by Rhys Everly
The real estate agent squinted and shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not up to me. It’s up to the system. If it runs the check and finds you’re not earning enough, it will automatically fail you.”
Pierce’s beastly manners came to show when he cursed, taking Rafe by the hand, and dragging him out of the apartment.
“Jesus Christ! Now systems get to decide for us. What’s next? Asking a robot for permission to take a crap?” he shouted and slammed the door behind them.
Rafe put his hands on Pierce’s shoulders and asked him to calm down.
“Everyone is a fucking dick. Seriously!” Pierce spat.
Rafe laughed. “I know. But we like dick, remember?” Pierce chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“Come on, let’s grab some lunch,” he responded, going down to the first floor and hailing a cab.
“Mr. Callahan, you’re spoiling me,” Rafe said when they got in the cab.
Pierce huffed. “I’m too pissed to walk or take the subway. The Village please,” he said to the driver and they started their journey downtown.
They arrived at Les Fourches half an hour later and Vance was there to welcome them in the restaurant.
“Any luck, boys?” Pierce shook his head and Vance grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“Can we grab some lunch before I start?” Pierce asked him and Vance nodded, pointing them to a table next to him.
Rafe was starting to enjoy food at Les Fourches, something he never thought possible, considering all the meaty delicacies his mother had raised him with. He didn’t know if he could ever go fully vegan like Pierce, but he didn’t mind a vegetarian diet. It helped that the place made such delicious food.
Vance came to stand next to them while keeping an eye on the door for new patrons. “What did they say?”
Pierce uncovered his face and replied to his boss. “The usual. They need bank accounts, credit checks, pay stubs and crap. They said they could do the contract in my name, but the point is for Rafe to have a legal address to register for his meds. And I couldn’t be his guarantor because I don’t earn a trillion dollars or some bullshit. So fucked up.”
Vance frowned. “That sucks boys. It really does.”
Chloe, one of the few waitresses working at the restaurant, brought them their sodas. Vance looked at her and clapped his hands together.
“Of course!” he exclaimed. Chloe jumped and waited for her boss’s instructions.
“What the hell do you want?” she asked him, clasping her heart.
Vance gave her the bird and turned to address Pierce. “This bitch just told me she’s leaving, ’cause apparently she got a job in a radio station or some crap like that.” Chloe winced and stuck her tongue out. Vance looked at Rafe. “Do you want a job as a waiter? Again, it’s only part-time, but it will help you open a bank account and with your credit,” he said.
Rafe smiled and nodded like a bobble head. “Really?”
“That’s great,” Pierce intervened, “but we’ll still not make enough money for the system to approve either one of us.”
Vance turned to Pierce and smacked him on the head. Exactly how Rafe felt like doing. “You, Debbie Downer, if I pay all his tips and wages in his bank account, he should have a good credit score in no time. I can do the same with you,” he said.
Rafe’s smile widened. If Vance really did hire him and give them both a push, then they really could move into an apartment. But Pierce didn’t reciprocate in his enthusiasm.
“That will not work. Even if you do that, they will still need two months’ pay stubs, which he doesn’t have, and if we wait two months he might get sick again, plus he won’t be making enough for his rent to actually get approved.”
“Then I’ll be his guarantor,” Vance said and Rafe looked at him.
“You-you would do that?” Rafe asked.
“You guys need the help, right? Then stop looking a gift horse in the mouth,” Vance said and clapped his hands again. “Chloe, bitch, since you decided to leave us, you can train Rafe on the job.”
“My pleasure,” she said, inviting Rafe closer to her. Rafe got up and followed her to the back into the staff room where she handed him a gray apron and showed him to an empty locker where he could put his backpack and the rest of his things.
When she brought him to the front again, she gave him a tablet that the waitresses used to take orders and let him follow her to her tables and watch while she did her best to explain everything he needed to know, passing along her sage wisdom and giving the best service to her patrons.
