Chapter Text
The pool water glitters as if there are rhinestones hot-glued to its liquid edges.
The sign next to it reads Dream Beach - the cursive letters heavily debossed in a plank of wood, surrounded by stuck-on seashells and pearls - but Cape Anywhere doesn’t have a beach, not really. Just a shoddily-maintained sandpit and a too-blue pool.
Neil sets down his duffel on the ground and sighs. He’s out of breath, sweating from the strenuous hike from the bus stop to the resort. As he’d walked, wishing for a car to grace the road so he could potentially hitch a ride, the sun had donned its stage make-up and begun the opening number. The subsequent heat had only made the slow uphill trundle more difficult. Now, though, he’s finally here, and the sun is fully risen in the sky. Neil wipes his brow while he catches his breath, letting his gaze linger on the gently-undulating pool water. He takes a deep breath and his lungs fill with the soothing, medicinal scent of chlorine.
The pool is peaceful in its emptiness, it being far too early for anyone on summer vacation to be out of bed. The water’s only company is Neil, a small mist of humming flies and the flirtatious sunlight teasing its surface.
Once he’s steadied himself, Neil picks up his duffel and makes his way over to the head office.
-
David Wymack’s office is situated in a trailer tucked behind the majestic Country Club-esque hotel of Cape Anywhere. Neil tentatively approaches the cracked-open door and raps on it with his knuckles.
“Come in,” is the gruff reply Neil receives. When he nudges it open, the door swings inward with a laboured creak.
Inside the trailer, it’s dark, a sharp contrast to the brightness of the outside world, but Neil’s eyes instantly start to adjust. David Wymack is frying eggs on the stove, the oil crackling and filling the trailer with steam, radio babbling in the background. Sunlight just about punches its way through the blind, dust motes swirling in the thick beam that slants towards the lounge, illuminating a jumble of blankets on a pulled-out futon.
“You want a fried egg sandwich?” Wymack asks him without turning around.
“Um, sure,” Neil replies.
“Take a seat,” Wymack says, jerking his head towards a rickety camping table. Neil settles down, not fully believing he’s really made it here, his limbs stiff with tension and his duffel bag swamping his lap.
Wymack slams a plate down in front of him, a bagel with the frilly white edge of an egg poking out on top of it, and then points to a selection of condiments lined up by the wall. “There’s ketchup and hot sauce and salt there if you want it.”
Neil looks from Wymack to the condiments. He doesn’t even think he’s even tried hot sauce before; his parents didn’t like spicy food. Neil grabs the bottle and douses the egg with angrily-red sauce.
Wymack raises an eyebrow. “Wow. You like it hot.”
Neil shrugs and bites into the bagel, the yolk bursting and dripping onto the plate in fat, sunshine-yellow blobs.
“You’re Neil, right?” Wymack asks. “My new bartender?”
Neil nods.
“The season started a couple of weeks ago, so the others have a bit of a head-start on you. Allison manages the bar and has done for years, so she’ll keep you right.” Wymack pauses and considers Neil carefully. It takes all of Neil’s strength not to shrink away from his scrutinising gaze, to lower his own glance to the ground. “I was surprised to receive an email this far into the summer. I thought all you college kids would have had their plans figured out already.”
“‘M not a college kid,” Neil mutters before taking another bite. His tongue tingles with heat from the hot sauce but it’s not wholly unpleasant.
“Oh,” Wymack says. “You’re over twenty-one, though, right?”
Neil nods.
“So, you’re out of school. What do you do, then? To need a summer job?”
“I was working at my father’s company the past few years,” Neil explains, even though talking about his father makes his stomach begin to churn. “Just wanted a change of scenery.”
“Then, you’ll be going back there after?”
Neil doesn’t know how to answer. He could do the easy thing and lie; it would cause no damage to tell Wymack yes, that’s exactly what he’s planning, but this - Cape Anywhere - was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning.
“I don’t know what I’ll do after,” Neil tells him truthfully. “But- I’ll figure it out.”
Wymack’s mouth dips into a frown for a second but then he just nods. “Staff get a free room in our on-site dorms as well as meals in the morning and evening. On top of that, you’ll be paid a seventy-five dollar per day wage. Paycheck comes in weekly so look out for it. You also get to keep any tips you make working in the bar.”
Neil breathes out a sigh of relief at that. It sounds like he’ll be able to save up a lot. Enough to rent a place once the summer’s over, at least. There’s one niggling worry he has, however.
