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The bouncer gives Lawrence exactly three minutes to stand outside of the bar before he tells him to make a decision.
“Look, pal,” he says patiently, like this happens all the time, “either go in, or don’t. But you can’t just stand out here, you’re gonna start scaring people away.”
Lawrence, who had almost worn a tweed jacket before settling on his favorite cardigan, looks down at himself and then back up. He has about as much of a chance at scaring people as he does getting back together with his wife, but the bouncer waves his arm in a move it along sort of gesture like he doesn’t care in the slightest what Lawrence looks like.
Still, that’s enough to convince him. With a deep breath, he starts to limp his way inside before he can think better of it.
It’s not exactly Lawrence’s scene, though he knew it wouldn’t be. The music thumps low out of the speakers, a thick, rumbling sound that he can feel from his toes and all the way up to his now vibrating teeth. They’re playing classic rock at least, but despite that familiar territory, it still makes him feel out of place. For god’s sake, whenever the bass thumps it hits him so hard that he feels like his entire world pulses along with it. The lights are dimmed to a dreary yellow, and there’s the smell of both cigarette smoke and weed that seems to be permeating every corner of the building. It makes him cough a little.
Still, it’s a new experience that he purposefully sought out. He wanted this, he wanted to see what it was like, he wanted to find himself the way the internet told him to. This is something he’s committed to doing, and he’ll follow through. Besides, it’s not as though he can tuck his tail between his legs and run as fast as his prosthetic can take him. For one, the bouncer would probably be insufferable, and for another Lawrence promised himself he would at least try.
He makes his slow, hobbling way over to the bar. The good thing about having a cane is that a lot of people with even a modicum of respect tend to move out of his way without complaint. It happens all the time. But then he starts hearing a few appreciative comments, comments about his thicker build and his blue eyes and the color of his hair. He’s pretty sure someone calls him hot, and the tips of his ears burn so much that he has to limp a little faster to avoid any more embarrassment.
The bar’s the circular kind, with people able to sit wherever they’d like. It wraps around a wooden island in the middle, showcasing all of the various alcohol available and what looks like at least ten taps of beer. He’s seen something similar at the country club he used to frequent, and it’s familiar enough that he doesn’t feel too out of place in that regard. He slowly makes his way over, trying to ignore a few of the eyes that drift his way again.
This is what he’d wanted, of course, and yet all it does is make him nervous.
“Whoaaa,” the bartender says, her black-ringed eyes widening the second he sits down. “Fuck, do you look out of place. Need a drink?”
“Yes, please,” Lawrence says, perhaps a little too quickly. The expletive takes him by surprise—not because he’s a prude, but rather he didn’t expect it from a complete stranger. “Old fashioned, if you could?”
The bartender—a girl named Amanda, judging by her name tag—snorts a little at the request.
“Yeah,” she says, sounding amused. “You’re definitely out of place. Woodford okay?”
“Please,” Lawrence replies, feeling like a fool. She throws him a thumbs up and then she’s off, making his drink like a pro.
He watches her, more out of the curiosity of it all, and tries to ignore the dancing behind him. He'd done his research, tried to find a gay bar that would cater to more than just college students, and he’s pretty sure this is as close as he’s going to get. There had been a night for older gay men, but the idea of going had Lawrence balking like a coward. No, if he was going to do… do that, then he’d have to scope out the place first.
He’s still trying to figure out exactly where he stands in his situation, lopsided though his stance may be. He was attracted to Ali when he met her, though it was… well, it was in a superficial way. A gorgeous blonde woman with bright eyes and the sort of intelligence that would draw any man to her? Of course he’d loved her. But he’d also assumed that was what he was meant to do, what he was meant to be attracted to, and he had stuck with it. She deserved better, and he knows it. She deserved more than a messy divorce and a custody agreement, but Lawrence doesn’t exactly know what to do otherwise.
So here he is.
In a gay bar.
God.
Amanda comes back with his drink, setting it down on a coaster and eyeing him critically. She’s wearing a red shirt and cargo pants, the hem of both legs tucked into her boots. There’s a key on the end of a long chain around her neck, and then a flat coin-like medallion that just says LD on it. When she sees him looking over her outfit, she gives his a once over and sighs a little in response.