All this time on the streets and he’d hardly ever met anyone willing to help. And now, after meeting Pierce, he was starting to become surrounded by people who wanted to help him and were going out of their way to do so?
What was he supposed to say to Pierce, or Vance, or any of them? “Thank you”? How inadequate did that sound?
He approached the bar to collect one of Chloe’s drink orders, so deep in concentration and thought that he jumped when Pierce touched his hand and leaned in closer.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
He was more than okay. He was great. And for once in his life he felt loved.
And it was all thanks to Pierce. This handsome brute with a beautiful heart. What on earth had he ever done to deserve him as a friend?
Seventeen
Pierce
Vance came out from behind the curtain and cat-walked around Pierce, busting a few moves.
“No. You look like a clown,” Pierce said, and when Vance took offense he added, “There’s too much orange.”
Vance put his hands on his waist. “It’s beige,” he replied with a fake French accent.
“Beige, schmeige, you look like a circus reject,” Pierce retaliated.
Vance pressed his cheeks under his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Rude much?”
Vance marched back into the changing room. His boss’s voice echoed in his ears while he was changing. “So Rafe told me he is finally on his medication?”
Pierce nodded but remembered Vance couldn’t see him and spoke up.
“Does that mean you will finally start searching for your own place?”
“That’s the plan, but that won’t happen for another month at least.”
The curtain was pulled back, and Vance appeared in a sailor’s suit with a white jacket and trousers, navy blue lines defining the collar and the button line and seams. A scarf was tied sideways on his neck, and a light blue shirt was hiding underneath the buttoned suit. “Why so long?”
“Because I’m still helping Rafe with rent. If he worked more hours, perhaps I would be able to actually save something,” he said and cocked his head to the side like a puppy, not so subtle with the hint.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know I would if I could. What am I supposed to do? Fire all my staff and have you two run the place?” Vance reprimanded him, but it was too difficult to take him seriously in what he was wearing.
“Hm, doesn’t sound that bad,” Pierce joked. “Speaking of bad, is your date—” Pierce started but was interrupted by Vance.
“Friend,” he corrected.
“Friend who you’re trying to impress by buying a new suit? Yes, friend is the first word that comes to mind. Is your ‘friend’ into sailors? ’Cause that’s the only way I can imagine him liking this suit. Or is it Halloween. But Halloween is way over, so maybe you’re aiming for some carnival,” Pierce commented.
Vance grimaced and headed for the changing room again. “You know, I think I liked you better when I hadn’t hired you yet,” he said.
“Oh, you mean when I served you your face by insulting you in your own bar? Yeah, sometimes I like that Pierce better myself,” he replied.
Vance’s face appeared from between the curtains. “Remind me again, why did I ever hire you?”
He actually waited for the answer. Pierce tried to drag it out for as long as possible, making Vance look even more ridiculous the longer he held his position like a
floating, disembodied head.
“Because I’m hot and rugged, which is so obviously your type,” he told him.
His boss winked at him and retreated back into his changing room. “You are right. But if you’re anything to go by, I’m doomed. Unless I find a way to make all young Latinos disappear from the face of the Earth—” he started but paused as if someone had gagged him. Then his voice came across, a little louder than a whisper. “Please tell me there is no one around, because that sounded so wrong.”
Pierce laughed out loud. Vance eventually appeared to restrain Pierce’s mouth and shut him up.
“You know I can sue you for that,” Pierce told him before resuming his deep laughter.
“Shut up and tell me what you think,” Vance shouted at him.
Pierce gave his boss a once over. He was now wearing a grey, slim jacket that hugged his upper body, matching the ashen blonde of his hair, and a pair of trousers just a tone darker.
“Ding, ding, ding. We got a winner,” Pierce said and Vance smiled, fist-pumping the air.
Waiting in line to pay, Vance brought the conversation back to the initial topic. “How much have you saved for yourself so far?”
