Chapter Text
Rhys’ life plan had been the same since he was ten years old. He would get away from his small town. He would go to a top university and sign up for every internship opportunity presented to him. He’d graduate with his bachelors, and then his masters, with honors and a GPA above 4.0 and he’d go on to work at the most technologically driven company in the country. Rhys would stay there long enough to absorb everything they had to teach him, and then, when he felt ready and he had the funds to back it up, he’d start his own company.
That was the gist of it anyway. There were a few details between the major bullet points--like entering a robotics competition in his third year only to meet Lawrence DeQuidt, a leading engineer at Hyperion--things that Rhys didn’t plan in advance, didn’t expect. Sometimes for better or worse.
Rhys had always just kind of assumed his parents would be at his graduation. Every time he imagined it, he saw himself in a blue robe beside his mom and dad, waiting for their picture to be taken. Maybe his dad would clap him on the shoulder and say ‘i’m proud of you, son.’
His parents were not at his graduation. Rhys had his picture taken on stage with the dean. Then he took pictures with Vaughn and Yvette much later, when they’d all been drunk at their favorite bar.
Rhys hadn’t been entirely surprised when his invitation had been met with silence, but it still stung. An ache that had dulled over the years but an ache nonetheless. In the end, he did what he’d been doing for six straight years: forgot it and moved on. His family was background noise. The place where he came from wasn’t going to haunt him. It wasn’t going to mess up his timeline. It wasn’t something he needed to fix.
--
A week after graduation, Rhys was on his way to lunch with Vaughn and Yvette. It was something they did every Sunday, a chance to see each other before the school week started up again. After school ended, they decided to keep the tradition going. Sometimes they went out to eat, but usually they stayed in and ordered takeout. Even rarer, they’d actually cook for themselves.
Today was one of those rare days and Rhys was running late. He was supposed to be in charge of buying the pastry dough for some French dessert recipe Yvette had been going on about. His usual store had been out and he’d had to go to the one five miles away. Rhys had already tried calling and asking if he could just substitute with pizza dough but Yvette had nearly yelled at him.
He sighed as he grabbed the chilled dough from the shelf. Rhys wasn’t sure why Yvette still tried to bake. It never turned out well--either too sugary or too salty or undercooked. Rhys made a face, remembering the last batch of cookies she’d forced on him and Vaughn. It had felt like having a mouthful of sawdust.
Rhys looked up at the signs above the store aisles. If Yvette made something disgusting again, Rhys wanted a backup. He made a beeline for the ice cream aisle and grabbed himself a pint of mint chocolate.
He had to refrain from letting out a frustrated groan when he saw the line for the checkout. It extended all the way into one of the aisles, held up by some old woman and what looked like about a million coupons. It was the only lane open. With a huff, he stepped into the back of the line. At least there was plenty to look at. The aisle shelves were lined with colorful magazines and puzzle booklets and even actual novels.
Rhys skimmed over the magazine covers. At least five were alight with pictures of some royal baby who’d just been born. There were sports magazines with athletes staring soulfully out at the reader, health magazines that proclaimed ‘50 New Ways to Lose Weight!’, and a few issues of GQ with some very well-dressed men on the covers. Rhys considered grabbing one of the GQ’s, purely to look at the fashion, but something else caught his eye.
One of the books had a bright safety yellow cover and huge black text that read: The Unauthorized Guide To Picking Up Chicks Vol. 4. It had a picture of a baby chicken beneath the title.
There were four of those? Rhys rolled his eyes, his gaze landing on the book just below it. This one was considerably more pleasant to look at. A dusty highway road ran across the cover, backed by a pure blue sky. There was a figure just slightly off-center, their face shadowed by the hat they wore, looking somewhere off the page. They had their arm up and their thumb out.
The Way Home , the title read in a hand-written font. By Timothy Lawrence.
Rhys blinked, struck by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. He thought of long open roads and the hot sun on his skin. He thought of a huge, white cross, and kissing in a pool at midnight.
He remembered hitchhiking from Maine to California. Of course he did. Maybe the details had gotten a little fuzzy in the what, six years since then? But he remembered the man who’d picked him up at a gas station. Rhys remembered brown, freckled skin and blue and green eyes, could even remember the little dimples that appeared when the man smiled. Tim. That was his name, wasn’t it?
Rhys tucked the pastry dough under his arm and grabbed the book from the shelf. He flipped it open to the first page. The foreword was some poem he didn’t know and he skipped past it, flipping through the pages until he came to the back.
‘About The Author.’
There was a picture. It was Tim. Timothy Lawrence. He looked a little older than Rhys remembered, but there was that same square jaw, those same freckles. The dimples were out in full force as Tim smiled at something out of view.
Rhys’ heart thumped against his ribcage.
The last time Rhys had seen Tim had been at that bus station in Sacramento. Rhys had kissed him. Tim had emailed Rhys just like he’d said he would. Rhys remembered talking to him for a few weeks. He didn’t remember who stopped replying first.