“You wanna open a tab?” she asks, not unkindly.
“Yes, please,” he says yet again, and then scratches at his hair in embarrassment. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be so… monosyllabic.”
“I get it,” she says, taking his credit card when he hands it over. “You’ve just got the vibe. Don’t worry, we don’t judge here. You look kinda like a deer in the headlights, though. Relax. Talk to someone.”
Lawrence nods as confidently as he can, and then she’s off like a rabbit to take care of someone else, leaving him to sit alone at the bar. He rubs a finger up and down across the condensation of the glass, gathering up the water droplets onto his fingertip and then wiping it off on the paper coaster. God, he feels out of place, sitting there by himself while Losing My Religion plays overhead and people chatter around him.
He’s gone to more than one bar in his life, but this just feels like he’s been picked up by his scruff and tossed into a situation he has zero say in. A bit ironic, given that he’s the one who put himself into this situation in the first place.
The old fashioned is well made, which he appreciates more than he can say. Lawrence sips at it, thinking about digging around with a toothpick to snatch the cherry out of the ice, when he sees someone sit down out of the corner of his eye and he glances up.
His breath catches.
There’s a young man, probably in his late twenties, that’s sitting there across the bar and leaning on his hand as he chats with Amanda. A normal enough thing for someone to do. The problem—if it can be called a problem—is that he’s easily the most gorgeous person that Lawrence has ever seen, save for perhaps Alison on their wedding day. All messy hair and leather jacket, he has just a hint of dark stubble across his jaw and under his nose that gives him just enough ruggedness without it being too much.
But above all, there’s such a lazy, beautiful smile on his face while he talks that Lawrence can’t look away. This young man seems to carry around his beauty like it’s just another part of him, like he might not even be aware of it in the first place. His hair is delightfully ruffled, and Lawrence watches as he wraps his lips around a cigarette and lights it while still talking to Amanda.
He feels utterly enchanted, but he must be a bit too enchanted. The young man’s eyes suddenly meet his own, and then to Lawrence’s horror, he stares right back at him.
He’s looking at Lawrence with the sort of easy confidence that means he’s used to doing so, used to staring right back at much older men who may or may not have been ogling him a little. He’s got the cigarette between two of the fingers against his cheek, resting against his palm while he just… watches him.
Lawrence can’t seem to look away. He’s not even sure he wants to.
It’s not quite a tension that starts to grow tight between them. It’s almost like an anticipation instead, a string that’s connecting both of them and is only growing tighter from across the bar. Either one of them could grab their end and tug. That’s all it would take.
Someone else makes the choice for them, though. Before either of them can commit to a decision, Amanda plucks the lit cigarette out from between the young man’s lips, takes a drag herself, and nods towards Lawrence. The young man’s eyes briefly flick back over to Amanda, his mouth a little thin, before that easy smile slides back into place.
Lawrence can only watch, absolutely petrified, as the young man slides off his own barstool and starts to make his way over.
The heat that immediately rushes into Lawrence’s face lights him up from the inside out, and he gulps down another mouthful of his drink. It’s a coward’s move, but he can’t help it—the alcohol may lessen the burden of being one of the most awkward newly-out men on the planet. The bourbon hits a little harder than usual, thanks to how much he ends up swallowing far too quickly, but before he can cough it back up the young man’s already sidled into place next to him.
“You know,” he says, his voice coy and sweet, “it’s rude to stare at people.”
Lawrence feels his face go up in flames.
“I wasn’t— I wasn’t staring,” he says immediately, flustered. “I was just—”
“Uhhh, looking in my general direction for, like, at least ten seconds straight?” That smile amps up another notch, tilting just a little bit higher on one side until it’s almost a smirk. It doesn’t seem unkind. “I didn’t realize there were new criteria for staring. My bad.”
Lawrence is still trying to figure out exactly where this interaction belongs on his tally of the most embarrassing moments of his life when the young man speaks up again, flicking Lawrence’s glass lightly with a finger.
“You know, that’s a pretty fancy drink for the scene here,” he says, but this time his voice is way more playful. “I’m more of a beer guy myself.”
“I…” Lawrence falters, and then ends up covering his eyes with a groan. “I panicked. I didn’t know what else to order.”
