by Rhys Everly
Rafe sighed and decided to let it go. It didn’t matter. Pierce was a friend before anything, and he still wanted to show his gratitude to him. He pulled the comforter over both of them and pecked a kiss on Pierce’s cheek before he resumed binge watching his favorite childhood show.
Nineteen
Pierce
By the following week, Pierce had stayed at Rafe’s every day, watching movies and TV shows—mainly from the 90s, which they both had a fascination for—going to work together, and leaving together.
The upcoming Christmas craze had enveloped the city into endless green flora and Santas ringing bells on every corner. Les Fourches was bursting with tourists and families, busier than ever. Which was good news for both of them as Vance told them he’d be needing them four days a week until the end of the season.
On Wednesday, almost a week before Christmas day, Pierce walked in for his evening shift just as Rafe was finishing his afternoon one. When he took his place behind the bar, Rafe was counting his money at the side, next to another waiter—Charlie, a hunky Australian who was doing a tour of America for a year before going off to travel the rest of the world. His trip, not so surprisingly, included humping every walking, three-legged thing. It only took a few giggles and a couple of nudges to make Pierce’s insides twirl.
“Hey, Rafe. Didn’t hear you leave this morning,” Pierce said, approaching his friend and his colleague, adding an extra flare to his words for Charlie’s enjoyment.
Rafe barely gave him a glance as he was counting. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t want to wake you,” he murmured.
Pierce took the brunt of Rafe’s cold shoulder and tried not to look the wounded puppy he felt like. Ever since his first night at Rafe’s place, there was a distance between them.
Rafe no longer teased him or made double entendres about the nature of their relationship. He didn’t know what he had done to distance Rafe, but he wished he could fix it. Everything he had done, and even everything he was doing now, he was doing for Rafe, to give Rafe a worthy friend. If Rafe was no longer interested in pursuing more than a work relationship with Pierce, he didn’t know if he cared what happened to him. He didn’t even care if he stayed on the streets ’til the end of time.
“What are you doing later, mate? Want to get a drink?” Charlie asked, elbowing Rafe’s side once again.
Pierce wished he could elbow the guy’s face. He hated seeing someone else touching Rafe. When Rafe smiled and gave an affirmative reply, Pierce had to shake his head and ground himself back in reality, if only to remind himself that he was just Rafe’s friend and that the help he’d given came with no strings attached.
“Whatever time you finish, call me to open the door, okay?” Rafe told him as he put away the money and walked into the back room to hand in his cash float and his earnings.
A couple of men dressed in tight tank tops and leather shorts walked in, followed by a drag queen with fuchsia hair that towered over her head in a lopsided pyramid. All three had pink glitter eyeshadow covering their eyes and ruby red lipstick across their lips.
They all cheered when they saw Charlie, and they embraced one another in an orderly fashion. They were Conclabia and her Pubescent Pubes, a comedy act from the club two stores down. Regular customers and some of the loudest patrons.
Charlie and the gang exchanged niceties, muscle compliments, and make-up adoration before Rafe appeared and embraced each and every one of them intimately, leaving one of the Pubes for last, a tall, buff blond with brown eyes and pink blusher. He squeezed Rafe’s butt cheek while they were holding the hug longer than usual, Rafe barely reacting to the violation of his privacy.
It wasn’t that Pierce totally ignored Rafe’s last profession, but he disliked seeing him in anyone else’s arms. He considered anything mildly sexual involving Rafe as a crime against his innocence. And yes, Pierce knew that the guy he thought so innocent had been a rentboy, but he didn’t think he could ever see Rafe as anything but the young kid who’d ran from home for liking Britney Spears and Katy Perry.
Rafe threw himself over the bar and pinched Pierce’s nipple over his shirt. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” He laughed, and so did his company.
Pierce blinked and focused on Rafe’s beautiful eyes staring back at him. “Yes?”
“I said, I’ll see you later, Mr. Broody.” Rafe giggled and joined his friends, leaving the bar to start their night out somewhere farther down in the heart of the Village.
