by Rhys Everly
He heard the door open and paused the film. He wasn’t sure when Wang was supposed to be back, today or tomorrow, but he didn’t want him to know he had possession of his laptop when he’d only seen the guy once. Rafe hadn’t even had the chance to tell him Pierce was staying over while he was recovering. He grabbed his stomach and stood, swallowing the groan, and started to open the door. It swung open and Rafe walked in, making Pierce loose his footing and fall back on the mattress.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Rafe dropped to the floor, checking on Pierce.
Pierce grimaced. “You scared the crap out of me,” he groaned, and Rafe laughed.
“Whatchu doing?” Rafe asked and his eyes fell on the laptop screen. “Swooning over Captain Kirk and Spock again? I told you, find someone more feasible to obsess over. They’re a lost case. Plus, I think they’re screwing each other,” Rafe said and put down a massive red glittery bag.
Pierce grinned. He had found someone more realistic to obsess over, but he couldn’t possibly tell him that. Ever since he had woken up in the hospital with Rafe by his side, he thought that perhaps he had misjudged Rafe’s interest in him. Sure, they were friends, but Rafe was more to him.
He felt as if Rafe was his boyfriend. He certainly treated him as such. Rafe cooked for him and picked new books up for him and stroked his hair at night when Pierce was in pain and trying to sleep through it.
“What’ve you got in the bag?” he asked.
Rafe pushed it farther away from Pierce when he started to see what was inside. “First things first. I’ve brought food. Italian. I was gonna go for Mexican, but with your fucked up stomach, I didn’t know how spicy you can handle,” he told him.
Pierce laughed. “I can’t handle spicy on a good stomach, so—”
Rafe gasped and shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe my… friend doesn’t eat spicy. Jeez-us!”
Pierce chuckled and apologized.
“I’m kidding. I can’t handle very spicy food, either. Anyway, I’ve got vegan tortellini with basil and tomato filling for the both of us and a green salad to share. Also dropped by that vegan bakery on 18th and bought some vanilla cheesecake made from cashew and coconut. I’ll admit, I tried a bit on the way here. It was ah-mazing,” Rafe said, then disappeared in the kitchen.
Pierce smiled. Further proof that Rafe was his boyfriend without either of them knowing it. He had changed to a vegan diet without Pierce ever asking him to. He just had.
Obviously working in a vegetarian restaurant helped the palate, but Pierce was astounded with how far this young, sick rentboy had come. Working a full-time job, fully medicated and healthy, changing diet for the sake of his… friend.
How could Pierce possibly tell Rafe that he didn’t think they were just friends without risking their relationship? Pierce might think they were more like boyfriends, but perhaps that was how Rafe was with all his friends. He was certainly close with all the gays that frequented Les Fourches.
He returned with plates and cranberry juice in wine glasses. “I thought since you can’t drink alcohol and I can’t buy it, we’d fake it,” Rafe explained and passed a glass to Pierce.
The clinked their glasses and commenced their feasting. Everything was delicious. Everything tasted better with Rafe by his side, laughing and smiling. Pierce was happy, even in his misery.
When they’d finished their dessert, Rafe took the plates back to the kitchen and came back, closing the door behind him. He made the short way across the room and picked up the red bag.
“And now for the surprise,” he said and gave the bag to Pierce.
Pierce took it but kept his gaze on Rafe. “What’s this?”
“It’s my Christmas present for you. It was a bit delayed, what with missing work and you nearly dying, but it still counts, right?” Rafe shrugged and held his shoulder next to his face, waiting for Pierce’s reply.
Pierce was lost for words. He opened it and retrieved a square box wrapped in blue paper with snowmen in different sexual positions. He laughed, tearing through it. The box was revealed to be camera. A DSLR. He winced and shook the box, then opened the flap to find that it did actually contained a digital camera.
“What… is… this?” he asked, still not believing that this was his present.
Rafe sat on the bed next to him. “It’s used. I’m sorry; I wanted to buy a new one, but those fuckers are really expensive,” he commented.
Pierce shook his head. “Yeah, but—why? Why did you spend so much money on a gift like that?” Pierce took the little machine out of its nest and explored every single of its inches.
“I work full time now; I don’t have to pay for my meds, plus I worked some extra shifts at the restaurant. I mean, I had to go out with fucking Conclabia and her Pubes to get the regulars to tip more… and it worked,” Pierce was looking at Rafe in disbelief.
Was that why he had withdrawn from Pierce and was hanging out with colleagues and patrons more?
“I wanted you to have your own memories and stop living through your grandad’s. That’s why I got this camera for you. So that you take your own pictures and believe in a better future. I know you can’t travel… yet, but I hoped—” Rafe continued and his eyes were red and he was smiling and he was looking into Pierce’s eyes and Pierce into his.
Pierce didn’t let him finish. He leaned closer and pressed his lips to Rafe’s. They were moist and full and so warm.
Everything felt right at that moment. He put his hand in Rafe’s hair, and it felt like coming home. Rafe placed his hand on Pierce’s chest, and it was like that was where they should have been all along. And Rafe was kissing him back with so much tenderness.