Pierce turned to his boss and gave him the pessimistic number. “A little under seven hundred. And considering it’s been more than two months since I started working for you, that’s sad.”
“Don’t say that. You’ve helped Rafe get healthy again. We just need to sort you out. You can’t be wasting your money on hostels any longer,” Vance replied as he put his hand on Pierce’s back.
It had been a month since Rafe had gotten the job at the bar and two weeks since he’d gotten a room. Vance had worked some of his tricks when paying Rafe and even managed to give him fake pay stubs to present to potential landlords, and he was finally settled in a one-bedroom private residence in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
His landlord, Wang, lived in the house, and Rafe was paying $750 a month to live in a tiny hole that fit only a bed and a canvas wardrobe that had to be moved in order to open the door. It was better than the streets, though, especially since it was warm, had a bed, and more than anything, granted him access to his drugs.
It had only been a few days since his application for help with his medication had been approved. Rafe’s life had changed, and he couldn’t stop thanking Pierce for it. But for Pierce, it was enough that Rafe was good and off the streets. He couldn’t say the same for himself. He still had a while to go before moving into his own place.
His leg buzzed as his phone rang in his jeans. He pulled out his new phone—an old, used Nokia with limited internet capabilities—and read Rafe’s name on the screen. He pressed the green button to answer.
“Hey Pierce. How’s it going?”
Pierce walked outside of the store as Vance took his position in front of the register and paid up. “Good, good. Shopping with Vance for his date,” he replied.
Rafe whistled. “Whoop whoop! Go Vance!” he said. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling,” he lowered his voice, “I just found out Wang is going away on vacation for a few weeks, and I thought you might like to crash at my place until he’s back.” When he finished, he remained absolutely quiet, waiting for Pierce’s reply.
Pierce wanted to jump and fist-pump the air but restrained himself to a simple yes and a thank you before hanging up. It was Thursday, which meant he wouldn’t have to pay for a hostel for a few weeks, and he’d get to spend more time with Rafe. It was win-win no matter what way he looked at it.
He picked up his suitcase, parted ways with Vance, and made his way for Brooklyn on the C Line. Maybe life wasn’t being as unfair to him as he thought.
After all, it had given him Rafe as a friend.
Eighteen
Rafe
When the doorbell rang, Rafe checked his hair—which had grown over the last month—to make sure nothing was pointing to the wrong direction, then opened the door.
And there he was. The guy with the suitcase. The guy with the suitcase wearing a smile on his face. And there was nothing that made Rafe happier than seeing Pierce.
Pierce wiped his shoes at the doormat and entered the apartment, looking around.
“He left this morning,” Rafe reassured him. “Don’t worry. We’re all alone.” Rafe hadn’t meant that as racy as it came out, but he rolled with it.
He showed Pierce into his bedroom, which he had tidied up for Pierce. He’d also lit some tea candles around the room for some extra ambience. It was incredible how much junk one could collect in a matter of two weeks. But once he went shopping, it was impossible to stop. He needed a can for his trash and some more sketchbooks of varying sizes to pass his endless time between work, and, of course, a bookshelf to put said books. Before he knew it he had quite the welcoming room.
It was a rabbit hole, but it was his rabbit hole. He still had to move his wardrobe to open his bedroom door, but it was so light, it didn’t really matter to him. All he wanted now was to share his sacred space with the guy who had made all this possible.
Pierce put down his suitcase and sat on the bed. “You’ve really worked on the place,” he commented as he looked around.
“Yeah, had to do something with my time. Thank you,” Rafe responded, trying to look into Pierce’s eyes, but they were focused on the fairy lights he had nailed to the ceiling for extra glow.
It was only when Rafe said thank you that Pierce turned to look at him. “I’ve told you to stop saying that. I promised to find a way, and I wouldn’t rest until I did.”
