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Rome stares at the message from Raffy.
Sorry. I’m running lines with Jack. We can hang out another time
What a load of bullshit.
This is the fourth time this week that Raffy has bailed on Rome.
Jack needed help with the script, or I had to help Jack with clean up, or it was late, and Jack invited me to eat out. Jack this, or Jack that, Jack. Jack. Jack.
Ugh. Even just the thought of his brother’s name makes him sick.
Rome waves over the bartender and orders another glass of whiskey.
As the bitter liquid hits the back of his throat, another thought about Raffy intrudes into his mind.
“You know this means nothing, right?”
The words radiate in Rome’s head. Nothing. They were nothing– are nothing. Raffy owed him nothing. Rome owed Raffy nothing. The absence of something. Even feelings. Especially feelings.
Rome finds he has to remind himself of that more and more these days.
He’s not stupid; he knows Raffy’s real intention was to be with his brother, but there were moments when Raffy would sometimes ask Rome about himself. He would often get lost in talking about music, production, and how much he loves being on stage. Raffy would then gush about his favorite films and theatre productions. They would end up in fits of laughter or on the couch at Raffy’s place, intently watching a film he mentioned before. Rome getting annoyed that Raffy would pause every five minutes or so to explain how amazing a particular actor was performing. They had fun times. And through all these small, brief moments, Rome couldn't deny it. He started to feel something.
He doesn’t want to put a word to it. And god forbid he would ever use that word. They’re friends and they sometimes have sex. That’s something friends do sometimes, right?
Rome didn’t know when he started to look forward to seeing Raffy or when his heart started to skip a beat when Raffy would call his name. And he really didn’t let himself think too much about it. Raffy is interested in Jack; he would always pick Jack over him.
Rome sighs and shoots down his drink
The club is lively. A band he’s never seen is covering for him tonight. Rome doesn’t usually have a set at this particular club, but he needed the extra cash, and the owner saw him DJ at another bar and liked him enough that she booked him. He originally called off tonight because Raffy wanted to hang out, but that went down the toilet. At least the music is so loud he can’t hear himself think. He fears that if he did, he might cry or attach a four-letter word as the reason the disappointment runs so deep. Rome waves the bartender down for another drink.
“Thank you! You all are an amazing crowd! Good night!”
The singer begins to shed his guitar when a woman, Rome would bet a drunk one, yells out.
“Are you single? Can I take you home?” She accompanies her question with a couple of woos. The club's patrons snicker like they know something she doesn’t. It isn't long after that, another voice, a male one, speaks up.
“Sorry, sweetheart, he’s taken.”
A guy gets up on the small stage and pulls the tall singer in for a kiss. Everyone in the vicinity of the stage cheers. The singer breaks the kiss, and they exchange words that are drowned out by all the hollering of the club.
On any normal day, stuff like this wouldn’t bother him, but this hit him in a place he is already quite sore.
A happy couple who flaunts their relationship. Both proudly claiming the other. His stomach lurches, and he needs to get to a toilet. Rome quickly shuffles his way to the colorful bathroom, using the wall as his main support. Rushing to the nearest stall, he soon finds his head between the toilet seat; the contents of his stomach spilling from his lips. It doesn’t feel like he drank that much, but Rome so much prefers his downing three glasses of cheap whiskey being the reason for his queasy stomach rather than seeing a happy couple. The latter would make him pathetic and petty.
He sits on the floor of the bathroom, allowing the filth of it all to consume him. Rome feels his phone buzz, and Raffy’s name accompanies the brightness of the screen. He shouldn’t open the message. He knows he shouldn’t look at the message. He already feels miserable enough; no reason for him to add to his anguish. The curiosity is eating away at him. And if he wasn't already tipsy, his resolve might’ve been stronger too, but Raffy seemed to have a knack for knowing when he was vulnerable.
As he swipes up, something crashes into the bathroom, providing a momentary distraction.
