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“Y’know, I always thought it was weird that Danville has two mayors. Is one really not enough?" Dakota commented, coming out of Jefferson County Middle School, which is where people in the zip code are assigned to for their ballots. It was after 11:00 PM, probably closer to 12:00 AM. The polling places were just closing and results for the elections should've been coming in soon.
"If it's anything like Britain, then it must be that one mayor is the representative of the culture and the other is the representative of ideology,” Cavendish adds, exiting in the same fashion as Dakota.
"That makes too much sense for it to be real," Dakota added, “I think there are two Danvilles, but one is a municipality and the other is its own city."
“If that were the case then the municipal Danville would be governed by Jefferson County representatives, not a mayor,” Cavendish continued with the conversation, walking towards the duo’s van in the school’s parking lot. Eventually both of them reach the van, to which Cavendish unlocked it and entered: him in the driver's seat and Dakota in the passenger side. He held his breath, inserting the key and turning on the engine, the van making some soft beeping noises indicating that it was ready to go. "Every day I think this thing isn't going to turn on and every day that reality becomes more and more real.”
“It's basically a brand new vehicle, Cav. It's got a six year warranty and everything," Dakota reasoned, trying to make Cavendish feel less insane.
“I know, I know. It is simply an old habit," Cavendish explained, turning off the parking brake and putting the van in reverse, but still keeping his foot on the brake.
“I think some people would call that trauma,” Dakota rebutted, "As in, you're traumatized from having a vehicle that could fail at any minute, so you always expect the worst.”
Cavendish backed the van up and then turned the wheel, finally putting it on drive, "I am not traumatized. I can recognize when negative emotions are attached to experiences, and that time vehicle was not one of them.”
"Not all trauma is negative y’know. Sometimes it's an experience that just sticks with you,” Dakota reasoned, getting comfortable in the passenger chair, putting his arm on the center console.
"I see that therapy is going well for you,” Cavendish sighs, "I'm sorry you had to go through so much for me,” Cavendish stopped at a red light, taking his right arm off of the wheel and intertwining his hand between Dakota’s. “I could never imagine you dying, let alone watching it happen time and time again.”
Dakota looked out the passenger window, feeling Cavendish’s hand between his. His and Cavendish's relationship has never been better, but that's because they've been working some things out, both with each other and themselves. "I did it because I love you, knowing you would never do the same.”
The silence left behind was hellish. It was as if the words' sheer utterance became a person and made its way into the backseat, suddenly becoming an awkward third wheel that decided to join the conversation, ready to speak but not saying a word.
"You would be right.”
"I've known you long enough to have that kind of confidence–”
"I would've tried to fight every bureau to give me permission to go back and make sure you stay alive,” Cavendish let go of Dakota's hand as the light turned green, "Doing it myself would've been my last resort.”
Dakota smiled at the thought of Cavendish fighting to keep Dakota alive. As much as he would like to think he would do that for him, the reality is that only Cavendish could find himself in such mild situations that could end his life. Such is the reason why, in a way, he couldn't imagine Cavendish doing all that for someone, but in Dakota’s heart, he knew that Cavendish meant it.
“What's so funny? Do you not believe me?" Cavendish asked, putting the left turn signal on and switching lanes, “I thought we trusted each other."
Dakota closed his eyes, "Nah, I'm just thinking about how great you are and how lucky I am to have you."
“Are you saying that so we can volunteer at the primary elections next year and do another round of this, perhaps?" Cavendish said, making the left turn and pulling into a fast food burger joint.
“Hey, seven hundred dollars is seven hundred dollar," Dakota argued, “We got money out of volunteering and now we have enough to splurge.”
"That wouldn't be volunteering, would it? That's just a job that one has for a couple days during the year while people vote for identical candidates in local elections and ideologically different national elections,” Cavendish reasoned, pulling into the drive-thru, right where the menu is located.
"Well, yeah. But it's still important nonetheless. We can't vote because we don't even exist yet!" Dakota argued, a smirk forming on his face.
“As if that's the most imposing issue about our ability to contribute to politics," Cavendish sighed, “We’re not allowed to contribute in ways that will drastically affect the future, so a vote of ours will mean less than if we accidentally caused a scene at a protest," Cavendish continued, “Anyway, what do you want from here? I pulled in but did not consider if what they have is good. I'm just famished."
“Let’s see here,” Dakota unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed over Cavendish to get a better view of the menu, gripping onto the window sill of the car and essentially laying on Cavendish, the latter unfazed by such a performance.
