting down the steps until the first paper makes it into his bubble. Then he’s off to signing it, then the one next to it, and then across to the other side.
Travis watches him with disgust. Surrounded on all sides by screaming desperate people Travis can’t help but hate what he sees. Jerry comes back to their side, two people down from Rupert. He signs a paper, then another.Rupert is desperate. He’s rambling on about some time when he and Jerry supposedly met in between calling his name. It’s pathetic. Travis wants him to stop–to pull back and see how he’s behaving. It’s like he’s blind to his own behaviors.
Just as Jerry is about to get to Rupert’s paper he stops. Someone else has pulled his attention. He walks right past Rupert. As he moves in front of Travis their eyes meet and he hopes that for once his face says it all.
Rupert slumps over the barricade, letting the paper slip from his fingers. It flutters to the ground to lay pitifully on the wet pavement. Travis watches as Rupert slowly pulls away, dragging his hands down his face. His entire body language screams rejection–to witness it makes Travis’ anger flair up.
He pictures himself hopping over the barrier with ease, his boots clicking against the pavement. Someone would scream–a woman most likely–as he swiftly makes his way toward Jerry. One foot in front of the other– click, click, click –until he’s behind Mr. Jerry Langford.He’d tap his shoulder and smile when he turns to meet his gaze. There would be a brief moment of understanding before he reaches into his jacket, retrieves his Magnum, and jams it under Jerry’s chin.
Travis could feel the imagined trigger beneath his finger. The warm spray of viscera on his face was as real as anything he’d ever fantasized about. It was a profoundly satisfying picture.“–passed up both of us, it’s unreal. I can’t believe it. I mean did you see that Travis?” Travis snaps back to reality to see Rupert staring at him with big brown eyes. He swore they seemed a little wet around the edges.
Travis shuffles between his feet. He must have been zoning out for a few minutes because already the crowd is moving away. A glance to his left shows him Jerry is long gone. Travis furrows his brows.“It wasn’t right for him to do that. You’re his biggest fan; it’s just not right.” He wonders if he’s actually stuttering or if it’s only imagined. Rupert throws his hands up in agreement, frowning.
“Exactly! I can’t understand it, not after everything we’ve been through. And then he passed you up too! It’s unbelievable!” Rupert pauses, then slaps his hand against his forehead. “I bet Masha has something to do with this. She probably slipped one of her letters through and poisoned Jerry against me.”
Travis watches, slightly slack-jawed as Rupert begins to rationalize his experience. Before long he’s shifted the blame away from Jerry and towards Masha. It’s almost impressive, except Travis is getting tired of standing out in the cold. Already the crowd is dispersing.
“Umm, did you wanna do anything else tonight or..?” Travis shuffles, his hands shoved into his pockets. He feels shy.
Rupert pauses, thinking. He looks off at some distant vista as he does.“We could go get food but I’m in a bad mood now. I can’t imagine being in this stinking city another minute.” He puts his hands on his hips, sending the corners of his jacket outward. “I’ll probably just go home.”
The two men stand quietly at the edge of the barricade as the final stragglers start slinking off into the night. There is a strange energy in the air; Travis senses it and Rupert knows it innately. Rupert finally adds:“You can come over if you’d like.”Shock is apparent immediately on Travis’ face. It sends his eyes wide and forces his brows up. He cannot help it.
Again, silence. Travis’ eyes are glued to the ground.
“I uh, can’t tonight. Sorry.” Travis’ fingers fidget with his cigarette butt. “I gotta work tomorrow morning to make up for tonight. Otherwise, I would.”
Rupert furrows his brows as Travis finishes speaking. Travis fears he’s about to be caught in his lie. Instead, the expression dissipates and Rupert is smiling again. It is as if nothing was said at all.
“That’s alright; there’s always next time.”“Yeah…” Travis is about to take a step towards leaving when Rupert is upon him. His arms wrap around his shoulders, and his head buries against his face. Travis is shocked–Rupert is hugging him. Hesitantly, his arms find the other man’s back. His palms rest gently there as Rupert squeezes him.
“I had fun tonight even if I didn’t get an autograph.” Rupert’s voice is muffled by Travis’ shoulder. He rocks back and forth, bringing Travis with him before pulling away. His hands remain on Travis’ shoulders as he looks into his eyes.For a moment, Travis is worried he’s going to try kissing him. Instead, he pats him again before letting his hands fall limply to his sides. Rupert rolls from his heels to his toes and back.
He’s expecting something too.
“I had a good time. I’m, uh, glad I came.” Travis knows he’s mumbling but he can’t help it. He sounds painfully shy.
“Good!” Rupert is all smiles again. “I wish we could ride in the cab together. Oh well! Are you gonna walk home?” Travis shrugs then corrects himself with a nod. Rupert starts toward the curb and Travis follows. There’s a taxi not too far off; he’s already haling it.
The taxi pulls up to the curb. Rupert hesitates a moment, glancing from Travis to the door before deciding to open it. He’s waving goodbye as he gets into the backseat.“I’ll see you soon Travis. Have a good night, okay?”
“I will. Goodbye.” The door is shut. Travis crouches so that he can smile at Rupert through the window. He waves him goodbye.
Miraculously, Travis is alone again. Already a great deal of contradictory feelings are welling up inside of him. He can sense that tonight will be another sleepless bout of introspection. Regret, fear, anger, delight–all mixed together inside of him.He waves for a cab, slides into the back, and mumbles his address.
Travis looks out the window at the neon lights gliding by, his hand engulfed by the warm imagined recollection of Rupert’s fingers.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

After the autograph-hunting incident, Travis resolved to end all contact with Rupert. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but it was one he considered a necessity if he were to continue living the way he liked to. It was impossible to keep Rupert in his life and remain sane.

At first, it was easy. He scheduled his shifts so that they started earlier, meaning he wasn’t in the apartment when Rupert was most likely to call. Sure enough, the first few days were a breeze outside of his persistent ruminating. That was harder to escape; Travis found himself thinking about Rupert constantly throughout his shifts. Attempts to overrun his mind with commentary on the degenerate state of the city proved futile–they’d shift quickly back to him or only reminded Travis of his own growing perverse desires.

He made it three days before he was home to hear the first call. It was Tuesday morning around ten o’clock. Travis couldn’t quite believe it. He was watching television when the ringing began, nearly sending him jolting out of his seat in shock. Travis watched the phone wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. It felt like it was going on for ages, years even. Travis considered unplugging it and tossing the thing out the window.

Except he didn’t. He sat there, waiting for it to stop. When it did, he felt a great sense of relief–a relief that only lasted an hour before it started up again. An hour later the same thing happened. Every hour on the hour, Travis’ phone would ring until at six o’clock Wednesday night when he couldn’t bear it any longer.

Furious, he yanked the phone off the hook, jammed it against the side of his face, and yelled one word before he was cut off.

“Oh, Travis thank God! I thought someone had murdered you! Where have you been? You weren’t answering any of my calls and I don’t know where you live so I couldn’t check on you. Are you alright?” Rupert’s voice was frantic a mix of excitement and concern. It melted away any latent rage Travis had left in him.

Sighing, Travis tried his best to sound genuine when he lied to him.

“I got a, uh, stomach virus. You know one of those twenty-four-hour viruses…” Travis couldn’t help but twist his finger in the curled telephone cord. He knew he sounded unbelievable, his voice all small.

“Oh, jeez, that sounds horrible! I hope it wasn’t from anything you ate.” The genuine concern in his voice had Travis feeling guilty. He ran his hand down his face.

“Nah, I think I uh, think I got it from this fucker at work. He was coughing all over the place all last week.” Rupert’s chuckle had drifted muffled through the speaker, forcing Travis to chuckle along with him.

“Well, I hope you didn’t miss too much work.” A pause, short and crackling. “Did you want to meet up again sometime this week? If you aren’t feeling too bad.”

Travis sighed, forcing his eyes shut. He inhaled sharply. Be strong, Travis, he told himself.

“I can’t. I mean, I want to, but I don’t umm,” Travis shuffled his feet against the linoleum. “I don’t want to get you sick. I’d feel bad if you ended up with what I got.”

Rupert sounded disappointed even though he hadn’t even spoken yet. Guilt weighed heavy on Travis like a stone.

“That’s okay; I can wait. Do you have time to talk a little?” Travis glanced at the clock; his shift started in an hour, still scheduled early to avoid Rupert.

“Yeah, but not too long.”

Travis had given in; they ended up talking the entire hour until he was late for work.

The soft avoidance continued for the rest of the week. Travis could hardly stand it. Each call stretched on longer and longer, each time it became harder and harder to lie to Rupert. He was struggling to keep the act up and even worse, he was struggling to handle the pleasant feelings each conversation conjured up. It was making him insane.

At night, his shifts became long introspective episodes of self-loathing and discovery. He hoped his days at home would be different, but his insomnia and the calls meant Travis’ struggles were never quite out of his mind. Even worse was that his usual methods to calm his nerves no longer worked as well as they once had.

For example, after he’d come home from autograph hunting, Travis worked himself up into such a rage that the only way to come down was to slam his knuckles into the wall near his mirror until they bled. The next day he was forced to keep his hand curled into a fist because the pain was so bad. It helped, but only slightly. For the first time in his life, Travis had woken up to see the cuts and bruises only to be struck with guilt and shame.

He could only repeat one thought: what would Rupert think if he saw this?

Travis was so ashamed he stopped the behaviors entirely–something not even his military shrink after Vietnam could do. He would have felt some sense of pride if not for the reason for the extinction. It was impossible to live with himself knowing that Rupert had gained such a hold of his thoughts.

Not that suicide was an option either, for similar reasons. Of course, he had plans in the back of his mind, repeating cyclical plans reminiscent of his last attempt. For now, there was a great big pin put right through the middle of them, a pin he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever take out.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Rupert was a problem and Travis wasn’t quite sure he wanted to solve it. Reluctantly, he’d refused offer after offer to go get lunch or dinner, day after day of prodding from Rupert, until finally, he could take no more. He was on the phone with him yesterday morning, laying back in bed with his boots still on when Rupert said:

“I know you’re not still sick Travis. Why are you acting so shy all of a sudden?” Travis swallowed, his stomach dropping. It was suddenly too cold in his bedroom. He wasn’t given an opportunity to answer. “It doesn’t matter.”

Rupert paused; the receiver crackled between them.

“Would you come over tomorrow night? Please.” The last word was added hastily, a sense of genuineness behind it that made Travis feel sick. He didn’t have a choice; his words were already decided for him.

“Ummm, sure. At your place…?” Travis felt a rush of excitement when Rupert answered.

“Yeah. You can get the time off work, right?”

Travis sighed, feeling the rough wool blanket beneath his fingertips. He hated asking his boss for time off.

“Yeah. I can ask tonight.”

He’d spent the rest of the evening pacing around his apartment until he was forced to rush to the garage. Travis wanted to hurt himself; he wanted to jerk off. He wanted to see Rupert again and also for the hand of God to come down to brush him off the face of the Earth.

Instead, here he is, sitting a few blocks down from Rupert’s house with the meter on, fabricating his logbook. He’d pretend it was a slow night then hand over some of his own tip money from the past week to cover the fictional fairs. It wasn’t like he was using it for anything anyway.

Travis is getting hot despite the cool evening air. It’s hard to focus on anything when he knows he’ll be seeing Rupert again in only a few minutes. He looks at the clock: already he’s pushing the meaning of fashionably late. It wasn’t right.

Shoving the clipboard aside, Travis checks himself in the rearview mirror. It must have been the hundredth time tonight. His eyes are sunken, his cheeks gray; there are a few loose hairs across his sweat-marked forehead. He’d chosen not to comb it so meticulously today to distance himself from the notion he cared about how Rupert saw him. It was a stupid gesture; Travis had spent plenty of time ensuring the messy strands were the right level of disheveled.

Even now, he’s pushing them around with his fingers. A few droplets of sweat are brushed aside, giving his forehead an oily shine. Travis sighs; it’s a hopeless endeavor.

Reluctantly, he grasps the handle of the cab door but hesitates. There is still the chance to leave. Travis stops.

Outside the night air is warm, intercut by a cool breeze. There is a sense that anything could happen tonight. If he steps out of the taxi, Travis knows there will be no turning back.

He opens the door and steps out into the road.

Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the cab siding, Travis adjusts his olive-green jacket until he’s satisfied. He looks over the warped image of himself, all tinted yellow, and cannot help but crack a little smile.

Starting off down the pavement, Travis’ belly starts to fill up with nervous flurries. With each square of cement he crosses, the fear of vomiting becomes more and more palpable. He can picture it so clearly: Rupert flinging the front door open, eyes beaming with excitement, only for Travis to keel over and be sick on his shoes. It would be funny if it weren’t so probable.

It’s too late to turn back now. Travis is in sight of the building, a little two-story white rowhouse with peeling paint on its siding. There are lights on in the windows. Despite his nerves, there’s something almost comforting about the picture.

He’s at the front steps now, he’s walking up to the door. Travis is in front of it before he knows it as if he skipped forward in time. His fist is raised, ready to knock. All he needs to do is go ahead and start.

Travis takes a deep breath, then taps his knuckles against the door.

Immediately, there is noise inside like someone scrambling about, followed by the muffled sounds of someone screaming. Another voice answers, and then the first is back again. It’s closer now, close enough that Travis can tell it's Rupert. He only gets a moment before the door is flung open.

Rupert’s exacerbated face immediately perks up upon seeing Travis standing in front of him. They stand there, staring at each other. Travis shuffles.

“Uh, hey.”

They’re the only words he can manage before Rupert wraps around him in a tight hug. He’s squeezing Travis, forcing him closer until their faces are flush. Travis cannot help it–he relents. His arms wrap around Rupert’s midsection.

Without his suit jacket on, Rupert feels like a real human being. Travis’ fingers splay out against his sides, gently pushing against his slightly soft middle. It makes Travis’ face feel warmer than it already is.

The motion is mutual; he can sense the curious tips of Rupert’s fingers brushing against the very back of his neck, where his collar ends and hair starts. It’s too intimate.