Someone cleared their throat behind him and Rhys looked up from the book. The line had moved. He clutched the book to his chest as he hurried to the register.
--
The story was familiar, but there were a few embellishments. Rhys was pretty sure they never made a pitstop in a casino and lost all their money. There was also a lot more kissing than he remembered.
The ending, though, was exactly how it happened.
The bus stop. The kiss goodbye. And then it was over.
Rhys scanned over those last few words again, before flipping to the ‘About The Author’ section again. He wondered how long it took Tim to write this, if he was working on it while they were together. Rhys hadn’t even known Tim was a writer. He flipped the book’s pages between his fingers, thoughtful.
It wouldn’t hurt to look Tim up, would it?
He turned on his laptop and typed ‘Timothy Lawrence’ in the google search bar. The first thing that came up was some old British man; Rhys frowned and added the title of the book to his search.
Ah, much better. The same image of Tim that was in the back of the book popped up on the right side of the screen. Wow, he had his own Wikipedia page. It was woefully short and didn’t give Rhys any new information, except--apparently Tim was related to Jack Lawrence, trillionaire CEO of the Hyperion Corporation. Rhys had seen him around work a few times, but even breathing in Jack’s direction was about five miles above his pay grade.
Rhys scrolled down.
Appearances.
There was a list of book signings and readings Tim had done over the past few years. The most recent was only a few weeks ago, in Nevada. His eye caught on the next line--
Tim was scheduled to have a book signing next week right here in LA. Rhys had never heard of the bookstore he’d be at, but it wasn’t far from his apartment. Rhys swallowed. He could go. He could go to the book signing and see Tim again. Talk to him. Rhys’ heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was still crushing on this dude after so long. Rhys could still remember the feel of Tim’s lips against his own, the scratch of late night stubble under his fingers.
Rhys shut his laptop, his face warm.
--
The week passed by at an agonizing pace. Rhys was loaded with boring, tedious work that only seemed to make the time go by even slower. When he finally, finally, left work that Friday, he pulled his tie free from around his neck and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He checked his reflection in the window of a parked car, frowning as he pushed his hair back into order.
He had Tim’s book in his messenger bag, safely tucked away as he headed to the bookstore down the street.
Skylight Books , the glass outside of the shop read in neat type. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped foot in an actual bookstore. He wasn’t sure if he ever had.
The store was overcrowded with shelves, with only tiny aisles for walking between them. Toward the back, he could see a small crowd gathered together--that had to be the signing. Rhys made his way toward the back of the store, taking a quick pitstop in the bathroom to check his appearance once again. When he stepped back out, he saw the small chalkboard sign with Tim’s name on it.
God, this was really happening.
Rhys stepped into the back of the line for the signing table and pulled the book out of his bag. There were only a handful of people ahead of him, and from here, Rhys could see him.
Tim.
He was sitting behind the long table, a stack of his books beside him. His skin was still the same shade of brown, his freckles in the same places, his hair the same style. Tim smiled at the person he was talking to, his cheeks dimpling.
Rhys’ palm was getting sweaty. He wiped it on his pants as the line started to move forward. He watched Tim interact with the people ahead of him; he signed their copies, chatted with them for a few minutes. Some of them even asked to take a picture with him. He smiled in all of those too.
When Rhys finally reached the front of the line, he held up his chin and stepped up to the table. Tim was still saying goodbye to the person ahead of Rhys, and when he turned back and unleashed that bright smile upon Rhys, Rhys felt his heart stop short.
It was instantaneous, the recognition in Tim’s eyes. They widened, and his smile melted into something closer to shock.
“Rhys?” He said.
“Hi.” Rhys smiled, couldn’t help it. He gently set the book down in front of Tim. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t how most of it happened.”
Tim floundered for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, before he looked away from Rhys, down to the book. The skin of his neck was turning red. “Um...artistic liberty? Or something.”
“I liked it.” Rhys said, resting his hands on the table. “I’ll admit, I skimmed a lot of it. Never was a huge fan of reading, but I liked the parts about me.”
“All of it’s about you.” Tim said, meeting Rhys’ eyes again. “I--how did you find that? How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Uh,” Rhys snorted. “Duh. The internet.”
Tim shook his head, the grin finding its way back onto his face. “Right.”
There was a loud sigh behind Rhys. When he glanced back, a man in line behind him had his arms crossed; he gave Rhys a pointed look.
Rhys turned back to Tim. “Well, I don’t want to keep you from your adoring fans. Sign my book?”
“Huh?” Tim blinked. “Oh, oh! Right, yeah.” He flipped the book open to the first page and signed his name. He hesitated a moment before closing the cover and handing Rhys the book. Rhys made sure to brush his fingers over Tim’s as he grabbed for it.
Tim didn’t let go.
“Do you…” Tim started.
“Want to go out for coffee?” Rhys finished for him. “I’m buying.”
Tim smiled again, his eyes dropping to the book, then back to Rhys. “Yeah.” He said, letting go of the book. “I’d like that.”