“I’ve never worked in a bar before,” Neil admits. “Is that… okay?”
“Well, sure.” Wymack scratches the back of his neck. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right? Allison will show you how things work later today. It’s pretty easy. The bar’s kind of quiet, usually. People are here with their kids so it’s not like they wanna get trashed, you know? Teenagers might try to get booze out of you, but when in doubt, just ID, alright?”
“Okay,” Neil says. He’d been so focused on securing the job and getting to the resort in one piece that he hadn’t given much thought to the actual responsibilities he’d have once he got here. A knot of worry suddenly bundles up in his gut, making his stomach cramp up, and he wills it to go away. He’ll be fine, he tells himself. He’ll just have to pay attention and work hard. He can’t afford to lose the job, not when he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. “That sounds- that all sounds fine.”
“Head over to the disco hall once you’re finished with your sandwich, okay? Allison will be setting up for the day,” Wymack instructs him. “You can leave your duffel here. Pick it up after your shift ends and I’ll point you in the direction of your dorm. That sound good?”
Neil mumbles affirmatively and takes a small bite of the remaining half of his bagel. Wymack stands up, grabs his own empty plate, and gives Neil an awkward pat on the shoulder before making his way over to the kitchen. Neil watches him and wonders if Wymack can tell just by looking at him. If he can see it rolling off Neil in waves. The uselessness. The way he’ll end up being nothing but a disappointment.
This is a fresh start, he reminds himself sternly. Things will be different here.
He finishes up his sandwich, hands Wymack his dirty plate, and heads out to find the disco hall.
-
It’s not the first time Neil’s been to Cape Anywhere.
His parents had brought him here as a kid, back in the nineties. He remembers the way the pool had been swamped with people - adults lounging on pool floats and kids yelling and splashing and playing ball games. His parents had taken one look at the Dream Beach and they’d forbade Neil from going in. Like the rest of the place, from the hotel to the disco hall, they deemed it a site of immorality. As such, and as the proper God-fearing people they were, they chose to leave the resort earlier than planned that summer.
And it was the last time they tried to go on a vacation like that. They never visited Cape Anywhere again, choosing to spend their summer vacation at a religious retreat instead. Neil always accompanied them, a seen-but-not-heard shadow by their side. He’d hardly speak for the entire summer, his words boxed up in his mouth for weeks on end. He hated it - had never really believed in the things they preached there, not really - but he went every year because he didn’t have anywhere else to go.
His whole life, all he has ever known is his parents. They’d home-schooled him, teaching him the ways of the Lord and the ins-and-outs of business. Mostly, though, they were always letting him know how badly they thought he was doing, how he’d never succeed on the path they’d cut out for him with his attitude, or with his made-up grades, or with his lack of intelligence.
Neil’s father, Nathan, is the CEO of a major publishing company who specialises in producing religious and spiritual materials and his parents had always wanted him to join the company and eventually take over the position when his father retired. After he ‘graduated’, Neil did join the company. He worked there for a few years, growing more unhappy with every day that passed. It got so bad that he began to feel like he wasn’t even a person, just a thing his parents had moulded.
Neil was spending his life doing something he despised, being reprimanded and shamed for one thing or another every single day. He hated himself and he had nobody to talk to - had never even had a friend - and it weighed him down. It got so heavy, in fact, that he was surprised he could carry on at all and he was worried that he’d eventually fall and never get back up.
Summer came, and Neil knew he couldn’t go to that retreat, not again. Out of boredom or desperation, he emailed a generic address for Cape Anywhere, the resort he’d visited in his youth. Maybe it was because Summer always brought that place to mind, the way he’d ached to feel the water against his skin and the sand between his toes but hadn’t been allowed. After a few days, he received an email back asking if he’d like to join their bartending team.
After that, he just took off.
He walked out of his house one day, his heart frantic in his chest, and jumped on a bus to Cape Anywhere.
-
Neil finds the disco hall and introduces himself to Allison. She doesn’t seem bothered when he tells her he has no experience, cheerfully showing him where they keep everything, from bottled beer to spirits to mixers to ice, and demonstrating to him how to pull a pint from the beer tap.
“This is probably the most complicated part,” she tells him, beckoning him near and directing his gaze to a sheet of paper with a list of drinks Neil’s never even heard of on it. “Cocktails take a bit of time to get used to. You have to get familiar with the ingredients and the methods. Shall we start with a few easy ones?”