Travis does not pull away until Rupert does.

“I missed you.”

Air rushes into his lungs as Travis involuntarily inhales. It’s sharp, burning almost. He is forced to look away, eyeing the peeling siding of Rupert’s home for a moment.

“Yeah…I missed you too.” He surprises himself by even being able to speak. Rupert takes a step back, gesturing to the doorway in a semi-sweeping bow.

“Well come on in then! No reason to waste time.” Travis shuffles inside, his hands in his pockets. He starts walking towards a messy living room, but Rupert stops him, firmly gripping his arm. “Don’t go in there. My room is downstairs.”

It catches him off guard, but Travis relents, allowing himself to be pulled over to a staircase leading into what must be the basement. He’s a few steps down when a voice erupts from upstairs.

“RUPERT! Do you have somebody over?! I hear voices!”

Travis furrows his brows, clearly confused. Rupert immediately slumps his shoulders, making an exacerbated face. It’s so overexaggerated that Travis cannot tell if he’s joking. Rupert faces the entryway and starts to yell back.

“MOM! I TOLD YOU NOT TO BOTHER ME TONIGHT!” His voice is so loud it makes Travis cringe. It’s a special kind of grating. Rupert looks back at him, rolling his eyes.

“Well, how was I supposed to know you were bringing people over? You need to ask first!” Rupert’s about to yell again, but a glance at Travis’ expression makes him stop. He instead chooses to slam the door shut, sending a similar message.

“I don’t know what her deal is; I told her a hundred times I was going to need a little privacy tonight. Mothers–you know how they are.” Travis gives a little shrug. It’s hard to picture his mother ever talking to him like that. She was always so permissive.

Maybe it was time to call her.

Travis lets the thought slip away the minute he makes it to the bottom of the stairs. All thoughts leave him, even the latent nervousness, at the sight that lay before him. What he was confronted with was difficult to describe.

The basement room–Rupert’s bedroom–was more a shrine to celebrity than a place to live in. Every spare inch of wall to the left was covered in framed photographs of various famous faces–mostly Jerry’s–much to Travis’ annoyance. The walls were all red or black, giving the place the feel of some kind of nightclub (not that Travis ever went to those, no, it was more porno theater now that he considered it).

To his immediate left is a large desk with a shelf behind it packed full of individually labeled notebooks. Tracking along the room, Travis’ eyes fall on life-sized cardboard cutouts of Jerry and some woman he didn’t know, arranged around a chair like a talk show. Then there was a bed, unmade, covered in ruffled dark quilts and taken up mostly by a long-overstuffed pillow. Further still was a television–tuned to a rerun of some serial–with a sad floral couch in front of it.

Continuing along, Travis eventually meets Rupert’s gaze; he’s been waiting expectantly to hear his thoughts it seems. Travis forces a small tightlipped smile.

“Well, what do you think? Nice, isn’t it? I’ve been collecting Jerry memorabilia for years. I probably have more than anyone else I know. Masha’s jealous.” Travis nods in response, hoping it’s convincing enough of his approval. Rupert accepts it, leading him over to the couch with a wave of his hand. “Here, you can sit right there. Are you hungry? I have some spaghetti upstairs ready for you.”

Travis obeys the command, sitting down on one corner of the little couch. Immediately, he’s fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

“Yeah, uh, food would be nice. Are we eating down here?” Rupert nods.

“That doesn’t bother you, does it?” Travis shakes his head. He feels vulnerable with the thousand black and white eyes staring at the back of his head. He can’t help but glance over his shoulder at them, narrowing his eyes at the smiling still faces.

“No, I don’t mind.” Travis shifts back, trying to get comfortable. Rupert claps his hands together, clearly giddy. From where he sits Travis has a much better view of him.

Rupert’s underdressed for once: he’s got on a pair of grey slacks with a blue dress shirt tucked into them. He’s still got a tie on, but it’s shockingly casual compared to his usual fair. Travis can’t help but get a good look at him. He’s got a tiny bit of a belly, just barely visible when his shirt pulls back, but overall, Rupert appears totally average, like he’s never done a minute of exercise in his life. Travis thinks it’s cute.

He blinks. Travis didn’t just think that. It was impossible. He must be making a face because Rupert is looking at him, confused.

“Are you alright? I can get a fan if it’s too hot down here; I know it can get warm.”

Travis shakes his head, though now that Ruperts mentioned it, it is hot in the basement. He shifts, shrugging some of his jacket off so that it’s midway down his shoulders.

“I can just take this off; it’s fine.” Rupert watches as he finishes removing his jacket, leaving Travis in just his plaid western shirt. He thinks he must look terribly skinny in it. Maybe he should have just risked sweating in his jacket.

“Okay. That’s better honestly, the fan makes too much noise, and we wouldn’t want it to be louder than Jerry.” Rupert pauses, seemingly struck by another thought. “Oh, yeah, dinner! I’ll be right back, you stay there, okay!”

Before Travis can say anything, he’s rushing upstairs. Above him, gentle thudding sounds help him track where Rupert is. He must be in the kitchen now.

Travis does his best to keep his mind an empty void until Rupert returns. Despite his efforts, nervousness comes rolling back in like fog off the sea. It fills him up until he’s about ready to start pacing around the room; only concern over what Rupert might think keeps him frozen in his chair.

Thankfully, it’s not long before he hears someone shuffling down the stairs and then there’s Rupert standing in front of him with two bowls full of homemade spaghetti. He gestures to the television with his head.

“Travis, would you be a doll and get that TV tray for me?”

Like a good dog, he does as he’s told. Travis nearly scrambles off the couch, retrieving the tray to set it up for Rupert in front of the couch. He unfolds it with ease and the bowls are gently dropped onto it. Rupert flops onto the couch, sweeping one hand over the food.

“Bon appetite! I’m not much of a cook but, well…” He trails off, plucking up his fork in one hand, a tight wide smile on his face.

Travis sits back down, this time closer to Rupert so that he can access his food. He picks up his fork, suddenly enthralled by the red sauce-soaked noodles in front of him.

Travis realizes in that moment that no one has ever cooked him dinner before, besides his own mother. He blinks.

“Is smthing mwrng?” Rupert asks, his mouth stuffed with noodles. He’s hunched over the bowl, desperately trying to keep the sauce from getting on his clothes. It’s a funny image; Travis smiles.

“No, I mean,” If he was a stronger person he’d stop talking now. Travis blows air out his nose, letting his fork fall into the food. “I just–no one’s ever made me dinner before. It’s, I dunno…”

Rupert’s eyes go wide. He swallows.

“Is it too much? I should have asked.” Travis’ brow twitches.

“No, no. It’s fine, I–

What does he say? Oh, it means so much to me, thank you, Rupert. I want to cook dinner for you sometime even though I don’t know how. By the way, I thought you looked cute earlier, and I’ve never felt this way before, and if you don’t feel the same way I might just blow my brains out in front of you the next time we meet up.

Travis stares blankly at Rupert when he speaks.

“I just really like it is all.”

There is silence. Rupert gets a coy look and Travis thinks for a moment he’s been found out. He must be able to read his mind or something. This is it–Travis braces for total rejection.

“Well, how can you like it if you haven’t even tried it yet? I never expected you to be one to get scared of my cooking.” Rupert’s smirking, it’s clear he’s not serious, but Travis feels a pang of annoyance. He keeps his gaze locked on Rupert while he twirls up a large clump of spaghetti on his fork. Shoving it into his mouth, Travis is overwhelmed by its colossal mediocrity.

Rupert watches him chew, eyes briefly moving to his throat when he swallows. It feels…perverse. Travis tries not to dwell on it.

“See, I really like it.” Before Rupert can respond Travis is shoving more spaghetti down his throat, this time letting it hang out of his mouth as he tries to get too much into him at once. Rupert is smiling now; he must think this is some kind of joke to Travis.

It’s not; this is serious.

“Travis, stop you’re gonna choke.” He’s laughing now, his own bite of food midway to his mouth, halted by the giggle interrupting his words. “You’re gonna make me choke!”

Again, he listens. Travis finishes the last bite he’s shoved in his mouth, feeling stupid. He lets his fork fall back into the bowl. Rupert is still laughing at him.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. You like my cooking. I should have never doubted you.” Travis is certain what he just ate was store-bought spaghetti doused in premade store-bought sauce, but he keeps his mouth shut. He licks his lips, nervous that he might have gotten food on his face. “I know I’ve said it before, but you’re a very funny guy, Travis. I’m jealous.”

Travis’ face feels warm; he looks away. The serial has just ended on television and now a commercial for soap is playing. He watches as a woman scrubs away at a dirty plate with a bar, then dunks it into water. Miraculously, it comes out looking brand new. Travis wishes everything was that easy.

“Did you want to do anything else? I mean, besides eating dinner.” Rupert shrugs, swallowing another bite. Travis can’t help but look at his soft lips, how they move so slightly. He wonders if Rupert has done the same to him.

“Mmmm, well Jerry is about to be on after these commercials. I thought we could just watch that and take it easy since you’ve been so sick and all. Wouldn’t want you having a relapse.”

Travis looks back into his dish, embarrassment rolling inside him. He stares at it until he remembers to speak.

“...Makes sense…” It’s all he can manage. Thankfully, Rupert is distracted by a sudden burst of music from the television. He jolts up, rushing up to the set so that he can crank the volume higher. Travis cringes at the loud theme song blaring from the television, but Rupert remains entirely unperturbed. If anything, he seems giddy.

“Oh boy, am I excited. I just know you’re gonna love this one. Jerry is supposed to be interviewing Robert Mitchum. He reminds me of you a little bit.” He’s rushing back to the couch, nearly throwing himself into it. He winds up pushing the tray aside even though Travis still has food to eat.

He’d be angry if it weren’t for the fact that Rupert is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. Travis forces himself to look at the television; if he doesn’t, he might die.

Jerry Langford walks out from behind a curtain, smiling, mocking him like he always does. He waves at the camera and Travis can practically sense the wall of photos behind him waving back. Ruperts is on the edge of his seat, clearly giddy with barely contained excitement. It’s like he’s about to jump up from his seat and start imitating the action.

Travis reluctantly peels his eyes away from the screen in an attempt to subtly look at the other man. His gaze falls on his hands, firmly flat on the tops of his thighs, begging to be grabbed. Travis wants to be the one to do it this time–to finally take some initiative.

Except he can’t. Not right now. He’s frozen in place, locked into his own body. If he moves now his heart might explode. He might just die then and there. Pulsing hard in his neck, his vein threatens to penetrate through his skin.

Jerry moves silently on the television screen, the colors washed out and dull. Travis doesn’t catch what he says–not when Rupert is laughing. His laugh is obnoxious; a shrill bark that stops and starts, the kind of laugh that has him slapping his knee, bending over into himself. Travis musters a soft chuckle out of his throat, trying for once to come off as a person just like everyone else.

It must work, because Rupert is looking at him, his smile so very wide.

“See, I knew you’d love Jerry! Well not just love per se. I can just tell that you really get Jerry–not everyone can do that.” Travis shrugs, eyes darting away and back.

“He’s funny.” Idiot. Travis mentally chastises himself for saying something so stupid. He feels stupid. Rupert only nods in response, eyes returning to the screen the minute Langford begins speaking again. When he does, his leg shifts, rubbing his thigh against Travis’ own thigh. He squirms in his seat.

Trapped inside his own head, Travis can do nothing but watch as the minutes tick by. Jerry goes on and on–he assumes he will live and die on this couch. The show will never end at this rate.

And you’ll never make a move.

The voice in his head–his own voice–is bitter edged. Its words are snake venom, dripping green toxin into the creases of his mind. Travis cannot let it be right but–

He cannot help but recall what happened when he made a move with Betsy. The porno theater, the rejection, the weeks of drinking and missed calls. Mountains of rotting flowers filling up his apartment–he could smell them even now.

Travis could not handle another rejection. That could only lead to one thing–he didn’t know if he was ready for that. Life has been on the up and up recently.

And why is that? Travis inhales sharply, though Rupert doesn’t seem to notice. Of course, he already knew the answer; the question was entirely rhetorical. Rupert is the reason things have been going better for him; it was so nice to have a friend and he was so so so desperate for something more. Preferably with a nice woman but–

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend that was in the cards anymore. All his life women have been scorning him. From Betsy all the way back to the two years of high school he managed to complete they’ve never wanted anything to do with him–the only woman in his life who didn’t hate him was his own mother and Travis hasn’t spoken to her in nearly a decade now.

It was starting to look like life was sending him a message; Travis hadn’t been sure he was ready to answer it until now.

Fuck them. Women were all one big rotten union. Besides, there was nothing saying he couldn’t change his mind in the future. Now was just a momentary decision that meant nothing about his life in the long run.

Travis isn’t even planning on having a life in the long run.

Hesitantly, he takes a shaky breath, rallies all his courage, and stretches one arm around Rupert’s shoulder. Rupert doesn’t say anything.

Travis decides this is harder than parachuting out of helicopters into the fucking jungle.

He’s about to retract his arm, pretend it never happened, and then excuse himself to go home and shove his revolver in his mouth when Rupert gently leans into him. It’s subtle at first, so much so Travis nearly misses it, until Rupert is pressed to his side, their bodies flush together. Travis’ hand slips down, no longer resting on the back of the couch but on Rupert’s shoulder. His fingers are hanging down, their tips brushing across the front of his cheap dress shirt whenever he takes a breath.

Travis feels like he’s going to throw up. He wonders if Rupert would hate him forever if he stained his stupid floral couch with bright red spaghetti vomit.

Commercials begin to play on the television, loud obnoxious gaudy advertisements for new films or cars that make Travis’ nausea flair up. Next to him, Rupert has his hands folded into his lap, his torso tilted to lean into Travis. It’s almost shy.

Maybe Rupert is nervous too.

Or maybe he hates this and is waiting for you to stop.

“...Do you, uh, want me to sto–

“No.” Rupert cuts him off, eyes still glued to the television screen even though Jerry is nowhere in sight. Immediate warmth rushes into Travis’ extremities, starting from the core of his hollow stomach. It’s unfamiliar enough to be nearly uncomfortable.

