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The sky was the color of a bruise when Link pulled off onto the road, hardly taking the time to glance left and right before roaring out onto the street. With the windows down, the wind whipped in, making him shiver in his t shirt and shorts. Dusk smelled like the last vestiges of summer, of rotting leaves in sidewalk drains and the sharp bite of a cool autumn breeze. He wished he’d thought to grab a coat.
At this hour there was little traffic on the roads, the bulk of evening rush hour thinned out to a handful of cars. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, left leg restless near the clutch. Past the strip mall, past the church, past the community center, trees converged and stretched their limbs to the sky; the road narrowed out into a single lane on either side. In the rear view mirror, the city wavered along the horizon, nearly out of sight.
He flicked the radio off when the drone of the evening DJs became too distracting, concentrating on driving, and remembering the instructions the gas station attendant had given him. Even still, he nearly missed the turn when it came up on the left, next to an ill-marked sign for the bar he’d been looking for the past twenty minutes.
The parking lot was almost empty--not unexpected for a Wednesday night, especially for a place too far outside Raleigh for beer-drunk college students to get to. The guy at the gas station had given him a strange look when he’d asked for directions, but seeing the bar now, Link thought he understood why.
This was the type of place that existed solely for those looking to get blackout drunk in quiet shame.
The place itself was small and nondescript; Link could have driven past it a dozen times and still not remembered it. It had all the normal fixings of an abandoned building. A flickering neon OPEN sign in the window, a faded menu taped next to it. The whole of the establishment seemed to sag inwards on itself, tired and desolate.
Rhett’s car wasn’t one of the four cars in the lot, which confirmed Link’s theory that he’d probably walked here. From their apartment. Seven miles away. By himself. Drunk, judging by the warble of his voice on the phone when he’d called their apartment landline earlier. Link had been ready to leave, fed up with waiting around for Rhett to get home so they could go somewhere for dinner, but then Rhett had called, and Link had been too relieved to stay angry.
Had heard the slurred words “I need you” and rushed out the door, barely taking the time to cram his feet into his sneakers before stumbling out of their apartment and into his truck.
Link cranked the windows of his truck closed before hopping out and yanking the door shut behind him, pocketing his keys. He wasn’t even at the door yet and he could smell alcohol, the sweet sharpness of it mixed in with asphalt and the acrid scent of piss. The entirety of it made his stomach roil. Gravel crunched underneath his sneakers as he walked up the small rickety set of steps that led to the door, paint peeling off the cheap veneered wood to expose the rotting foundations underneath.
He braced his arm against the rusted door handle and pushed.
The inside was cavelike. He blinked a few times, bright spots of light dancing in his vision as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The bar was quiet and small, all dark corners and stained tables lit up by dim, yellow lamps. Simple--probably elegant, once upon a time.
True to the number of cars parked outside, there were only a handful of patrons inside, and none of them looked up at his presence as he pushed the door shut behind him, pinching his fogged up glasses off his face and waving them in the air--it was colder outside than it was in here.
A beleaguered bartender polished glasses on a stained rag, and a few requisite drunks nursed their drinks at the bar. Soft, sleepy country music played on the radio. No TVs with football games, no darts or pool tables or raucous noise. A far cry from the haunts that Link and Rhett frequented on a Friday night. This place was somehow both depressing and comforting--by all accounts, a place Link would have liked, if he’d gone under any other circumstances.
But he was here on a mission. And that mission was to find Rhett.
Link replaced his glasses and nodded at the bartender, who nodded back, sweeping a lazy hand and murmuring a quiet “anywhere you like.” Link nodded again and walked slow, careful to navigate around in the dimly lit space to avoid bumping into any tables.
Why Rhett ended up in this place of all places was still a question, though Link thought that maybe he had a few ideas.
It didn’t take any effort to find Rhett--Link passed a handful of booths and there he was, tucked into a dark corner next to the window, where a fingernail moon illuminated the table in a swath of pale light. Night hung heavy with the end of summer. Even through the glass windows, Link could hear the rush and roar of the locusts outside, singing to the stars.