With a little bit of hesitation, Pierce pushed his tongue against Rafe’s mouth and Rafe opened his mouth to let him in.
Before he knew it they were both lying on the bed, clasping each other’s hands tight. Rafe rubbed his body against Pierce’s. Pierce’s body awakened in Rafe’s arms. He had been waiting a long time for this. A groan escaped his lips, and both their bodies trembled, their lips still locked together, as if they’d been glued and could never be separated.
“About damn time, my sweet bruto,” Rafe mumbled.
Pierce moaned again. “I thought you didn’t like me,” he muttered.
He wished he hadn’t, because Rafe pulled back. “Are you actually stupid or pretending to be? I was literally begging you to kiss me since the day I robbed you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Rafe sat up. “Because I thought my body was screaming it,” he waved his hands around and laughed. He dropped back into Pierce’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good with flirting.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Rafe responded.
“Well, it’s not like I got as much experience as you do,” Pierce said.
Rafe sat up again. “Yeah, ’cause it takes a love-veteran to hook up. How did you get with other guys?”
Pierce bit his lip. “I’ve never… actually been with anyone.”
Rafe’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips. Pierce pushed him back.
“No need to pity me, idiot,” he said.
Rafe laughed. “Surely you’ve kissed others. Your lips say so.”
Pierce nodded. “Of course I have. Now will you let me shut your mouth with my experienced lips?” He pulled Rafe back down on him. Rafe’s weight fell on the left side of Pierce’s body, where his wound was, and he growled. Rafe jumped back up.
“I’m okay. Don’t… don’t ever leave my side again,” Pierce said and tugged Rafe back on him, more gently this time, and kissed his lips. It already felt like centuries since the last time he’d touched them. And it would probably be an eternity before he let him go again.
“Happy New Year, bruto,” Rafe muttered between breaths.
“Happy New Year, rugrat,” Pierce replied.
Rafe punched his shoulder, but then they both smiled. It was going to be a good year.
Twenty-Three
Pierce
The next morning when Rafe’s alarm went off, piercing through the buzzing silence of the room, they woke up in each other’s arms.
Rafe was the first to move toward his phone and turn the annoying sound off before Pierce opened his eyes and stretched his upper body. He remembered too late that he shouldn’t be doing that and folded in two.
“I keep forgetting I’ve got that fucking thing on my stomach,” he mumbled under the sheets.
“You better get used to it, ’cause the last thing we want is to break the stitches now that they’re starting to heal,” Rafe retorted.
Pierce recovered from the pain and looked at Rafe. “Good morning,” he smiled.
“Good morning,” Rafe said and leaned in to kiss him.
“Why are you up so early?” Pierce asked, pulling the blanket back up to his neck.
Rafe put his forehead to Pierce’s and wiggled his nose. He planted a kiss on Pierce’s nose before answering. “I’m working a double today. So I won’t be home until at least midnight.”
Pierce opened his eyes and looked at Rafe, who was taking off the T-shirt he had slept in, the same he had worked in the previous day, and retreating to the bathroom for a quick shower.
When he returned to the room, he grabbed a clean T-shirt from his propped-up wardrobe and put it on. Pierce didn’t want to let him go. He wanted to pull him back in bed and explore the body he hadn’t had the chance to yet.
“Be careful on your way back. Take a cab. I don’t want you getting robbed or hurt too,” he said.
Rafe told him not to worry. He put his backpack around his back, gave Pierce a big kiss, and left the house. Which left Pierce all on his own. With a new camera to play with.
At least he wouldn’t spend all day reading and watching TV again. Not that he could do the latter. He had to take the laptop and put it back in the living room before Wang returned. If he hadn’t been back already.
He tiptoed through the hallway and peeked around when he reached the living room. Nothing had been touched. Everything was as it had been left by the landlord before he left. Pierce set the laptop down on the coffee table with its charger and retreated back into the room where he got dressed. He put his shoes on and took his new-old camera in his hands, checked that it worked and that it had an SD card, and left the apartment, excited to find out what it could do.
He fiddled around with it for a bit, getting the feel of it in his hand, getting used to its weight and its lens.
It was a standard 50mm with an aperture of 4.3, but he liked the effect it had on his depth of field. He used to have cameras when he was younger, so he was familiar with their settings and use, but anything he’d owned in the past was usually put to use during family vacations and school trips.
He’d tried to venture into sports photography during college, for the extra credit if not for the sweaty, steaming view of athletes at their best, but he hadn’t had a chance or the wish to take it any further than that.
Photography was always on the back of his mind as an interest rather than nagging at him on the forefront as a passion.
He started with objects—a tree here, a sign there, a blurred view of the city traffic, the sky, parked cars. Things he’d seen before but looked enchanting through the glass of the lens.
By lunchtime, he had started taking pictures of people as they went about their business. He would snap a businessman on his way back to work from the bar, the woman carrying her shopping and panting as if she’d run a marathon, the employee nursing a good, long cigarette on the back street before returning to work.
Every single human being he passed by spoke to him in a way no one had ever in the eight months he’d been living on the streets. It was as if they were no longer the heartless passersby who were unwilling to help but the gentle souls who did their best to survive mundane life as a New Yorker.