“Fuck, Sand,” a voice moans.
Rome could see two pairs of feet shuffle towards the closed stalls opposite him. The sounds of lips on skin, filling the tight place.
“Can’t get enough of me, can you?”
More moans, and Rome can hear the scramble of fabric and zippers being fought with.
“Well, when you jump up on stage like that, how do you expect me to act? Hmm?”
Their voices are heavy and breathless, like their air source is the others' lips, and they are wasting precious time by talking.
Rome can see one body slowly shimmy down to his level. Kneeling directly in front of the other participant.
“In the bathroom of Yo’s, Sand? Really?”
“We’ve done way more in way more public spaces. What are you afraid of now?”
God, hearing a couple fucking is the last thing Rome wanted for this miserable night. Bile starts to crawl up his throat again, and although his stomach is already empty, he throws up once more.
A breathy chuckle fills the quiet bathroom. “Sand, this isn’t fair. You know I can’t resist you.”
“Then don’t.”
The indistinguishable sounds of pleasure quickly follow: the sounds of moaning and wet squelching echoing in the bathroom. Rome has to get out of here. He definitely needs something stronger to drink.
He stands up and pushes open the stall door. The sight he is greeted by is certainly obscene, and if Rome weren’t already red from his drunken state, his face would’ve been no different than a tomato. He is met by one man kneeling in front of another, his hands exploring underneath the other man’s clothes, desperately clinging to him. The other leans up against the bathroom wall as his fingers pull at the other's hair, slightly controlling his movements. Heavy breath and moaned obscenities reach Rome’s ears, and really, it is a sight he can’t look away from. He feels stupid; he is jealous of this random bathroom hook-up?
“Do you mind?”
The voice breaks Rome out of his pitiful thoughts. The man being pushed against the bathroom wall stares at him. His eyes are sharp and intimidating; he still grips the other man as he glares at Rome.
Although his face is covered in a look of pleasure, Rome notices him as the man who kissed the singer on stage earlier tonight. It makes sense now. The other man kneeling on the floor in the leather jacket, still pleasing the other man with his tongue, is the singer.
“Hey, we’re kind of busy.”
Rome is too tipsy. He quickly shields his eyes, walks out of the bathroom, and rushes back to the bar. Ordering more to replace what he already threw up. He opens up his phone and is met with the unanswered messages from Raffy.
Are you free?
Sent at 12 am
Hey
Sent at 12:12 am
Are you pissed?
Sent at 12:14 am
Just because i cancelled on you doesn’t give you the right to ignore me
Sent at 12:20 am
can we talk?
Sent at 12:25 am
are you home?
Sent at 12:25 am
I want to see you
Sent at 12:30 am
rome?
Sent at 12:32 am
god whatever
Sent at 12:33 am
ignore me then see if i care
Sent at 12:34 am
Rome sees the three dots in their usual cycle as they await the man in control of the other line to sort out his thoughts.
Rome is hopeless. Getting jealous of random couples he sees at the bar and still wanting to run back to a guy who only wants him when his real target ditches him. He downs another drink and eagerly waves the bartender over. He needs to turn off his thoughts. Raffy takes up too many corners of his mind. He is already too intoxicated to try and take anybody else home; even if he did, he would only be thinking of Raffy. As the imaginary stranger’s hand explores his body, Raffy’s face would enter his mind. And when their lips interlock, Rome would close his eyes and see Raffy, eagerly awaiting his smoky taste to fill his mouth. Rome feels trapped. If he tries running away, he somehow runs in a circle back into Raffy’s arms.
Rome downs another drink.
“I should make you buy me a drink for almost ruining my orgasm.”
Rome directs his attention to the voice. The alcohol is slowly taking its much-wanted effect, and while his vision is slightly blurry, he would be able to notice this man a mile away. The man who nonchalantly told him to fuck off in the bathroom. He is gorgeous, and the confidence he oozes overwhelms Rome.
