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In hindsight, it had been a bad idea to get on Facebook after he’d gotten thoroughly shitfaced. He almost never drank alone—he much preferred getting plastered with company—but tonight he’d been feeling so sad and annoyed and pathetic and lonely that he’d raided his liquor cabinet, poured himself a drink or three, and proceeded to spiral into a drunken fugue. That meant there had been no one there to stop him when he’d hazily fetched his phone to check the time, then opened Facebook to kill the desperate boredom that was starting to rise up. Drinking alone could be hellishly dull.
He scrolled past several news articles (stopped on one of them to pick an admittedly incoherent fight with a self-professed mutantphobe), liked a couple of cute animal videos, and kept scrolling.
Then stopped.
His heart suddenly pounding, he scrolled back up to the last post, wondering if his eyes had been playing tricks on him. But no, they hadn’t been. There it was: a picture of Erik in an ugly sweater at some holiday party with a girl wearing reindeer antlers hanging off his arm, both of them grinning madly at the camera. They looked happy. Erik looked happy.
Charles felt as if he’d been punched in the gut several times over.
Stop that, he told himself sternly. You never dated, you were never really together, you were just his fuck buddy. There’s absolutely no reason to feel sad about this. None at all, don’t be ridiculous—
But he could feel his heart being ridiculous. It felt twisted up in his chest, so mangled that it was making it hard to breathe. He put his phone down and gulped in one steadying breath, then another.
Another drink. That was what he needed.
Wheeling himself over to where he’d left his glass, he poured himself another few fingers of whiskey and drank it all so fast that he could hardly taste it. He relished the burn as it ran down his throat.
He picked his phone back up. Forced himself to look at the picture for another agonizing minute. Then he closed the app and hit speed dial for Raven.
Voicemail picked up. It didn’t matter; he just needed to talk, needed to cry so the tangle of grief and anger in his chest wouldn’t fester, or explode. “Hey,” he said after the beep, “it’s me. I know you’re out with Az, but I just wanted…I’m just feeling really fucking down and I just wanted to rant to you, okay? It’s about Erik.” He bit back a groan. “It’s always about Erik, isn’t it? I’m such a bloody idiot. He put up a picture on Facebook tonight and it’s—he looks happy and I just—I’m happy for him, I guess? I’m glad he’s happy? But I wish he could’ve been happy with me, not with that fucking—that—bitch—” He immediately felt horrible. “Oh god, pretend I didn’t say that. She doesn’t deserve that. I’m sure she’s extremely nice and perfect for him, and of course they look fucking fantastic together and I’m just really fucking mad at myself for never telling him that I loved him. I mean, maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, but now I’ll always wonder. And I fucking hate this, I hate pining, I feel so fucking pathetic and—”
The line beeped, cutting him off. Growling, he saved that voicemail and then called Raven again, yelled, “I hate this and I wish I could just fucking get over him already!” into the voicemail, and then hung up. Then he poured himself another drink.
He was still bored and too keyed up to go directly to bed. Reading anything was beyond him at the moment so he turned on the TV, found a really stupid-looking movie on Netflix, and spent the next hour or so groaning at the subpar special effects and nonsensical plot. He was rolling his eyes for the hundredth time when there came a knock at his door.
Frowning, he squinted at his phone. It was way too late for anyone to come over, and besides, he wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe whoever it was had the wrong apartment?
Another knock, this one more impatient. Charles fumbled his way from the couch over to his wheelchair. When his late-night visitor banged against the door more insistently, he yelled, “Hang on!”
Somehow he managed to make it over to the front door without clumsily clipping his fingers on any furniture. Fully prepared to send whoever it was away with a glare, Charles yanked the door open.
Erik, sopping wet, stood on his doorstep. His chest was heaving, and he was staring down at Charles with a manic look in his eyes.
Charles nearly shut the door again. Gripping the doorknob tightly, he demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“You called me,” Erik said breathlessly.
“What? No, I didn’t.” He wrinkled his nose. “And why are you so wet? You look like you fell into the Hudson.”
“It’s raining,” Erik said. His teeth chattered a little. “I ran here. I couldn’t wait for a cab.”
“You—what? You ran here? From where?”
“It was only twenty blocks or something like that.”
“Twenty—are you fucking insane?” Charles pulled his chair back to give Erik room to step in. “Come inside, it has to be freezing outside. You’re going to get pneumonia, you bloody idiot, what the hell did you run through the rain for—”
“You’re in love with me,” Erik blurted out, not budging from the doorstep.
Charles froze. “…What?”
“You love me,” Erik repeated. The manic look in his eyes was growing stronger. “You love me, and you’re pining after me, and you wish we were together. Really together, not just fuck buddies.”
Charles felt faint. “What…how did you…”
Erik held up his phone. A moment later, Charles heard his own voice coming through: “…together and I’m just really fucking mad at myself for never telling him that I loved him. I mean, maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything, but now I’ll always wonder—”
His heart stopped. He could feel the blood drain from his face.
