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It was very late. Mod had had a long, trying day. There had been multiple surgeries scheduled back to back – so to speak, heh – and the number of scalpels, screws, needles, pliers, and other tools he had had to wash at the end of the day seemed endless. His boyfriend Neil told him that afternoon that he had a long video shoot and a “socially mandatory” wrap party afterwards, both events he was dreading, and he wouldn’t get home until long after midnight. Mod, as usual, was prohibited from joining Neil at his fancy parties after what happened the first time – which, for the record, wasn’t even close to the worst he could have done, but here he is.
Midnight had come and gone by now, though. Mod didn’t know for sure if Neil would be back yet, but he figured it would be worth a shot to see him. He drifted through the silent, dim lobby of Neil’s building, and stared tiredly at his misty reflection in the elevator doors as he went up. The thick atmosphere of silence pervading the building was not doing much to improve his mood. At least, he reminded himself, he was on his way to see Neil, or at least would see him soon as he got back, and then they would be cozy in bed together.
Mod stepped through Neil’s front door, scanning for signs of occupancy. His eyes lighted on a Wendy’s bag crumpled up on the table, and he smiled slightly; evidently, Neil was home. He was probably still struggling to get to sleep in his room. Mod could help with that.
He drifted over and through the door to Neil’s room, but just before he called out his soft greeting, his eyes landed on two figures wrapped up together under the covers. Standing directly over the bed, Mod peered down solemnly at the rock star and the scientist, their arms curled around each other, breathing slow and steady, faces soft and peaceful. In the soft light pouring in through the door he had opened, Mod could just make out the telltale dark streaks on Neil’s skin that meant he had suffered a shock earlier in the evening. The doc must have helped him ease out of it, he supposed.
There didn’t look to be room for him with the way they were laying together, so he just stood. The heat from the day still lingering in the room made thinking about crawling under the covers with two other bodies even seem unappealing – but then he blinked as he remembered, neither of them had a warm body anymore, since the doc had joined Neil in eternity. Looking at them, holding each other so close and lovingly and perfectly, despite his best efforts Mod couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his chest. It sank quite briskly and came to rest just above his gut, more akin to a switch flipping back from a hopeful mood to an empty one in one second. He stared down at the pair of undeads for one moment more, and then turned and left the way he had come without a word.
Alright – it seemed he would be sleeping at his own house tonight. No big deal. He rarely ever did that these days, but it was true that there was still a bed there, so it wasn’t a problem.
As he trudged along the sidewalk up to his shop, he glanced across the street at the candy shop owned and operated by his neighbor, Sylvester. His eyes were drawn to the light in the windows of the second floor, and caught Sylvester looking down at him from his seat on the small balcony, beer in hand. His eternally hooded eyes were as creepy as ever, and in that moment Mod didn’t appreciate being people-watched.
He glared up at him, but Sylvester just stared back unperturbed, apparently not caring if his voyeurism was noticed or not. Gritting his teeth, Mod decided he didn’t really need to sleep right now after all. He stormed across the street and up to Sylvester's shop, banging his fist on the door as loud as he could and hollering obnoxiously. “HEY! If you’re gonna stare at me with your seedy little eyes all night you oughta at least offer me a beer, you ARSE!”
Sylvester leaned up to look over the railing down at Mod, one eyebrow raised in incredulity at this turn of events. “Really?” he muttered under his breath. As Mod turned his face straight up to meet his gaze with a snarl, Sylvester had to concede that he looked like he really did need one. With a beleaguered sigh, he stood up and went down to let Mod in.
The pair ascended to the balcony where Sylvester had been sitting, Mod trudging along with an air of subdued indignance, Sylvester briskly scooting him past anything sensitive, and sat together in the two ancient, dirty, black wireframe patio chairs, overseeing the quiet street below. Mod solemnly cracked his promised beer, peered into it for a moment before squinting at the label, and shot Sylvester a look. “It is way past the date on this.”
Sylvester shrugged passively, wrapping his hand around his own half empty bottle again. “Adds to the flavor.”