“Okay.” Travis pauses, teeth pinching at the inside of his lip. “Um, how was work? I forgot to ask…” Rupert shrugs, making Travis’ arm move with him. It’s like they're one person, connected together.

“Alright, I guess. I was stuck on the phone for a few hours trying to convince a client not to drop us, which is always a pain. I swear those people are deranged! It got so bad I nearly called Barbara over–I mentioned her before, right? She’s a real genius at calming people down and this guy on the phone, he really was starting to get angry at me. I mean I could hear him turning red right through the receiver. But I eventually managed to shut him up all on my own–not a surprise really, I’m good at what I do–which was nice. Then let’s see, I had a turkey sandwich for lunch, came home early to beat traffic, cleaned up for when you came over, and then made us that fantastic dinner. So, all in all, it wasn’t a bad day.”

He waits, pausing to choose his words. Travis is watching him out of the corner of his eye, too nervous to turn his head and remind him that he’s cuddling up against a deranged loser.

“Actually, it’s pretty great now that you’re here and Jerry’s on the TV.”

Travis isn’t allowed to respond; Rupert moves too quickly. Before Travis knows it, Rupert is resting his head on Travis’ shoulder.

Travis tries to say something, but Jerry is back on. He’s doing a skit where he’s pretending to be a waiter or something–Travis can’t focus when Rupert’s hair is brushing against the exposed skin of his neck. He can sense his breathing; if he focuses hard enough, he can notice the slight warm exhale from his nostrils.

Rupert is so warm against him. He reminds him of his childhood dog, a collie that liked to sit next to him on the floor during winter to keep him warm as he watched cowboy shows. Travis had always loved the way her soft fur felt against his cheek; he wonders if Rupert’s hair is soft too.

Travis swallows. Hesitantly, he brings the hand on Rupert’s shoulder up to the side of his head. He stops momentarily, letting just the tips of his fingers touch the immaculately placed strands. There’s a slightly crunchy texture, probably from hairspray or gel or something; Travis knows nothing about hair. He waits for Rupert to protest, but when nothing changes, he lets his fingers run over the side of his hair, gently stroking it like he would a dog’s fur.

The texture is slightly harsh at first but gets nicer the more he pets at it, until he’s broken through the thin layer of product into the soft strands underneath. It’s soft–not as soft as he’d hoped–but still pleasant to the touch. Rupert doesn’t move, staying in place as he continues to laugh along to the show.

The motion becomes automatic. There is something very comforting about it and soon Travis has forgotten about the nervous edge that earlier had him ready to be sick.

They sit like that watching Jerry for a while, Rupert occasionally making some remark or laughing as Travis intermittently strokes his hair. Before Travis realizes it, the show is ending. Jerry is doing his closing monologue; the crowd is clapping. Rupert is clapping along too.

When the curtain draws and the credits roll, Travis prepares himself to let Rupert go. He’s ready to retract his arm when Rupert makes the first move. Finally, his hands leave his lap, and he turns to wrap them around Travis’ waist, shifting so that he’s facing Travis, his head still on his shoulder.

“Travis, you need to come over and watch Jerry with me every Friday. I won’t take no for an answer.” He buries his head in Travis’ shoulder, his forehead on his neck. Travis is frozen in place. He’s sure that Rupert must feel his heart beating out of his chest.

Travis’ arm moves on its own, coming to rest on Rupert’s side, pulling him closer. He finally manages to look down at him, though Rupert’s face is obscured. Sighing, Travis cannot help but think of the photos staring at him. He always hated crowds.

“I can try…”

They stay like that for a while, an hour if Travis had to guess. Eventually, the programs end, and the channel turns to static. They spent the time talking sporadically, occasionally shifting positions, but still not quite letting go of one another. Travis finally pries himself away from Rupert sometime after the static starts–he still is on the clock after all. If he starts now, he’ll have enough time to make decent fare.

Rupert walks him upstairs and they linger at the door too long for comfort. Travis wonders if he should be doing something more than staring at the other man with his hands shoved in his jacket pocket. If Rupert is expecting anything, he doesn’t let on, instead talking Travis’ ear off about what they should do the next time they see each other.

They end up hugging in the doorway for a long time. Travis tells him goodbye before slinking off into the night. He doesn’t relax until he’s seated in his taxi, hands gripping the steering wheel, ready to head back into the city.

There is a bit of dread still circling the back of his mind–a howling reminder to not indulge his sick desires–but it’s easier to ignore when most of his mind is preoccupied with Rupert. There’s still nervousness too, but it’s overshadowed by a warm pleasant feeling that leaves Travis’ face struck with a stupid small smile.

He drives back into the city with the soft feeling of Rupert’s hair still on his fingertips.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Uh, yeah I’ll take those. Just one bunch is fine.” Travis shifts from the toes of his feet to his heels, bouncing nervously. He’s at a little flower stall on a hot late Saturday afternoon. There’s sweat on his brow, but not from the heat. Nervousness fills out his limbs, tingles up to his belly, and leaves his mind shrouded in a kind of existentially tinged dread. It’s difficult to describe and even more difficult to face, so Travis has done his best to ignore it.

It’s not quite working.

An older man wraps up a small bundle of flowers for him, rolling them in tan paper tied together with brown string. At first, he’d been sure roses were the right way to go with–they seemed like a good choice–but then doubts crept in. Roses were so on the nose. Travis knows more about flowers than he does most things except the last time he’d done this he’d been buying for a woman. The difference left him dumbfounded in front of the stall staring at the various bushels for sale with a stupid look on his face.

He tried to picture which he’d like if they were being purchased for him. His eyes landed on a few little bundles with long lean lavender stalks–the kind that used to grow in the field near his childhood home. The latter thought made his eyes narrow; he decided to continue browsing.

Eventually, he’d settled on a small bundle of multicolored blooms, mostly white and pale blue and yellow. They weren’t that different from the ones he had sent to Betsy a few years ago. And now you’re doing it again because that went over so well. Travis’ face twitches at the thought, but he can’t humor it. He’s being presented with the bouquet, laid out all pretty on the counter.

“For your girlfriend?” The man asks the question innocently enough, but Travis feels like someone’s dragging a knife across his consciousness. He’s got a small package tucked under one arm already, meaning he has to shift awkwardly to fish cash out of his pocket. Travis places the coins beside the flowers and shrugs, scooping them up with his free hand.

“Uh, yeah.” He can only hope that sounded convincing enough.

“Well, I’m certain she’s gonna like ‘em and make sure to come back here when she starts asking for more.” Travis nods, mumbling a response under his breath as he starts off down the crowded street again.

With each hurried step, his boot heels tap against the concrete. It’s a pleasant sound, somewhat grounding. He’s craving a cigarette, but his hands are too full to manage it. That’ll have to wait for the train.

Travis doesn’t work Saturdays anymore. It’s difficult for him to comprehend that he’s no longer working every day of the week, let alone the reasoning behind why. It was only logical to stop driving on Saturdays as asking for them off so often had begun to raise suspicions from his boss.

“You’re not getting soft on us, eh Killer?” He can hear his voice in his head like he’s walking beside him; a deceptively calming tone mixed with an undercurrent of biting disdain. He hates his boss.

Travis arrives at the station without incident, getting on the next available train to Jersey. Luck is on his side and he’s only waiting around for a minute before it arrives. Inside, he can finally lay the flowers and package across his lap, freeing his hand for a smoke. Reaching into the pocket of his red corduroy jacket, he pulls out a crumpled packet from which he draws a slightly bent cigarette. There are only four left; damn, he’s got to stop forgetting these sorts of things.

Lighting it, Travis slumps down into his seat. The train is dirty, the people on it a mix of respectable working-class commuters, young people on their way home from shopping trips, and the typical scum he sees on his regular shifts. It’s hard to focus on the good when the bad is right in front of his nose, stinking up the place. He moves his lips around the end of his cigarette, teeth scraping the bottom of his lip.

In his lap, the flowers lay atop the little wrapped package. He got it wrapped at the store for ten cents; the yellow paper has little bows printed on it in red. There’s a tinge of fear that the gift might be too much–or that the feminine paper might be taken wrong.

Actually, everything he’s holding could be taken the wrong way.

Travis taps his foot, his entire leg bouncing as his cigarette quickly disappears into ash and smoke. He’s been avoiding these thoughts most of the day, but when they do manage to slip past he feels like throwing himself onto the tracks and letting the next train cut him in two.

Except a part of him is spurring him on to try. It would be easy to finally pull the trigger after this goes wrong, so it’s worth a shot even if the chance of rejection is high.

Travis pauses, blowing smoke out his nose. The long stretch of ash that’s built up on the tip of his cigarette finally falls off, landing on the corner of the package. Instantly, the paper curls away, edges turning black and brown. Travis swipes it off, cursing under his breath. The feeling of hot warm ash grazing his fingers quell his thoughts for a moment.

Travis takes his cigarette from his mouth, slumping over so that he can hold his head in his hands. What he’s planning to do is profoundly stupid, a massive gamble on something he might never recover from. Even if he succeeds, he’s not sure what he’ll do. There’s a finality to the question he’s preparing to ask as if the entire world will halt after he hears a “yes”.

Ruminating is pointless. Travis knows it, but he cannot help but continue to let the thoughts occupy his mind. The eighteen-minute train ride stretches into hours and days. He could just spend the entire rest of his life on this train and never get off it again. That’s how he used to spend his time before the taxi–life was so much simpler back then.

Except, the station is here and Travis is shuffling out onto the platform with the rest of the crowd, looking miserable. It’s not a long walk to Rupert’s place from here.

On the journey, Travis’ thoughts loop continuously into themselves, a spiraling coil moving downward into a big white void. The pattern is simple: why are you doing this followed by what do you want out of this then the typical drawn-out debate over whether or not he even is a faggot and then ending on and what if he says no before starting over again. It would be predictable if only Travis could control it.

He can’t.

Trudging along he thinks he must look like a lunatic, all dressed up with his hair slicked back and the presents under his arms, but with a death glare on his face. It was fine; he felt like a lunatic.

The moment Rupert’s house comes into view, he stops. His body refuses to move any farther along–it’s as if God has frozen him in place with a tap of his finger. Travis stares at the house in the distance like some horrific enemy. It’s as if he’s back in Vietnam again, standing at the edge of a helicopter looking down into some jungle they’re expecting him to parachute into. He can feel the sweat-soaked armpits of his shirt clinging to his skin.

Travis shifts the packages under one arm, barely managing to fish another cigarette out. He struggles to light a match one-handed, but eventually has it going between his lips. With each puff, he gains a little more sensation in his legs. Pretty soon he’s able to walk again–not towards the building of course–but it’s a start. Pacing up and down the street, Travis is unlucky enough to catch a glance of himself in the window of a nearby home.

He looks deranged. Instantly his eyes are drawn to the scar on the left of his neck, peeking out from beneath his collar like an evil eye. The skin is all twisted, red, and raised. It’s revolting, like the matching bullet wound on his arm or the twisting scar on his back. Monstrous is the only word that comes to mind. Travis pictures his reflection smiling (he can’t bear to actually move his lips) watching the imaginary edges of his lips peeling back to reveal his yellow crooked teeth.

Every time Rupert sees him he must look like some kind of ghoul.

It’s only appropriate. Travis knows he’s ugly–if his appearance ever became incongruent with that reality he feared what he might be capable of doing.

Yet Rupert seems to like him. The last time they were together he rested his head on Travis’ shoulder. His skin touched Travis’ scar. How could he stand it? There must be something there if he’s willing to spend so much time with him, get close to him, and call him constantly.

And it made him feel so good to think about that.

Travis has to make a sound to relieve the embarrassment and confusion his thoughts cause. It comes out as something between a growl and a groan; thankfully he is alone on the sidewalk.

He cannot stand here smoking forever; he knows he has to continue onward. Rupert knows he’s coming after all–standing him up would be difficult to live down. Travis flicks his spent cigarette butt to the floor, snubbing it out with the toe of his boot. It leaves a little black smudge on the concrete.

If you can jump out of a helicopter you can do this, Bickle. The voice in his head is a mix of himself and his old drill instructor. It makes his legs start to obey. He’s trudging toward Rupert’s house like it’s a death march. Never did Travis think a little battered townhouse would cause such distress. It’s growing larger the closer he gets to it until finally, he’s at the steps leading up to the door. Something is pounding in his neck–it takes him a moment to realize it’s his heartbeat and not his scar tissue threatening to spread.

Travis stands in front of the door, mouth a thin frown, free hand shoved into his pocket. It isn’t too late to ditch the flowers–he could toss them off into the bushes and retrieve them later. The package is harder to hide, but if he’s quick about it he could shove it under the–

He’s interrupted by the door opening unannounced. Rupert is standing there, dressed as usual, but without a suit jacket. He’s as perfectly groomed as ever, unlike Travis. There’s a smile on his face.

“Hello! Sorry, I saw you walking up from the window and couldn’t wait any longer. What took you so long to knock?” Rupert’s voice is chipper, his tone seemingly forced, though Travis has come to realize that’s just how he speaks. When his eyes scan down to the items, he seems confused. “Er, what’s with the flowers?”

Travis’ face burns red–there’s nothing he can do to stop this now. Shuffling from one foot to the other, Travis looks from Rupert to the floor, and then to a spot behind Rupert. His mouth opens, but the words are delayed. It takes a moment for them to catch up to his brain commanding them to be formed.

“...Well, they’re…I got them.” He sighs, shifting again. “For you, and uh, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, go out with me today? You know like to dinner or something.” Rupert blinks at him, so Travis hastily adds: “Like a date.”

Rupert stares at him and Travis can’t help but notice how his lips are slightly parted, probably in horror at his request. It’s quickly becoming apparent that he’s probably made a massive mistake coming here like this today. As a last-ditch effort, Travis thrusts the flowers and package at Rupert whose arms quickly come up to cradle them.

“...Rupert, I can’t umm, I can’t just stand here all day…” Travis feels hot all over; he can feel the individual droplets of sweat roll down his neck.