Rhett was hunched over an amber glass of whiskey, head bowed, hair tousled and greasy like he’d been running fingers through it all day. He looked like he was coming apart at the seams. The sight of it made Link’s heart clench.
“Rhett,” Link murmured, and when Rhett glanced up at the sound of his name, Link balked. The skin around Rhett’s eyes was grey and droopy, his lips cracked and chapped. Like he hadn’t slept in days, and it had turned him into a corpse. The flush high up on his cheeks made him look feverish, offset by how pale the rest of his face was.
“Jesus, bo,” Link hissed, and Rhett blinked sluggishly at his words. Link leaned down and tried to pry the whisky glass from between Rhett’s cold hands, but he had a death grip that suggested he’d sooner let the glass shatter between his fingers than let go. Link gave up the ghost and slid into the seat opposite, heart pounding in his throat. Rhett wasn’t the type to go out on a bender whenever he was in a bad mood--so whatever had happened had to be bad.
Link leaned forward on the table between them, wincing when he felt his elbow land in something sticky on the table. In the moment it took Link to resituate himself, Rhett had gone back to staring down at his whisky glass, like maybe if he kept staring, it would reveal the secrets of the universe to him.
“...you don’t look so good,” Link murmured. Rhett smirked, and his mouth was crooked in all the wrong places. When he glanced up at Link again, the way the moonlight cut across his face made Link suck in a breath.
Red veins dashed through the whites of Rhett’s eyes, unfocused and glazed from the booze. There was a sheen of wetness there that almost made it look like he’d been crying, but that couldn’t possibly be right. Rhett never cried.
Rhett carried sadness in him like a thunderstorm without rain, all crackling lightning and static energy. And in the fifteen years that they’d been friends, Link had never seen Rhett cry. He knew well enough that Rhett only ever got angry or quiet when he was upset.
“She dumped me,” Rhett croaked, and his voice sounded like it’d been dragged across hot coals, deep and raw.
It was a surprise, but not nearly as much of a shock as Link expected it to be. He’d assumed as much, based off the way Rhett had moped around the apartment the last two weeks, giving reticent one word answers every time Link asked if there was something on his mind.
The truth of the matter was that Link had seen from the start that she and Rhett were an ill-made match--too similar to each other in all the wrong ways. She was beautiful, all dark hair and big, bright eyes. They’d met her in Multivariable Stats, and it hadn’t taken Rhett more than a week to ask her to be his study buddy, and then his girlfriend, in short order.
Their competitiveness was what had attracted them to each other in the first place, and was, as far as Link could glean in hints over the past several weeks, what had broken them apart in the end. Still, they’d been going with each other for nearly a year, which was a record for Rhett.
“I’m sorry,” Link offered quietly, biting his lip. He was a terrible liar, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the things he wanted to. She wasn’t good for you. She wasn’t kind to you.
She was jealous about you spending time with me.
She’d made it obvious that she didn’t like Link from the start, and didn’t like that Rhett spent so much time with him. Pointing out that they already spent most of their days together anyway, just by sheer nature of being roommates and best friends.
But her griping hadn’t made a difference. No matter how many nights Rhett spent at her apartment, he always came back to the apartment he shared with Link, by morning.
The pang of vindication that coursed through Link at that thought made him flush with shame.
Link reached out a tentative hand, curling his fingers around Rhett’s forearm. Rhett glowered down at where Link’s hand rested.
“Whatever. Don’t need her,” Rhett slurred, and in one smooth motion faster than any drunk person should have been able to accomplish, shook off Link’s hand, picked up the glass, and downed the rest of the whisky in one long gulp before Link could try and stop him.
“Rhett,” Link murmured, disapproving, plucking the empty glass out of Rhett’s hands.
Rhett grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and lurching at the burn of it, hand flying over his chest to press against his heart--for a very real second, Link thought Rhett was going to vomit, but then the moment passed, and Rhett swallowed hard and leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep, exhausted sigh. His breath smelled like whisky, and ice.
Rhett turned away, so he could stare out the window at the dark nothingness beyond, eyes roving listlessly, searching for something Link couldn’t see.