Mod grimaced, but took a sip anyway. It didn’t taste too much worse than usual, but he screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out at Sylvester anyway. Sylvester just chuckled at him. Having received what he asked for and with nothing else to say about it, Mod slumped back in his seat and somberly gazed out at the horizon.
They sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the warm summer night air and the suburban cricket song. Mod watched the blinking tail light of an airplane trail its sluggish but steady path across the night sky.
Finally, Sylvester looked at him. “Don’t you normally spend the night at Neil’s?”
Mod sighed. “Yeah.” He took another sip.
Sylvester paused respectfully, then continued, “Are you guys fighting?”
Mod scoffed. “No.”
Sylvester stayed quiet, letting Mod make the choice to elaborate on the situation or not. Of course, Mod had come over here with the express purpose of unloading all his angst on Sylvester and had told himself no lies about it, so he took the invitation.
“He went to sleep already with Doc before I got home,” he recounted with a heavy pout.
Sylvester squinted. “…And?”
Mod sniffed. “They had the big blankets on,” he waved his hand around dramatically, “I would’ve made it too hot. They didn’t want me.” He brought his bottle to his lips, but quickly interjected, “And… I didn’t feel like sharing tonight, anyway,” before sipping, looking away. There was a brief pause while Mod thought, and crickets filled in the silence. Then he continued, “Do you know how long it’s been since I had him to myself, for just one night? It’s been…” he counted on his fingers for a moment, “… a week. It was last Thursday. Then Doc spent the night, and the next day they, you know, did that thing…”
Sylvester subtly rolled his eyes as Mod’s voice kept rising in pitch, and it was already grating. He resisted a sigh.
“… and they haven’t been apart all week. I used to be his favorite, you know,” Mod said darkly. He knew full well that it was a nasty thing to say, especially to another man with a history of romantic interest in Neil. However, Sylvester should know to expect this type of remark from Mod by now, and he did. “Now it’s like he’s forgotten about me,” he pouted again.
Sylvester's lips twitched into a smirk. “You’re still his favorite. Trust me.”
Mod glared across at Sylvester. “How would you know?” he sneered.
Sylvester just smiled. “He might be going through a phase with the doctor person right now, but he’ll come back. You’ll always be Neil’s favorite, Mod.”
“Yeah, well,” Mod grumbled, despite the small warm feeling Sylvester's confident words had briefly instilled. “Not once I’m dead.”
Sylvester almost snorted. “Will it matter then?”
Mod inhaled, then paused and looked at him. “First of all, yes, it will.”
Sylvester laughed and took a sip of beer.
“Secondly, okay, not once I’m old and gray and wrinkly, either.” He frowned. “I’m the only one out of us three who’s gonna keep aging and get old, now. God, they literally…” he gestured, “you know what they did. Fuck. And just, all for him, to be with him, forever. How am I supposed to compete with that?” Mod yelled, and could hear it bounce off the nearby buildings in the quietness of the night around them.
Sylvester just looked down at his drink. Even he had to admit, it was a pretty heavy burden.
In the cool silence, Mod’s voice was suddenly small and weak. “God… I’m supposed to be the one who loves him the most. But they…” he whimpered.
Tentatively, Sylvester asked, “Why not just do the same yourself?” Mod looked at him. “Die, resurrect yourself, live forever. Doesn’t sound like that bad of a gig.” He took a sip of beer.
Mod looked down. “I’ve thought about it. But… I… just can’t. I’m not cut out for that. I don’t… think, I want to be here forever.” He took a heavy swig from his bottle.
Sylvester paused contemplatively. “Not even for Neil?”
“Don’t say that,” Mod hissed angrily. He brought his hands up to his temples in agitation. “Look, there are… I have… problems. In my head. And, there’s a… thing… it… never mind. I’m ill. I see things. I… hurt people. I’m just not up for an infinite ride with this brain, okay. Neil or no Neil. Can’t do it. So piss off,” he added quickly before taking another deep drink. After a moment, he brought his sleeve to his eyes and muttered, “Besides, it’s not exactly like I’m a positive influence on the world, either.”