“That was…I was calling Raven…” he said weakly.
“Well,” Erik said, “I got it.”
Of course. He’d hit speed dial for Raven, but she was two and Erik was one and the numbers were so close together. Not to mention the fact that his coordination had been totally shot after his third drink, so it was entirely possible he’d called Erik on accident and confessed everything he’d promised himself never to reveal.
Not possible—that was obviously what had fucking happened. Charles wanted to die.
His face burning, he muttered, “Well obviously I didn’t meant for you to get that. Can we just—can we forget this ever happened?”
“No.”
“What?”
“No,” Erik said, shaking his phone at him, “because I’m in love with you, too.”
This was too much. This was honestly too much.
“I’ve had way too much to drink,” Charles said. “I’m drunk.”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“You—” Charles gestured vaguely. “This is a hallucination.”
Erik laughed. “No, you idiot, I’m real.”
“You can’t be in love with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re dating that very nice Jewish girl who’s beautiful and probably lovely and kind and—”
“I broke things off with us because I started having feelings for you, and you’d said at the beginning you wanted this to be no strings attached,” Erik interrupted. “I couldn’t do that anymore, so I tried to move on. And then you drunk called me and told me you’re in love with me, and there was no way in hell I could ignore that.”
“You—” Charles gaped at him. “What?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Maybe we should be having this conversation when you’re sober. How much did you have to drink anyway? You look terrible.”
“Thanks for that!”
Erik waved a hand, and Charles’s chair slid back out of the doorway. He stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind himself. “Can I dry off?”
“Are you—” Charles’s tongue felt like it was tripping over itself. His mind was still stuck on, I’m in love with you, too. The words echoed through his head on a loop, a glorious, endless loop. I’m in love with you, too.
Erik gave him an amused look. “Am I?”
“Are you staying?” Charles demanded. “What are you—what about the holiday party you were at? What about your girlfriend?”
“The party was boring as fuck anyway,” Erik said. “And I told Magda everything and she was extremely understanding. And yes, I’m staying. If you want me to.”
“If I want you to!” Charles exclaimed incredulously. As if there was anything he wanted more.
Erik grinned. “I’ll dry off and then get you some water. You smell like a distillery.” He paused. “Were you drinking away your sorrows because you were pining for me?”
Charles blushed. “No.”
Erik laughed and bent down to kiss him. Charles was too startled to pull him closer; Erik was already leaning away again, disgusted. “Ugh, whiskey is the worst. I don’t know how you can stand the stuff.”
He disappeared to the bedroom. A few minutes later, he emerged dry, and in fresh clothes. Plucking at the NYU sweatshirt, he asked, “You kept my drawer?”
Charles flushed. “I just hadn’t had time to clean it out yet. I was going to return your clothes to you at the first opportunity.”
“Don’t,” Erik said. “I’m going to need my drawer if I’m going to keep coming over.”
Charles swallowed hard. “Are you? Going to keep coming over?”
“Unless you want to come over to mine. I mean, that’s what boyfriends do, right?” Erik tilted half a smile at him. “Go over to each other’s places?”
Boyfriends. Charles was abruptly dizzy from more than just the alcohol. “You want to be boyfriends?”
Erik gave him a patient look. “Yes, you silly drunkard. I want to date you.”
Charles laughed, his heart soaring. There didn’t really seem to be anything to say to that except: “I love you.”
Erik’s wry look faded into something much softer. “I love you, too,” he said quietly. Closing the distance between them, he bent, hands braced on Charles’s thighs, and leaned in for a kiss.
He loves me, Charles thought. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
They broke apart, gasping for breath. Erik’s eyes were bright. “Can I take you to bed?”
“I’m afraid I’ll be rather useless,” Charles told him. He was far too drunk to be any good at sex at the moment.
Erik huffed. “Can I take you to bed and cuddle you and get you Advil in the morning when you have a hangover and feel like total shit? You know, like a good boyfriend?”
“Oh.” Happiness flooded Charles’s chest with warmth. “Yes. I’d like that.”
“Good.”
Erik stole another kiss, then tugged Charles’s chair into the bedroom, pulled back the covers, helped him tumble into bed, and climbed in beside him. Charles snuggled up to his chest, sighing contentedly. “The bed’s been really empty without you.”
“Sleeping’s been hard without you,” Erik admitted. He ran a broad, warm hand down Charles’s spine. I love you.
Charles’s heart swelled nearly to bursting. I love you, too.
“I’ll make tea in the morning,” Erik murmured after a moment. “I know that usually makes your hangovers better.”
Charles groaned appreciatively and buried his face into Erik’s shoulder. I definitely chose the right man to love.
Erik nuzzled his cheek. And I’ll spend every day trying to remind you of that.
Charles smiled. The future, which had seemed so dim and terrible just a few hours ago, now seemed brilliant and infinite. I look forward to it.