"Dirk!"
A young man huffed as he ran into the university study hall, frown on his face and back hunched over. "Something absolutely devastating happened today," he pleads intensely. You can almost taste the pity-fishing from minutes away.
"Hm. What now, English?" you ask, lined with sarcasm and eyes glaring upward.
"Aranea dumped me." the aforementioned English boy answers.
"Oh, did she now," you reply, much more put-together than this idiot. "Definitely not like the last three fucking times this exact event has happened?"
"No, this is different, because we're never going to be back together again!"
"Jake. That's what you said last time," the blonde boy sighs, pushing his orange frames upward. "Like, word for word." You close your science book, retreating it as well as your stationery into your backpack. This is going to be a long weekend.
Jake pouts. "But Dirk-"
"No fucking buts," Dirk said. "It's Friday, right? Are you busy this weekend?" You stand up, grabbing your backpack and Jake's shoulder, walking him out of the study hall. It was the end of classes anyway -- you just would much rather spend your time in this hellhole of a campus than with your drunkard roommate. Luckily, she was visiting her little sister for the weekend, so you had the apartment all to yourself.
"Well, not anymore," Jake answered, dejected. "Are you proposing a tubular bro hangout? Just the two of us?" He gleamed a wide smile, and squinty eyes, the whole shebang. It was abhor-able. You and Jake were now outside of the campus, sunset glaring your sunglasses’ frames, trees shaking in the breeze.
Dirk sighed. Sometimes, he can't believe this is his weirdly attractive and stupid best friend. "Never use that word in my presence again, oh my god." You roll your eyes. "What, are you from the '90s?" You scoff.
"Okay, okay, sorry," Jake said. "Gosh, your vernacular is so difficult to keep up with. I just can't catch up!"
It's not that hard. He needs to spend some more time around you. You can seriously tell he was homeschooled on a distant island. Or maybe he wasn't? You honestly have no clue -- it seems like a far-fetched idea, especially considering his skill with romance -- but it's what he preaches is true, so you guess trusting him is only the respectable thing to do.
"Maybe go on a website other than, you know, avatarfansforum.com? Try Twitter or something." You note, lighting a cigarette and taking a long draw. Unfortunately, it’s just nicotine -- you wouldn’t wanna get caught with pot on campus. Now that’d be a lame-ass way to get fined. Or worse.
“Anyways, if you aren’t busy, Roxy left my dorm for the weekend. We can hang there, so long your sister doesn’t care,” you propose.
“I guess I certainly have nothing better to do,” Jake pouts. “Nothing like spending the weekend with my best chum.” He fakingly pressed against a smile. Sometimes, you’re glad he’ll drop the ‘bad boy’ facade around you -- you put that in quotes, only because you’re not sure how anyone doesn't see him exclusively as a lame nerd who can barely do anything for himself. That’s why you’re his friend.
Anywho, this man’s name -- as previously established -- is Jake English. You’ve known him since early high school but were online friends till college. Best friends, just happened to go to the same college? Or, well, you told him the one you were going to first. You like to occasionally think he consciously chose to attend the same university as you. You’re both second years, and your roommates are third years. They also seem pretty close to each other, which is either pure coincidence or some big scheme of theirs to get you and Jake involved with one another. It’s not working, honestly— you’re convinced Jake would never be caught acting anything but heterosexual. Actually, now that it crosses your mind, you’re unsure if he even knows you’re the exact opposite of him— being that you’re gay. The only person who really knows is Roxy; your roommate; and you trust her with that info because she’s bisexual herself.
“Alright. Well, my dorms’ across campus. I wouldn’t mind giving you a ride,” you offer him. “I did think that was obvious, but, you know.”
Jake let out an awkward exhale. “Yes, sounds good. Mind if we get coffee on the way? I’ll pay.” Jake offered you. You’re actually not a coffee person, but you’re open to trying new things. Part of you is also rather fearful of upsetting Jake — he’s got a hell of emotional power over you specifically, and you don’t want to see what he could do with it. Though, you’re probably monologuing way too intensely over coffee. Knock it off.
You take another drag of your cigarette, lifting your leg off from against the wall and starting your walk to the nearby parking lot. “Alright. Come on.”
Jake huddled closely behind you, each stride of yours followed by a sheepish step of his. He seems pretty cold, you think, which would check out considering the state of the weather right now. Looking upward, cloudy skies and nothing but greet you with colours of agony and suffering. It seems as if it’s gonna rain soon. The two of you walked in formation just like that for a measly five minutes, arriving at your embarrassingly shitty pickup truck. It had various spray paint doodles all over it, mostly sourced from your late-night drug trips with your younger brother.
