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Like the worst kind of cliché, it comes to him in a dream.
It’s the allegory of the boat of Evangelism, and how he’s in that water, doggy paddling for dear life. It’s dark, gray-green, with waves constantly closing in over his head, blocking out all sight and sound. But there’s also something purifying about it; his sinuses open up, even though it hurts. An involuntary gulp of saltwater scratches the back of his throat, but it’s still refreshing somehow.
Like he’s being cleansed, ironically baptized in what was once considered sin.
Just as he’s about to take another breath, he falls. Impossible to do in water, but it’s a dream. So he falls, headlong, silently screaming because vertigo is born out of a primary fear of falling, and lands face down in an abandoned house.
It’s fall in North Carolina. The trees through the broken window are ablaze in yellow and red, and it’s raining. Beneath his right cheek, cushioned only slightly by his beard, is a magazine. Along the damp and thin pages—it’s really more of a pamphlet—are the sculpted bodies of half-naked men in more or less suggestive poses.
A seventeen-year-old Link sits on the floor, across from him. He’s got his head tilted down, but the screen of his cap doesn’t hide his red rimmed eyes.
“Got it,” he mutters, swiping a hand under his nose.
“I’ll still be your friend, you know that, right?” Rhett hears his own voice say, younger but still deep. And then, he cringes as he hears thinly veiled disgust. “Just not—like that .”
Link sniffles. “Right.”
“Hey, cheer up!” His younger self, hands out in shallow placation, attempts a stilted smile. “I coulda beat your ass for it, but I ain’t gonna. I wanna have a girlfriend, Link. Like it’s supposed to be. Y’know so too. Ain’t nothin’ good comin’ from—that.”
Rhett winces at hearing his own harsh words, something churning in his gut as his own eighteen-year-old foot kicks the pamphlet with a scuffed toe.
“You ain’t queer, Link. You’re just—confused. ‘Cause ‘a Missy, right? And we’re close, but not like that. And God bless. It’d be almost incestuous, y’know. And that’s even more disgustin’.”
Rhett tries to move. Tries to push himself off of the rotting floor, but there’s an ensuing pain like his diaphragm is nailed to it; he stays down. Can only watch, helpless, as his words make some sort of light die in Link’s eyes.
Leaving them forever duller: a shadow of what they once were.
Rhett hadn’t noticed back then; that the change was so immediate. Had thought it had come with marriage and kids, responsibility and the stress of being broke. That it had come in increments, until the day when he looked over at Link sometime after filming Looking for Ms. Locklear and didn’t see so much as a remnant of the headlight brightness of their highschool selves.
“C’mon, we oughtta head home. Sue’s gonna worry if you ain’t back by eight.”
Still metaphysically nailed to the floor, Rhett watches his younger self pull Link to his feet, before he goes to the broken window and climbs out. Link stares down at the porn mag, his Adam’s apple bobbing, once, twice, before he nods, jaw setting into stone.
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s,” he says, voice firm once more, before he follows young Rhett out through the broken glass.
Their steps crunch for a minute, but then there’s only silence. Not even the rustling of leaves or murmur of the creek. It’s like he’s back under water, with no air left in his lungs.
Rhett can’t breathe—
And then he’s awake.
It’s still dark out, but the silhouettes around him are familiar. The mirror wall, the dresser, the shape of Jessie sound asleep next to him. The window is cracked open an inch, circulating the air just enough that the AC isn’t needed.
Yet the sheets beneath him are drenched in sweat. It’s hard to discern if it was a dream or a nightmare. He wonders, briefly, how much of the dream is actually rooted in reality. The mind has a way of twisting our memories until reality’s no longer recognizable, but god, thoughts about that day live in stark contrast to the haziness of his former life.
With every blink comes a tiny flashback of his dream—the utter certainty on his own face, his lack of empathy or even willingness to recognize what Link was telling him. What he was confessing, heart on his sleeve, despite knowing the potential consequences.
And those blue eyes. Those damn blue eyes.
Rhett wonders how much of it he’d like to change, and what.
Staring at the ceiling, his eyes beginning to pick out details among the plaster as he adjusts to the not-quite-dark, he delves further. Would he merely stop the words from coming out? Would that have changed things? In his heart, he knows that it still wouldn’t have been enough.
Not for him and certainly not for Link.