Rafe smiled. “Okay. Okay. I’ll stop.” Rafe sat next to Pierce and his foot hit Pierce’s suitcase. Rafe looked at it and cocked his head. “You’ve never told me what’s in that suitcase. I mean I know it belonged to your grandad, but I’m sure there’s another reason why you’re carrying it around.”
Pierce didn’t answer. He picked up the suitcase, put it on his lap and popped it open. His hand dug in and he took a pile of pictures out, passing them to Rafe.
“They’re all pictures my gramps took before he died. After he came out to his family and everyone turned their back on him, he took all his savings and traveled the world. Even in his sixties, he lived a full, happy life as a gay man, and he saw everything. I like to look at them. They make me feel happy. They make me dream. They give me hope that things can get better, even if I have to wait forty years for it. One day, I’d like to take pictures of my adventures like he did, but until then I have his memories. And the suitcase—he left it to me in his will. The rest of his family got nothing. He gave me this suitcase because, as it said on his letter: ‘This suitcase is all I can give to my beautiful grandson and hope that it is enough.’ So I like to keep both safe and sound,” Pierce said while Rafe went through the photographs.
They were all so beautiful, and the first thing Rafe realized was how much Pierce looked like his grandfather. If he was going to age like him, he was going to be a charming sixty-year-old. He could see why his grandfather hadn’t had a problem adjusting to life as a gay man with his mature looks.
It wasn’t just the looks, however. It was also the pure happiness depicted in the pictures. Not just his, but that of his friends, and surely some of them had been his lovers too. Wherever he found himself, and he had gone everywhere, he was surrounded by happy people.
He couldn’t blame Pierce for holding on to them. But he didn’t like the idea that Pierce felt hopeless. He wanted to give Pierce what Pierce had given him, but he didn’t know how when he only worked two nights a week. Once he was on his medication a bit longer, he’d go looking for another job, but until then he felt too weak to do so. That didn’t erase his desire to get Pierce something to thank him. He was sure he’d find something. For now he would share his house, which this bruto had made possible, and hope it was enough.
“Want to watch a film? Wang has Netflix, so we can binge-watch 90s shows,” Rafe suggested, touching Pierce’s knee and getting up.
Pierce smiled. “Sure. Why no
t?”
Rafe exited the room and returned with a laptop in his hands. It was an expensive one. Pierce’s inquisitive face was enough for Rafe to answer.
“I asked him if I can use it to send resumés and stuff. He didn’t say no. So what if by stuff I meant porn and Netflix?”
Pierce’s inquisitive expression remained and was joined by Pierce’s laugh.
“What? I’m a man. I got needs,” Rafe answered, hoping Pierce hadn’t taken his joke too seriously. Sure, he did like watching porn, but he didn’t want him to think that he’d rather watch all the sexy things than do them with Pierce.
“So what will it be? Charmed or Buffy?” Rafe asked as he lay back on his pillow, inviting Pierce next to him with a pat on the mattress.
Pierce took his jacket and shoes off and warmed up next to him. “Um, Charmed. Of course,” he said nasally.
“See? I knew you’re my kind of man,” Rafe nodded and hoped Pierce got the hint.
He put an episode of the first season on and let the silence and proximity work its magic, not only on the show, but in real life too.
Halfway through, when the Halliwell sisters were facing another demon, Rafe laced his fingers with Pierce’s and squeezed. When he thought he’d warmed the field enough, he turned, ready to plant a kiss on Pierce’s lips and do what he’d been meaning to do for so long.
But Pierce was asleep.
Had he misread Pierce? Or did he bore him so much? He really thought Pierce felt the same, but apparently not. Or maybe it was his sickness that had distanced Pierce from any loving thoughts for Rafe.
It was true. Pierce hadn’t flirted with him since he’d told him about his positive status. Sure, he had helped him, but he had stopped being playful with Rafe. He wasn’t like he was with Vance, for example. Maybe Pierce was into his boss and not Rafe. Maybe he saw Rafe like a little brother.