Jake hoisted himself up into your truck, a motion you oddly focused on. He had nice leg grip and forearm strength, and was able to spin his body into the seat like it was no biggie. Probably making some huge dramatic movement, like usual, you thought.
Once both of you were in the front seats, you grabbed your keys out of your jacket, which you promptly shrugged off and offered favouringly to Jake.
“You look cold, dude, take it,” you pressure, tossing the coat into his partially exposed lap. He was wearing an outfit that, unfortunately, left not much to the imagination -- a tight tank top and some rather revealing shorts. Jake never saw an issue with it, but sometimes you wonder if he truly wants to dress like that, or… whatever. You press your lacking lit cigarette into your car’s ashtray, shaking some smoke out of the nearby air. Pressing your keys into your car, a few failed attempts at starting later, the engines finally started, and windows rolled down. Jake was on his phone, as usual, probably chatting up one of his “girlfriends”, you’d think.
It may seem like you’re needlessly bitter over his act of pursuing women romantically, which -- that’s not fully it, there’s a lot more to it. You just feel as if he’s… brushed you away, since you guys met in person. You thought going to the same college as him would fulfill what you always wanted yours and his friendship to be, but… things feel wrong. I mean, you’re pretty sure you just wanna be friends with him? Even if you did want more, he certainly would never reciprocate such feelings. You should probably at least hold on starting this trainwreck of a thought line until after you come out to him, you think.
Sometimes, you doubt your own mind around him. He just feels so… loose around you. Like, in front of all his lame-ass ‘girlfriends’, he’s always put up a front of romance and danger. Yeah, that’s still there around you, as it is anyone -- but it’s less, you guess. And, that’d probably be perfect in a relationship when it comes to him -- but, the thing with you and Jake, is you have dabbled in seducing him before.
Back in high school, you had a phase of attraction to him, which you guess never truly ended. The thing is, he’s a stupid bastard. And you had shame at that time, so you’d never even dare to catch yourself confessing to him. You aren’t a bottom.
“Starbucks is this way, right,” you mindlessly ask, taking a left turn into the town’s main road. “And then I just turn into the Dayton Rural centre, huh?”
Jake nods. “Wow, do you like, never leave the house? All the stores are around here,” he comments, albeit rather rudely. Unfortunately for you, he’d be right -- you only really stop by the local Walmart for the absolute necessities, the rest you order off Amazon and have shipped to your dorm’s mail centre. “None of your business, English. Now, what do you want from this place,” you ask him, pulling into the disappointingly packed drive-thru.
“Well, Dirk, I was just going to lean over and tell them my order. Then you can go,” he proposed, which -- now that you think about it -- is a much more intelligent idea, considering you have no idea what the fuck most of these drinks are.
While the two of you sat in wait till you reached the front of the line, you took this moment to play some music on the radio. Jake started rhythmically tapping on the dashboard; he always seemed to take a liking to your music, finding it very “appealing to his ears”. (You haven’t seriously heard someone younger than 45 use that phrase.)
Soon enough, after a track or two, you begrudgingly were able to pull into the Starbucks’ order window. Jake leaned over, placing a hand on an unexpecting thigh of yours. He began confidently and unbrokenly narrating his order to the speaker, but you wouldn’t have been able to recite it if you tried. You were too distracted by the fact that Jake had his undeniably perfectly sculpted left hand on your goddamned inner leg.
“Uh- Ja-” You tried to mutter out, but Jake just shushed you up. “I’m trying to order, Dirkie!”
You shut up, letting the brunette do as he wished, even if it compromised your dignity. Eventually, though, the person fulfilling Jake’s order finally understood what he wanted through his thick accent. Jake sat back in his seat, leaving you flustered while pulling forward, angry drivers honking horns behind you.
“Cat got your tongue, my man?” Jake asks -- you’re unable to answer honestly. “Yeah, was just thinking about something.” you sigh, reaching the pick-up window and handing Jake’s debit card over. Eventually, the cashier passed him the drink, a large double-chocolate frappa-whatsit. You didn’t really care to get the word right, it was something stupid anyways. Jake’s card was passed back to the two, and you step on the gas, driving off to his dorm.
“Oh, you live in the Northwest dorm complex?” Jake commented while walking, taking a sip from his stupid idiot overpriced coffee. “My friend Karter lives here.”
“Ah. Is he, by any chance, the one who has a screamo metal band and lives right below me?”