“Sure,” Neil replies, swallowing down the urge to apologise for his ignorance, his inexperience. “Let’s do it.”
“Good attitude, sweetheart,” Allison says, ruffling his hair.
Neil jerks away from her a little, the pet name and the sudden touch both overwhelming him. If she notices his skittishness, she doesn’t say anything. She just smoothly pulls out a glass tumbler from the shelf beneath them and busies herself collecting some bottles and other bits and pieces.
“This is an Old Fashioned,” she tells him. “You’ve probably had one before, right?”
Neil shakes his head, figuring honesty is the best policy, even though he’s sure it’ll make him look like a little kid to someone like Allison. As expected, her eyes pop slightly.
“You serious?” She points down at the list. “Then, which of these have you tried?”
Neil swallows against the sudden, sour lump in his throat. He knows she doesn’t mean to, but he can feel himself start to curl in on himself at her words. He feels small and stupid and pointless and-
“Come on.” She nudges him and once again, the feeling of skin-against-skin makes him flinch, even makes him gasp this time, and she frowns. “Sorry. Was that too hard?”
“No,” Neil answers immediately. “Just- it’s my first day. I’m kind of nervous.”
“I get it, sweetpea,” Allison says good-naturedly, and she’s nice, she’s so nice, and Neil just wants her to like him, even though he knows it’s probably impossible for someone like her to like someone like him. “Just let me know which you’re familiar with and we can start with that instead.”
“I don’t know any of them,” Neil mumbles, his eyes swivelling down to look at the floor, at her shoes, before he catches himself and looks up again, holding her gaze this time. “I- I’ve never tried alcohol before.”
Her eyes bulge again, her lips parting in surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I- I just turned twenty-one,” Neil tries, not having the courage to say, my parents think drinking alcohol leads to sinning so I don’t even know what most of this even is.
“Yeah, but-” Allison starts before shaking her head slightly, her brow creasing. “Never mind. It’s not important. It’s just- wow. Okay.”
Neil digs his toes into the soles of his shoes, his insignificance washing over him. Why did he think this was a good idea? Obviously, a know-nothing kid who’s never had a sip of alcohol before can’t be a bartender. He opens his mouth to apologise, to say sorry for even being here in the first place, for wasting her time, but she speaks before he can say anything.
“Hey,” she begins, and she’s softened now, no longer looking at him like he just sprouted a second head. “It’s fine. You don’t need to have tried all these gross cocktails to be a bartender, okay? You just need to be able to make them. So, let’s teach you how to do that.”
Allison shows him how to make a few of the easier cocktails on the list, promising she’ll take care of the more complicated ones while Neil gets up to speed. They go over a few more things as the morning melts into a hazy afternoon, sunshine barging its way through the open fire exit door and lounging, spread-eagled, on the dance floor.
“The dancing won’t start for a few hours yet, but people will be itching for a drink soon, so we should get ready for service,” Allison says. She takes a step back and looks at him thoughtfully, her gaze wandering down from his head to his toes.
“One more thing,” she says coyly. “You can’t wear that.”
Neil looks down at his pressed black shirt, which is buttoned all the way up, the stiff collar biting into his neck. He’s also wearing a striped tie, a blazer and tan chinos, all clothes his parents picked out for him at some time or another.
He looks at what Allison’s wearing - a crop top and shorts, both in the same holographic print, violet and lime and pink collapsing in on each other - and he recognises the difference. He gets it. He should be dressed for summer, but Neil is just dressed like his father. When he realises this he violently wants to change, but the truth is that he has no other clothes.
“Renee or I will have something you can wear,” Allison muses, snapping her fingers like she’s just had a great idea.
Neil takes another look at Allison’s pretty, coordinated outfit and then ponders on the name, Renee. “But- aren’t you- girls?”
“So? They’re just clothes, Neil.” Allison rolls her eyes, seemingly exasperated by him, and once again he wants to fold in on himself. Disappear. You’re a disappointment. To everyone. Of course they’re just clothes. Why’d you even open your mouth?
Allison laughs at him, amused, and the bad feeling skittering around his chest like a bug dwindles a bit. “You look so serious. Those clothes must be seeping all the fun out of you. C’mon. Let’s go.”