At that, the young man laughs. It’s a bright, cheerful thing, full of good-natured mirth and maybe just a tiny bit of that playfulness that borders on teasing. It’s odd to be teased by a stranger, and while normally Lawrence would be a bit more perturbed, or even irritated, instead he finds that it soothes his nerves a little.
“You don’t have to worry about it or anything,” the young man continues. “I mean, I’m not actually mad or anything. You kind of come to a bar like this to get stared at by a hot older guy.”
Lawrence, who had been burying his face in his drink, inhales so sharply that he ends up sputtering Woodford Reserve all over his own face.
Thankfully, the young man doesn’t seem to have a comment on that, which may very well be the kindest thing that anyone’s ever done for him. Otherwise Lawrence might have to just get in his car, pick a direction, and drive until he hits an ocean.
“I’m Adam,” the young man says, and sticks his hand out to shake, once Lawrence has gathered himself. “It’s nice to meet you, uh…?”
“Lawrence,” he blurts out, taking Adam’s hand before he can think about it. It’s warm, and there are calluses here and there like he does some work with his hands. Guitar, maybe. He has the look. “Lawrence, uh. Yes. I’m Lawrence.”
Adam laughs again.
“Okay, Lawrence,” he says cheerfully. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’ve never actually been in a gay bar before? Like, at all?”
That immediately moves this entire moment up on his tally, and he groans.
“I knew it’d be obvious,” he mutters, looking away. The shame of it feels like it’s centered in his stomach and pulsating out towards his chest. It’s like a vicious, wiggling little animal that’s burrowed its way into his torso to live there, forever reminding him of this moment. There are a hundred and two different ways he could’ve gone about this, and yet he’d chosen the one with the greatest likelihood of making an ass out of himself.
“Nah,” Adam says, shrugging. “I mean, it is, don’t get me wrong. Just not in the way you think it is. Come on, man, you really think you’re the first guy who’s ever come in here for the first time in his life?”
Lawrence manages to tear himself away from his spiral of self-doubt long enough to process that.
“What do you mean?” he asks, just a little unsure.
Adam smiles at him. Lawrence is pretty sure that smile could convince him to do just about anything in the world if Adam wanted. There’s something both kind and mischievous about it, crinkling up the corners of his eyes and making them shine. It’s a bit like staring into the sun, admiring the stunning beauty of something that warms you to your core but makes you look away simply from the sheer intensity of it. It could hurt you even as it keeps you alive, could burn you just as easily as it could save you.
Lawrence might just let himself burn.
“I just mean that it’s okay if you’re, like, insanely nervous,” Adam continues, entirely unaware that Lawrence is falling in love with him on the spot. “No one here’s gonna judge you. Fuck, at least half of the older guys here have never been to a gay bar, either. It’s like you all came inside in a herd or something.”
Okay, well. Lawrence feels like he ought to be offended by that, but the cadence of that never catches his attention in a way it hadn’t the first time.
“Are you Australian?” he asks, blinking.
This time when Adam smiles, it’s accompanied by a slightly startled laugh.
“My mom is. I used to spend the summers there.” His eyes are twinkling a little. “Are you British?”
“Um. No, but I studied abroad there for about ten years.”
Adam gestures between the two of them.
“See, Lawrence?” he says cheerfully. “It’s so easy. So what did you study?”
-
Adam, as it turns out, is a delightfully odd creature.
The calluses come not from a guitar, but from the chemicals of the wash he uses to develop his photography. He has a cat, and he’s best friends with both the bartender Amanda and then another doctor, and he has an older sister that collects thimbles. He’s bisexual, he loves hamburgers, and he rides his bike everywhere he can since he doesn’t have a car. His friend is in a band that he takes pictures for, though, so Lawrence at least got the look down well enough.
The problem is that by contrast, Lawrence feels… well, lame.
“You’re an oncologist?” Adam’s saying, eyes wide. He doesn’t seem to think Lawrence is lame at all, for some reason. He’s just turned in his seat so that he’s facing Lawrence instead, beer in hand. “Dude, that’s so cool. I wanted to be a vet but I never got around to it. Do you do surgeries and stuff?”