When Rhett wanted to hide, he had the uncanny ability to make his face go totally blank, lock his vibrant green eyes down into something dull and uninterested. He wore apathy like a suit of armor sometimes, keeping his emotions locked close to his chest. Link felt as if he’d spent more than a few lifetimes trying to figure out the curve of Rhett’s smile, and what it meant when it was directed at him.
“I...I think that’s enough,” Link said softly, setting the empty whisky glass out of reach. Not like it mattered, since it was drained.
“Said I wasn’t spending enough time with her. Said I wasn’t considerate enough for her,” Rhett slurred, words tripping out of his mouth, “said I didn’t tell her I loved her enough.”
Rhett finally tore his gaze from the window to stare at Link with dark, hooded eyes. They seemed to glitter in the moonlight, bright and glassy.
“Said I spent too much time hanging ‘round with my best friend. “Not natural”, ‘s what she said,” Rhett said, and Link felt the acid of those words burn in his chest, and in his face. All of blood in his body running down towards his hands, flight or fight in action.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted more in the moment--to find Rhett’s ex and yell in her face, or to gather Rhett and take him somewhere private, somewhere Link could card fingers through his hair and hold him until he stopped looking so ruined.
Link leaned forward, waiting until Rhett’s gaze caught in his.
“She’s wrong,” Link hissed, voice trembling, “ain’t nothin’ wrong with us.”
Rhett flinched, looking down to regard his hands where they rested on the table.
“Yeah,” Rhett whispered, though he didn’t sound quite convinced. And for just a moment, Link saw Rhett’s face twist and scrunch, eyebrows drawing together. Wetness making his eyes shine. And then Rhett wrangled his expression back to something that could have been carved from stone.
Link’s mouth was bone dry, and there was a sharp pain in his gut. He wanted to cup Rhett’s face between his hands and twist at the mask he wore whenever he couldn’t bring himself to be vulnerable in front of Link. Fifteen years in, and there it was, the voice of Rhett’s father telling them over the dinner table that men don’t cry, men don’t talk feelin’s with each other. ‘s for women.
Rhett didn’t say anything more, just swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, trying each time to choke down the hurt and turn it into something else.
“C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Link said after a moment, feeling numb. Rhett nodded. Link helped Rhett stand on unsteady feet, and led him towards the doors.
---
It was even colder outside now than it was earlier. The kind of late summer night they’d have spent out on the McLaughlins’s porch as kids, drinking sweet tea and listening to the frogs in the tall grass, watching flickering fireflies rise up from the ground like embers of a pit fire. Nights spent making up stories about dragons and princes and towers in distant lands.
The city was different, nowhere near the wilderness of Buies Creek. In the privacy of a small town, Link could convince himself that he hung out with Rhett all the time because there was nobody else to hang out with.
Here, the sound of night hushed down to the passing of a wayward truck, and the errant coo of city birds. In a city like this, there wasn’t the excuse of boredom anymore, or lack of other people. The truth of the matter was, in a town of thousands, the only person Link ever wanted to see was Rhett.
Rhett was asleep by the time Link pulled into their block of apartments and parked the truck, killing the engine and letting himself breathe out a tired sigh.
For a moment, Link just sat there in silence. Nothing but Rhett’s slow, slumbering breaths to fill up the empty space between them. Rhett didn’t fall asleep easy--so he must have been exhausted, if he was out like this.
Link took a shaking breath, then turned, and allowed himself to simply look at Rhett, in a way he never allowed himself to.
Caught in the crossbeams of the moonlight, the shadows blurred out the edges of Rhett’s face and made him into something soft, and lovely; Link felt his throat close up. He wanted so badly to reach out, sweep a hand down Rhett’s jaw, press his thumb against his Cupid’s bow.
Link tried to commit all the details to memory--the slight part of Rhett’s lips, the slope of his nose, the way the moonlight turned Rhett’s beard silver.
He couldn’t name of the feeling that bubbled up in him, when he looked at Rhett. He imagined that this was what dying felt like--the way his chest burned up, the way his stomach ached, the way his head swam.
As Rhett stirred into wakefulness, Link snapped his gaze away.