Business picked up and Pierce was forced to put Rafe—and whatever he was up to—on the backseat of his mind. The young man, however, seemed to have called shotgun on his every thought.
“Fucking dickhead,” he spat while he was making a Cosmopolitan.
His colleague, also working behind the bar, turned and asked him what had happened.
“Nothing. Just… cocktails. Hate those fuckers,” he murmured.
It wasn’t cocktails he was pissed at, but Rafe. Why had he led him on, even going as far to invite him over to his place for a a few weeks, only to blank him and date other guys? It wasn’t that Pierce wanted to date Rafe, but—
No, he did want Rafe to be his and only his. He wanted to look at his handsome eyes all day long and hold him in his arms when he slept. He wanted to kiss those full lips and taste them for all eternity. And he wanted his touch to explore every inch of his body until he knew it by heart, but even then he wouldn’t let him go because nothing was good enough as the real Rafe. Crap. Was that what being in love with that little thieving rugrat was like?
What was the point, if Rafe didn’t feel the same way? Since he had started on his drugs, he had proven as much; Pierce was nothing but a guest to Rafe. Gone were the hints and the hand holding that had taken place on Pierce’s first night at Rafe’s room, when Rafe thought he was asleep. He had felt Rafe’s kiss on his cheek and he thought the next morning would be a magical one. He thought he’d wake up with Rafe by his side, kiss him good morning and stay in bed, snoozing together. But no. When he had woken up, the old Rafe was gone, leaving him with a distant one.
Before he even realized, Pierce had finished with work and had started his walk to the subway, only his destination was unknown. He didn’t know what the point was to sleeping in Rafe’s room when he was invisible to him. He probably wouldn’t even notice if he didn’t go home that night. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be home at this time.
He made up his mind long after his legs had. And they carried him to his usual hostel. Thunder roared as he was buzzed in, and he looked at the sky before making his way to reception. The weather seemed to match his mood this evening.
“Hi, can I have a room for two nights?” Pierce asked a brunet muscular guy who was browsing Facebook on his phone.
The guy greeted him, recognizing him from other nights he’d slept over, but they had hardly ever talked.
“Sorry, dude. It seems we’re all booked out for the next three weeks. Christmas time and all,” he said.
Pierce frowned. “What? Where am I going to stay now?” he shouted. This just wasn’t his night.
The guy shrugged and pursed his lips. “You can try the other hostels in the area,” he told him.
Pierce wanted to punch the guy. He wanted to punch the wall. Instead, he slapped his hand on the desk as he was getting up. “Fine,” he grunted.
He stormed out just as the night storm picked up, drenching him in seconds. He made his way up a block and across the street, where he’d seen another hostel but had never slept in it. He had no luck there either. He tried another one Uptown. He walked so far in the rain that his skin sweated while his clothes were soaking. The night was not being nice to him. He needed a place.
His eyes stung like needles were poking them, and soon he was pouring his tears out, unable to control himself.
He was such a hopeless case. No one cared about him. Not his parents, certainly not Rafe. He had nothing to live for and nothing to look forward to. How had he, a college student with aspirations in life, ended up homeless
and dreamless in New York?
When the sky decided to finally stop spitting its mockery on Pierce, he decided to find solace where he had a million times before. In the subway. He paid for a single ticket and let himself through the metal bars. It was way too damp at the station, so he waited for the train. He slept in intervals, changing trains and directions until the next morning when he decided to make his way to work.
To his surprise, he made it to work with barely time to spare. His phone had run out of battery, and only when he walked into the restaurant did he realize it was only ten to two. He retreated to the staff room to put on a fresh shirt and pair of jeans, fixed his greasy hair in the mirror and stepped into the bar, ready to start another shift.
Vance came from the back side carrying something. He stepped behind the bar with a case of bottled soda to restock the shelves.
“What’s that smell?” he said as he passed behind Pierce.
Pierce looked around and saw his disheveled face in the mirror. “That’s probably me. Sorry,” he apologized.