The bartender stands in front of the two men sitting at the bar.
“I’ll have a whiskey, straight and whatever he wants,” Rome says, pointing to the other man.
He notices a small smirk decorating his face like he got away with something. The bartender scoffs and looks towards the shorter man.
“Water Ray?” he asks
“Yeah, thanks, Plug.”
Ray’s eyes land back on Rome as he sits on his stool, too drunk to care about the exchange that had happened in front of him. At least he doesn’t have to pay.
“I appreciate it,” Ray says with a giggle. “But I’m sober. Besides, I don’t mind people watching. All you have to do is ask.”
Ray scoots in closer to Rome, their knees brushing up against one another. Rome tries to lean away from his advances, taking several sips of his drink before he responds.
“No thanks. I prefer to actually do the doing.” God, he hates how he worded that. He needs to go home and pass out on his couch. Forget this day ever happened, but everything is messed up, and he speaks before his body slides off the barstool. “What’s the point in just watching?”
A twisted, devilish smile grows on Ray’s lips. Rome can tell his mind is at work, just itching to put his plan into motion.
“Is that so?” Ray looks him up and down, sizing him up. “You’re pretty cute. I wouldn’t mind you joining. I’m pretty sure my boyfriend wouldn’t mind either.”
Rome chokes on his drink. What exactly was he suggesting?
“Ray.”
The singer appears behind Ray and lightly hits him on the back of his head.
“Ow, Sand,” Ray whines.
“Stop inviting people into our bed. Remember last time? You got so possessive, she ended up leaving.” Sand crosses his arms, like a disapproving parent.
“Ooooh, come on, Sand, he’s cute, and he’s got this whole sad puppy dog vibe to him. Please, Sand?”
Rome feels like he is gonna throw up again. Ray grabs onto Sand’s arm and looks up with a lethal stare. Eyes glistening and pleading without saying anything. Rome gulps down more of his drink while he feels his phone burn a hole in his pocket.
Sand shakes his head with a large grin on his face. They look good together, like they walked straight out of a magazine. Even if he didn’t witness their on-stage confession and bathroom rendezvous, he can tell they love each other. That their love was deeper than just any fling. Rome once again finds himself envying them. Through all those instances, this is the part he finds himself feeling the most jealous of. In addition to being lovers, they’re best friends. Not everybody has that luxury.
“You’re Rome, right?”
Sand’s attentions shift to him as he drinks his sorrows in whiskey.
“Yes?” Rome says cautiously.
“I’m Sand.” The taller one reaches out his hand for Rome to shake, but he never does. He just stares down at it. He isn’t sure if it is his intoxication or his jealousy keeping him back from even touching Sand. Or perhaps it is the sharp eyes of Ray that are glooming at Rome as Sand’s attentions leave the begging man.
“Okay, well, I’ve seen some of the sets you’ve performed.”
“A fan?” Rome slurrs.
“I appreciate good music.”
Ray clears his throat, and Sand lets out a small laugh.
“And this pretty guy is Ray, my boyfriend.” Sand plants a kiss on Ray’s forehead, like an apology for waiting so long to introduce him. Ray doesn’t bother with reaching out his hand; Rome doesn't think too much of it. This is the same guy who propositioned him to have a threesome earlier.
He feels a familiar buzz from his pocket. The alcohol, taking its much-needed effect, completely clouds any reason Rome may have left. Pathetically fast, he takes out his phone to check it, hoping to see Raffy’s name and picture. Rome chugs the remnants of his latest drink.
“Hey,” Sand steps toward Rome, obvious worry on his face. “I can tell you’re already pretty gone. Let’s slow down.” Sand waves down the bartender. “Hey, Plug, can you get us some water?”
Rome pushes Sand’s hand away. Who is this stranger telling him what to do?