Rupert looks down at the gifts and then at Travis. There’s shock visible on his face, but Travis can’t tell if it’s good or not. Already, he’s shoved his hands back into the pockets of his pants.

It takes a moment, but suddenly Rupert is blinking back to life. He furrows his brows, then unfurrows them, a smile slowly creeping up under his dark mustache.

“Travis, is this some kind of prank? Are you being funny?” Rupert looks around as if expecting someone to jump out of the bushes to laugh at them. Travis shakes his head, eyes glued to the door mat beneath his feet. Whatever it once said has been entirely scuffed out ages ago.

“No, it’s not a joke–Rupert, I’m being serious. I wanna go out to dinner with you.”

Like a magic spell, the words must be what Rupert needed to hear because in a heartbeat the gifts are dropped to the floor and his arms are being flung around Travis in a hug that most might qualify as a tackle. Travis takes it seamlessly, though the suddenness shocks him. His arms come around Rupert; his hands rest on his back. It’s probably the nicest hug he’s had in decades.

“Oh, Travis you’re the best. You know I was starting to think you’d never ask–well, I mean, I knew you’d come around eventually, but I thought I’d have to be the one to–it doesn’t matter!” Rupert pulls back, his hands planted on Travis’ shoulders. Their eyes meet; Rupert’s smile is wide and toothy and Travis can feel his lips pulling upwards, opening up slightly to match Rupert in his own muted way. It feels…strangely normal.

“I was going to…” Travis shrugs his shoulders beneath Rupert’s hands, shyness forcing his eyes away. “Sorry if I made you wait.”

Rupert chuckles, removing one hand to wave it in front of him, dismissively. He’s tilting his head, smirking.

“You’re lucky I’m a very patient man, Travis.” Something in Travis’ stomach bolts up to his chest and begins to run its many legs across his organs. His face twitches. “Oh, should I open this? I hope it was okay to drop. Don’t tell me it was a bunch of little glass animals.” Travis thinks that’s a joke, so he forces air out his nose.

“It should be fine. I don’t know what happened to the edge of the paper there. Someone on the train must have accidentally tapped it with their cigarette or something. Stupid train was packed today with all sorts of bastards…” Travis shuffles between his feet, watching as Rupert retrieves the package from the floor and immediately goes to tear the paper off it, not even stopping to notice the burnt edge. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Oh, Travis you shouldn’t have!” Rupert turns the package over in his hands, revealing it to be one of those fancy chocolate boxes from a more upscale store. Travis thinks it’s a good gift. Rupert is squinting at the back of the box, reading the list of different chocolates, his face slowly morphing into a frown. “I mean you really shouldn’t have, wow. These could kill me you know. Thank God, I read the packaging.” Rupert waves the box beside his head, the chocolates inside making a soft sound as they’re shaken.

Travis blinks at him. He’s a bit lost.

“What do you, uh, mean? I don’t really–is there something wrong with this kind? I only got it because the lady at the store said they were good…” Stretching his neck, Travis peers at the package trying to parse out what’s got Rupert so concerned.

It seems normal to him.

“Funny joke Travis, but this is serious.” Rupert looks at Travis expecting the bit to break, but instead, he’s met with confusion from the other man. “Wait, you’re not joking, are you? Travis! How could you forget I’m allergic to peanuts? What if I’d eaten all of these and died?!”

Travis cannot tell if Rupert is joking or not. He wracks his brain to see if there was ever a time Rupert mentioned a peanut allergy to him and all that comes up is a blank void of nothing. To be fair, Travis typically zones out whenever Rupert speaks at length about a topic, usually just listening to the tone of his voice and not the content. It was like one of those relaxation records they advertise in store windows sometimes. If Rupert had mentioned it, Travis had forgotten.

Across from him, Rupert is staring at him like he’s waiting for an explanation for a murder attempt. Travis, cornered, points at the back of the box.

“Some of them don’t have nuts. See?” It clearly states some are dark chocolate cherry. Travis is ninety percent certain cherry isn’t a nut. Rupert’s eyes go wide.

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to know which is which? What if I accidentally grab one or–God forbid!–one of them is disguised as another? One bite and my life is over! Poof! Gone! Dead! All because I ate some peanut candy that a very nice, but ultimately ignorant young man gave to me!” There’s a comical tone somewhere in there, underneath all the dramatics. Travis sighs, eyes heavy-lidded and tired.

“Then I’ll try everyone for you first. Does that make you happy? Jesus..” Travis can feel himself losing his temper–annoyance is building in him by the second. Here he is, trying to be nice and Rupert’s ruining it.

“That does sound nice. You know, I always imagined what it would be like to feed Jerry Langford chocolates or maybe even strawberries while we lounged around in his mansion, but never the other way around! That could be ni–

“God damn it! Would you shut up about Jerry Langford for five fucking minutes?” Travis’ voice is raised, not quite yelling, but loud enough that the neighbors can hear. He catches himself and takes a step back to run a hand through his hair. It feels oily under his fingertips. “Look, I just, I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have yelled at you I just…”

Rupert is looking at him, but he doesn’t seem as angry as Travis expected. He’s got wide eyes, sure, but he’s also got a kind of strange calm to his expression. It makes Travis even more nervous than before. He forces himself to continue.

“I like you a lot Rupert. I don’t want to fight.” Travis stares at the floor. There are cracks in the concrete steps; he can see an ant crawling between them.

“It’s alright, I forgive you!” Rupert’s voice is unnaturally chipper. He pats Travis’ shoulder and when he finally looks up, he’s smiling at him. Travis doesn’t quite understand how to process his schizophrenic emotions, but he’s not one to question Rupert forgiving him so quickly. “Do you mind if I go change into something more comfortable first?”

Travis blinks; Rupert is already dressed. He nods at him in approval.

“Good! Here come sit down; it’ll only be a minute.” Rupert ushers Travis through the door, grabbing the flowers on the way. Inside the house smells a bit like old person and cheap floral candles–it reminds Travis of visiting his grandparents as a child. Rupert gestures to a sofa in the tiny sitting room, which Travis saunters over to. Sinking into it, he feels the cheap oddly packed stuffing shift under his weight. “I’ll be right back, just stay there!”

Rupert disappears downstairs leaving Travis to twiddle his thumbs. The sitting room is painfully normal: there’s the sofa, a chair, a little television in the corner, and photographs mixed with cheap art on the walls. His dark eyes are drawn to a framed photo of a smiling little boy that he can only assume is Rupert. He’s holding a teddy bear.

It reminds Travis of the photos of him hanging around his parents’ place. Him in his cheap cowboy costume sitting unsmiling next to the dog. Last he was there they’d put up one of him in high school (before he’d dropped out). It was him frowning next to the car his dad was teaching him how to drive.

Rupert’s photos were much nicer in comparison, all smiles and bright and positive, even the ones in black and white. It almost–no it did–make him jealous. Looking at another, Travis sees a portrait of a younger Rupert smiling with his arm around a stone-faced teenager. At first, he thought the other person was a man, but the longer he looks the more he starts to think that assumption is wrong. Actually, there are quite a few pictures of them together. Travis furrows his brows.

Before he can think too much about it, Rupert is making his grand return.

“Check it out! It looks great huh?” Rupert holds his arms out so Travis can better see his new outfit which is hardly distinguishable from the suit he was just wearing. This one is powder blue instead of grey and he’s put on a red bowtie. Travis hates how much he likes that latter detail.

“It’s nice.” Travis stands up, stretching his shoulders momentarily. “Are you ready to go?” Rupert nods, holding his hand out for Travis. Travis looks at it, knowing what he’s asking for, but too nervous to answer. It’s broad daylight out there–if they walk around with their hands intertwined everyone will know they’re fags.

“I, uh, I dunno if that’s the best idea, Rupert.”

Sighing, Rupert wags his hand at Travis again.

“Oh come on Travis, no one will care. You should know, seeing all the stuff you’ve seen.” A long metal rod drills through his head when Rupert says that. He doesn’t like to be compared to the trash he sees out on the streets. Travis isn’t like them, in fact, he’s as far removed from them as humanly possible. It’s bad enough that he’s indulging in this, but to think that what they’re doing is at all similar to the trash on 42nd Street has him seeing red.

Rupert shakes his hand at him once again, waggling his eyebrows.

Travis cannot resist; he reluctantly drops his right hand into Rupert’s. There was nothing saying he couldn’t let go of it later.

“Did you say you took the train here? We can take it back into the city if you want; I know a good Chinese restaurant that I think you’ll really love. I can just tell you’re a fried rice guy; am I right?” Ruperts leading him out the door and into the bright late afternoon light. It’s exposed–an empty open stretch of sidewalk where everything is visible. Travis shrugs.

“It’s good.” That’s all he can manage given he’s currently walking the same street he’d come up earlier with Rupert’s hand interlocked with his. He can feel sweat already pooling between his fingers–by the time they get to the station, it’ll be pouring onto the floor. “I, uh, usually get the noodles. I forget what they’re called.”

“Oh, chow mein? Yeah, it’s good but I don’t like those little onion sprout things they put in it. Honestly, I think vegetables are very overrated. My mom is always going on about how I need to expand my palette or whatever, but that’s a bunch of baloney. She just can’t handle that sometimes her cooking can be, well, mediocre. But if you want chow mein you’ll get it and whatever else you want to! Oh, should I have brought the chocolate? A little dessert would be nice.” Rupert is slightly swinging their hands between them–it makes Travis feel like a little kid. They’re approaching the station and already he can see more people mulling about outside it.

“Uh, no that’s fine; they’ll have dessert there. Uh, Rupert.” Travis glances over his shoulder, certain he can feel eyes on him. “There are a lot of people up there. Do you think we could…” Travis trails off, tugging at Rupert’s hand, hopeful that the message is obvious.

“Oh, of course. I know you’re shy, Travis. That’s okay though, it’s part of your charm.” Rupert lets go of Travis’ hand and swiftly pinches Travis' cheek to punctuate his last statement. It’s gentle, teasing, but it has Travis turning pink. It’s over in a moment and Rupert is back to talking about something or other. Travis finds it hard to focus, instead taking in the man’s cadence and tone as they enter the station. After a while, they’re on the next train, seated close to each other in a tight corner of a busy car. It seems everyone is trying to get into the city for Saturday night.

“So like I was saying, I told Masha about you the other day.” Rupert narrows his eyes, accusatory. “You do remember who Masha is right?”

“Your friend. The girl from the autograph night.” Travis is sitting so close to Rupert that their sides are totally flush with each other. They’re leaning in close and for once, Travis is seemingly happy. There are so many people around them that they’re invisible in the crowd–a curse now acting as a boon to Travis.

“Very good! See, you’re learning!” Rupert nudges Travis playfully with his elbow. “Anyways, I told her about you while we were hanging out and she said you sounded like the biggest idiot in the world. Now before you get mad, I obviously jumped in to defend your honor, I mean, you’re my friend after all.” Travis notices the minuscule pause before the word ‘friend’. “And she goes ‘Well anyone who willingly spends time with you has to be crazy!’ Can you believe that?”

“Doesn’t she spend time with you, though?” Travis thinks this must be the most he’s spoken since the last time Rupert managed to get him on the phone. Rupert barks out a laugh, throwing his head back, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pauses long enough to deliver his punchline.

“Not willingly!” Again, he’s back to laughing, and though Travis doesn’t quite find it funny, he can’t help but chuckle along with Rupert too. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, Rupert continues. “No, but she really only comes around because she recognizes my talent and genius. Plus I’m the only person she knows who can actually get close enough to Jerry to drop off her stupid letters. I’ll let you in on a little secret though: I’ve been tossing them in the trash for months!” Rupert punctuates the last sentence by leaning in, whispering close to Travis’ ear, sending tingles down his spine.

When Rupert pulls back, their faces are so close. Travis wishes they weren’t in public.

“Did uh, anyone ever tell you you have beautiful eyes?” The words slid past his lips with a newfound confidence, the same confidence that seemed to show up whenever he cold approached girls. Travis still couldn’t determine its origin, only that sometimes when he needed it he was able to find the spring of that hidden well again. Rupert smiles and the corners of said eyes crinkle, the slight beginning of light wrinkles bending with the motion.

“Oh, once or twice.” Rupert purses his lips, thinking. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No.”

“Well, you have very beautiful eyes, Travis. Brown eyes have always been my favorite. Jerry has such nice brown eyes; yours remind me of his.” It feels like Travis was just lifted up and then promptly dropped off the edge of a very tall cliff. He decides to keep his mouth shut.

“Thanks. I think your uh, your mustache is nice too.” There’s something about saying that which is harder than the first line; Travis chooses not to dwell on it. Rupert smiles, getting a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“If there weren’t so many people around and you weren’t so shy, I’d let you feel it right now.” He pauses. “If you get what I’m saying.”

Knowing Rupert, what he’s saying could be quite literal, but Travis doesn’t think that’s the case right now. His mind races down the flowchart of possibilities, all pointing to one slightly terrifying option: Rupert means that if they were alone right now, he’d kiss him. Travis’ stomach churns.

He’s been kissed before: twice before dropping out of high school and once when he was drunk in Vietnam. As cruel as it sounded, Travis was sure that was more than Rupert. There was just something about him that screams kissless. And yet…

Before Travis can make a move the train is stopping and the crowds are shuffling out at their stop. Perking up, he realizes this is their stop as well. They stand up in near unison before following the flow of traffic out and away.

“Do we need to get a taxi or can we walk?” Travis asks, already prepared to pay the fair. Rupert gestures with his head down one street the light of the setting sun painting him and the world around them in soft oranges, pinks, and purples.

Travis swallows.

“No, it’s only a few blocks that way. It’ll be less than five minutes.” He’s already walking down the street, gesturing for Travis to follow. He has to speed up to match his pace–Rupert always seemed to be in a
hurry to get places. Travis never rushed; he had nowhere to go.

The walk to the restaurant is brisk and uneventful save for a few brief moments when hands brush together unexpectedly. What once could have been considered accidental now carries a certain potential for deliberateness. As tempting as it is, Travis would rather slash his throat than be caught holding hands with another man in public; it was difficult not to imagine his cabbie buddies lurking around every corner, waiting to spot him.