The list of things he still doesn’t know, the what ifs, twines around his consciousness as he tries to steady his breath.
His work on himself, his “unlearning” as the kids like to call it, has succeeded in teaching him a lot about what and how much he truly doesn’t know. It’s taken some time, but he’s finally quite content living in some hopeful unknown; open for anything, closed to nothing.
Except that one thing.
Just like he didn’t want to entertain the idea that he was wrong about his worldview, there is a question and an answer that he still hasn’t acknowledged. Because as long as it stays in the mind, hazy and contour-less, it’s not yet real. But neither does it go away. Doesn’t matter how much you try to remove the stain from the white cloth; no amount of water can turn blood into wine.
He knows both the question and the answer intimately, if he just dared to ask it out loud.
Briefly, he considers whether it’s a fear of rejection that makes him feel all queasy. But even peeking down that path seems disingenuous, all things of the past considered. They’re committed to each other, that’s why they’ve made it this far. No, Rhett knows that what he’s afraid of is himself, of judgement, and a potential God he was always told might hate and punish him, and of fucking up their lives.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He's already fucked up their life, if they were ever destined to have one.
That last thought finally breaks something loose.
With shaking fingers, he unplugs his phone from the socket and rolls out of bed. Jessie makes a sound—a sort of huff—and rolls over, but doesn’t wake up. Rhett breathes out, and as silently as he can manage, slips into the closet.
It's a walk-in, and after some fumbling, he finds the light switch. Bathes himself in a soft, golden light that feels wholly undeserved. Closing his eyes, Rhett unlocks his phone and makes the call.
It takes four rings—one more than usual—then Link’s voice is on the other end.
"What’s happened?"
Link's response is only slightly muddled by sleep, but it's fast. Granted, he's had to take some tough calls lately, family deaths and the like, so it's understandable that he's on high alert. If Rhett didn't already feel guilty, that would've done it.
"Hey. Nothing's wrong. Just… had ta hear your voice."
"It couldn't wait four more hours? It's three am," Link grouses, like predicted.
"I've… done some thinking."
"Revolutionary," Link says, dry as tinder.
“You’re right, you’re right, that is not a good enough reason to call you and freak you out at three am. Sorry, bo.” Rhett has one hand on the phone and the other feels like it’s pulling his hair out of his skull. He needs something to distract himself since Link is just sitting silently on the other line, waiting..
“I just.” Rhett has never felt lost for words. They flow out of him, sometimes unbidden, but now there’s nothing. It’s like telling Jessie he doesn’t believe anymore; how do you even begin unraveling your life? “I had a dream. About that day. When you—when we explored that old house and found the pamphlet and you tried to tell me things and I wouldn’t, I couldn’t hear them. I…”
Link must be biting his tongue hard, because there is still not a single sound from the other line. Rhett contemplates making sure he’s still there, but he pushes on instead. “I was only filled with thinking how I knew it was wrong but now I got all ‘a this space in my brain for other things and I get it and I think—I think I love you. No affix.”
There's that static on the other end of the line for a solid minute. Then:
"Are you for real?”
"Link—”
Through the speaker, he hears dull rustling, but Link remains silent for a few more beats. Then the telltale sound of a door opening and closing comes through as well.
“You think ? You think.” Link is doing that stage whisper thing, like he’s trying not to wake his whole household with his ire. “You think you might love me. Fuck off, man. Go back to sleep or wake your wife. I ain’t doin’ this.”
"Don't hang up. Please.” Rhett can feel tears starting to well, but tries to keep them out of his voice. “You said you’d always love me.”
“I did say that. But I got over you not loving me back a long time ago, buddy. And lemme tell ya, it fucking sucks that you come here once you've figured out you were wrong and the world's not all neat and shit and tell me that you love me. Fuck you. I was so scared, man. And you... you left me."
Rhett's whole body rebels against that last statement, and he starts to interject when Link interrupts him, voice cold.
"No, don't defend yourself. You know what you did. Why do you think I blocked out the part where we had to go to the principal because some kid wrote we were gay on the toilet stall wall? ‘Cause it was true! And I had fucking no one . Apart from my best friend who'd just rejected me and called me disgustin'. So no. There's nothing you can say to rid yourself of that, McLaughlin. Live with it."
The words are harsh, but Link's pain seeps through enough that Rhett almost chokes. He’d known it was bad, but hearing Link describe it makes his whole chest ache. “That’s why. That's why I couldn’t do it. ‘Cause I saw what it did to you, Link.”