He refuses to think about how pitiful he’s become, desperate enough to hang on every text Raffy sends. Rome has lost control over his body and the words escaping his mouth, and he knows one way or another, he’ll end up at Raffy’s tonight. Or begging Raffy to come to him. Nothing would happen, of course. Rome is heavily intoxicated, and the most that might occur is Raffy rubbing his back while he pukes up all his bad decisions. But that is worse than just sleeping with him. Raffy would pretend that he cares for him, more than just a friend, more than just someone he sometimes has sex with. And Rome would be stupid enough to buy that lie.
Raffy would wipe him down to keep him cool and may even kiss his forehead. Then he would pull the covers over him and lie down next to him. Like a gentleman.
“Whoa, Rome, hey. Are you okay?”
Rome's head is killing him, and he doesn’t notice the hot, wet tears streaming down his face. Sand hands him a napkin, which Rome quickly takes. Even though his tears are obvious, he still tries to wipe them like they are a secret. He needs to get out of here before he embarrasses himself more.
“Well,” he hiccups. “Nice meeting you two, but I’ll be heading out.”
He doesn’t wait for their responses or goodbyes. Rome slides off the barstool and quickly loses his footing. He would’ve landed face-first on the bar floor, but something catches him. He looks towards the force that prevents his fall and finds the concerned eyes of Sand looking back at him.
He laughs, a maniacal one; a clear sign he is on the verge of a breakdown. Rome gains his balance again and pushes Sand away.
“Don’t touch me. I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”
“Rome, did you drive here?”
Although his vitriol is directed at Sand, Ray is the one who questions him.
“I’m fine. I can get home,” Rome lies. The truth is, his head is throbbing and his fingers and toes buzz with a slight numbness. His life is no longer playing smoothly. Everything manifests in a series of pictures. No movement or sound, just still images of the world happening around him. Rome is positive that he won’t remember anything from this miserable night. There's a part of him that’s glad he won’t.
Sand and Ray watch as Rome wobbles in front of them. They don’t buy a single thing he says. The pair share a small glance and, without words, they agree on their next movements.
Rome yells out some words that come out more as gibberish. Sand grabs Rome’s arm and slings it around his shoulders; Ray mimics his boyfriend’s movements on the other side of Rome.
He thrashes a bit, convulsing his body to try and refuse the two's help. They are the last people he wants to help him. They must feel sorry for him, a drunkard who can’t take care of himself and doesn’t have anybody to care for him—a lonely, drunk piece of shit.
But no matter how hard he tries to shed them, their grip on him is too strong. Or maybe he is too weak.
“Ugh, stop struggling, we are trying to help you,” Ray positions his arm again around Rome. “Don’t want you making a mistake,” Ray says under his breath.
For the most part, Rome stops his sudden, abrupt movements, and although his mouth rejects their help, his body allows them to move him. They sluggishly walk through the bar and out into the parking lot.
“Ray, you okay if we take your car?”
“Yeah.”
That small conversation was the last thing Rome remembers. The next moment, he is doubled over, puking up the small amount of his stomach contents. His throat burns, and he can hear Ray’s bickering.
“He'd better not throw up in my car, Sand.”
“Ray, we’ve made a worse mess in your backseat. I doubt a little puke would hurt your leather seats.”
His vision cuts out again, and he wakes up in the same leather seat he heard Ray be so concerned about in the bar’s parking lot.
Sand lightly slaps his cheek a couple of times. Rome tries to push his hand away, but it’s too close? Or too far? He can’t really see. All he knows is that Sand’s persistence won over Rome in his drunken state.
“Hey, Rome. Tell us where you live.”
Where does he live? Did that matter? Did anything matter? He should have stayed on the floor of the bar bathroom.
Then his pocket buzzed once more. But this time it isn’t just a message. Someone is calling him. Rome tries to reach into his pocket, but Sand is smarter and quicker. He grabs the phone and answers.
“Hey! Give that–” Rome can barely hear the voice on the other line, but even in his state, he has a feeling he knows who would be calling him at this hour.