“We’re home,” Link murmured.
“Mmmm,” Rhett rumbled low in his throat, groggy and half-awake.
“We should go inside,” Link said.
Neither of them made a move to get out of the car. With the windows rolled down, the evening breeze prickled goosebumps up and down Link’s arms, and it wasn’t until he finally turned to look at Rhett that he realized Rhett was staring right back at him.
“Can I tell you something,” Rhett said. The flickering yellow street lamp outside made strange shadows on Rhett’s face, and in the dark he seemed small, and vulnerable.
Link nodded. Heart kicking in his chest, anxiety making him feel nauseous.
“Real reason she broke up with me…’s because…” Rhett’s voice hitched.
“...yeah?” Link prompted, gently.
“‘s because she said. She said “you love Link more than you love me.””
Link felt his heart drop into his stomach. Suddenly, and viciously, he wished he was drunk, or stoned, or anything to escape having this conversation sober. It was too much, too overwhelming.
“You’re drunk, bo. Let’s get you inside,” Link croaked hurriedly. But Rhett was still staring at him, eyes dark, tongue flicking out to lick at his dry lips. Link’s eyes tracked the motion, and felt something go hot in his stomach.
“You wanna know what I said to her?” Rhett smiled, so dry it almost looked like a cringe. Like the words were being pulled out of him like splinters, both a pain and a relief. Link couldn’t do anything to stop this--he knew what words were coming next. Things that he knew, deep down, but had actively avoided thinking about. Things he didn’t want Rhett to regret saying, in the broad light of day tomorrow.
“Rhett--”
“--I said to her, ‘you’re right,”’ Rhett said.
Link shuddered. His hands were shot through with tremors on a good day--now, they were shaking so hard it felt like the rest of his body was shaking too.
“‘Course I love my best friend I’ve known for my whole damn life more than I love a girl I’ve been going with for a year,” Rhett continued, and when Link didn’t say anything--couldn’t say anything--Rhett fell silent.
It seemed as if even the wind had stopped whispering, to hear what he had to say. Like the entire world had come to a standstill, to live in the reckoning of this moment.
Link didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he took a quick, panicked gulp of air, the tightness in his chest unbearable. The space between them so delicate, he didn’t dare speak.
Rhett licked his lips.
“Think I would ever marry someone who couldn’t let me love you, too, Link?” Rhett said, voice shaking. Between the two of them, he was always the one ten steps ahead, but he seemed just as lost now. Link could barely process everything he was saying. Couldn’t be certain of what he truly meant.
Link felt like he was burning.
“...no,” Link whispered, and it was the truth, because it was true for him, too. There wasn’t a part of him that Rhett hadn’t helped shape in some way, no part of his personality that hadn’t evolved with Rhett’s. They were twined roots of an ancient tree, and though marriage was an inevitable part of their lives, he’d never even considered the idea that his future wouldn’t have Rhett in it.
There was no future, without Rhett.
Rhett’s gaze caught back up to his.
Link’s chest ached something fierce, and there was heat blooming inside of him, spreading out into his limbs like molasses. He wanted Rhett the way flowers craved the sun, the way tides followed the moon. He’d wanted Rhett for longer than he’d known how to quantify wanting.
And maybe he moved first, or Rhett did.
One moment they were staring at each other, and the next they were close enough that Link could see the way Rhett’s pupils dilated in the dark. Freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose like stars.
They were sharing breaths, close but not touching. Standing on the precipice of something huge, and irreversible.
Link closed his eyes, heart hammering. Wondering if this was a dream, and if he was going to wake from it in his bed.
A warm puff of breath.
The press of lips--Rhett’s lips-- against his own. Chaste. Warm, and soft.
Rhett pulled away so that their lips were just touching, but not moving. Sharing breaths.
Link could hear the labored thud of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Was this real? Was this happening?
He shifted forward just a little to brush their mouths back into contact--and it was the only permission Rhett needed to crash their mouths together, like he’d been wanting to do it for years . Once he was certain of something, he never did it by halves--when Link felt Rhett’s tongue poke out to lick at the seam of his lips, Link didn’t even think--just parted his lips and let him in on instinct. Like they’d been made to do this.