They arrive at the restaurant–which turns out to be bigger than Travis expected–and are seated in a discrete booth in a dark corner as per Rupert’s request. Travis had eyed the mass of patrons near the front of the dining room with blank disdain as he slunk along in Rupert’s shadow. He didn’t like that many eyes on him even if they never looked directly his way. Thankfully, the back was still mostly empty.

Sitting across from Rupert, Travis realizes he has no clue what he’s doing.

The lighting is dim, tinted orange and yellow from the paper lanterns around the light fixtures. It makes everything look softer like there’s a certain glow to the world. Rupert has the menu up, peering into it, scrutinizing each item as he lists off their names and his feelings about them. Travis can’t listen–he’s too focused on the way the light makes Rupert’s face look soft. It rounds out the edges with warm light until Travis is tempted to reach out to touch him.

Except in his own mind, Travis cannot help but imagine what the same light is doing to him. He can see himself sitting on the bench, blankly staring at Rupert like the biggest idiot in the world. Where the light makes the other man glow it only helps to draw out the shadows of Travis’ hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. It’s like he’s got a flashlight against him, elongating every sharp edge until he looks like some villainous freak. He’d seen the look plenty of times before through his rear mirror.

It was just another reminder of what a miracle it was that Rupert agreed to come here with him tonight.

Of course, there is always the possibility the other man is just humoring him; stringing him along until he gets tired of having Travis slinking around. It’s difficult for Travis to think of what Rupert sees in him–what he brings to their friendship besides being a blank slate to speak at. Travis can feel his knee start to bounce beneath the table.

“You’re doing that thing again. Travis! Hello?” The last vowel is drawn out into annoyance, forcing Travis back into the moment. Rupert rolls his eyes, laying the menu down between them. “I’m just going to assume you didn’t listen to any of that. Have you ever noticed that you have a certain tendency to zone out? I swear sometimes it’s like you’re not even here.”

“Sorry…” Travis’ fingers run along the back of his hand, finding a nice spot of skin to wiggle loose. He pinches himself, letting his ragged nail edges dig in.

“It’s fine, I mean, I daydream too, it’s just,” Rupert waves his hand, trying to find the words. “Hard to know when you’re paying attention is all.”

Rupert spins the menu around, his finger jabbing at several items. Travis reads the titles of the dishes in his head. If those are what Rupert intends to order then they’re hardly going to have room on the table. Travis knits his brows together.

“I was thinking of ordering those since we’re going to be splitting everything. How does that sound?” Rupert quickly adds, “Oh, and your chow mein of course.”

“Uh, are you sure you’re gonna be able to eat most of that?” Travis can hear a slight annoyance in his tone that he hopes is lost on Rupert.

“Well, you’re here to help me. Besides, everyone loves leftovers! This way there’ll be enough for the both of us and you’ll get to try all the great food here. I can never decide on just one entree. That’s one of the benefits of fame thought: you can buy out an entire menu and not even have to worry about the cost. Just imagine the places we can eat at once I’ve made it!”

Rupert leans back in his seat looking smug. There’s a certain kind of sweetness to his naivete that leaves Travis incapable of bursting his bubble. He imagines that it’s what it must feel like to hear your child say they want to be an astronaut when they grow up. It’s impossible not to humor them.

“Have you written any, uh, new material yet?” Travis steadies his bouncing knee, focusing his mind instead on playing with the edge of his jacket beneath the table. A waiter comes by, sliding two ice waters between them, interrupting Travis’ question to take their drink orders.

They both get Cokes.

“Well not exactly. I’ve been workshopping some new spins on old material and I think I’m getting somewhere. Remember that story I told you on the phone about the break room? I was thinking of working on expanding that into a bit. I think there’s real potential there.” Rupert jumps seamlessly back into speaking; Travis thinks he must have been born to talk. “I’m still trying to contact Jerry of course, but that goes without saying. I think the third quarter will be my quarter–I’ve just got this good feeling about it.”

Travis nods, doing his best to focus and not lose himself in Rupert’s voice. The waiter is back with their Cokes and Travis is taking a drink while Rupert starts to order for the both of them. Travis’ brow twitches; he’s starting to feel like the woman of this date.

“I hope it goes well.” Travis does his best supportive smile and hopes for the best. It must come off as convincing because Rupert is mirroring the expression back to him. There’s a pause. “You know I feel like there’s a real connection between us. It’s like I’ve known you for a long time and you can see something in me the same way I can see something in you. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” The words flow out of him like a cool stream–confidence spills up with it.

“Of course. I think there’s something very special about you Travis.”

Under the table, something brushes against his foot, moving upward over his ankle and then down again. It stops right beside his foot, resting there. Heat moves reciprocally between them. It’s painfully intimate.

Travis swallows.

“You’re special too. I don’t just think it, I know it. I mean that–well, I think you’re right about making it one day.” Travis smiles with a slight laugh, eyes darting to the side to see if anyone is watching them as he chuckles. “One day I’ll see your name up in lights somewhere and think ‘Hey! I took that guy out to dinner once.’”

“Well don’t be silly; you’ll be in there with me in the front row. You don’t think I’m so mean as to forget you once I get famous? I’ll make you the premier VIP; all the girls will be so jealous.” Rupert is leaning in, his head resting in his hands, elbows planted on the table. It squishes his cheeks slightly.

Travis contemplates his words. It’s difficult to imagine a future that will never exist, but the thought is nice enough. He can’t help but dwell on the feeling.

They chat for a while longer until their waiter returns wheeling a cart in front of him loaded with food. Travis’ eyes go wide when he sees it, but Rupert only gets excited. He claps his hands together, immediately going on about which dish he thinks Travis will like the most as if he isn’t being presented with an absurd amount of food. Already the thought of the bill starts dancing across Travis’ brain as the waiter loads the table up with entree after entree. Eventually, he’s disappeared again and Travis is left staring at the spread.

“Oh boy, I haven’t been here in a while; I’m so excited.” Rupert is already stacking food onto his plate, a little bit from each dish. “That’s the orange chicken, obviously, but I’m sure you already knew that. Uh, spring rolls there, potstickers too. Fried rice, chow mein, no need to explain any further, and that is egg drop soup. Normally they bring it out first, but I prefer it all at once.”

Travis slowly mimics Rupert, filling his plate with each dish. It’s hard to recall the last time he ordered this much food. Rupert already has his chopsticks poised perfectly in one hand, shoving a potsticker into his mouth. A tinge of inadequacy shoots through Travis–he’s never learned how to use chopsticks. There’s the fear of judgment as Travis fiddles with one of the serving spoons.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you lied about liking Chinese food.” The words are slightly muffled by the food still in Rupert’s mouth. Travis rolls the spoon between his fingertips.

“I, uh, don’t know how to use chopsticks. I never really figured it out.” Rupert’s lips curl up and Travis notices he has a crumb already lodged in his mustache.

“Didn’t you live in Vietnam?”

The question is innocent enough and there’s a bit of humor in it, but Travis can’t help but cringe at the forced recollection of his time in the Marines. He’d spent more time eating MREs with his hands in rain-drenched jungles than sampling the local cuisine. Hell, the only locals he ever saw were at the end of a gun, whether his or theirs.

“It was deployment. It wasn’t exactly a vacation…” He can tell he must sound annoyed. Rupert rolls his eyes at him, dropping his own chopsticks to reach across the table for Travis’. He swiftly pulls them apart and then grabs Travis’ hand.

“Today’s your lucky day then because I am an expert as well as an excellent teacher. Here, copy my hand.” Rupert’s soft fingertips contrast with the rough cheap bamboo, distracting Travis from his task. He tries his best to match the shape of Rupert’s hand with his own–he must be doing something right, because now both of Rupert’s hands are on his, fiddling with the utensils. There’s something painfully intimate about it in the low light.

“There! Now move this finger, but keep pinching.” Hovering over him, Rupert’s hand guides Travis in the motion as the sticks open and shut. It’s shaky; there’s clearly no control in the motion and the tips are sliding past each other, but Rupert seems pleased with himself. He gestures with his head to a potsticker. “See you’ve got it! Now, try to pick that up.”

Carefully, Travis lowers his hand until he can open the chopsticks up wide enough to slip across the potsticker. It’s slippery and harder to manage than he expected. Just when he thinks he’s gotten a good grip on it something slips and the edges of the sticks go shooting off into different directions. Instantly, he’s dropping his elbow onto the table.

“Damn!” Travis sighs, annoyed, bordering on mildly angry. Rupert giggles at him.

“Aw, that’s alright. It’s the effort that counts.” Leaning over the table, Rupert effortlessly picks the potsticker up, dipping the end into a tiny dish of dark sauce. He stretches his arm out towards Travis, little drops dripping down onto the tablecloth. Travis blinks at it. “Here’s your reward for trying!”

He wants you to eat it. Travis’ head spins at the thought to the point he nearly feels nauseous. Glancing to the side, there seemingly is no one else paying any attention their way. Travis reluctantly leans in, his lips parting so that Rupert can gently push the food past them.

Biting into it sends a bit of juice dribbling down his lips and onto his chin. The piece he tears away is salty, a bit savory, with a crispy somewhat sticky doughy skin. Rupert retracts his hand, looking very pleased with himself as Travis’ tongue darts out to catch the juice on his lips. He’s popping the rest into his mouth and there’s something obscene about the way he chews.

“It’s good.” It’s all Travis can manage to say after he swallows. There’s a growing tension in the air, but it’s different from what Travis is used to. It’s like a warm static; something palpable that’s growing between them, threatening to manifest itself physically. He can feel it every time Rupert’s foot taps his ankle or when their eyes meet.

Travis has never experienced anything quite like it, not even with Betsy.

Things progress in a similar fashion as the dinner goes on. Travis finds himself habitually picking at his plate out of nervousness, eating more than normal just to have a distraction from the slight anxiety still boiling up. Rupert meanwhile spends more time talking than eating and it becomes more apparent by the minute that hardly any of the food on the table is getting touched.

It doesn’t bother Travis much. What else is he going to spend his money on?

Rupert eventually pushes his plate away, leaning back to stretch as if he’d finished the food before him. Instead, he’s left most of it there, pushed around and picked at. It makes Travis stop himself from getting seconds. The conversations remained typically one-sided, though Travis has been attempting to say more than usual whenever he can manage it.

“By the way, I wanted to ask you who that girl is in all those pictures in your living room?” Travis asks the question with a stilted casualness, clearly masking the underlying feelings that come with seeing Rupert cozied up next to a woman, even if it was ages ago. Rupert snorts.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. That’s my sister, Rose. God knows what she’s off doing,” He shrugs, casually leaning closer to Travis like he’s telling a secret. “Last I heard she was working as a mechanic somewhere in Florida. She was always dad’s favorite.”

“I didn’t realize you had a sister.” Travis tries to recall a time it was ever brought up, but his mind goes blank. Rupert shrugs.

“Probably because I never mentioned her. We don’t exactly get along.” It’s a remarkably short statement from the other man. Travis wants to pry, but he’s interrupted by the bill arriving. He takes it before Rupert has a chance to and nearly cringes at the number. “How much is it?”

Travis ignores him, shoving a few bills from his billfold into the little book before handing it off to the waiter upon his return.

“I’ve got it. I’m the one who asked you out anyway.”

They leave the restaurant with a bag full of carry-out containers, stepping out into the fresh night air. It’s still early enough for the sky to be all purple and deep blue, helped by the massive amount of artificial light flooding the streets. Travis holds the bag in one hand, his other shoved into his jacket pocket. They’ve made it just past the front of the restaurant when Rupert slips his arm through Travis’.

“That was a very nice dinner, Travis.” He leans his head in, resting it on his shoulder as they walk. Travis feels his heartbeat quicken; his palms immediately go sweaty. “Did you want to do anything else while we’re here?”

Travis shrugs, feeling Rupert’s head heavy on his shoulder. It’s shockingly comfortable even if the fear of someone seeing has him ready to push him off. Logically he knows that it wouldn’t be the first time anyone in the city has seen two fags getting cozy in public but…

“We could get dessert. Know any good places?” Rupert perks up, lifting his head off Travis’ shoulder. The empty space it leaves is almost painful.

“Oooh, I’d kill for ice cream right about now. I’m sure there’s someplace good on the way back to the station.” Rupert relaxes his arm slightly, letting it rest in the crook of Travis’ elbow. He pauses, suddenly thinking. His voice gets coy, his expression drops into a sly grin. “Or we could go back to my place and split those chocolates. I seem to recall you making some kind of promise about being my taste tester.”

Travis must look shocked because Rupert is laughing at him, forcing him to laugh as well. There’s something about the image of the two of them on Rupert’s couch pushing candies past each other’s lips that has him excited. He feels the string in his leg stirring like someone is plucking at it like a harpstring.

“That, uh, sounds nice. I don’t like the city anyway.”

They start back off towards the station, arms still interlinked until they get close. Once again, Travis pulls away, this time without warning. Rupert doesn’t comment, choosing to continue speaking as they enter the station, using his newly freed hand to embellish his story. Travis listens at the platform until the train arrives. It’s shockingly desolate.

Miraculously, they’ve got a car entirely to themselves.

It must be Travis’ lucky day.

They sit down, so close to each other that their legs are pressed together. Rupert doesn’t seem to notice that they’re alone. Travis shifts closer when the doors close, waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt Rupert’s story about his work week.

“Uh, Rupert.” Travis butts in, glancing over his shoulder one more time. “It looks like we’ve got a private car.” Rupert looks around then smiles. Instantly his hand shoots out to rest on Travis’ thigh, squeezing.

“Well, aren’t we lucky! You don’t think they’ll charge us more?” Travis chuckles, looking down as Rupert starts up where he left off. His hand is still on Travis’ thigh; carefully he rests his own hand on top of it.

Rupert continues on as he always does, his voice clear and warm and comforting. Alone in their corner of the train, Travis cannot help but feel as if they’re the only two people in the world. It’s as private of a moment as they’ll ever get in public, as intimate as Rupert’s bedroom.