“Uh…” Jake replies. “...Yeah, actually. That sounds like him,”
“Seriously?” you huff. Jake’s friends were weird, and it felt like they followed you everywhere. I mean, his friend Theresa was pretty cool. She’s majoring in Law. Lawyers are always fun to hang around. She also was a redhead, and those are also pretty fun to hang out with. Nonetheless, the two of you climbed up the stairs, lucky to avoid the sprinkle of rain now pelting the outside. Comedic timing, you note mentally.
You two end up at your dorm, a modest two-room - if you can even call it that. One room is mostly the kitchen, with a small seating area -- though, it’s packed with a few bean bags, a boxy TV, and all your video game consoles. Scattered on the walls, some posters reside -- mostly of your favourite Japanese animations, but some of the bands you favour as well. The rest of your posters and memorabilia are in your room. Normally, anyone you bought to your dorm would probably judge you for this nerdy display (as cool and ironic as you think it is), but Jake knows you well -- he’s also solidly nerdy himself, and for him, it’s completely unironic. Lame.
Jake politely sets his bag next to your entertainment cabinet, while you just toss yours onto the ground next to his, a loud thud sounding from the carpet. You climb over bottles (thanks, Roxy,) to reach the second room, yours and Roxy’s shared bedroom. Her side of the room is already clear, given you asked her to -- she knew someone was probably gonna be over this weekend and didn’t mind Dirk having them sleep in her bed. Anyways, as the two of you walked into the bedroom, a buzzing ceiling lamp lit up, illuminating your dazzling glass figure shelf in front of the dorms’ window. On the walls are more anime posters, this time that of scantily-clad women (and some men). Not for any reasoning other than you find the art tasteful. A boombox rests below your figure shelf, a solid Bose set of speakers. You offer Jake to play some of his music on it, but he’s more interested in your playlist, he sentiments. You reluctantly hook your mobile phone up to the speakers, some lo-fi rap streaming out from your playlist.
“It’s getting close to dinner time,” you tell him. “Want me to make something?”
“Oh, that would actually be perfect, Dirk!” Jake says. “I’m gonna give my buddy Jane a call.”
The both of you exit the bedroom, leaving the door open for music to spew out. He turns off to the dorm hallway again, the noise of punching numbers into his phone slowly fading out. Reluctantly, you sigh out, rolling your legs off into the kitchen.
Opening the cabinet, you see a large number of pasta boxes and sauces, accompanied by a small post-it note with a doodle. The writing is clearly Roxy’s -- messy, misspelled, grammatically incorrect.
“sry luv lol didn kno whut all wantd. enjoy!!!!!!” A small doodle of an apologetic Roxy was on the other side of the note.
You hope Jake likes pasta.
Slowly, you grab a chattery box of corkscrew pastas and a jar of tomato sauce. Along with this, you take some ground beef from the fridge -- if you’re making food for Jake, you’re going to make it good, god be damned. Pouring some water into the pot, you slide it onto the stove, grabbing some salt and shaking it into said dishware. You also liberally pour in some olive oil, waiting for the water to rise to a rolling boil before tossing in some of the cavatappi. On the side, you take a frying pan out of the cabinet, pouring some of the oil into that, too, then throwing in some of the previously mentioned ground beef. You shake the pan around, sparks and sizzles from the oil resounding from the cast-iron. On the side, you continue to stir your pasta, making sure you cook it not too long -- nobody wants mushy pasta. Al dente is perfect.
Sometime later, you’d say about ten minutes, you finished putting everything together and into plates just in time for Jake to come back through your dorm door. “Oh dandy! This looks like one solid meal, Dirk!” he exclaims in that voice of his, the strained one that always comes out after talking to Crocker. You never know why they still talk. You can tell how much it hurts him more every day, but… you also know they’re friends. And… how stubborn Jake can be.
“Hope it is. I tried,” you note, seeing Jake take his first bite. His eyes look drained. You’re gonna have to talk to him later, but knowing him, he’s either going to bawl out his eyes or put up walls so thick you can’t even hear him through them. You eat slowly while this train traverses the tracks of your thoughts, a lonely midnight ride in the darkness of your consciousness. Somehow, that boy manages a pained smile all the time, no matter what. He’s got some problems.
“It’s darn good, my bro,” Jake praises, beaming. Whether it’s legitimate or not, his uncertain happiness gives you a smile. Maybe he’ll be okay.
Quietly, the two of you continue dinner, until you find yourself taking yours and his plates, giving them a good scrub in the sink. “So,” you ask, “How’s Jane…? Haven’t heard from her in a long time.”
Jake gulps. “Yeah, um, yeah. She’s… good.” he remarks, a tap of his nails to the granite of your bar. “She’s fine.”
“Glad to hear,” you awkwardly respond. He chuckles in the same tone as you shut off the water, a disappointing grin on his face. Just ask him. He’s your friend, he needs it.