“I used to,” Lawrence admits quietly. “But unfortunately, after my accident I wasn’t able to stand up for that long, so they made me head of oncology instead.”
Adam snorts.
“Consolation prize?”
“A bit.”
Lawrence isn’t sure why he’d told Adam what had happened to his foot. He mostly tries to ignore the conversation entirely if he can help it, particularly with people he doesn’t know. After all, being T-boned by a patient having a heart attack after being discharged from your care tends to be poor dinner talk, let alone the grisly details of your foot being crushed under the dashboard. But while Adam had seemed sad it happened, he hadn’t been pitying. It’s a refreshing change.
Adam takes another sip of his beer, then eyes the last inch or so critically.
“…if you’d like another one, I’d like to buy it for you,” Lawrence offers, his tone a bit unsure.
At that, Adam looks back up at him, studying Lawrence thoughtfully. It’s not a mean look, or a suspicious one. He seems mostly like he’s sizing Lawrence up, trying to figure out whether he wants to take the offer or not.
“...no, it’s okay,” Adam finally says, and Lawrence can feel his own heart dropping before Adam continues with, “I’ve kinda had enough for the night, but I also don’t wanna blow you off. You know?”
There’s something about the way Adam says it that leads Lawrence to believe that he may be missing a joke in there somewhere, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he nods. He’d finished his drink a few topics ago, and hadn’t ordered another. Now he’s just sipping on water.
“I understand,” he says quietly, nonetheless disappointed.
Adam knocks back the rest of his beer and then sets it onto the wooden bartop with a thunk, letting out a soft ah that makes Lawrence’s head spin. God, he really is the most beautiful person Lawrence has ever seen in his life. If he had any doubts about being gay before this, this is absolutely a one hundred percent indication that he was right.
“You plan on staying long?” Adam asks, pushing the empty pint glass away towards the edge of the bar while Amanda’s busy taking care of someone else.
Lawrence does think about it, to be fair. It’s not like he has anyone to go home to, anyone who will be excited to see him. He could stay here talking to Adam all night, or at least until the bar closes, and he wouldn’t exactly regret the decision either. It would be a new experience, surely, and one that he’d probably be terrible at, but he’d be able to spend more time with Adam.
Then, almost as if it wants to make the decision for him, his calf suddenly pulses with pain.
He winces, holding his thigh. It comes from being on his feet for most of the day, even if he’s been sitting down for the last hour or so. It’s a gritty pain, one that he’s long used to, and it means he has to take off his prosthetic soon or he won’t be able to use it at all for a good few days to come. He grunts a little, rubbing his hand from his thigh towards his knee and then to the edge of his prosthetic. The skin’s hot enough through his trousers that he knows it’ll be a problem.
“Are you okay?” Adam’s eyes are wide, and he looks almost like he’s going to reach forward before thinking better of it.
Lawrence has a very sincere moment of insanity where he wishes that Adam would.
“It’s my foot,” he mumbles, then groans at another stab of pain. It slices up through his calf and settles somewhere under his knee before pulsing instead, a dull ache impossible to ignore. God, that hurts. “It’s acting up. I should probably head home myself.”
To his shock, Adam shakes his head a little and says, “yeah, totally. I get it. Can I walk you to your car?”
Lawrence blinks at him.
“You… what?” he asks, like an idiot.
Adam shrugs, but the apples of his cheeks suddenly turn a little pink. While before he’d seemed confident and charismatic, now all of a sudden he seems… well, embarrassed. Maybe even a little shy.
“I just don’t want you to fall,” he says softly, like it was obvious to him from the start. Like anyone should be so kind. “I mean, I guess I sort of assumed you had a car, but…”
“I do,” Lawrence says quickly, before Adam can change his mind. “I do, and—yes, if you wouldn’t mind. That’s very kind of you.”
Adam gives him another one of those brilliant smiles, the kind that feels like it could very well turn the damn night back into day. He’s got green eyes, Lawrence realizes.
“I’m gonna go pay Mandy,” Adam says, not noticing Lawrence staring at him again. “One sec. You have a tab?”
“Yes,” Lawrence says faintly. He feels a little lightheaded, though whether it’s from Adam’s smile or the pain that’s licking up his leg to remind him of its existence is anyone’s guess. All he can do is continue to stare.