Allison takes his hand in hers and he tries not to freak out at the contact this time. Pushing past the initial unfamiliarity of it, he relaxes his fingers against Allison’s and eventually finds the whole process kind of pleasant. She drags him towards what must be the dorms - boxy, little structures, kind of like Wymack’s trailer, but further away from everything else. Allison pushes open the door and tugs Neil inside after her.
“Hello, my love.” Allison greets Renee with a kiss to her forehead before she dips down to kiss her on the lips. Neil feels something inside of him jolt in fear at the sight of something so intimate and he immediately looks away, belatedly hoping they don’t think he’s homophobic or something. Despite his upbringing, he’s never cared about anything like that. It would just feel like he’s invading something precious if he were to watch them kiss, like he’s interrupting something private.
“We’re only kissing, Neil,” Allison tells him dryly, drawing him out of his thoughts. “It’s not like we’re eating each other out in front of you.”
Neil doesn’t really know what that means but can take a pretty good guess. He feels his cheeks heat up.
“Don’t tease him,” Renee says, wincing before offering him a consoling smile. “Look how wide you made his eyes go.”
Allison snickers. “We need to dress him up. He can’t work the bar looking like that.”
Renee frowns when she looks at him. “No,” she agrees. “That won’t do.”
Allison starts rummaging through the dresser that’s squished into the corner of the small room, tossing various items of clothing behind her and onto the bed. While she sorts through some different pieces, Renee asks Neil to sit opposite her on the bed. He complies and while he’s there, he takes a few calming breaths. It makes him feel a little less tense and out-of-place.
“Is it okay if I put some make-up on you?” Renee asks, and the question momentarily makes him freeze, his brain filling with a multitude of frightening images: his own face covered in clown-like make-up, his mother and father looking at him like he’s something monstrous, his father washing it off with rough hands. Neil sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth and nods.
This is a new beginning, he reminds himself for the fiftieth time since he got to the resort. You’ll be fine.
Renee smiles and gets to work. He can’t tell what she’s doing, just relaxes enough to enjoy the gentle, tickly feeling of the brushes against the sensitive skin of his eyelids, his cheeks.
“So, what do you do here?” Neil asks Renee, feeling like he should be making conversation because that’s what normal people do.
“I run the front desk at the hotel,” Renee says, and her voice is as soft as the brush-strokes. Smooth, like the shimmery inside of a shell. Neil wants to curl up inside it to sleep and he almost says so out loud before he reprimands himself. That would be a weird thing to say, idiot. “I check people in and do some basic admin. I also take care of the lost-and-found, so come to me if you’re ever missing something, okay?”
Neil hums in response and Renee finishes off his make-up. She hands him a clam-shaped hand mirror, its case a glittery purple. “What do you think?”
Neil studies his reflection dazedly. She hasn’t put much on him, just some shimmery bronze eyeshadow to bring out the blue of his eyes, and some stuff on his face that accentuates its sharp points. He looks… striking. Odd, in a way, but he thinks he likes it.
“Does it feel like you?” Renee goes on, when he doesn’t answer.
Neil blinks down at himself. Frankly, he doesn’t know what ‘feeling like him’ means.
He doesn’t have a clue who he is. But he has a feeling he’s about to find out.
“It does,” he breathes out. “I love it. Thank you.”
-
Neil and Allison go back to the bar to begin their shift. He’s dressed in one of Allison’s t-shirts - a loose-fitting Saint Laurent one - and a pair of Renee’s black trousers which miraculously feel like sweatpants but fit like skinny jeans. Allison nods at him approvingly and mumbles something about how tipping is about to go through the roof.
The shift starts off relatively slowly. Allison helps him with anything he finds tricky but, to his own surprise, he actually feels like he’s getting the hang of it. He doesn’t say so, out of fear he’ll jinx it and invite disaster into their lives, and just concentrate on making drinks. Guests come back for more and more, getting increasingly tipsy. Neil flatly rejects a few teens and they give him daggers for the night.
“Wymack said people don’t usually get drunk here,” Neil says to Allison during a lull. “Because they’re here with their kids and stuff.”
Allison snorts. “He’s talking shit. People get trashed all the time, even if they have responsibilities. Even if they are supposed to be looking after their kids.” She frowns, looking angry for a second, before her smile slips back into place. “Just keep an eye on them. Cut them off if they’re going too far.”
Neil nods and he worries about getting into an uncomfortable situation where he has to tell a drunk adult that they can’t drink anymore for around five seconds before his attention is completely stolen.