“What about you, Jake?”
Silence.
“Are you fine?”
Suddenly, half an hour later at most, you’ve got a sobbing Jake in your lap. This would definitely not be the first time, but, god are you love-starved -- you’re honestly embarrassed just comforting your best friend is re-awakening a long-ignored crush on him.
“Do you think I’ll ever find love, Dirk?” Jake chokes out, a strain on that last word, resulting in a slight frown in your expression. You take off your sunglasses, a gesture you perform not in front of many. (Also, it’s dark inside. You could barely see with them on.)
“I…” Considerably, you could sugarcoat things for him. You could tell him what he wants to hear. You could puppy-eyes him, giving him a false sense of hope as you usually trick yourself into.
Or you could tell him what he needs to hear.
“I don’t know.”
He blinks, more tears welling out of his eyes, but now silently. You continue.
“I don’t know, Jake. But… love is overrated. It’s stupid. Sometimes, no matter how long you want someone to love you, need them to, they’re never there. Or, the opposite happens. You’ll want to get away from someone -- at all costs -- but they just won’t leave you alone.”
He looks down. Wipes a tear away with his hand. His muted, ashy skin, flushed by tears and emotion. He’s vulnerable.
“But you’re not a bad guy. I know you aren’t being cosmically punished or anything. Maybe you just… aren’t looking in the right direction? For romance, that is. Also, you need to stop talking to Jane. She’s hurting you.”
“You think so?” He replies to you. “I… I’m not sure. She’s nice to me, but…”
“I don’t feel like me around her. I just feel like an object. And… she keeps making comments about me. I don’t wanna hear it. She’s just my friend. I feel like she has ulterior motives.”
Honestly, she probably does. But you’re biased. You need to give Jake advice without swaying him to your side. Because he’s already been hurt enough. You wouldn’t ever stand yourself if you became one of those people.
“Jake, I…” You frown. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I’m sorry.” He apologizes, but you don’t want him to. Why is he apologizing? He didn’t do anything.
The two of you lock eyes, raw emotion from one to another. You really want to kiss him right now. But he’s sad. That's… shitty, isn’t it? That’s shitty. He’d hate you. Right? Yeah. Stop leaning in, Dirk. Stop it. Stop--
His lips are soft. He doesn’t pull away. He invites you in, tongues twisted and warm. The two of you just… keep at it for a good 10 seconds. You counted. Suddenly, he pulls away, a shocked expression on his face. You move off the bed, eyes darting over your dorm apologetically.
“I’m… Dirk, I…” he stammers, a look of recent regret on his face. “I didn’t, mean to--”
“Yeah, I didn’t mean it either, dude. Sorry.”
Grabbing a pack of cigs, you head outside.
About twenty minutes into your text-based vent session with Roxy, the man of the minute comes and stands next to you on the building’s balcony. He doesn’t even say anything. He doesn’t need to. You know he’s there.
“Dirk?” he asks quietly, leaning onto his elbows. They’re placed on the rails of the balcony, now clothed by a translucent raincoat.
You puff out bitter smoke from your cigarette, acknowledging him. He takes that as a ‘yes?’. He knows you. You’re silent, nothing but the wind shaking your dirty blonde hair. It’s not raining anymore, but it sure will soon enough. He places a hand on your shoulder.
“Are you gay?”
You cough, a cloud of smoke exiting your nose. “Jesus,” you sputter, him shying away slightly. “Wh-why do you ask?”
“Dirk, you just made out with me,” Jake chuckles painfully. “That’s certainly no… het-erotic act,” he comments. “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer.”
“Well, do you want the truth?” you look at him, locking into his pupils. “Yeah. Thought so. Well, considering I’ve literally never had a girlfriend or shown actual attraction to women, I thought it was obvious.”
“But do you like me?” he questions, like a stab right into your ribs. It’s almost like he knows, the knife was already there -- now he’s twisting it. He’s only deepening the wound, you think -- he’s making things worse.
“Well, I did,” you dodge the question, “Back in, like, tenth grade. God, I wouldn’t stop talking to Dave about you. But I got over you. You were out of my reach,” you pause. “And so that’s why I dated John. But he just reminded me of you, so we broke up quickly. And then he dated my little brother,” you laugh. “And they’re happy. I just wish I had that.”
He nods in earnest. “I sure do know how it feels,” Jake sighs. “You’ll find it someday, though! I believe in you!”
Yeah, okay, you bet he does. That’s sarcasm. Sarcasm doesn’t transfer well over text.
You lead him back inside, and the two of you decide to sleep things off. It’ll be better in the morning, Dirk.
You know it will.