“Hey, my name’s Sand. Rome is fine, just a little drunk. Do you happen to know where he lives?”
Rome watches as Sand talks on his phone. His head slowly moves to the driver's seat, and he sees Ray on his own phone. His head kills him, and the nauseous feeling still resides in his stomach and throat.
“No, no, no, we got him. We’ll drive him there. Great, we’ll see you there.”
See who? Raffy? No way was Raffy waiting for him at his place. Raffy wouldn’t care enough about him to do that. Maybe he is mistaken about who the call was from. Maybe Jack? It was a long shot that it was Jack, but maybe he randomly cares about his brother’s whereabouts on a Friday night?
Rome laughs. It doesn’t matter the number of drinks he had; he knew better than to believe his brother would randomly call him.
Sand sits in the passenger seat and mumbles something to Ray, to which he nods and starts up the car.
The jostling from the car's movements doesn’t help Rome’s sickness, but he can manage getting lost in the floating feeling the car provides him.
“Who called?” Rome speaks up.
Sand moves his head to catch a glimpse of Rome.
“Don’t worry about it. Just rest and try not to throw up in the car.”
Such a parent. The fact that Sand tells him to sleep makes him not want to. And why doesn’t he give him his phone back? Ugh.
He can’t rest. His thoughts move too fast and too slow. The silence that takes over the car is irritating. The radio makes a low hum, but it isn’t enough to distract him. He needs to fill this space before it suffocates him.
“There’s this guy.”
Sand and Ray share a look.
“Rome, rest. We’ll get you home.” Sand tries, but his words fall on deaf ears.
“He’s amazing. I would never admit that sober. But we met randomly one day and hooked up. I never thought I was gonna meet him again.” Rome can already feel the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. They feel oddly comforting. He is finally releasing emotions that have been bottled up for months.
“Then what’s wrong?” Ray asks. Sand shot daggers at Ray, but Rome could slightly tell that Sand was curious about his woes as well.
“He’s in love with my brother.”
“What?!” Sand and Ray say in unison.
“But my brother would never give him the time of day. Too hung up on his ex.”
The pair keeps quiet, allowing Rome to blabber on.
“So he started to use me. Asking me more and more about my brother whenever we would hang out. How is that for pillow talk?” He laughs. “I just had the best sex, and he wants to talk about my brother.”
If Raffy planned to use Rome like an object just to get info about Jack, Rome would let it happen. At some point, he thought that maybe it stopped being about Jack, and Raffy actually wanted to spend time with him. He felt that Raffy might have enjoyed his company beyond just sex. It didn’t have to be in a romantic way; Rome was happy with feeling confident that Raffy saw him as a friend. Why did his feelings have to ruin it?
“I don’t know when it happened. But here I am. Getting drunk over him to try and forget.”
A little ironic. Just getting drunk to escape all the thoughts about Raffy. Only for them to get worse. All encompassing. Not one thing he has done in these past weeks wasn’t in consideration of Raffy. Raffy’s time, Raffy’s money, Raffy’s schedule, Raffy, Raffy, Raffy. Rome always ends up back at Raffy. The guy who doesn’t want him. Not even as a friend.
“What happened, Rome?” Sand asks, but both he and Ray know what he is talking about. They both know the steps to this dance.
“I think I love him.” It didn’t matter how much Rome drank; he would still be shy every time he spoke about love. He covers his face, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Rome tries to change the subject. Now that he has put that confession out into the world, he regrets it. He wishes he could shove those five words back into his mouth, but it’s too late.
“But what do you two know?” He laughs. “A perfect couple who profess their love in front of crowds, hook up in the bathroom because you can’t get enough of each other. So perfect. God makes me want to barf.”
“Perfect?” Sand questions. “Rome, we are just like any other couple. Ray and I–,” Sand pauses to look at the other man driving, a small, gentle smile grows on his lips.