Vance let the case on the bar and stared at Pierce, wincing. “Why do you smell?”
“I didn’t find a hostel last night and the storm caught me,” he grimaced. He didn’t realize it was that bad.
Vance breathed out. “Come on, dude. One thing I told you when you started was to come to work clean.”
Pierce looked at Rafe. He was sitting at the bar when he wasn’t there only a moment ago and who looked concerned with his boss’s reprimand. “Hey, where the hell did you go last night? Why didn’t you come home? I was calling you, but you weren’t answering. I was so worried.”
“I thought you were too busy going out with your new friends,” he replied to Rafe, then turned to Vance. Why were they attacking him? Had it not been enough that he’d had a horrible night? Did they need to make him feel even crappier than he felt? “And I’m sorry I couldn’t find a hostel in the middle of a high season. Jesus!”
Vance put his hands on his waist and frowned. “Don’t give me attitude, young man. You don’t just have a case of smelly pits. You reek. If anyone should be giving anyone attitude, that’s me,” he said in a calm manner, but Pierce could see his nostrils flaring as he spoke.
“Whatever,” Pierce said and picked up a ticket from the printer to start making the drinks.
Vance took it from his hands. “Don’t whatever me. I can’t let you work in this state. Go home, dude. Have a shower and come back tomorrow,” he said in the same tone.
Pierce couldn’t believe his ears. What the hell was wrong with people? He thought Christmas was the time of charity, not of reckless douchebaggery. “What? I can’t lose a day’s worth of wages and tips,” he yelled.
Vance looked at the few patrons that had turned their heads looking at the spectacle behind the bar. “Don’t raise your voice with me. I said go home. I might as well work the whole day than have the whole restaurant smell like garbage,” he replied with less patience.
Pierce pushed Vance. “Fuck you,” he told him and turned around, leaving the bar.
“You know what? Don’t bother coming back, asshole,” Vance yelled having completely lost his temper.
Pierce turned and gave him the finger.
“Vance, it’s okay. I can do Pierce’s shift. Please, just calm down. Both of you,” Rafe said, turning his head to both of them, pleading.
Pierce growled. “Of course. Swoop in and steal my job too,” he shouted at Rafe.
“That’s not what this is,” Rafe begged and got off his chair, pulling Pierce to the staff room.
When they got in he pushed him through the door and closed it behind them.
“Have you completely lost your mind? Calm down, Pierce,” he said in a hushed but agitated tone.
He took his keys out of his pocket and forced them into Pierce’s hands.
“Here, take my keys and go back to my place. Have a shower. And I swear to God, if you’re not there when I get back I’ll whoop your fucking ass for locking me out of my apartment, and I’ll whoop your fucking ass anyway for acting like an idiot,” he finished and walked out of the staff room.
Pierce took his suitcase and stuffed a change of clothes from the locker inside it, then left the restaurant through the back door. He didn’t want to look at anyone. He just wanted to walk. And shower. And sleep. And to forget this whole night and day.
Twenty
Pierce
Pierce was watching an action film when Rafe knocked on the door. He had showered, changed, and most importantly, calmed down. He felt crap for what he’d done and how he’d talked to Vance, but there was nothing he could do. He had lost his job, and all he could do to sedate his anger was watch a hardcore action film.
Rafe walked in like a zombie ready to attack, his eyes half closed, his shoulders hunched forward and his hands falling lifelessly in front of him. He waved a 'Hi' and made his way to his room, where he collapsed like a big fat carcass, finding shelter under his comforter.
“How was work?” Pierce laughed.
“Busy. Very busy,” he mumbled.
Pierce got to his knees and put his hands flat on the mattress seeking Rafe’s gaze. “Listen, Rafe. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it.”
Rafe shuffled under the covers. “Oh shut up. I know. Here,” he said and handed Pierce a pack of notes.
Pierce took it and stared at Rafe who had closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow. “What’s all this?”
“Your tips,” came the response from the sleepy Rafe.
“My tips from where?”