Some hundred pictures later, he found out he couldn’t take his eyes off people anymore, kept looking for things that made them stand apart from the mass. He was sure most of the photos he’d snapped were useless, and the ones that weren’t were probably wrong as fuck in artistic terms, but he didn’t care for the end result. Looking through the viewfinder and searching for his next victim, all he cared about was being one with them at that moment, the instant that it took to connect with them, finding the exact second to immortalize in pixels.
When his stomach curled and he felt like his guts would start gushing out of his entry wound, he decided to make his way to Manhattan to get some lunch and afterward visit some of his old haunts.
As intense as Brooklyn was, Manhattan was the absolute extreme, with people wearing diamonds in one street and others going through the trash in the next. He wanted to see if he could capture that dichotomy of the island. He used some of Rafe’s change that he’d left behind for Pierce and bought a subway ticket, riding on the train to Times Square, where he’d start his journey—after grabbing some noodles from the closest street vendor.
Half an hour later he was finishing a good cashew chow mein on top of the Red Steps while tourists were going crazy, snapping photos on their iPhones, Galaxies, iPads, and anything else they’d spent a fortune on that had the exact same function.
Pierce got up and disposed of his meal, wiping his hands on the trillion napkins he’d snatched from the man. The last thing he wanted was to soil his brand new toy.
He placed it back in his hands, palms finding comfort on the plastic, and ventured into the jungle he was starting to appreciate.
The streets that had been so kind, offering him shelter, the buildings that were hiding hostility and superior attitude, the businesses that had offered him judgment, the people that had turned a blind eye. But all that was in the past for him.
All he felt when he thought of the last few months was the great job he’d managed to find that offered him so little but so much for a guy who had nothing. The friends he’d made.
Vance, perhaps the most down-to-earth boss anyone could ever have. Damian, the Jekyll-and-Hyde business geek that still enjoyed fairy tales. Marissa, the goth girl who made the best out of her situation. Sam and Rosie, the pair that had found love in each other and their shared passion for the hospitality industry.
And of course, Rafe, the kid who had tried to steal his suitcase but ended up taking something far more valuable in the end.
He wanted to show the world those opposing sides of the city that never sleeps. He wanted to tell his story through his own eyes, his own lens. Many people had tried to do what he’d done. None of them had shown the much darker side that lay on the other side of the middle-class musicals and the celebrities flashing fake smiles at the paparazzi.
Or maybe there had been others. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to do it for anyone but him. It wasn’t as if he had anyone other than Rafe to show the pictures anyway. But he wanted to make them good. Gramps Kevan had snapped his life away on his camera; it was time for Pierce to snap his.
And he did. He went by the homeless shelter that had required a blowjob on registration and took pictures of the people outside, carrying unfolded sleeping bags, walking on slippers with no socks on.
He went by Central Park, where the drunk old man had managed to buy a bottle of booze and was downing it, remembering all he had once been and all he could have been before life slapped him hard across the face.
He went by the street where Rafe had sold his body and took the pictures of boys from all walks of life selling the last dignified thing they owned over and over again.
He went by Mario’s to snap a shot of Sonia and her charitable smile, giving openly to everyone when she had so little.
He went by Les Fourches and, without entering, recorded photographs of a hopeless case, rebuilding a future behind the bar.
And as he was standing across the street, looking at Rafe from inside his camera, the longing burning in his chest gave him purpose. He d
idn’t want to work bars for the rest of his life. He knew that. And he didn’t want to take pictures for the rest of his life, although it was a welcome addition to his lean hobby list.
What he did want was to see that smile on Rafe’s face. But he didn’t want to see it only on Rafe. He wanted to see it on the drunks, the junkies, the survivalists, on all those people who been defecated on by life and were still here, still alive, still praying, and still hoping.
He wanted to be that hope.
Right there, right then he decided. He’d fight until his last breath to achieve his dream. He might not have had a clue how to go about it, but he would. And with that thought, he finished his day’s session and walked into the restaurant where he knew a free and delicious meal awaited him.
Twenty-Four
Rafe
When Rafe finished his shift and all his money was handed in, he sat down with Pierce, giving him a big smooch. Ever since he’d started, everyone always asked if he was hooking up with Pierce, and now that he finally had, he wanted everyone to know.
Pierce told him that he had taken a ton of pictures and couldn’t wait to show him, and Rafe definitely couldn’t wait to see them.
He couldn’t wait to be alone with his boyfriend. He had been thinking of Pierce’s sweet kisses all day long. How cozy it was nested in Pierce’s big arms and racing heart.
“Oh, would you two get a room?” Vance exclaimed as he took a seat on their table, gagging at the look of the new couple.
Some of the waiters were waving goodbye before closing the door behind them.
“Um… ” Pierce stared at his old boss and got his attention. “Fuck off, Vance. And I say that from the bottom of my heart,” he said.
Vance grinned and sat back on his chair. “You guys are so cute together. What the fuck took you so long?”
Neither one of them answered that. They preferred to look into each other’s eyes instead. Pierce stretched his hand on the table and Rafe laced his fingers with Pierce’s.