His eyes watch Rupert’s lips move, full and pink beneath his dark mustache. The way they contort with each syllable (something about autographs and trading clubs) has Travis contemplating drastic actions. It’s not like he hasn’t thought these things before–there’s just something else about this moment.

Travis slowly moves his fingers across the back of Rupert’s hand where it rests on his thigh. There is a certain finality to the moment as if to say “Now is the time and there’s no going back!” He’d feel like a coward if he didn’t do it. Besides, he’s been thinking about doing this the entire night.

Without warning, Travis leans in and plants a kiss on the edge of Rupert’s mouth.

He pulls away nearly instantly, so quickly that Rupert is left blinking in confusion as to what just happened. It was enough to shut him up. Travis can still feel the rough tickle of his mustache lingering on his skin.

“...Sorry…” Travis’ words are quiet, not quite a whisper, but tinged with embarrassment. Rupert responds by leaning in and Travis finds himself doing the same. His eyes close moments before their lips meet again.

It’s incredibly chaste; their mouths hardly move against each other and yet Travis is so overwhelmed with boiling-hot emotion that he can hardly do anything but continue. Rupert’s mouth fits so well against his–his mustache is pleasantly scratchy against the underside of his nose.

Travis hasn’t kissed anyone in nearly five years.

Rupert pulls away first. They’re left staring at each other in the false electric light of the train car.

There is a sense beneath the satisfaction that he has done something horribly wrong. Travis can feel it pulsing deep inside him and yet, it’s easier to ignore than before. He wonders if Rupert feels the same way.

Nothing is said. Slowly, the dread begins to rise. Thoughts flow freely once more, worry about whether or not he’s ruined everything or if Rupert hates him now or if he got the wrong idea or–

Rupert squeezes Travis’ thigh jolting him back into the moment. He’s smiling at him, his cheeks flushed a nice light red, and suddenly Travis understands that he’s done the right thing. Shyness overcomes him; he buries his head in Rupert’s shoulder, sighing at the feeling of skin-to-skin contact.

Travis spends the rest of the ride like that, listening to Rupert talk on and on about nothing in particular, eagerly anticipating the rest of the night they’d have together.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I don’t see why you’re so worried, I’m sure she’s gonna love you.”

Travis glares at Rupert, his hands shoved firmly into the pockets of his worn olive jacket. They’re loitering under a tree in the park, Travis leaning into it in some misguided attempt to blend into the shade. Rupert is on his hands and knees, attempting to entirely flatten the picnic blanket he’s rolled out onto the damp grass. It’s cute, the way he keeps finding something else to fuss over. Travis catches himself staring.

“Besides, if she hates you, so what? Masha is my friend and all, but she’s also a total loon. Stable one day and crazy the next. Heck, she’ll probably spend the entire time yapping about Jerry that she’ll forget all about you.” Rupert leans back onto his legs, seemingly satisfied by his work. He looks up at Travis, brow damp with sweat to match his shirt. Travis swallows.

“It’s just that she doesn’t sound nice in your stories.” Travis glances at the cigarette in his hand, tapping the ash away. He’s been smoking more recently–probably because he’s been drinking less. It goes between his lips, smoke filling his mouth before shooting out his nose.

“God, you look just like Jerry when you do that. Very, very sexy, Travis.” Travis chokes on the smoke, suddenly hitching as it fills his lungs and sends him shooting stifled coughs out his nose. Rupert doesn’t notice. “She’ll be lucky if I don’t chew her out for being late. Women can be so inconsiderate sometimes.”

Rupert yawns, stretching his arms over his head before flopping backward to lie in the shade. It’s unbearably hot out today, but a cool breeze occasionally breaks up the thick still air. It ruffles through Travis’s overgrown hair sending strands across his forehead. He glances across the green lawn towards the distant city, thankful that Rupert was smart enough to schedule this little rendezvous by his house. He wouldn’t step foot anywhere near one in New York. Here, however, things are pleasant; a few people are lying out on blankets enjoying the sunshine and children run about unsupervised. It’s surprisingly normal.

“Come lay down, Travy.” Rupert pats the blanket next to him before bringing his arm back behind his head. He looks so relaxed that the thought is tempting, but Travis hesitates at the openness of the gesture. Reluctantly, he flicks his cigarette off into the grass to plop down next to Rupert. He sits with his legs pulled up, arms resting across the shelf of his knees. Rupert smiles up at him, round cheeks rosy in the heat.

It’s hard to believe any of this is real.

They’d been spending all of their free time together; it was getting to be a problem. Travis practically lived at Rupert’s house for the past week. They’d been creeping onward in their intimacy at a respectable pace–a few kisses, mostly cuddling. Once Rupert had opened his mouth while their lips were together, but Travis had pulled away. It was all still so new to him.

Yet it was becoming easier to accept each day. He smiles, looking down at Rupert who is squinting at the light. It’s cute, the way the skin near his eyes crinkles when they close. Travis struggles to believe he’s the older one sometimes.

“You, uh, look really nice right now.” Travis taps his foot against Rupert’s leg and the other man hums in response.

“Are you still planning on getting your hair cut soon?” Travis shrugs. He’s been meaning to get around to it, but he hasn’t quite had the time. Something about getting organized. “Because I think you shouldn’t. I mean, do it if you want to or if your work has some kind of dress code–mine does–but I think it’s nice like this. Not that I’ve seen it any other way, but, it really suits you. Very movie star, very hip.”

Travis laughs, looking away. He never thought he’d hear anyone call him that again. His hair is getting out of control. The last time he inspected himself in the mirror he’d found the longest edges reaching past his chin, a few even starting to curl into loose waves. He’d been tucking it behind his ears, but even now loose strands were acting like bangs across his forehead. Travis never meant for it to get this bad–normally he’d cut it back to his preferred length whenever it became unruly. His boss had commented on it recently; it was a sign he should be taking some form of action.

“Nah, I have to clean it up soon. It’s, uh, not normally like this. I’ve been so preoccupied the last few months, I gotta get organizized.” Rupert laughs, running his hand through his hair as he does, pushing it off his forehead.

“Organizized! God, you’re funny, Travy.” He rolls onto his side so that he’s facing Travis, still chuckling. There’s the look that he’s about to speak, but he stops, noticing something in the distance. Rupert pushes himself up with his hand until he’s sitting beside Travis. “Oh, I think that’s her. Definitely her. Masha! HEY MASHA!” Rupert flails his arm in a deranged wave leaving Travis feeling embarrassed. Sure enough, there’s a young woman in a school uniform trudging up the gentle slope towards them. Her hair is a wild mess of curls, her face pinched into a sour expression. There’s a bag under her arm, one of those canvas one's fancy people carry groceries in.

“Jeez, there’s no need to yell! I’m coming, I’m coming.” The woman’s voice is shrill, dripping with annoyance. Travis decides immediately that he does not like her. “You could have given me more time to get here, I was just at my psychiatrist and he was telling me to–who’s this? Oh, don’t tell me that’s the jerk who's been keeping you from Jerry.”

Travis shuffles awkwardly, not sure if he should stand up to greet her or not. Rupert isn’t getting up, instead rolling his eyes as he gestures to the spot next to him. Masha has her hands planted firmly on her hips, eyebrows furrowed as she looks Travis over. He feels like a worm.

“Masha please, don’t be so jealous. Sit down, I brought snacks.” The woman doesn’t move. “This is Travis by the way–Travis why don’t you introduce yourself, don’t be shy. I know she’s not the prettiest, but I swear she only bites a little.”

“Uh, I’m Travis. I’m Rupert’s…friend.” Travis sticks his hand out to her which she immediately ignores. She looks at him and then at Rupert before flopping down onto the blanket. The bag slips off her arm, falling open onto the blanket. Inside are stacks of pink and red envelopes, each bulging and threatening to burst open. Masha runs her hands through her hair, shoving the curls out of the way. Immediately, the wind has them back in her eyes.

“Let it be known that the only reason I am here today is to deliver these letters and nothing else. You owe me big time for last weekend Rupert. Don’t think I’d forget so easily.” She shoves the bag closer to Rupert who rolls his eyes.

“Oh, boo hoo, I wasn’t there to hand your little trinkets over to Jerry. Well, guess what honey, Jerry doesn’t want your knick-knacks or your drawings or your sweaters or your stupid letters. In fact, I doubt Jerry would even know you existed if not for the fact you threw yourself at him last June. Remember that? When you had the cops called on you and I had to call your parents to get you bailed out because you wasted your last call on Jerry’s place and he didn’t even pick up? Because I reme–

“You jerk! I’ll have you know Jerry and I have a very intimate and personal relationship. The kind of thing you’ll never have with him, especially now that you’re running around with some schmuck who can’t even dress himself. If this is what you call devotion then you’re dumber than I thought. Now are you going to send the letters or not, because I have different sources?”

“Different sources? Different sources! Do you hear this woman? She thinks she can lie to my face like I won’t notice–Masha, puhLEASE would you stop being hysterical for five minutes? This wasn’t meant to be about you. I brought you here to meet my special friend.”

Travis feels a headache coming on. He wants to smack Masha upside the head. Instead, he stares blankly past her at a distant smattering of buildings.

“What am I supposed to get out of talking to him? He’s the one who's been keeping you from Jerry. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be here right now.” She glares at Travis, but he only blinks back at her. He feels a deep desire to wander off somewhere quiet.

“Fine! I’ll deliver this junk to Jerry, but only if you promise to shut up for once! Look, see! Now, let’s all calm down and chat like the nice adults we are. Masha, this is Travis. Travis, this is Masha. I swear, she’s not always like this–well, she’s sometimes not like this. Masha, Travis and I are

very

happy together and I thought it would be nice for him to meet one of my dearest friends.” Rupert draws up the bag into his arms before gesturing back and forth at the two of them. Masha smirks, clearly feeling triumphant in herself. Travis struggles to focus back in on the conversation.

“Where’d you meet him, the VA?” Rupert chuckles, leaning back on his hands. He shifts so that his head briefly rests on Travis’s shoulder, making the other man snap back into reality.

“No! Travis drives a cab. I hopped in it one night and BAM! I guess it was fate.” He chuckles, rubbing his cheek against the rough fabric of Travis’s jacket. Travis feels his breath hitch.

“We, uh, we’ve been friends for a few months now.” Travis manages the words despite the heavy anvil weighing down on his tongue. Masha looks at them unimpressed.

“How very sweet. Didn’t you say you had food? I don’t have much time to waste here.” Masha sticks her hand out while Rupert rummages in the bag behind him. He retrieves a turkey sandwich and slaps it into her palm. Masha manages to look even more unimpressed. “Don’t tell me your mom made these.”

“Don’t be silly Masha; we did. There’s turkey with cheese or just cheese and we made enough for everyone to have two if they wanted. Oh, and orange soda too.” Rupert pulls the bag over to open it, revealing a few more cellophane-wrapped sandwiches as well as a six-pack of sodas. Travis reaches in, pulling out one of the cheese sandwiches. It's slightly cool still as he unwraps it.

“How fancy. You two really know how to treat a lady.” Masha takes a bite of her sandwich like it's going to kill her, meanwhile, Travis is already two bites into his. He’s been starving ever since they got here. “So Travis, you drive a cab? Have you ever picked up Jerry Langford?”

Travis sighs through his nose, quickly swallowing the lob of sandwich. He doesn’t want to talk to this woman.

“No, but I uh, picked up a guy who made little lasers once. The kind that goes on the back of pens.” He pauses considering if he should add the next part. Despite his best efforts, he does. “I also once drove Senator Palentine. Before the presidential race.” Masha looks at him slack-jawed, chewing with her mouth open. Travis wants to grab her by the sides of the head and throttle her. “I don’t know that many celebrities so I wouldn’t recognize them if they got in anyway.”

“That’s why he’s the best! He’s like a personal chauffeur for any well-known guy trying to stay undercover. I’m sure Travis has driven around hundreds of powerful people without ever realizing it. It’s a great talent of his.” He can’t tell if Rupert is joking or not. He chooses to believe he’s genuine.

“My parents met Palentine too. They donated TONS to his silly campaign. Shame he didn’t win–all that money went to waste. Gosh, I can’t stand them.” Masha tosses her nibbled-on sandwich onto the blanket, apparently done with it already. “I heard he had a stalker. Can you believe it? I mean who has the time to even do something like that?”

Static fills Travis’s ears, drowning out whatever conversation Rupert and Masha continue to have. He finds that he can’t swallow anymore; he reaches for a soda but struggles to open it. The wind has gotten colder and yet he’s sweating. He needs to lay down, he needs to get out of here, he needs to–

“Travis?” Rupert’s hand is on his knee. Travis whips his head around to look at him so fast that he nearly sees stars. “You did the thing again. You’re so absent-minded.”

Travis glances at Masha who looks as if she’s about ready to call him something terrible. He realizes he’s been clenching the soda can in his fist.

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Rupert smiles; Travis forces one back.

“Well, you only missed out on a riveting conversation about the last episode of Jerry’s show. You were there for it. What did you think of his ending monologue? I thought it was a little dry, but Masha here believes it was perfect. You’ll be our little tiebreaker.” They both expectantly look at Travis as if his decision means something. He looks away.

“...It was funny. I liked his joke about traffic.” Rupert throws up his arms, laughing while Masha turns away upset.

“See! I told you I trained him well. Sorry Travis, that was a setup–we both know it was a perfect monologue–Masha just didn’t believe me when I said you

understood

Jerry. She thought you’d just agree with whatever I said like a parrot. Proved her wrong didn’t we?”

Travis didn’t have the heart to tell him that that was the only piece of the program he remembered. Rupert gloats over Masha until she’s had enough, snapping back at him until she’s standing up. He stands up as well, leaving Travis the only one left on the blanket.

“Fine! If you wanna be smug, be smug to him. I don’t have time for this crap! Get those letters to Jerry or else you’ll never be hearing from me again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have serious business to attend to.” Before Rupert can get a word in she’s storming off back to wherever she came.

Good riddance

, Travis thinks as he stretches back on the blanket, laying flat for a perfect view up Rupert’s nose.