“We have been through a lot. We weren’t always like this.”
Rome suddenly remembers a conversation at the bar, Ray’s reason for his refusal of a drink. He’s sober. Was Sand in the picture at that time? Did he help Ray get clean? Rome feels a little silly now. His love troubles are much less significant compared to that type of situation.
Sand turns around from the front seat and places his hand at the corner of his mouth, shielding it away from the driver of the car.
“Ray was in love with his best friend when we started hooking up.”
“Hey!” Ray quickly jabs Sand in the ribs. Sand quietly chuckles as he turns back around.
“Well, I’m not the only one.” Ray looks in the rearview mirror, catching Rome’s hazy eyes. “Sand’s ex moved back, and he was so tongue-tied he couldn't even turn him down his advances. And! We were already dating by then.”
“Oh, come on, Ray. You can’t still be upset about that.” Sand says with a smile.
“Well, I am.”
The two bicker a little bit longer, and Rome finds himself giggling along with them. He notices there really is no actual malice in their words. The trust and love that is engraved in their relationship is much stronger than whatever happened in the past. Rome is thankful that they have given him a small amount of time to forget his own issues.
The car slowly comes to a halt. Rome can recognize his apartment building.
Sand unbuckles himself and turns back around to face Rome, who is still lying down in the back seat.
“Is the guy you talked about, is his name Raffy?”
Rome perks up at the mention of that name. He slowly nods his head.
“I don’t know the entire story between you two, but from what I can tell, I don’t think what you feel is exclusive to just you.” Sand pauses, trying to choose his words carefully.
“I think you two need to talk.”
A lot easier said than done, but Rome appreciates it.
“We’re rooting for you.” Sand says with Ray nodding his head in agreement.
Surprisingly, Rome did sober up some, but he still needed heavy help navigating the stairs of his apartment complex. The three boys don’t talk the entire time to Rome’s door. And when they finally reach it, Rome notices a body curled up into itself.
Raffy’s head perks up at the nearby sound.
“Rome!”
He quickly gets up and takes over carrying Rome from Sand and Ray.
“Thanks for bringing him home,” Raffy says with a polite smile on his lips.
“No problem,” Sand says.
The two boys then turn around and start back down the stairs when Rome feels this pull. A heavy weight on his chest, he must spit out or it will forever burn inside him.
Rome slips out of Raffy’s grasp and tries to reach Ray and Sand before they get any further.
“Hey,” Rome says, catching up to them before they reach the ground floor.
“Hey, Rome, you need something?” Ray asks.
“Yeah, my phone?”
“Oh.” Sand digs into his pocket and hands it back to Rome.
“And,” Rome starts. “Thank you for helping me. Not just with the ride home, but in other ways too.”
Sand and Ray both smile at Rome, knowing exactly what he meant.
“No problem. If you need to talk anymore, I think you know where to find us.” Ray chuckles.
“In the bathroom of a bar?”
Ray’s eyes turn down and get serious.
“Very funny, but if you interrupt us again, I will–” Sand then slaps his hand over Ray’s mouth and pulls him into his chest.
Rome does nothing but laugh at the couple's antics.
“Rome!” Raffy yells as he approaches the three of them. “What the hell was that? You're drunk and you run down concrete stairs?!” Raffy scolds as he hits Rome in the arm.
“Ow!” Rome whines. “I’m sorry, I forgot my phone. Will you carry me back up? Please?” Rome asks, batting his eyelashes at Raffy.
Raffy rolls his eyes as he hooks Rome’s arm around his shoulders. He notices Sand and Ray still standing in front of them and silently nods a final goodbye between the pairs.
The boyfriends watch as Raffy takes Rome up the stairs, and they disappear behind the red apartment door.
“Do you think they’ll figure it out?” Ray asks, wrapping his arms around Sand’s waist.
Sand smiles down at Ray, planting a tiny kiss on his round nose.
“Yeah, I think they’ll be just fine.”