“I’ll have her close it out for you and bring the receipt over,” Adam promises. “Just stay here.”
Before Lawrence can so much as protest, Adam’s sliding off his stool and heading towards his original seat. Amanda’s chatting with someone, a woman with dark skin and curly hair in a ponytail, but she looks over when Adam says something to her. Lawrence watches as they talk, watches the ease they have with each other. It’s stupid to imagine that someone so much younger would ever feel at ease with talking with Lawrence, but he lets himself dream nonetheless that he could be friends with Adam one day. Maybe even more.
Wow. He really is gay. He’s gone and fallen head over heels for a man he met tonight.
Lawrence can see him scribbling on what he assumes is a credit card receipt, but another pulse of pain in his calf makes him wince. He rubs at his thigh again, sighing a little heavily. He’s going to have to rely on his cane even more than usual, which makes him a little irritable.
“Okay,” Adam says cheerfully, and sets Lawrence’s credit card tray with a light clatter. Amanda wrote “good luck :)” which he can only assume means that she’s rooting for him to… feel confident in himself, perhaps? He scribbles out a nice tip, sticks his credit card back into his wallet, and signs on the line before sliding the whole tray over and sighing. He has to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“It may take me some time to get to my car,” he warns quietly. “I’ll have to move slow.”
“That’s okay,” Adam says, shrugging again. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. If you wanna hold onto my arm you can.”
That shocks Lawrence into complete silence, and he stares at Adam with a bit of dumbfoundedness that borders on incredulity. He’s never had anyone offer instead of just doing it, and while he’s used to being a cripple at this point, it still gets on his nerves sometimes when someone assumes he’ll need help. Maybe Adam had, too, but the way he worded his question makes Lawrence feel like the offer is incredibly sincere, and lacking any ignorant hostility. Just simple kindness.
“I’d appreciate that,” he says finally, and Adam smiles that beautiful smile and holds out his arm.
There are a few wolf whistles while they make their way to the door, and Lawrence feels like he could die from the shame of it. He feels like the center of attention, something he hasn’t wanted for a while. Adam, though, comes to his rescue in a way that makes Lawrence want to sink into the damn floor.
“Yeah, yeah,” he hollers over his shoulder. “You animals wish you were me and you know it!”
Yeah, no, Lawrence would love to become one with the earth now.
“Sorry about them,” Adam mutters. His cheeks are a bit pink. “They’re just assholes.”
Lawrence doesn’t answer, content to pretend that portion of the night never happened from this moment on.
It’s a nice cool night outside, the sort of sharp, crisp cold that’s refreshing rather than uncomfortable. There are other people strolling up and down the sidewalk, and with Lawrence’s hand in the crook of Adam’s arm they blend right in. Adam lets Lawrence lead the way (another rare occurrence when it comes to someone offering him help) and while his leg does hurt, the combination of his cane and Adam’s assistance make it a little bit easier to stay upright. He leads Adam towards the handicapped spot in the parking lot, face pinching tighter with pain the longer they take.
“Are you okay?” Adam asks quietly when he notices. “You look kinda—”
“I’m alright,” Lawrence grits, rudely interrupting. He’s not mad at Adam, of course. It’s more that he’s mad at himself. “Unfortunately I’m pretty used to it by now.”
Adam doesn’t say anything to that, but instead of letting go or taking offense, his elbow tightens just a bit where Lawrence is resting his hand. It’s almost like he’s squeezing it for comfort, like he’s telling Lawrence that it’s okay if he snapped at him. There’s something about such a small gesture that actually gets some of the tension to drain out and calm him a little. It’s a slow drip rather than some sort of rush, but he feels a little less ashamed. It’s better than nothing.
When they get to Lawrence’s car, the dark windshield reflecting the lights above, Lawrence isn’t exactly sure what to do. He doesn’t want to say goodbye to Adam, certainly, but he doesn’t know how to go about that conversation. He hasn’t been in his twenties like Adam in a while, after all. There were women before Alison, some in New Jersey and some abroad in London, but that had been when he was young and irresponsible. This… well, he doesn’t know. They both just stand there
“So here’s the thing,” Adam says, breaking the silence. He still hasn’t let go of Lawrence’s arm, and Lawrence looks over at him. “I know you’re having, like, a whole thing. I get that, I do. Like, an awakening or whatever, I mean. But, uh. The thing.”