“You shouldn’t waste your time on people like that, Rupert. They’re the kind of scum that’ll drag you down to their level. She’ll never be satisfied until you’re miserable.” Travis stretches, popping his always-sore shoulder and tight neck. It’s nice to have Rupert all to himself again. Rupert remains agitated, his hands balled on his hips, brows furrowed.

“I just can’t stand her! I do all of these favors for her and she repays me like that. She can’t even pretend to be normal for thirty minutes when I’m introducing her to my boyfriend. She’s crazy, I swear, but I can’t stop giving her more chances. This time is it, mark my words.” He gestures with one arm as he talks, going from angry to exacerbated and back again. Travis is more hung up on the use of a certain word–one they’ve been dancing around recently.

Boyfriend.

It’s not so bad when he imagines it as his title; it becomes harder to swallow when he’s applying it to Rupert. Travis inhales sharply.

“Forget about her. Come sit down.” Travis runs his hand along the length of the blanket next to him, brushing away a few loose crumbs. Pacing for a moment, Rupert relents and flops down beside him. There is still frustration in his voice as he speaks.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who understands me.” The words take Travis off guard. It’s rare that Rupert ever says something so genuine. He feels a pang in his chest. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, but then they’re pouring out of him with an uncharacteristic ease.

“You’re lonely aren’t you Rupert?” Travis looks up at him, but Rupert is focused on something else. “I can tell. I knew the moment I saw you that you were a lonely person just like me. I think only lonely people can really understand each other. They’re not meant for the rest of the world–we’re supposed to be here right now together because we’re the same. Fuck Masha and fuck the rest of them. They can all burn in the stinking rotting fire they started.” Above him, the tree's dark leaves sway in the breeze, letting in just enough light to keep him warm. Travis feels comfortable.

“Travis, where do you come up with this stuff? You don’t say more than three words a sentence all day then suddenly–BAM–you’re a poet! Have you ever considered becoming an author? There’s a lot of money in book writing.” Rupert pats Travis’s shoulder, letting his hand linger there. It takes a moment for Travis to creep his hand up to rest on top of it. It’s the most affection he can manage out in the real world, but for now, it’s enough. Rupert squeezes his shoulder.

“I write in a journal.” Travis feels stupid the moment the words slip out of him. He hates vulnerability. It was bad enough being a faggot, but a sissy diary-writing manifesto scribbling freak was just another mark on his record. He turns his head away from Rupert–at this angle, he can see the blades of grass all clustered together. For a moment, Travis thinks of how nice it must be to be an ant.

“I keep a diary too! Wow, we really are the same. Mine of course is mostly for workshopping new bit ideas. I’ve been trying to rework a routine until it’s just right before I make a tape. Tapes are the new thing by the way–you make a tape and send it in and you’re already ahead of the game. Most people don’t know about it. They think you need to be scouted or send in letters, but real insiders know that tape is the real deal. I’ve nearly perfected it, but I need something else, something really fresh. Do you think Jerry would find you funny? I could maybe work in some of your cabbie stories.” Rupert lights up as if he’s had a genius epiphany. “Oh, that’s good. A cabbie character. That could be real funny.”

Travis rolls his eyes, but there is some relief. Something is endearing in Rupert’s ability to go on and on about himself. It keeps Travis from having to reveal too much. Of course, a part of him realizes that Rupert will eventually learn about him. Little things at first, then the deeper parts–the things he’s been trying to hide. Already, he’s failed to mention just how much he enjoys drinking or the fact he hardly ever sleeps. Still too is the looming threat of his secret–that thing which he wishes more than anything else to keep hidden–being revealed. He’d have to tell him eventually, but there was always the possibility that Rupert would never have to learn what he did that summer evening two years ago.

For now, all Travis has to worry about is what they’d do this evening or the next–if he’d have to start requesting more days off work or if they’d still be doing this in a month. There is always the chance Rupert will get sick of him like everyone else did. It seems inevitable that he’d reveal the ugly side of himself–he might as well try to enjoy the good times while they lasted. Everything seems to slip past him with time.

Rupert removes his hand to stretch out beside him on the blanket, lying on his stomach with his cheek resting on his arms. He looks so peaceful in the late afternoon light like one of those chapel ceiling paintings. Travis wants nothing more than to reach out and touch him.

Instead, they lay there chatting until Travis needs to head back to the city for work. Rupert sees him off, planting the swiftest kiss on his cheek in the dark shade behind the tree’s thick trunk.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Travis sucks down at the end of his cigarette, throat sore and mind racing. He’s got this slight burn in the back of his sinuses–the start of a cold maybe–that he’s determined to agitate further. Smoke shoots quickly from his flared nostrils, burning slightly. It’s been getting harder to ignore the cravings for the things; he probably goes through a pack every three days now. At least he was putting them out in ashtrays this time.

He’s leaning against the side of some corner house, surveying the few people lazing around the sidewalk like he’s got something to prove. Hunching over himself, Travis thinks he must look like some delinquent if not for the red jacket and tan slacks. Travis once more has found himself dressed in his best clothes, desperate to appear respectable. It was becoming a frequent occurrence, rivaling the smoking.

Twisting the toe of his boot against the pavement, Travis can’t help but notice the nervous numbness in his limbs. It extends up to his core where it dissipates only to begin again in his hunched neck and base of his skull. It’s like pins-and-needles, like his body is sleeping. His brows knit together.

There’s a bouquet of flowers next to his foot, lightly placed on the ground so that his hands can be free. One is shoved deep into his pocket, the other keeps his cigarette pressed to his lips. They’re nice flowers, big red ones with smaller white blossoms filling in space with some pleasant greenery all wrapped up in clear plastic. He hopes they’ll get the job done.

He knows he’s putting off the inevitable but he can’t help it. He’d forgone a watch today as if not being able to see the time would make it any less obvious that he was late. It didn’t take a genius to tell he was procrastinating.

And why shouldn’t he? It wasn’t every day your

friend

asks you to meet his mother. A shiver rushes down his spine. He’s gotten to the end of his cigarette and not even realized it, sucking at the filter to be greeted by nothing but hot air. Instinctively, he brings another to his lips, lighting it. Shoving his hand back into his pocket, he repetitively rolls his thumb across the lighter’s top, feeling the rotation beneath his finger. It’s relaxing, if only momentarily.

A thought flashes across his mind, unwanted. Travis tries to shake it away, but it sticks and he finds himself wondering what his mother would say if she saw him now. He can picture her, though her face is going fuzzy with time, frowning at him, telling him she’s disappointed.

“I thought we raised you better than this,”

she’d say before turning her face into his father’s shoulder. Maybe she’d cry–she always was crying when he’d fuck up. His father was another story. It was difficult for him to imagine his father saying anything. No, he’d just stand there and his eyes would say it all:

you’re no son of mine

.

Travis scoffs. His parents never did quite understand him; all his life they’d desperately tried to make him just a little bit more like everyone else. Hazy early memories of doctor visits bubble up alongside the frustration in his mother’s voice as she asked why he was so quiet. Always too quiet or too sad for them–it was like he’d never been a child, always a brooding teenager. Travis thinks he’s simply destined to be an asshole and an only child.

It lent some credence to the persistent thought that loneliness had followed him his whole life.

Travis balks when he finds he’s once again burnt his cigarette down to the filter. Annoyed, he flicks it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot heel. Reminiscing is a poison–it has his body stirring to life with a nervous edge. He leans his foot back onto his bootheel, pivoting the toe over his bouquet. Twisting to-and-fro he considers crushing it beneath his sole.

It wouldn’t be too hard to run away now. He could call Rupert from some payphone and pretend it was the lobby of his building. Feigning a headache wasn’t difficult and poor sweet Rupert was naive enough to buy it. There is peach brandy next to his bed, enough to get him somewhere warm. Travis brings his boot gently down onto the flowers, pressing just enough to watch them compress.

He yanks his foot away watching the blooms slowly expand back to where they’d been before. Travis’s face twists up in annoyance. He’d been playing around long enough; it was time to man up. Swiping the flowers from the concrete, Travis shoves them beneath one bent arm, hands shoved into his pockets as he starts his brief walk to Rupert’s house.

He knows he’s sulking and that there’s a good chance Rupert is up in the window waiting for a glimpse of him, but Travis cannot stand to fix his posture. It’s hard to keep moving forward as heat begins to fill his whole body–it’s as if he’s just pulled himself out of an oven. The desire to make a good impression had left him all too sober for this, though there was one trick still available. Travis felt them in his pocket, loose to remain inconspicuous. A few small pills from his prescription–benzodiasomethings–he could never quite get it right.

They’re there because he’d known he’d want them. As much as he hated the Marines and their terrible hospitals, he’d come to appreciate the one benefit they’d left him: a seemingly lifetime prescription of nerve pills to keep him docile. Of course, he mostly washed them down with beer to take the edge off of life, but they didn’t need to know that. Hell, he hadn’t gotten the script renewed in years, and yet the pharmacist down the street continued to dole them out on a monthly basis. After the incident, he’d worried they’d cut him off, but he left the state hospital with even more bottles wrapped up in a little white baggie. Painkillers, anti-depressants, benzos…

Travis rolls the pills between his fingers before shoving them in his mouth. He swallows them dry, shaking his head after, inadvertently mussing up his combed hair. It’ll take a while before they kick in, but they should help him stumble through the night without too much incident, as long as he kept away from the booze.

He’s at Rupert’s house now, walking up to the door as if in a haze. Sleepwalking through life like some kind of dead man, he manages to knock at the door only for it to instantly open, jolting him awake. Rupert is standing there, overgroomed and overdressed. He’d make Travis look like an idiot if it weren’t for the fact he looked like a kid playing dress-up. It’s endearing to him in a way that’s beginning to become alarming.

“Sorry, I’m late. Traffic.” He leans in to plant his lips quickly on Rupert’s cheek, pulling away fast to ensure no one could notice. The other man lets out a satisfying hum before nearly yanking Travis inside by his sleeve.

“Oh, it’s fine I’m used to it. You’re always late to the things you don’t want to do and early to those you do.” Rupert smugly smiles at whatever face Travis must have made. “Don’t act surprised; I’m very perceptive and you’re very

very

easy to read.” Travis stops following Rupert, digging his heels into the carpet. His fingers are at the cuff of his suit jacket, yanking him close until they’re pressed tightly beside the doorframe. Rupert looks at him, confusion written in his scrunched features.

“Are you sure this is the uh, right decision?” Rupert’s expression remains the same forcing Travis to look past him down the hall. “I mean, don’t you think it’s still a little early.”

Rupert scoffs, patting Travis’s chest right beneath his shoulder. It’s condescending and yet his heart still thrums beneath it.

“You worry too much! Besides, she’s been dying to meet you.” Rupert pauses to brush a few hairs into place atop Travis’s head. He feels like a child. “It’s just dinner. Be yourself! She’ll love you.”

Rupert gives Travis one more gentle pat, this time to his cheek as if his words were anything but demoralizing. He wishes his pills would kick in already; the edge is starting to slice through him. Reluctantly, he follows the other man down the hall towards his small dining room, his feet dragging the entire way.

The dining room is hardly that, mostly a nook attached to a tiny kitchen with enough space for a table and corner hutch. There are three seats with one already occupied by a woman who seems to be in her mid-to-late-fifties. She looks like Rupert enough, though her features are sharper and there’s too much makeup on her face. Her style seems out of time, like what his mom used to wear when he was a kid. Travis remembers, involuntarily, the hazy vision of his mother pulling a casserole out of the oven with giant red mits. She’s got these sharp defined eyebrows that eventually softened with time and bright red painted lips to match. He can feel the linoleum floor under his hands, if for a moment.

He’s snapped back to the moment by the woman’s shrill voice and a bony hand being raised in his direction. Her nails are the kind that come out into a sharp point, painted white. Travis limply takes it, giving a weak shake. Something in him says anything more and her wrist will snap. The woman scoffs.

“Wow, Rupert, you really know how to pick ‘em.” She drops her hand from his grasp to rest on the floral-patterned tablecloth. Travis opens his mouth, closes it again, and then opens it before she interrupts him. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweety. Sit down.”

“Yes ma’am.” Travis robotically gets into the seat she pointed at, placing him between her, and where Rupert will sit across from her. His heart is bursting out of his neck and he’s grateful to be sitting lest he fall over. Remembering himself, Travis speaks. “I’m Travis Bickle, by the way. Uh, I brought these. For you, ma’am.”

Travis nervously holds the flowers out towards the woman, who eyes them suspiciously before taking them. She gives them a tentative sniff before shouting at Rupert who has abandoned Travis to fumble in the kitchen. His eyes dart over to his back, nervous desperate for help.

“Rupert! Come put these in a vase for me, Mr. Pickle brought us flowers.” Travis cringes at the elevation in volume, shrinking slightly into himself.

“Umm, actually it’s Bickle, ma’am.” His voice is drowned out by Rupert yelling back and he seems to go unnoticed.

“Gosh, give me a second, mom, I’m checking on the brisket!” Travis resigns himself to fiddle with the stem of the wine glass in front of him, rolling his fingers across it. Rupert’s mom huffs, brows furrowed.

“You don’t need to check on the brisket, I told you it was already done! Get over here and be a gentleman, you’re embarrassing your guest.”

“No, Mom, I gotta check this, puhLEASE. Have some patience.”

“Don’t talk back to me. Get your ass in here and sit down before I have a heart attack; you’re killing me with this attitude!” Rupert sighs, exaggerating. His whole body moves with the gesture and he drags his feet over to his chair, which he yanks back from the table. It’s like watching a teenager angry over curfew. He sits with a deliberate flair of frustration before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Look, I’m sitting; are you happy now?” Travis’s eyes flick from him to her and then him again. He feels a headache coming on.

“Yes, actually I’m very happy you’ve decided to start acting your age. Now would you please introduce me to your, your,” she waves her hand in the air, filling in the gap. “Before you get distracted on one of your tangents again.” Travis cringes, biting his cheek.

“Mom, he already introduced himself.” Rupert unfurls his napkin, shoving it on his lap and letting the silverware clatter onto the tabletop. His mother glares at him and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. Mom this is my

boyfriend

Travis. Travis this is my mother. Better?” She nods, though there is a clear smidgen of discomfort at his use of the b-word. At least, Travis thinks there is.