Sylvester inhaled deeply.
“But, hey, that’s a whole different bottle of angst there’s no need to get into tonight,” Mod rushed out with almost a laugh. “We’ll save that for next session.”
Sylvester pursed his lips, indignant at the implication he was involuntarily being made a therapist of. “Yeah, well, my rates are rising by the minute.”
“The point was,” Mod sighed out, still wiping some remaining water from his eye, “… sticking around forever is out of the question for me.”
The two sat in silence for a minute, listening to the crickets and the distant traffic and the drone of the lights just inside and breathing in the warm night air. Finally, Sylvester sighed. “Mod, it’s been one week.”
“Wrong; it’s been a whole week. An entire week,” he sniffed.
Sylvester looked at him. “You guys have been together for, over five years now. Are you telling me you’ve never been apart for a week?”
“Well, I mean, we have, he goes on tours and stuff,” Mod gestured with his hands as he spoke, “but he always calls me every night when he’s away… I mean, when he remembers to. And hey- look, this is different. It’s not that we’re apart…” Mod slowed down and gazed back out at the horizon. “He’s right here. He just… doesn’t care about me,” he whimpered.
“You know that’s not true,” Sylvester said in an almost exasperated tone.
“Yeah, well, it’s how it feels,” Mod retorted with venom. “He likes Doc more now. And I can’t do anything to change it.”
“Mod,” Sylvester groaned.
Mod just crossed his arms and huffed, slumping down angrily.
“Do you remember what we talked about, way, way back when? About not treating Neil’s heart like a competition, like something that can be won or owned by one person?”
Mod’s brows unknitted and nose unscrunched. He did remember.
“You’re doing it again. You can’t do that.”
Mod slumped forward, leaning his arms against the railing and resting his head on them, and sighed sadly.
Sylvester said gently, departing from his previous chiding tone, “Do you want a closed relationship?”
“No,” Mod responded immediately, turning his head to look back at Sylvester. “That would be ridiculous. I can’t ask for that at this point.”
“But do you want it?” he said softly.
Mod blinked, considering for a moment. “I mean… probably not…”
“Mod.”
“No, I don’t want it. No. I’m fine.”
Sylvester just stared at him.
Mod stared back. “I… didn’t care that we were poly until I stopped feeling like I was his favorite. To say I want to be exclusive now would be ingenuine. It’s not the truth.”
Sylvester smiled in understanding, but continued sardonically, “Wow, that was the most honest and forthright thing I’ve ever heard you say. Who are you and what have you done with the real Mod?”
Mod turned his head away from him and murmured, “Shut up,” to the far side of the street as Sylvester laughed. “It’s 4 in the morning and I’ve been drinking. Nobody human could be dishonest at a time like this.”
“You only had half a beer, dude.”
“Shut up!” Mod repeated with more bite. “It’s your nasty expired beer. I bet it’s poison.”
“And it’s closer to 5, actually,” he added.
“Fuck, really?” Mod hissed. He groaned and brought a hand to his forehead. A pained look crossed his face. “I still don’t know what to do,” he said in despair, tearing up again.
Sylvester sighed. “Have you thought of, I don’t know, telling him how you feel?”
“Can’t.”
“That’s stupid, Mod.”
“Love is stupid.”
Sylvester huffed. “Can’t argue with that one.”
A faint smile crossed Mod’s lips for a brief moment, but then he sniffled wetly. He buried his heating face in the crook of his elbow in defeat.
Sylvester looked over the weeping form of his friend, half illuminated by the yellow interior lights shining through the small windows behind them, half silhouetted against the orange street lamps beyond. He let out a soft breath and set down his beer. “Come here.”
Mod shakily lifted his head to look at Sylvester incredulously, glaring even through his tears. “Are you serious?”