Someone strides across the disco hall floor, dressed head-to-toe in red. The person is wearing red flared jeans, a red t-shirt, and a red jean jacket. There’s even a red bandana tied around their neck. They go straight to the DJ booth and dim the main lights. The disco lights come on shortly after, purple laser beams and orange spotlights careening across the floor in drunken swoops. Some people cheer and others rush to the dance floor as loud music starts playing, bursting out of the surrounding speakers and making Neil’s heart rattle inside his ribcage.
The bar quietens for a bit while everyone’s busy dancing, so Neil and Allison just stand closely together, listening to the songs melt into one another. Most of them Neil’s never heard before. They don’t exactly leave much of an impression on him, but he can understand why they make people dance. Why people like them. Neil squints at the DJ booth, just about making out a man’s scowling face behind the panel.
“Who is that?” Neil asks, gesturing to the DJ booth.
“Andrew Minyard. The DJ,” Allison tells him. She’s bobbing her head to the music but she’s practically glaring at the DJ booth. “And I’ll just warn you now, because I may as well. Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. He’d eat you up.”
Neil looks at her sideways, immediately confused.
“You see, last summer Andrew messed around with Roland, who used to do your job. He didn’t come back this year, so you can guess how that ended. Stay clear, okay? He’ll break your heart, that one.”
Neil stares at her, slightly stunned. “I didn’t- I was just- I haven’t even spoken to him.”
“I know.” Allison flashes him a brilliant grin. Flashing neon curves around her, glinting off her teeth. “I tell all the cute boys this. Don’t worry.”
Neil doesn’t reply, choosing instead to continue listening to the music. His mind fidgets around Allison’s warning. Of course, he knows people do things like date, see each other casually or whatever, but he’s never experienced anything like that. Love, he supposes, or something kind-of-similar-but-different to love. He instantly thinks of Renee and Allison kissing back at the dorm. It had been so warm-looking, evidence of their obvious deep connection, and he recognises that these things happen, that people share kisses and touches and care for each other that way, but he’d never thought about it as something that was a possibility for himself.
The song changes and Neil finds himself tapping his foot reflexively. He turns to Allison and smiles. “It’s weird being back here while everyone’s out there dancing, isn’t it?”
Allison raises an eyebrow. “Is it? I didn’t take you for a dancer, Neil.”
Neil shrugs. “Maybe I could give it a try sometime.”
-
The rest of the shift goes relatively smoothly. After they’ve cleaned up, Allison declares that they’re officially done and asks if she can walk Neil to his dorm.
“I need to pick up my duffel and key from Wymack’s office,” Neil tells her, though he’s warmed by the kind offer. “Thank you, though.”
Allison says goodnight and heads out and a clatter from the DJ booth indicates Neil hasn’t been left completely on his own.
Neil mulls it over for a second or two before deciding to go over to Andrew’s booth to introduce himself. He figures he doesn’t need to worry about Allison’s warning and besides, it’s technically the first day of his new life. He may as well try to make friends. Especially if he’s going to see Andrew every day.
When he gets there, Andrew is sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a crate of records.
“Hi,” Neil says, watching him through the panel and waving.
Andrew glares at Neil as if he’s trying to work whether he knows who he is, his nose scrunching up so that his freckles bunch together. Andrew’s eyes are what Neil imagines crystalised late afternoon light would look like and his sharp gaze is so intense that it makes Neil’s heart clench tightly inside his chest. He digs his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from looking away. From running away, even.
Words scramble desperately in his throat, begging to fill the uncomfortable silence.
“I liked the music,” Neil grits out. Truthfully, he didn’t particularly love the music but it’s a conversation topic, at least. Something to say.
Andrew looks at him coolly and dread twitches to life in the pit of Neil’s stomach. Did I say something wrong? Neil wonders. Could this person hate me already? Without me even doing anything?
“It’s just party music,” Andrew says, finally, and his voice isn’t at all like Neil expected. From his stony expression, Neil was imagining Andrew to speak lowly or gruffly, but he actually sounds brighter, airier. Like his voice is made up of the colours of summer days. “I’d prefer to play other stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” Neil asks.
“Just stuff.” Andrew purses his lips, his eyes narrowing. He shoves a few records in the crate and pushes it beneath the mixing deck. “Don’t flirt with me.”
Neil’s jaw drops. “I- I wasn’t!”
“Good,” Andrew replies, before standing up and pushing his way through the booth door.
Neil watches Andrew speed past him towards the exit, his mouth still hanging open.