“Much better. I swear I tried to raise you right and you turned out so ungrateful. Be glad your sister has made the choices she has or so help me I’d have sent you to reform school.” Rupert is about to open his mouth but is cut off. “So, Travis, Rupert tells me all about you. He says you’re a very funny man; don’t tell me you’re into this stand-up thing too?”

Travis scrunches his nose, fingers stopping where they were on the wine glass. He shakes his head.

“No ma’am. I drive a taxi cab.” Her eyes narrow slightly at that, just barely noticeable. She’s got thick drawn-on black lines across the tops of her eyelids. Travis feels pressured to say more. “I was in the Marines too. During the war.”

“He used to jump out of helicopters. Can you imagine that?” Rupert’s voice oozes with excitement as if the idea is fun to him like it wasn’t nightmarish every time he’d stare down the edge of the machine into the dark jungle below.

“It wasn’t that exciting.” He lies, eyes turned down to the pattern on the tablecloth, lost in the intricate floral design. Rupert scoffs, lightly kicking him under the table. It was meant to be playful, but it makes Travis jolt upright. Thankfully, Rupert’s mother ignores them.

“Mhmm and tell me why a taxi? Aren’t there more respectable jobs for our war heroes out there?” Travis shrugs, suddenly realizing he should probably get his elbows off the table. He puts his hands in his lap, instantly fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

“I don’t know, I didn’t do that much job searching.”

“Well maybe Rupert can get you a job at his agency, they’re always looking for new people. But then again that would require him to have some kind of rapport and we all know he hasn’t built any bridges to burn down in the first place. It’s a miracle they still keep him on the payroll.” Travis feels a tinge of anger in his chest, but it’s numbed quickly. The pills are probably starting to kick in; they must be or else he’d be dead by now.

“Oh, boo hoo; this job is temporary anyways. I’ll be headlining shows within the year and you’ll be eating your words. Travis knows; he’s heard my material.”

It was true; Rupert has presented him with several impromptu comedy routines though he couldn’t say if they were good or not. He laughed forcibly whether he got the jokes or not. Travis realizes the two are both looking at him for an answer.

“Oh, uh yeah. He’s very funny.” Rupert’s mother snorts.

“I see why he likes you. You know, I always knew Rupert would never bring a woman home. Ever since he was a little boy I could just tell. Always with the theatrics and the games, everyone in the family knew. But his sister, ugh! If I had known I would have never–

“Mom!” Rupert is shouting again, jolting Travis. He shoves his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “The timers going off; why don’t you get the food, already.”

“Huh, oh. Fine.” The woman pushes herself up from the table, walking behind Travis as she heads to the kitchen. She’s putting their plates together when Rupert tentatively reaches a hand under the table to grab Travis’s. Travis looks at him, then smiles slightly at the big grin on Rupert’s face. It’s almost calming, but in an instant, the hand is yanked away and his mother is returning with a large plate in each hand. She places it in front of Travis.

“Thank you, ma’am.” There’s a large slab of brisket with little bits of sausage and onion on top alongside some mashed potatoes. The smell is mouth-watering and Travis realizes that he can’t remember the last time he ate something that didn’t come in a fast food container. He reaches for his silverware but stops when Rupert doesn’t do the same. Another moment passes before his mother returns with a bottle of red wine which she pours generously into their glasses. When she finally returns to her chair, Travis is given the go-ahead to eat.

The food is good, very good in fact. He fights the urge to shovel it into his mouth as quickly as possible, pacing himself and allowing the conversation to continue around him. Rupert is talking about money and his mother is taking every chance she can get to poke at him. It’s as if they’ve forgotten Travis is even here, discarded like the bouquet still resting on the table. Stupidly, he begins to sip constantly at his wine.

The pills are working. Whatever nervous edge was building in his chest and spine has left, leaving him feeling calmer than he ever could be on his own. A part of him feels sleepy, a pleasant heaviness that makes him want to curl up in bed and rest. Preferably with Rupert, but that wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain with his mother beside him.

Yet, it persists as he takes another long sip of wine and pretends to nod along to whatever the two are talking about. Up until this point, Rupert and Travis have managed to remain curiously celibate. It was mostly his fault, Travis could admit to it. A few days ago, after their picnic with Masha, things had gotten a bit heavy in the room just beneath his feet. One thing led to another and Travis was sprawled out on his back with Rupert on top of him, rubbing down against his thighs. It was pleasant enough, to have their mouths locked together like that, but the moment Travis felt a hand against the tent in his pants he’d jerked away like a frightened animal.

He wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it. Rupert didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he’d acted as if it didn’t even happen. They’d gone back to innocently watching television on the couch. It made Travis feel like some teenage virgin again, but worse. He felt like some stupid girl, too scared to let a boy anywhere near her. It was dumb and childish and embarrassing. The image flooded his mind now whenever he thought of being intimate with Rupert, even in the most innocent ways. Travis squeezes his eyes shut, before opening them again to the same boring table with the same draining conversation.

Forcing the thoughts away is proving harder than expected. It’s the damn pills, getting him too comfortable, too introspective. He lets the last of his wine dribble past his lips. It’s going to his head a bit too quickly, more so than he’s used to. It sends a certain tingling warmth spreading throughout his body, unignorable. Travis shoves another bite of brisket into his mouth.

“More wine?” It’s the first thing anyone has said to him in

hours

and yet his mouth is full. He nods, swallowing too soon and sending a hard ball of chewed meat scraping down his throat. Travis coughs into the back of his hand, eyes watering.

“Yes, please.” He hardly manages to sputter out, watching through stinging eyes as another glass is poured for him. He takes it as soon as it is done, using a few large swigs to clear his throat.

“So, Travis, tell me, where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from New York.” Rupert’s mother’s tone is between inquisitive and annoyed like she just remembered she’s supposed to show some interest in the man who is dating her son. Travis sets his glass down, noticing a slight blur in the movement.

“Michigan. My parents still live there,” Travis notices Rupert’s intense gaze. He hasn’t shared any of this yet. “I’m their uh, only kid.”

“Oh, so you must visit often then? I bet that drive gets tiring.” Travis shakes his head feeling a bit of delay in the motion.

“No ma’am, we don’t see each other often.”

A decade

. The voice in his head reminds him as it so often does when he thinks about his parents. A decade since he saw them, about two years since his last card. They didn’t even know about what he did. Travis swallows. “I’ve been meaning to head that way soon, but I can’t get the time off work for a while.”

It was always so easy to lie.

“Well, that’s too bad. You know sometimes I wish Rupert would move out, but then I remember he’d forget about me like his dear sweet sister and then I’d have no one to take care of me in my old age.”

“That’s not true, mom. You know I’d visit plenty. Besides, what if I want to move in with Travis? Ever considered that?” Travis chokes on the bit of potatoes in the back of his throat, managing to keep himself from coughing only through sheer willpower. Rupert’s mother laughs, throwing her head back and tossing a hand up. It reminds him of something her son would do.

“Oh please, you’ve known each other for three months and you’re already wanting to run off with him! See, this is what happens when you give everything to your children: you spoil them and they turn out stupid. Rupert, I’ll be dead before you move out of that basement!” The tension between the two grows and Travis thanks the pills for keeping him level. He wants to butt in to defend himself, but he also isn’t quite sure he wants to take a stance on this.

“You’re just jealous. Always have been.” Rupert shrugs, looking smugly at Travis then down at his plate, his knife slicing through the meat casually. There is a slight edge to his forced nonchalant tone. “You see me on the edge of big success and you want to pull me back down again. I get it, I really do. I mean, I’d do the same if I was in your position. Really.”

“You watch your tone!” Rupert’s mother snaps back, yelling once again. Her shrill voice sends a pang through Travis’s skull, the telltale start of a headache. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the sounds away. It’s not easy, but with some effort, the back-and-forth becomes wordless noise like an animal bleat. Travis sighs out of his nose when he opens his eyes again to the two still shrieking at each other.

It is difficult to care or to be upset or to feel much of anything at all. Travis’s body is getting duller by the second and grateful for it. It was rare to experience this sensation much anymore; typically he only ever mixed substances from the comfort of his bedroom and the thrill of pretending to be normal didn’t factor much into that. Now each movement of his body sent pleasant dull warmth throughout his limbs. He felt dumb, but in a comforting way as if he could live like this forever, stifled and stupid. It put a smile on his face or at least, he thought it did. For all Travis knew he could be drooling and catatonic right now. Yet, he somehow manages to finish off the last of his second glass of wine.

Watching Rupert argue with his mother is only slightly entertaining, though it mostly makes Travis imagine what his parents would do if he ever raised his voice at them. He could see himself, only younger, at the kitchen table with his head held low as his father screamed at him to behave. There was his mother with her face in her hands and tears streaming down her face. Travis can almost step into the thought only Rupert’s mother is slamming her hands on the table, forcing him back for a moment.

Travis concludes that if he ever tried this he’d have been disowned. The thought makes him smile. He’s reaching for the wine bottle when Rupert abruptly stands up. His hand grabs Travis’s shoulder, yanking him up by the jacket right as his fingers wrap around the bottleneck. Wide-eyed, Travis stumbles to his feet pulling the bottle close to his chest as he barely manages to keep up with Rupert. He thinks he says

‘thank you’

while he goes but he can’t quite tell, especially because his lips are already around the bottle’s edge.

“I can’t believe she did that tonight! We need to get out of here; where’d you park?” Rupert is dragging him along by the sleeve, pulling him through the front door and out into the dusky evening air. Travis blinks, leaning onto Rupert’s side for support, finding it hard to coordinate. He’s about to take another swig of wine when Rupert snatches it away.

“I uh, I didn’t drive I–” Travis mumbles out, much to Rupert’s frustration. He’s looking down at him where his cheek is pressing into his shoulder with a disappointed concern. It makes Travis’s heartbeat elevate for the first time in what feels like hours.

“What are you doing? I thought you weren’t going to get drunk tonight.” Rupert discards the bottle behind him, letting it hit the lawn with a dull thump. Travis squeezes his eyes shut. One of his hands creeps up to grasp at Rupert’s jacket lapel, dragging himself across his chest until he is pressed tight against him. He feels so nice that he has to push his face closer until the other man is bracing himself against the doorframe trying not to fall over. “Travis! What’s gotten into you?”

“Mmmm, pills. Mixed ‘em.” His voice is muffled, but Rupert must hear him because he’s scoffing, pushing him away so that they can see eye-to-eye. Rupert is about to speak when Travis interrupts him. “Don’t worry, ‘ve got a prescription.”

Rupert makes a face he can’t quite read. It’s novel, something he hasn’t seen before. It sticks as he finally sighs, shoving his arms under Travis’s armpits to try to haul him back up onto his feet. Travis hadn’t even realized how far he’d been leaning into him.

“What am I going to do with you?” Rupert fumbles at the doorknob until he can step backward into the house again with Travis clinging to his side. “I really wish you wouldn’t do this yourself, I mean, plenty of the most famous and talented movie stars die alone in their homes due to mixing

drugs

with alcohol. I don’t want to see that happening to you.”

Travis tries to speak but is cut off by Rupert’s mother yelling from the other room. Rupert ignores her as he focuses on dragging Travis toward his room.

“RUPERT?! IS THAT YOU?! RUPERT!!”

“IT’S ME, MOM! NOW SHUT UP AND DON’T BOTHER US OR I SWEAR I’LL–”

Rupert stops himself when he slams the door to the basement shut behind them, making a big show of locking it. He starts down the stairs leaving Travis to follow him, but he only manages to slide his back down the closed door until he’s sitting slumped atop the stairs.

“Travis, please. Come on.” Rupert tugs at his hands until he’s back on his feet, leading him gently down the stairs. He barely makes it without falling and only feels safe when he can flop onto his back on Rupert’s bed. The ceiling is spinning above him and his head is starting to pound. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Travis runs his hands down his face then back up again to push his hair away. His forehead is sweaty. “Just, shouldn’t have had that wine ‘s all.”

“Well, duh. Jeez, Travis, you could have killed yourself doing that! I thought you’d know better by now and since when did you have a prescription anyway? You really need to start telling me these
things if we’re gonna be serious.” Travis scoffs, picking at the button on his jacket.

“Didn’t think it was important.” He pauses. “Besides, I couldn’t have gotten through that sober. What was that, Rupert?” Travis tries to come off annoyed, but the slight slurring has him sounding anything but. Pacing, Rupert stops before coming to stand over Travis. It makes his slow breath catch in his throat.

“That was a family dinner. I thought you’d be familiar with the concept by now.” Rupert pushes a finger into Travis’s chest. “All you had to do was show up and behave yourself and you couldn’t even do that.”

“...You two were the ones yelling…” Travis mumbles, but instantly regrets it at the look Rupert shoots him. Before the other man can speak, he’s throwing his hands up, noticing the slight blur of the movement. “Please, no fighting. I just, we can talk about it later, okay?”

Rupert softens, but Travis gets the feeling he won’t hear the end of this once he sobers up. The other man briefly smooths out his mustache before sitting beside Travis on the bed. His hand comes to rest on Travis’s squeezing it slightly.

“You’re not gonna die on me, right?” It’s delivered like a joke but there’s a sincerity that makes Travis think he should be feeling guilty if he could feel anything at all. Oh well. He shrugs, yawning.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Never hurt me before.” Rupert furrows his brows.

“How often do you do this?”

Travis looks up at him, eyes heavy, suddenly tired. He wants to tell Rupert the truth and maybe a bit more. Right now, with his inhibitions lowered he could easily begin to ramble backward through his life until he was forced to mention what happened two years ago. It wouldn’t be too hard.

But he can’t. Travis looks away.

“A few times. Accidents mostly.”

If Rupert doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t say anything. They’re both quiet for a long time, so long that when Rupert finally asks Travis if he wants a drink of water the other man has fallen asleep. Rupert pouts, reluctantly drawing away to prepare for bed.

They’d have plenty to talk about tomorrow.