Sylvester threw his arms up in the air. “Well sorry, ‘scuze me for trying to act like a friend or something, not like I let you in at 4 am and I’ve been listening to your problems for an hour-”
And then Mod’s arms were wrapped around him and his face pressed into his shoulder, pressing in tightly enough even to surprise Sylvester, cutting him off. He rolled his eyes up to the sky and smiled, wrapping his own arms around Mod and hugging him back. Mod took a breath in and sobbed into his shoulder. He curled his fingers around in Sylvester's shirt, and Sylvester just stroked his back serenely.
“Feeling ignored sucks, a lot. I’m sorry you’re going through it,” Sylvester murmured comfortingly.
“They must have literally forgotten about me today,” Mod cried into his shirt.
“Listen,” he asserted. “Neil loves you. And if you fuckin’ asked him, he’d tell you, and I wouldn’t have to.”
Mod just sobbed again, this one broken up and whimpery.
“But. If you’re not gonna speak to him about it like a grown-up… just wait it out. I guarantee you’ll be back to getting the, kingly helpings of attention you’re used to before this time next week.” Mod quieted down a little, and Sylvester patted his shoulder. “If you’re not, I’ll be here. I’ll owe you another beer.”
Mod pulled away gently, and wiped his nose on his already filthy sleeve while narrowing his eyes at Sylvester suspiciously. “That’s awfully… nice of you.”
He raised his hands placatingly. “That’s just how sure I am that I’m right.”
Mod sniffed and nodded. “Fine.” He accepted the confident proposal. He gazed out at the street for a while longer, seeming to calm down. The sky was getting subtly lighter the longer they sat. A solitary bird was chirping out its early morning song somewhere nearby. Finally, Mod looked back at Sylvester with his usual sharp gaze. “What were you doing up so late tonight anyway?”
Sylvester blinked passively. “Had a dream. Didn’t want to go back to sleep. You know how it is.” He smiled joylessly at Mod. He sipped from his beer and looked out at the street. “I guess it was lucky that you came by after all. Saved me from being alone with my thoughts.”
“Hm,” he half-laughed. “I guess so.”
After one more moment of quiet contemplation, Sylvester stood from his seat at last and stretched his long arms toward the ever-brightening sky above with a quiet moan. “Alright, time to go, shithead.”
“Wanker,” Mod responded instinctively with equal affection. He set his bottle down and slowly raised himself out of his chair.
“Need some help there, lightweight?” Sylvester smirked.
“How 'bout I break a bottle over your head, then we see who’s the lightweight,” Mod grumbled under his breath as he shuffled toward the door.
“That doesn’t make sense Mod,” Sylvester informed him cheerily. He took Mod’s arm steadily as they passed through the door inside, even though he wasn’t having any trouble balancing, thanks.
“Whatever,” he muttered. As they walked through Sylvester's bedroom towards the stairs the way they came, Mod looked up at Sylvester again. “Hey, what about that boy of yours, hm? Couldn’t be around to save you from your bed-wetting night terrors?”
Sylvester made a face. “He’s on a trip.”
“Oh,” Mod responded. “And does he call you every night?”
“No, because we aren’t god damn clingy high schoolers who lose our minds if we don’t see each other for a weekend.”
“Well, I’m sorry your relationship is so unfulfilling and devoid of love,” Mod replied snootily.
They had descended the staircase and Sylvester ushered Mod out through the front door of the shop. They were both smiling at their caustic banter. From within the threshold, Sylvester drawled, “Goodnight, Mod. I hope we can never do this again.”
“Thanks, Sylvester,” Mod replied with a toothy smile. “You got a little snot on your shirt there,” he said dismissively with a flamboyant hand gesture before turning away and heading across the street.
“Eugh,” Sylvester grimaced as he wiped at his shoulder in disgust. “Better get in there before the sun comes up and turns you to ash, you little monster,” he called out at Mod, who was already in the middle of the road.
Mod turned and looked at him over his shoulder, incredulous look on his face at the idea that Sylvester was still pestering him. “Leave me alone!” he yelled and bustled up to his front door as Sylvester finally closed his own.