Lawrence stares at him.
“The thing?” he prompts, when Adam doesn’t continue.
Adam sighs loudly.
“The thing,” he says, his cheeks redder than ever, “is that you’re really hot, and I’m really attracted to you, and if you’re not gonna totally freak out I’d love to kiss you.”
“Oh,” Lawrence says, blinking.
“If you’re okay with it.”
“I am,” Lawrence says blanky, because nothing has ever been truer, actually.
“Fuck yeah,” Adam says, and grabs his jaw with both hands to tug him down.
As far as first kisses go, it’s a pretty spectacular one. Adam’s stubble rasps across Lawrence’s upper lip, and it’s such a unique feeling that Lawrence knows it’s going to burn itself into his memory forever. It’s far from unwanted, or even unpleasant, and before Lawrence is even entirely aware of it he’s reaching to grab the lapels of that leather jacket and pulling Adam closer.
“Whoa, tiger,” Adam laughs against his mouth before biting his lower lip just enough that it’s a chastising tease.
Something about that sends Lawrence into a state he’s never felt before. He wants to stay here in this moment, just kissing Adam and never feeling like he has to do anything else for the rest of his life. Their kiss depends a little, Adam’s mouth opening up just enough that the kiss flits over from first kiss to something a bit more passionate. Lawrence can feel where his own ass presses against the side of his car as Adam leans them forward, and it takes just enough pressure off of his foot that he can ignore the pain for at least a little while.
“Hm,” Adam hums suddenly, sounding curious.
Lawrence can feel himself panicking a little.
“What?” he asks quickly, aware of how his lips brush against Adam’s. The intimacy of that sends him reeling, despite the very sharp, clear worry that Adam’s going to say he’s a terrible kisser or that he regrets the decision in the first place.
“I just…” Adam smiles, kisses him again before pulling back. “I don’t know. I like you.”
Lawrence blushes, unable to stop the pink from rushing into his cheeks. Adam’s just staring up at him, almost resting against his chest, gazing at him with what could only be considered adoration. An unexpected reaction, particularly from a stranger.
He swallows.
“I… well, I like you too,” he says quietly, and can’t help but run a hand through that messy dark hair. He drags it down towards Adam’s neck and brings it back around until Adam’s cheek rests against Lawrence’s palm as he continues. “Perhaps a bit more than I should for someone I just met.”
Adam laughs, that bright and beautiful sound ringing through Lawrence’s heart like a bell.
“I know, right?” he says, and bites at the soft underside of Lawrence’s jaw. It makes him shiver. “But seriously. I’m not usually the makeout in the alleyway with a stranger type, even if I look like I could play the part. You know?”
“I don’t think you do,” Lawrence blurts immediately, trying to compliment Adam so fast that the words almost don’t make it out with any coherence. He immediately feels like an absolute fool, but all that seems to do is make Adam laugh and kiss him again.
“Okay, well,” Adam mumbles against him, “turns out flattery does get you somewhere.”
Lawrence has to lean against his car just to try and keep himself upright, but Adam’s so warm and comfortable against him that he almost couldn’t care less about the pain in his leg. Adam takes that as a clear invitation to lean closer against him, which—well, it absolutely is an invitation, too. Lawrence can feel Adam’s heartbeat thumping against his own chest, and it presents such a clear picture of a potential somewhere in this situation that Lawrence has to pull himself back just to keep it from being too much. He could race towards that somewhere, could try to find it far too quickly before he’s thought of the consequences.
“You okay?” Adam asks immediately, and Lawrence nods.
“Sorry,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “This is just— it’s new for me. Very new.”
“Yeah,” Adam says, and laughs with so much adoration that it sends Lawrence reeling a little. “Kinda moving fast, huh?”
“I could come back,” Lawrence says, aware that it sounds crazy. “I could come back some time and we— we could talk again. Whatever you’d like. Wherever.”
“Man, you’re impatient,” Adam teases.