He doesn’t have a clue what just happened.
-
Neil retrieves his duffel and key from Wymack’s and heads towards the dorms. It’s late and the moon is full in the sky but the air is warm. When he walks past the Dream Beach, Neil notices the pool is slumbering beneath its canvas cover. The kick of chlorine is still bright blue in the air, though, and he inhales deeply, letting the smell calm him.
Neil enters his dorm drowsily, equally desperate for both sleep and a shower. When he steps inside the bedroom and sees Andrew Minyard sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk, he stills, suddenly unsure what universe he’s living in. Andrew’s circled in jewel-case CDs, a decades-old looking tape deck propped on his lap.
Andrew takes one look at him and snorts. “Figures.”
“Hi,” Neil says, too exhausted to bristle. “I guess we’re roommates?”
“You take the top bunk,” Andrew orders, pointing upwards.
“Alright,” Neil agrees tiredly. “Can you show me how the shower works?”
“There is no shower,” Andrew tells him plainly. “Just a tub.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Neil dumps his duffel bag under the window and pulls out a pair of pyjamas, his toothbrush and a towel. He quickly realises he forgot to bring anything like soap or toothpaste and a panic begins to prickle up his spine. He doesn’t get his first paycheck for a whole week.
“There’s a shitload of products in the bathroom,” Andrew informs Neil, watching him with a flat expression on his face. “If you finish one, just order another online. Those are the rules.”
Neil thanks him, making a mental note not to use more than a tiny drop of anything for the first week.
“If you want to use a bath bomb,” Andrew tacks on, just as Neil’s about to leave the bedroom, “use one of the pink or red ones. I don’t like those.”
Neil squints at Andrew’s head-to-toe red ensemble questioningly, but Andrew just raises his eyebrows as if to say, got a problem?
Neil drops it and heads to the bathroom to run a bath. The water flows into the large basin in one hot stream, sending misty plumes of steam billowing around the room. Neil fiddles with Andrew’s bath products as he waits for the tub to fill. There’s a lemon and orange face scrub, a cherry blossom shampoo, and a small wicker basket full of powdery bath bombs. Neil’s never used a bath bomb before - doesn’t even know what the point of them is, if he’s being honest - but he figures, why not? He plops one of the chalky orbs into the water and watches it fizz, magicing the water a deep strawberry-red topped with creamy foam. Satisfied, Neil climbs in and methodically washes his hair and body before tucking his knees to his chest and sinking into the water, leaving only his face exposed.
He did it, he thinks to himself. He made it through one whole day.
The thought makes a hysterical laugh bubble up and fizz out of him. He can’t believe he accomplished this on his own. Finding a job, travelling across the state, getting through an entire shift in the bar. Maybe I’m not as useless as my parents think I am, he thinks hopefully, before banishing them from his mind.
When he’s done, he wipes down the bath and gets into his pyjamas. He feels cleaner than he’s ever been.
New, in some impossible way.
Neil spots Andrew smoking on the porch as he makes his way down the tiny hallway. Neil smiles and waves as he passes but Andrew stops him by calling out his name. Neil tentatively walks towards him, maintaining eye contact through the screen.
“Do you want a cigarette?” Andrew asks.
Neil looks down at the cigarette nestled between Andrew’s fingers and considers it. He’s never smoked before, is getting dizzy just from standing so close to Andrew right now, but the cigarette, like so many other things, like the hot sauce and the make-up and the bath bomb, is an open door. It’s something new, from a life that’s a world away from what he’s always known, and it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like it.
What matters, he decides, is that he can try it and decide for himself.
“Yes,” Neil replies, stepping outside. He slides a cigarette out of the pack Andrew hands to him and clumsily lights it, inhaling deeply before spluttering and coughing.
Andrew huffs a laugh out of his nose and shoots Neil a look. “First time?”
Neil nods and tries again, breathing in the smoke, feeling it coil around his veins, his eyes welling up with tears.
He doesn’t cough again and the two of them smoke in companionable silence.
“I’ll make you a mixtape,” Andrew murmurs. Neil startles and looks over at him but Andrew’s staring at the stars, his expression unreadable. “You know, of the stuff I’d prefer to play. If you’re interested.”
Andrew stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray that’s sitting on a nearby picnic table. Neil watches him, momentarily captivated by his graceful fingers pressing and flicking, and then he copies him, mirroring the movement. Press and flick.
“I’m interested.”