There’s a huff of breath that sounds like what you did to me on the other end. “Typical. You always were a bit of a coward, you know that right? Always preaching to the choir."
“Ouch.” Rhett can’t help but laugh a little. “Is that really what you think?”
“You just said it yourself,” Link says, still not budging. Rhett can hear him going down the stairs and into the kitchen. Hears the tap turn on and how Link fills up a glass of water.
He knows he should probably say something. But he’s at a loss for words at the wall he’s encountered. A part of him—forever the optimist—had subconsciously imagined that once the secret, revelation, insight, whatever you want to call it, was out in the open, things would settle.
Fall into place. Turn out alright, just like it always did between them; a give and take that was kept in balance through good communication.
Instead, there’s a different kind of Link on the other end; jaded, high-strung and so, so angry. Not just pissy and indignant at some small slight. It’s the sort of anger that Rhett doesn’t really know what to do with, because it’s not born out of a difference in expectations or simple miscommunication.
It’s actually founded. Righteous, even.
"So what do you wanna do about this big revelation then?” Link’s voice filters in again, breaking his train of thought. “Do you even know what you wanna do with it? Or did you just want to lay it on me so I could figure out the logistics?"
Honesty is the best policy. “Link, I don’t even know if there’s anything to be done ‘bout it. We’re married, got our kids, I couldn’t leave Jessie—”
On the other of the line, Link slams down his glass of water. Rhett can hear the impact of glass against the countertop through the receiver. “Then why the hell did you tell me? Huh? Why, Rhett?”
“‘Cause you deserved to know. And ‘cause I didn’t want to be alone with it.”
There’s nothing but silence.
“Link?”
“Still here,” comes the answer a second later. “Fuck if I know why, but I am.”
“You always were more resilient than me. I’m not gonna die sooner just ‘cause I’m tall.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“Don’t go talk about you dyin’ after professin’ your love for me. That’s just cruel.” Link’s words haven’t got a lot of heat to them, but Rhett feels them nonetheless. “Just—just put yourself in my shoes. I spent every freakin’ day with the one who got away.”
The last words are barely above a whisper. And somehow that’s so much worse than the white hot anger from before. Rhett swallows, and strokes a hand down his beard. He gets what Link is trying to say, but he can’t let it go undisputed.
“I didn’t though.”
Some of the sharpness creeps back into Link’s voice. “Didn’t what?”
“Get away,” Rhett says. “Not really. I just—suppressed it. Y’know me and intellectualizing. It still… yeah. Festered. Just not on the surface.”
“Don’t I know it,” Link says, and now the heat is back. “Saw it every damn day, how you’d shy away from my touch.”
Rhett winces. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I—I know better now.”
“Do you, really?”
“Link. I’m honestly tryin’ to be decent here. Ain’t tryin’ to upset you, not on purpose.”
Link breathes out, and once again it sounds like something else: something close to the road to hell sure is paved . Then he takes a sip of his water. “Y’know what? I need to see you sayin’ it. I need you to say all 'a this to my face.”
“It’s three am.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Fair enough. I can’t face-time you? Spares us both the drive.”
“You know it’s not the same. And Jessie could hear.”
The last bit is a test. Rhett knows it is. You can’t be friends with someone for over thirty years and not learn all their quirks, charming or not. So, he does what he always does: counters with some levity.
“I’m sitting in the literal closet, Link. She won’t hear me.”
That does earn him a chuckle. Rhett breathes out.
“Doesn’t matter. Not the same through a screen, y’know. Shoulder by the trailhead. See ya there in thirty.”
Without warning, Link hangs up, leaving Rhett with nothing but the dial up tones and his own breath for company. Then he gathers the slivers of his dignity, pulls on a shirt, yesterday’s jeans, and heads out.
When he gets to the rendez-vous, Link’s already there. The headlights of the Audi are on, and when Rhett steps out, Link’s backlit by them; he’s a familiar dark shape, lithe and broad-shouldered like he’s been since highschool. With his arms crossed over his chest, he looks like a damn movie star, but that’s beside the point.
“So let’s hear it.”
Rhett swallows. “What?”
“Told ya over the phone. I need to hear it. Need to see you actually say it, or I’m goin’ back.”