“You do this every time,” Cavendish commented, repositioning Dakota so that he could see more comfortably.
“What other choice do I have when you’re the one driving?” Dakota retorts, looking back at the menu.
“You could’ve gone to the back seat and rolled down the window,” Cavendish suggested, pointing to the back of the vehicle with his thumb.
Dakota looked in the direction Cavendish pointed to and, to his despair, was very much more convenient, “That makes too much sense for me to do. I chose this option because it was the first one and I get to be held by my very dear partner of many years whose name I will not mention,” Dakota elaborated, trying to lock eyes with Cavendish who had a slight scowl that was completely undermined by the barely brewing blush overtaking his cheeks.
Cavendish gave up his poker face, “Checkmate.”
Eventually they did order their food and ate in the parking lot as Cavendish was far too hungry to wait until the two got to their home. It was rare for Dakota to see Cavendish with such fervor for food, especially considering that it’s American food of all things. It’s not that he hates it, it's just not his favorite.
“Someone was hungry,” Dakota teased, biting into his third burger. To be fair, there isn’t much nutritional value in a fast food burger unless it has added vegetables, so to eat three in one sitting made sense, but was on a line between normal and outlandish.
“I would’ve scarfed it down faster had it been Chinese,” Cavendish replied, holding his breath as he turned the car keys to activate the motor.
“What is your obsession with Chinese food, anyway? You suggest whenever it’s your turn to choose lunch,” Dakota asked, halfway through chewing his burger, making sure to talk as clearly as he could while doing so.
“Hmm…I suppose I never mentioned that I grew up in Hong Kong for a good portion of my childhood. Sure, Brits had relations with Hong Kong in the past, but you’d be surprised how involved they were in the future,” Cavendish chuckled, “Barely, but there were still some Brits who lived there for work, which is what my parents did—well, my mother did. My father lived there because that’s where he was born and raised.”
“Wait…” Dakota was flabbergasted, “You’re British-Chinese?”
Cavendish put the van on drive since he parked in reverse, turning out of the parking lot and onto the main road, “Is it that surprising?”
That’s when Dakota had a realization, “So that’s why you only take me to hole in the wall and dimsum places.”
“Sometimes Americanized Chinese food hits the spot,” Candish commented, turning on his left blinker. He hoped that the green light would stay, but it ultimately became yellow two lampposts before he could get past the intersection, which meant that the light turned red right before the crosswalk. He and Dakota looked out into the city streets. This part of Danville, whichever Danville they were forced to live in, was never too populated at any given time, but it would be a disservice to call it a small town. Even so, there was still a kind of mystique to being out so late at night when a majority of people were sleeping while others, much like he and Dakota, were elsewhere, not necessarily appreciating the night life, but more so getting the chance to bask in emptiness.
“Y’know Danville is kinda boring sometimes. Sure, it has a lot of museums and festivals and other fun things to do, but it's times like these when you notice that a lot of businesses are actually chain restaurants or department stores, or even chain jewelers,” Dakota paused, realizing what he just said, ”which, I guess that’s what jewelers are for since they make chains, but I mean jewelers that are owned by a brand and have a lot of similar stores,” Dakota used his hands to iterate his point.
Cavendish looked over to Dakota and smiled slightly. “I suppose that’s what happens to a town when disaster looms over it — only a corporation could afford to repair so frequently, local owners—not so much.”
Dakota tried to stay on the topic of what it means to live in a city, but then he mind went elsewhere “Sorry, I’m still not over the fact that you were born in Hong Kong,” Dakota admitted.
Cavendish rolled his eyes, “So no more waxing poetic, I suppose?” Dakota gave Cavendish a look that confirmed the sentiment, to which Cavendish sighed, “I'll take that as a yes."
“It's just an interesting fact I guess, but it explains so much," Dakota reasoned, "Like why you throw out your tea and then resteep it,” Dakota commented.
"I suppose I do that, yes,” Cavendish blushed, putting his foot on the gas pedal once it turned green. He wasn't really embarrassed, more so flattered that Dakota took notice of his behaviors in such a way.
"It's endearing. It also makes your tea taste better,” Dakota admitted, holding onto the passenger grab handle as Cavendish made the left turn.
"That's nice of you to say…” Cavendish smiled, then making a realization, "how do you know if it makes my tea taste better if you don't drink tea?”
Suddenly, Dakota was the one blushing, despite his complexion, the rush of his blood still stood out, “Oh..uhm…about that," he stammered, smiling, “Sometimes, when you look away or when I'm thirsty I take a sip of your tea…don't be mad.”