Something about that answer gives Lawrence a bit of confidence. He uses one curled finger to lift Adam’s chin just slightly to kiss him again. That, at least, is familiar. Kissing a man is both entirely different from kissing a woman and yet exactly the same. He can feel something so warm and real in his chest that would have scared him another time, but here it just feels like a promise.
“Only because you’re absolutely fascinating,” he says when they break apart again. “It’s been… well, it’s been far too long since I’ve enjoyed company like yours.”
“...like I said,” Adam replies, his smile warm. He looks a little flustered, which Lawrence considers a win. “I totally like you. And I’m a pretty lucky guy right now. Or at least you are.”
The teasing little jab is so natural that it actually does succeed in making Lawrence laugh a little. His leg chooses that moment to flash through him again, a pain that’s only growing in strength the longer he stays on his feet. It must show on his face, though, because Adam sighs a little as if to himself and pushes away.
Lawrence misses his weight and his warmth already. He wants to chase after it, but he knows that he’s going to fuck himself up for the rest of the week if he doesn’t get home now.
“You know,” Adam says, like he can read his mind, “I just might hold you to that. But for right now, you should probably get home, right?”
As unwelcome a prospect as it is, Lawrence can’t help but nod. He needs to take his prosthetic off, and that’s not something he’s really able to do in front of anyone yet. Not to mention that he’s absolutely sure he can’t invite Adam back to his condo, anyway. He spent enough time sneaking around Alison to ever feel comfortable having sex with someone as soon as he met them to ever do it again.
And maybe, perhaps, it’s because Adam deserves better.
“This is gonna sound really lame and cliche,” Adam says, and scratches at the back of his head. “But I really did have a fun time tonight. You know?”
“I do,” Lawrence says quietly, and means it.
There’s another one of those pauses between the two of them. Lawrence takes in Adam’s leather jacket, the stubble on his chin. His cheeks are a rosy red, and his lips the same. Those eyes of his are twinkling again, and Lawrence admires the strong shape of his nose and his dark eyelashes.
He really is just… so beautiful. Lawrence wants to burn his image into his mind forever, a flash of light that he can always see behind closed lids. An image projected in a way that he can never erase. If by some chance he never sees Adam again, at least he’ll have this moment to himself. He can look back on it and remember that just for a moment, he got to see what a future could look like with someone he felt right with.
“Thank you for tonight,” Lawrence finally says, though it feels weak and a little dumb. “This… this was a good experience. I’d like to see you again.”
Adam throws back his head and laughs.
“You’re such a nerd,” he crows, and before Lawrence can even begin to feel shame, Adam goes back up onto his tiptoes and pecks him right on the lips again. “Yeah. Me too. It was a great experience. I’ll see you around, Lawrence.”
Watching Adam turn around and walk away with his hands in his pockets is probably one of the harder things he’s had to do in his life. Adam doesn’t look back, just keeps on strolling like he didn’t just change the trajectory of Lawrence’s entire life in only two hours.
After a minute or two, though, Lawrence finally sighs and goes about getting himself into his car. He manages to wiggle his way into his seat, sighing as soon as he shuts the door.
“You’re an idiot,” he mumbles to himself, thumping his head against the steering wheel. “That boy is never going to want to see you again. He called you a nerd.”
The drive home is not only lonely, but silent. Normally he’ll at least put on the radio, or maybe one of his CDs that he has in the glovebox, but instead Lawrence just drives and drives until he’s pulling up into his condo’s driveway. The dark, empty space seems even more uninviting than usual after this brief night he’s had with an absolutely compelling person, but he sighs again and moves to get out of the car anyway.
It’s only when he sticks his hand into his pocket for his keys again that he realizes there’s something else there as well, slotted neatly into one side. He takes it out, carefully pinched between thumb and forefinger, lips parting in confusion. It’s a simple cocktail napkin, but there’s an unruly scrawl on it. He has to read it over at least three times before he does indeed understand what he’s seeing.
Really do wanna have a raincheck on that beer, and maybe a date too. Thanks, Dr. Gordon :)
Scrawled underneath is a phone number.
Lawrence carefully slips the napkin back into his coat pocket, being careful not to let it fold or crumble in a way that would ruin it as he limps heavily towards his front door.
For the first time in a long while, fumbling with his keys until he finds the right one, Lawrence smiles to himself.