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Raffy completely stops understanding himself. He has never been deprived of attention — he has always had a couple of options for who to spend the evening with — he knows how to charm, even if he doesn’t like seeking out new acquaintances just for one-night stand. And then Rome happens.
Rome, with his dirty mouth and lousy sarcasm, his intrusiveness, but perfect timing when it comes to helping out — like when the guy Raffy was planning to spend time with flakes during a phone call. And Rome hears that, Rome looks at Raffy with interest and desire, and Raffy needs to blow off steam too much, so he doesn’t refuse Rome’s offer, betraying his own reluctance to hook up with strangers.
And that’s where his mistake lies, the problem — when the guy from the bathroom turns out to be his classmate, Jack’s stepbrother — this Jack, who Raffy is supposedly in love with. And on top of that, this guy gets pulled into their faculty theatre, and Raffy doesn’t like that there’s suddenly too much of Rome — the stranger-for-a-one-night-hookup — in his life.
Rome simply turns out to be a problem. A problem Raffy doesn’t want to solve, letting it develop while he himself drifts along carelessly. Because Rome becomes convenient — when he offers himself “any time you feel want it.” And Raffy wants it right at this time — fuck Dean, Jack, that stupid theatre, the party they shamelessly skip in the back seat of Rome’s car.
Raffy says to Rome that there’s only sex between them straight. Rom, it seems, doesn’t care much, his fingers slipping under Raffy’s sweater.
But.
Kissing Rome is like being on your knees, except both of them press against the upholstery of the seat instead of damp ground, so no tragedy happens.
Tasting his breath is like ending up inside an endlessly hot and unbearably soft sweater, where sleeves and collar are tangled, but plush is still better than a noose around the neck, so no tragedy happens.
Rome’s hands in Raffy's hair feel like falling into water. Hitting the water snaps neck, crushes bones — and death is instant, and yet the tragedy still doesn’t happen.
Because Rome is the damn tragedy.
Nothing worse than the fact of his existence will happen.
If Raffy had known from the start what this acquaintance would turn into for him, he would have endured it. He would have gotten drunk out of his mind or just left that club and gone home, relieved the tension on his own, or just fallen asleep — but he definitely wouldn’t have ended up pinned against a bathroom wall by a tragedy guy he keeps wanting to return to again and again, in circles, with no chance of escape.
Rome is a convenient problem that itches unbearably under Raffy's ribs, so much that he wants to tear his chest open with his nails. But instead, he keeps going back to Rome to tear at his skin with his own marks.
And Raffy definitely didn’t sign up for the emotional swings Rome puts him through. Somehow, he knows how to drive not only arousal through Raffy’s veins when he pins him to walls, but anger to the tips of his fingers, calling him out about Jack, about Dean, about—damn it—Boston.
Rome speaks loudly, clearly — the truth Raffy doesn’t want to accept. He has no right to compare himself to Rome — the DJ knows what he wants from life, understands that he’s doing what he has to do before reaching his goal.
Raffy snaps back in fragments, boldly — not really saying what he means, just trying to hurt more. An eye for an eye, or whatever.
Rome speaks harshly, but right to the point, while Raffy is just trying to sting. Their relationship went beyond the scopes of decency long time ago — one plays on nerves, and the other lets himself be drawn into the game.
Raffy wants to prove — to Rome or to himself — that they’re still at the same level they agreed on back then, in that club's bathroom stall, where a one-night encounter hit like a high and refused to let go at dawn. Raffy is still in love with Jack, nothing has changed since Rome appeared in his life — he just doesn’t think about it when that insolent DJ is nearby.
And something goes wrong — Raffy understands it even through the haze of alcohol — Boston is too pushy, too close, and Raffy shouldn’t be thinking about Rome’s lips when some random guy is getting unacceptably close. Proof — of his independence — but who the hell needs it? Raffy believes, or wants to believe, that he still controls himself, still understands what he’s doing when he leaves the club with Boston — inside there’s Jack, the one he’s in love with, again within arm’s reach of Dean, the awareness of their closeness stabbing his chest, and there’s Rome. Rome behind the DJ booth, constantly watching Raffy’s movements, watching Boston, who smiles charmingly and offers a drink away from prying eyes. Raffy realizes that Rome is jealous, and that’s his weakness — the one Raffy can play on.
And he plays, because he can’t think of anything else — he needs attention, the kind attention Jack doesn’t give him.
But is Jack really Romeo to Raffy?
Raffy still naively believes his heart is drawn to him.
But when Boston steps closer — inviting to continue the night more interesting — the one who roughly pulls Raffy away from a mistake-that-didn’t-happen is Rome. And Raffy gets angry — at him, at himself for letting it get this far — pulls Rome back, who is ready to smash Boston’s face into the asphalt, and loses control of his words, which hit harder than Rome’s fist.
“We’re just fucking, you’re not my friend,” eye to eye, and Raffy sees how much Rome wants to howl at his truth.
“Ah,” Boston drags out, while Rome gathers his thoughts to respond properly. “So you slept together, and now you” — Rome — “falling in love.”
Rome doesn’t answer; Raffy understands from his eyes — they are both tragedies for each other.
“If you're that desperate to act cheap,” Rome looks Raffy in the eyes and tries with his last strength not to bury himself completely, “then go hook up with this bastard.”
As if it doesn’t hurt him that Raffy chooses someone else — not him — again. As if Raffy is the bad one who doesn’t care who it is, as long as it’s not Jack.
Rome leaves, and Raffy gives up — looks Boston over with a sobered gaze, realizing how far he’s gone in trying to find someone who isn’t him.
But — who is that "him", actually?
Jack is no longer his first thought. And Raffy isn’t going to admit that — that would mean Rome is right. Right that Raffy doesn’t know what he actually wants.
Rome disappears off the radar for a few days, and Raffy barely notices his absence — barely, because sometimes he turns around and doesn’t see the familiar cheerful face, doesn’t hear sarcastic remarks aimed at him. He doesn’t miss him, but he’s gotten used to Rome’s constant presence somewhere at the edge.
When Jack ruins a rehearsal again with pointless worry about Dean’s absence, Raffy needs to sober up. To let go of his thoughts and dissolve into someone else’s care. He doesn’t think when he dials Rome — gets more irritated when the first call is declined.
“Where are you?” Raffy gets through on the third try, not noticing how he exhales.
“I’m busy.”
And Rome hangs up, not bothering to explain. Should he? Raffy doesn’t like this turn of events. He opens his Instagram account, checks the story — Rome tags a coffee shop where he’s in charge of the music today. Raffy rushes there.
And all the way there, his thoughts are filled only with Rome’s silence, Raffy thinking about what he’ll say to him for the ignoring. But when he sees the guy in the company of a beautiful girl, he deflates — awkwardly invites to leave together, but today Rome doesn’t need Raffy. Maybe not just today.
Because Raffy shouldn’t have let the "problem" run its course.
Because "tragedy" doesn’t have to be something grand.
Because the "problem" and the "tragedy" is a person. And his name is Rome.