"Dakota," Cavendish said, the tone a bit complex, “I could not care less if you drank my tea. In fact, I'd be happy to make some for you, especially when we get home. Hot tea helps with the grease afterall."
Dakota smiled at Cavendish and returned to gazing into the Danville night. Seeing it in the day was nice, but sometimes the lack of light adds to the charm of the city, a sort of new perspective to appreciate that not everyone gets to see. Despite the sight, Dakota looked almost disappointed.
Eventually they reached the door to the house they rented. It was a separate place from their office space in the strip mall. The only reason why they spend more time at the office is because Cavendish is a workaholic and doesn't listen to his needs unless Dakota points out that he hadn't eaten or slept in a while. Dakota opened the first lock and then used a different one to unlock the door itself.
Dakota would've made a beeline for the couch right in front of him, but he still held the disappointment from earlier. It was brewing in him much like the kettle that Cavendish put on the stove the moment he entered the house. It was a sort of sadness that stemmed from confession to his little crime that he did for the sake of doing so…or so he initially thought.
“Hey Cav," Dakota started, walking over to his partner in the kitchen, “About the tea thing," he continued, scratching his neck, “I know it's kinda weird, but I want to be really honest.”
Cavendish raised an eyebrow, "Go on."
A blush arose in Dakota, “I would drink your tea so I could…ah actually nevermind…I mean it's silly but it's weird.”
“The anticipation is going to kill me more than the actual confession," Cavendish crossed his arms.
“Okay…so sometimes I would drink your tea because I wanted to know what it was like to… taste you?" Dakota averted his eyes away from Cavendish.
Cavendish on the other hand pondered this admission for a second, putting his hand to his chin, "Well that puts a whole new meaning to ‘thirsty’, doesn't it?" He said deadpan, “Again, I couldn't care less. You have strange ways of expressing your love, but I'm accepting of as many as I can comprehend."
“I thought you would be more upset about that," Dakota commented, returning his gaze to Cavendish.
“Not particularly. The only thing that really irks me is that you did that and probably got me sick at some point—or even the reverse," Cavendish explained. The kettle began whistling, to which Cavendish took it off of the stove and put tea in a metal steeper and then put the steeper into a mug. He poured some water in, pouring it out, only to pour in more water.
“Do you do that because you’ve seen people do that or is that just a technique that worked for you?” Dakota asked, staring at Cavendish’s mug, “Normally they do that over a tea pet or something.”
“Why do you know about that?” Cavendish asked, a tad exasperated, “I do it because I found that it works for me. You use water for coffee, so I can’t put the leaves in the kettle and it would be too much tea anyway, so…” he lifted the mug, ”one mug.”
Dakota watched as Cavendish put the mug to his lips, blowing onto the tea as it approached his mouth, and his mustache hairs lightly fiddling with the surface tension of the tea. “Mind sharing?” Dakota leaned against the kitchen counter. Cavendish handed him the mug with little emotion. He knew that Cavendish wouldn’t do it unless he didn’t want to. He held the warm mug of leaf water in his hands, holding it to his chest as if it would warm his heart in some way. Not that it was cold, but much closer to room temperature. He stared out into the house, noticing that the only lights on were that of the kitchen. The living room was dark besides a couple of red lights emanating from the TV set—the DVR, the cable box, and the TV itself. Much like before, it was quiet. The world was still. Even so, he wouldn’t have it any other way—boring, yes, but ultimately with his love. He liked that thought, it made him smile slightly. He was too tired to smile any more than he had that day. That’s when he realized that his hands were burning from the mug, so he held the handle and put it to his lips, taking a sip where Cavendish had.
He stared into the orange-ish brown water, then at Cavendish.
“What do I taste like?” Cavendish asked gently, crossing his arms, looking at Dakota.
Dakota thought for a couple of seconds before he finally decided his answer, putting the mug on the counter and reaching for Cavendish’s hands, which he uncrossed, letting Dakota hold them. Dakota rubbed Cavendish’s hands with his thumb, the boneiness of each finger becoming apparent just from a slight touch. They weren’t calloused, per say, but there was a certain kind of wear against the tips of his fingers that was unmistakably due to years of paper work and piano playing. Such a life he’s led, and for Cavendish to decide to spend the rest of it with Dakota, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat honored. Dakota then looked up slightly and locked eyes with Cavendish. Dakota leaned in, and pressed his lips against Cavendish’s—just as he thought, “Like tea.”