“From the pits of hell. Devil says hi,” Rafe muttered, still not opening his eyes. “Where do you think? The restaurant.”
Pierce counted the money. There was over four hundred and fifty dollars. “What the fuck did you do? Strip in front of everyone?”
Rafe grinned. “No, but close. I smiled,” he said and stretched his body, letting out a yawn.
Pierce let the comment go, something Vance and other colleagues had mentioned about him and his lack of a smile, and focused on the matter at hand. “And why are you giving it to me?”
Rafe huffed and sat up on the bed. He slapped Pierce gently on both cheeks. “Earth to Pierce. Earth to Pierce. I worked your shift, this is your money.”
“No.” Pierce shook his head. “That’s your money. You worked hard for it. I can’t take it,” he replied.
Had Rafe lost his mind? Why was he giving him so much money when he could use it to pay more than half his rent with just a day’s worth of work?
“Because I want you to get back on your feet and help you like you did with me,” he rolled his eyes.
Pierce opened his mouth, staring at the man across from him. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. No one in the history of ever would ever do what Rafe was doing right now, yet he was being as nonchalant about it as Pierce had been when he had chipped in from his savings to pay for Rafe’s deposit and agency fees. And to think he had snapped at him that very morning. Pierce thanked him. He wished he could show him how grateful he was, but he knew Rafe probably wouldn’t like it.
“You’re most welcome. You just have to promise me one thing. You have to come tomorrow and apologize to Vance,” he said, and his face changed to that of a teacher’s telling off a student.
“What’s the point?” Pierce huffed. “He fired me anyway.”
Rafe slapped the side of Pierce’s head. “Are you stupid? You both said words while you were angry. You can’t tell me you believe that the man you went shopping with would fire you that simply.”
“But—” Pierce started to say but was interrupted.
“But my butt. You will go and apologize, or I’ll drag your sorry ass across town,” Rafe said, stifling a weird sensation in Pierce’s pants. He’d never seen Rafe so authoritative. He liked it.
The conversation had pretty much come to an end, and Rafe didn’t take more than a couple of seconds to fall asleep in a fetal position. Pier
ce, not wanting to disrupt his sleep, took a blanket and slept on the couch in the living room. The next morning he’d already made his way to Les Fourches before it had even opened.
During the festive season, they opened at nine for breakfast. At eight thirty, he knocked on the glass door and Vance let him in, looking brusquer than ever.
Pierce walked in and stood like a wet kitten in front of the man holding his fate in his hands, his chin touching his chest. “Good morning, boss,” he mumbled.
“Morning,” he replied with a heavy breath. “Listen, Pierce—”
“Before you say anything, I wanted to say how sorry I am. I don’t know what came over me.” Pierce raised his eyes to meet Vance’s. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I know you probably don’t want me back after what happened, but I wanted to apologize, nonetheless.”
Pierce stood still as Vance took deep breaths without talking. His boss almost gave him a heart attack when he grasped both of his arms and searched for Pierce’s face.
“Shut up Pierce. Why are you apologizing. I can only imagine what your life is like, and yet I come in and basically tell you to drop dead. I am sorry for the way I talked to you. I mean, you’re not just my employee, Pierce; you’re my friend. I should have been more understanding. I am so sorry,” he said.
Pierce blinked the tears forming in his eyes away, and Vance gave him a tight hug.
“I wish I could do more for you. I wish I could give you full-time hours and have you work for me until you figure out what you want to do with your life. But you know I can’t. Even the extra hours will go when all the tourists go back to where they came from. I might even have to let some go, considering how quiet it gets in January,” Vance told him when they’d stopped hugging.
Pierce shook his head. “You’ve done more than enough, Vance. Really—” he started to say.
“You didn’t let me finish. So that’s what I was thinking last night, and I made some calls. Turns out, one of my exes is opening a bar in Brooklyn and is in desperate need of experienced barmen. I told him you’re the best I got—even though you’ve only worked for me for two months—and he said he wants you. No, not want. He needs you,” Vance said, and gave Pierce a goofy smile, bouncing on his heels.