It’s been ages since he’s needed it, but a part of Rhett wishes for the DrySol; his palms are clammy, like he’s sixteen again. Which is ridiculous, when you think about it. Because it’s only Link . Link, who’s got his jaw jutted out in that defiant way of his that Rhett’s seen and defied himself a million times. The competitive streak in him—the one that is both a blessing and a curse, his drive and his poison—flares up, not wanting to give in to Link’s demand.
But he’s got to. So he tempers it down, swallows his pride and takes a step into reach of the dimmed headlights.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Not my problem. Try again.”
“We were so entrenched in it, Link. I was young, big-headed and stupid back then,” he continues, as Link makes a motion for him to go on. “And I’ve left most of that behind now, even though it’s taken a lot of time and inner work, so I can say, without pretense—”
“Stop stallin’”
“—that I’m in love with you, Neal. No affix. Just. In love with you. Have probably been for my whole life, same as you, but too ‘fraid to admit it. You always were the brave one of us, in the areas that mattered.”
Miraculously, the words find their mark. Link swallows, and then he tilts his head down, bashful as always when presented with praise.
“I guess.”
Rhett steps toward him, Link’s discomfort a magnet for his heart, wanting to reach out and lift his chin so Link can see the truth in his eyes. “Swear it. Is it still true for you, though?”
That makes Link furrow his brows. “Huh?”
“Said you were over me. That it’d taken a while, but that you were. Are you?”
Link sighs. And it’s a visible one; you can trace it from the motion of his shoulders. “I was.”
Two words is all it takes, it seems. It’s enough to rekindle the ember of hope in Rhett’s chest. Enough to make him bold again. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walks the few yards still separating them. Link puts up a valiant effort at keeping his ground, jutted chin and everything, but in the end, he takes a step back when Rhett comes close enough.
There’s the dull thump as the back of Link’s thighs hit the hood of the Audi. Crowding in closer still, Rhett places his hands on either side of him. The metal of the hood is smooth against his palms. He’s so close he can feel Link’s chest moving with his breaths.
“You were?”
Link swallows, but doesn’t answer.
“After all ‘a this, you love me again?”
It’s hard to see in the backlight, but Link’s eyes flicker a little before they settle on Rhett again. And he sighs, tired but also with a hint of fondness.
“Against my better judgment, yeah.”
“You can do a lot better. Ain’t good to be hung up on the same person for thirty years.”
“T’wasn’t for a lack ‘a tryin’! But what’s a guy to do when—when that person cares so much ‘bout you? When he does everythin’ for you? When he gifts you a whole ass star?” Link says, voice thickening as the sentence goes on, and Rhett brushes a knuckle over his cheek when he sees how misty Link’s eyes are behind the glasses.
“Gave it to ya ‘cause I love you,” he mumbles.
Link sends him that lopsided grin. “I know, dumbnut.”
“Just didn’t know the depth of it at the time.”
“I know .”
Link’s backing away a little, trying to climb higher up on the hood as Rhett comes closer. And that will not do. Feeling boldened and desperate to truly put his money where his mouth is, Rhett grabs hold of Link’s hips—tiny little things, it’s obscene really—and pulls him flush against himself. To not topple over completely, Link has no choice but to lock his legs around Rhett’s hips.
And that’s how they end up as close as two people can be.
Link’s breath comes in small, hot puffs of toothpaste scented air against his top lip. Rhett can feel how he’s almost vibrating under his hands. But Link doesn’t do anything. He just stares, eyes blown like a cat’s, trusting like he’s always been and continues to be, no matter how many times Rhett lets him down.
So Rhett closes the distance between them and kisses him.
Considering how long they’ve avoided it—tip-toed the line with society sanctioned wrestling, kissed each other’s cheeks and foreheads, kissed through a sheet of plexiglass—it’s surprisingly natural. Link’s lips are soft and with a small whimper, he yields when Rhett pushes him.
With a sigh that sounds like it comes from the bottom of his lungs, he then opens up and lets Rhett in.
For all the fire in Link’s demeanor, he melts completely into Rhett’s embrace, allowing him to lead, caressing his tongue as Rhett slides it along his teeth. Finally, one hand leaves its position on the hood behind Link’s back. The last vestige of his reticence dissolves as that hand slides up Rhett’s shoulder and twists into the hair at the base of his scalp.
