by A. M. Rose
A perfect family.
Abruptly he stood up, his chair scraping over the floor and his fork falling from his slack fingers with a clatter. He felt like he’d suffocate if he spent another moment at the table.
“Drew,” his mother said, reaching out to clasp his hand in hers. He pulled back, clutching his palm to his chest as if she’d burn him at the slightest touch.
“I’m gonna go lie down,” he said, and his voice sounded muffled in his ears, as if coming from under water. He started towards the hallway, grabbing his bag from beside the door.
“But…” his mother said loudly before his father cut her off.
“Let him get some rest, Vera,” he said and turned towards him. “You can take your old room. It’s ready for you.”
Drew took a breath to say something but all he felt was bile rising. If he spoke now all of what he felt would come spewing out in one rage-filled waterfall. Clutching his bag in his hand, he took the stairs two at a time, letting muscle memory lead him to his old bedroom door.
With shaking fingers, he grabbed for the handle, pressing it and pushing until the door creaked open. It was like a time-machine took him a decade back in time. His room still looked like it did the last day he spent there. His bed was made up with black bedding. A light gray dresser was still pushed to the far corner of the room, the top of it filled with books and mementos from his childhood. A desk was set opposite his bed, and the same chair indents were still tattooed on the plush rug covering hardwood floors.
He walked further in, every step feeling like he was walking a tightrope and the tiniest misstep would send him tumbling to the ground. He let his bag drop from his hand and turned around to close the door, cocooning himself in the room that used to be his sanctuary. It felt more like a dungeon now, somehow.
Careful not to touch anything he looked around, trying to find that feeling of safety and comfort, of familiarity. His old corkboard caught his attention, and he walked over to his desk, glancing at the stuff his teenage-self thought was worthy of keeping on display. A report card from his domestic charms class stating he was bright but disinterested (he found that hilarious considering who he was, so he pinned it as a “fuck you” to the teacher who refused to acknowledge her own faults), concert and play tickets, and endless photos of nature.
The woods around Daydream, the lake at the outskirts of the woods to the West, a skyline taken from the roof of Town Hall on a clear, spring day. He used to love taking photos. He loved the idea of preserving a moment.
One photo in particular caught his attention. Only the corner of it was visible from under a bunch of other stuff pinned over it, but he’d recognize that photo from the smallest of details. He’d carried a copy of it in his wallet since the moment he left. He’d take it out almost every day. It was worn from where his fingers had run over it gently countless times. He pulled the photo off the corkboard, and it shook in his hand as he did his best to take it in and remember what it felt like to be the one standing next to the person in the picture. To hear their laugh and feel the warmth of their skin under his palms.
The man in the photo was tiny, skinny, pale and so incredibly beautiful Drew felt it like a punch to the gut. Everything inside him ached but not in the anger he felt at everything and everyone else in this town. No, this person quenched the rage and discomfort until all that was left was bone-deep guilt.
He had been Drew’s whole world once upon a time, the only thing he was sure he wouldn’t be able to live without. And he hadn’t seen him since he left.
Mason.
Suddenly it all felt like too much.
“What happened to you?” Mason heard Sage ask as he walked inside The Bakery, stomping his feet on the mat to get rid of the snow stuck to his boots. He looked up to see his best friend leaning over the counter, looking at him with a frown on his face. A soft whooshing sound was coming from the corner, and he turned to find the broom sweeping merrily in preparation for opening.
“Nothing, why?” Mason almost bristled at the question. He hadn’t been sleeping well for quite some time now, but he didn’t think he looked that bad.
“You look like shit,” Sage said, and… wow… apparently, he did look that bad.
“Thanks, Sage. Really,” Mason said as he did his best to unwrap fifteen layers of clothes from his body. Daydream winters were cold, and Mason had zero tolerance for temperatures below ones that allowed for eggs to be fried on sidewalks.
“Sure thing. You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Sage proceeded with his questioning, eyeing the growing pile of Mason’s clothes on the rack behind the door. “Also, might wanna leave some room for guests to put their clothes.”
“Shut up,” Mason said, finally down to just a thick, dark-green hoody and black trousers, his chunky boots strapped to his legs.
“Good comeback, buddy. Terrible attempt at changing the subject though,” Sage said when Mason came to the back and grabbed his apron off the hook, tying it around his waist. He caught a glance of himself in the reflective surface of one of the cake-displays and… yeah, those were some heavy duty undereye bags he was sporting.
“I haven’t slept well,” he said, opting for the simplest of explanations and hoping Sage’s trusting nature would just allow him to accept that response and leave it at that.
“What, in a year?” Sage asked, and it looked like Mason was all out of luck that morning because his best friend decided today, of all days, was the best time to start being observant. He sighed and ran a tired hand over his face. Truth was, he didn’t really know what was going on with him, and he was starting to think he might need to talk to someone and figure it out. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do it now, though.
“Just these past few days. Bad dreams,” he said and Sage turned to him, uncharacteristically serious.
“Just dreams?” Sage asked and Mason nodded.