He might’ve expected a yank, but it’s careful enough that Rhett almost purrs. And as he lets one of his hands travel from Link’s hip to his shoulder and then his neck, he can’t describe the sensation in his body as anything but happy.
Except… there’s still a measure of grief under the delight. A nostalgic kind of sorrow linked to years wasted. How, if he’d been braver, less concerned about fulfilling everyone’s expectations, they could’ve had a first kiss like this, only twenty-five years ago. Could’ve traded clumsy ones on the floor in his boyhood room, behind the church, or by the creek or the river. Could’ve shared sleeping bags while camping, or made out in the backseat of his truck on one of the many back roads, with Merle crooning on the radio.
Could’ve been each other’s first, in everything.
Instead, all they get is this; something furtive and hidden, shrouded in genuine wrongs instead of invented ones.
The kiss gets wetter, and saltier. Rhett doesn’t know whose tears he’s tasting, but every time he goes up for breath, Link hiccups and clings tighter, fingers digging into the fabric of Rhett’s shirt. If Link wasn’t so diligent at trimming his nails, Rhett’s sure they would’ve left little pinpricks of pain, just like Link’s bottom canines do with every kiss. Incrementally, the pace slows, until they’re not kissing anymore, merely exchanging breaths in the night air. They lean their foreheads against each other’s for an unknown length of time, until Link turns his head and tucks it into the crook of Rhett’s neck.
His face is still damp.
“It really is as they say, huh?” Link says after a moment. “Worse to regret the things you didn’t do, than the ones you did.”
Holding him a little tighter, Rhett shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Dunno what to do with this now,” Link continues, and minutely, Rhett feels him start to tremble. Barely noticeable at first, until it feels as if he’s trying to stymie one of the infamous California earthquakes with his arms. “We’re so fucked. What’re we gonna do? I can’t sneak around and ch-cheat on Christy, I
couldn’t.
Won’t. And Lily’d never forgive me. I couldn’t handle that. None of ’em would forgive me. But I can’t—I can’t go back to not havin’ you."
“You’ll always have me,” Rhett answers, on autopilot, even as he feels like crying again.
Link scoffs, but it’s tearful too. “You know what I mean. We can’t do—this, and keep all the other stuff. Life doesn’t allow for that. Ain’t no one that gets to have all ‘a that. We missed our shot, Rhett. So now we gotta stand it.” He draws a long, shuddering breath and brushes a knuckle along Rhett’s chest. “No matter how much it hurts.”
Hearing the defeat in Link’s voice is almost enough to bring new tears to his eyes. But he can’t find it in himself to agree.
“I just don’t think that’s true.” Rhett is shocked by his own voice: there’s more pleading in that one statement than all the previous ones. Like deep down, this was the only true unknown.
“Don’t. For once, see the reality of things, Rhett. Not the utopia you want it to be.”
“But this ain’t that. ‘M not sayin’ it’s gonna be easy, but I think—I think we might have a shot if we’re willin’ to look at some unconventional solutions. Like askin’ if the girls would allow us to—”
“If they’d be okay with us leavin’ them behind? Yeah, right. I ain’t doin’—”
“—have this too. Not instead.”
Link’s eyes go wide. “No. Christy wouldn’t—”
“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” Rhett takes his chin in his hands, tilting it upwards. Link’s face is a mess; bloodshot eyes behind crooked glasses, swollen lips, cheeks smeared with tears and a hint of stubble. He’s the most beautiful thing Rhett’s ever seen. “She could handle your deconstruction. She knows you love her and stand by her, through everything. Now, you just… get to love me too. Not that much even has to change.”
Closing his eyes, Link nods. Rhett puts his forehead against his. “Ain’t over ‘til it’s over, Linkster.”
“I hate it when you’re right.”
“Too bad, ‘cause I love it.”
That, finally, earns him a lovelick to the shoulder. “Idiot.”
“Guilty as charged.”
In a while, they’ll get into separate vehicles and drive back to their separate homes, their separate if entwined lives. Either they will wait until morning, or rouse their wives from sleep and try to broach the subject that’s been implied but unspoken for thirty years. Under the cover of darkness, they’ll make attempts to start the conversation that could make or break everything.
But for now, none of that’s happened. The sun is yet to rise. The sky is full of stars and oxygen and Rhett’s got Link’s body against his own, and they’re nothing but two boys in love.