“Yeah they seem to be. They don’t feel like my usual glances. Just… really weird, pretty scary dreams,” he said, leaning against one of the displays and eyeing the baked goods in there. Tired or not, he was pretty hungry. A delicious looking cinnamon roll caught his eye, and he darted his gaze towards Sage, expression pleading and lower lip sticking out just a tiny bit.
“I guess not even chronic insomnia can fix the black hole that is your stomach.” Sage rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers to send the cinnamon roll towards him.
Mason caught it mid-air and bit into it with a loud moan. “Oh…ish so ‘ood,” he tried speaking through his mouthful, knowing full well how much Sage hated it.
His best friend frowned and turned away, rearranging the display to be perfect before their first customers walked in for the morning. He was quiet for a while and, knowing him, Mason waited for him to go back to the conversation they previously had. There was very little chance he’d let go now that he’d caught a whiff of something being wrong.
“Mase…” he started.
“I’m okay, Sage. I promise,” he cut off.
“And if—”
“And if it gets worse, I’ll talk to you. I’m not actually self-destructive, you know,” Mason said, knowing that for a while there, he had scared a lot of people with his empty-shell impersonation. Walking around quiet, getting things done without registering doing it. Those closest to him remembered. And he had nobody closer than Sage. He may have met him after Drew, but Sage knew him better than anyone, and he could see how different he was now. He had found a steady surface to stand on eventually, and he made sure to now fill his days with things that made him content.
“Could have fooled me with the amount of sugar you eat,” Sage said teasingly, and Mason knew it was his way of conveying he was letting it go. For now.
“Don’t you have a job?” he asked over his last bite, and Sage stuck his tongue out.
“I already did it. You’re eating through my job right now.”
“It’s one roll. You won’t go bankrupt over one roll.”
“No, but now the ca
se isn’t symmetrical because there’s an odd number of them,” Sage complained, flailing towards his case to point out the neatly stacked cinnamon rolls… namely, the empty spot left by the one Mason just finished.
“Want me to eat another one? That’ll make it all pretty again,” Mason asked with a smile and Sage huffed, throwing his hands in the air and heading towards the kitchen.
“I cannot work like this!”
“Love you too!”
Food in his stomach and the warmth of a familiar place around him, Mason found he felt much better, and he set to work in silent determination, getting their morning regular’s orders ready for pick up. Several offices were located within walking distance of The Bakery, and someone came every morning to pick up hot drinks and breakfast for everyone. It saved time and peace of mind to have them done before the rush hour began.
He had served their first customers when the door to the bakery creaked open and the little purple sign hanging from the handle screeched, “Ben’s here!!” startling the living daylights out of their semi-awake patrons. And Mason. He wasn’t above admitting that even after months of hearing that same battle-cry every morning, it still sent him jumping a foot in the air.
Not a second later, a blur whizzed past him as Sage catapulted himself from the kitchen, around the displays and directly into Ben’s arms.
The PDA was cute, if over the top, and Mason hated to acknowledge the tiny swell of envy that bubbled up at times like these. Sage deserved happiness and he was happy for him... he refused to listen to the tiny ‘but’ echoing in the back of his brain.
“Hi, Ben! Nice to see you, Ben, yes my day has been dandy so far,” he chirped to himself.
The handyman chuckled against Sage’s mouth, giving him one last kiss before breaking away. He threw a smile towards Mason that immediately made him want to smile back. Damn his friendly ass. Even he couldn’t have predicted that a year ago this average everyday handyman would ride into town in his pick-up and take Daydream and Sage by storm.
“Hey, Mason. Sage is not working you too hard, is he? You look a little tired,” he commented.
“Kick a man while he’s down why don’t you,” Mason grumbled at the same time as Sage exclaimed, “I am not! He’s eating me out of house and home and business!”
“Seems like this is one of those best friend things I shouldn’t get in the middle of,” Ben said wisely, patting Sage once on the butt before detaching them. Mason rolled his eyes at the way Sage pouted after him. “I couldn’t find my tape measure, and I wanted to check upstairs for it before heading over to Pizza&Paws; I’ll be out of your hair in two ticks.”
“Or you could be in my hair,” Sage said with a flirty wink.
“Gross!” Mason said with a frown and Sage cackled at his reaction.
Ben rolled his eyes at the pair of them and disappeared from sight. Sage followed him until he could no longer see him, swooning in the doorway to the kitchen like a model on a romance novel cover. Mason opened his mouth to mock him, but it was around that time that the door opened for their next wave of customers, and from there on it was a blur of faces, coffee and baked goods.
By the time shift end rolled around, he was dead on his feet.
“You wanna hang out? Ben isn’t going to be back for another couple hours,” Sage said, tying up the last trash bag to go out when they locked up. It was only four o’clock, and normally, Mason wouldn’t turn Sage down, but the lack of sleep was weighing his whole body down.
“I’m gonna have to sit this one out. I’ve got a date with my couch,” he said, gathering his things together.
“The first date you’ve had in years,” Sage joked as they headed outside, trash bags following after them.
A flick of Sage’s wrist had the bakery lights off, and the door locked behind them, the sign proclaiming, “We’re closed!” once again, making sure everyone sharing a continent with them would know.
“Don’t make me throw you in here with these,” Mason warned, pointing his finger towards the dumpster as the two black bags folded themselves in dutifully.
“I’d like to see you try and pick me up,” Sage said with a huff as Mason stepped away from the dumpster.
“I’ll sic Ben on you,” Mason warned.
“Sounds great!” Sage said dreamily, eyes going glassy and… okay, time to leave.
“Go be sappy somewhere else,” he said and walked over to give him a short hug before heading towards his car. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hey, Mase,” he heard Sage call out after him, just as he was reaching for his car keys.
“Yeah?” He turned around and saw Sage had a worried look on his face again. He hated that he made him worry.
“Call me, okay? If you can’t sleep again,” Sage said and Mason smiled at him, warmed at how much he loved his friend and how grateful he was to have him.
“I’ll be okay, Sage.”
The baker frowned. “That didn’t sound like, yes, Sage, I will call you, at all,” he said petulantly.
Mason sighed, leaning back against his car. “Yes, Sage. I will call you,” he recited dutifully, and Sage sent him an unimpressed glare.
“That was the least convincing thing I’ve heard in my life.”
Mason laughed. “I’m not gonna wake you up in the middle of the night because I had a bad dream. I’m a big boy.”
“You’re literally the size of a baguette,” Sage bit back.
“Yes, but a stale, old baguette. One that doesn’t require adult supervision,” Mason said, unlocking his car and getting in. Sage was still looking at him with a pinched forehead. “I’ll be okay Sage. It’s just been a few weird days.”
“Okay,” Sage relented after a few long seconds of consideration.
With a final wave, Mason peeled out of the parking space and drove home, exhaustion creeping in and his hopes rising that he’d be able to sleep one night without waking up ten times before giving up altogether.
He wasn’t really sure what was going on with him lately. Most days, waking up was the worst. Mason was willing to fight someone on this. He’d fight a bitch to defend his stance that sleeping was the best activity humankind had invented, being tiny be damned. Apart from maybe eating.
Lately though, he happily greeted the moment his eyes opened and his subconsciousness allowed him to get away, because the images flashing behind his eyelids were nothing he wanted to linger on. When it happened, he’d wake up gasping for air and shaking from the cold. He’d turn to look at the clock and it would read why-the-fuck-are-you-awake o’clock. For the rest of the night, he’d be left torn between gratitude for escaping the dream, and dread that another day would be spent impersonating a high-functioning zombie, wondering about the person he kept seeing in his head. He didn’t know who it was, but Mason was worried.
Running a hand over his face, he turned the car off and waddled his way towards his building’s door. Taking the steps two at a time he almost crashed into his apartment on the second floor, patting himself on the back for being a genius and leaving his heating on. The apartment was toasty, and he felt shivers rush through him at the sudden change in temperature. He spent the next few minutes ridding himself of all the clothes he had on and then the following fifteen minutes searching for something small to snack on until it was time to make dinner. Something small turned out to be a sandwich the size of his head, but… it was at least two hours until dinner, and he figured he needed the energy for all the lazing around he was about to do on the couch.
Flicking the TV on he settled to eat to the sound of his favorite trashy reality show, trying to stay awake now so he could sleep through the night. It was his only hope to finally try and get his sleeping schedule in some semblance of an order.
He was sinking further into the cushions despite his best efforts, and he could feel himself on the verge of drifting off when his phone rang. He jumped up from slumber, digging through his pockets for it… only to realize it wasn’t there.
&nbs
p; Focusing a little, he located the sound coming from somewhere inside the pile of clothing on his wall hanger by the door. He rushed over there, patting the pockets of jacket after jacket and failing to locate his phone.
It was still ringing, and he tried to focus on the sound but the amount of clothes clearly covering it was muffling the sound. He threw his hands in the air, whispering a frustrated, "Come oooon!"
As soon as the words were out, a small rectangle flew from the inner pocket of the jacket closest to him and rushed towards his face as if summoned.
Mason flailed his arms around, catching it mid-air purely by chance and swiping the screen.
“Hello?” he answered, slightly breathless, not even looking at the caller ID.
“Were you running again? How many times—”
“Hi, Pops,” Mason cut into the older man’s tirade before he could really gain traction. There was no stopping Orson when he got into it. “Wasn’t running. Just looking for my phone; I almost fell asleep so I was startled by your call, that’s all.”
“Oh… didn’t mean to wake you,” Orson said, and Mason went back to the couch, cuddling into it and smiling.
“It’s good that you did. I’d end up waking up at midnight and then spending the entire night awake,” Mason said.
“Well then, you’re welcome,” Orson said magnanimously, and it made Mason laugh.
“Saving the day, as usual.”
“Yeah… listen, I called to ask if the photo-album from our fishing trip a few years ago was at your apartment. I looked everywhere, and I can’t find it, so I figured it might have ended up in one of your boxes when you were moving out?” Orson asked and Mason frowned, thinking about what he had unpacked two years ago when he moved into his current apartment.
“Hm… I have no idea. But I can look if you want?” he said.
“Could you? Oh, that’d be amazing! I’ll wait.”
“You want me to do it now?” Mason asked.