Rhett tasted like whisky and orange, the heat of his mouth scorching and wet. It was messy and imperfect, and Link wanted more, and more, wanted to drink him down like a shot of vodka. When he reached a hand up to tangle in Rhett’s hair and bring them closer together, Rhett let him, whimpering into Link’s mouth, and the sound went straight to his groin.
Link captured Rhett’s bottom lip in between his own, sucking at it, and when Rhett reached up a hand to cup Link’s jaw, tilt him to get a better angle for their lips to slide together, warm and slick, Link thought he might pass out. Rhett kissed like a starving man, like he couldn’t get enough, and Link was only vaguely aware of the noises that were coming out of his own mouth. He shifted in his seat, craving the heat of Rhett’s body, seeking skin.
Link tugged on Rhett’s hair, and his mouth dropped open in a gasp--Link licked into his mouth, tasting him, shivering with need.
Link pulled away to take a breath and Rhett chased after him, lips and teeth and tongue tasting the edge of Link’s jaw, eager. A rough moan caught in his throat when he pulled Link in for another kiss, and their teeth clacked in haste.
The sound cracked through the kiss-dazed fog in Link’s head, and he froze.
Their surroundings quickly snapping back into perspective.
He was kissing Rhett--drunk Rhett, his best friend Rhett--in a parking lot where anybody could see them.
Panicked, Link pulled away, retreating back until his back hit the car door, putting as much space in between himself and Rhett as possible. His lips were still tingling, heat coursing through him in waves. Panic swept through him, too, making his heart pound so hard he thought that maybe he was hearing Rhett’s heartbeat instead of his own.
And when Link finally dared to glance at Rhett, Rhett’s eyes were wide with shock, and wet.
Oh God.
Fifteen years of never having seen him cry, and--
“Rhett…” Link croaked, “I’m--I’m sorr--”
“Please, Link,” Rhett said, and the way his voice wavered made Link want to die, “please...stop talking.”
“You’re drunk--we shouldn’t--I shouldn’t’ve--” Link stuttered, tongue thick in his mouth, “you...just went through a breakup. We shouldn’t...you’re gonna wake up tomorrow...you’re gonna hate me,” Link babbled. And it was one thing to think it, but there it was, all laid out in the open. Link tried to swallow past the lump rising in his throat, and found he couldn’t.
“Why...why would I hate you?”
“Because...because we’re not…” Link said, but couldn’t bring himself to finish the rest of the thought.
The silence in the car was deafening. Link stared down at his hands, which were shaking, cold and clammy. He felt like maybe he should be drafting an apology in his head, but rational thought had abandoned him sometime between the first taste of Rhett’s lips and the way Rhett’s hair had felt tangled in his fingers.
“We’re whatever we want to be, bo,” Rhett whispered.
It took a moment for his words to register, but when they did, Link’s heart kicked at his ribs for an entirely different reason.
“And what I want...is this. You.”
All traces of armor gone--this was Rhett, raw and present and more genuine than Link had ever seen him in his entire life. Eyes wide, and green, and wanting.
Link didn’t think his body could handle more stress-whiplash, but at that moment Rhett reached over, tentative, and Link let himself be swept up into a hug.
The effect was immediate--he turned his face, pressed his nose into that place behind Rhett’s ear and inhaled, shuddering. He felt like he was going to fly apart, and Rhett’s arms wrapped around him were the only thing keeping him together.
An eon passed, and they stayed like that, until Link could feel his own heartbeat syncing up with Rhett’s slower one. Steadying. Rhett always had that effect on them. His brain was too fried with trying to piece together everything that had happened in the last few minutes, but this was helping.
“What if you wake up...and you regret it?” Link said, his voice barely audible even to himself. He was terrified. Terrified that this was a dream, terrified that it wasn’t a dream. Terrified of what this meant for them. Terrified of the flutter in his chest.
“I won’t regret you, Link,” Rhett said, and he was quiet too, but his voice had iron to it. Immutable, and sure. He’d always had a way of convincing Link to join him in even the most cockamamied, ill-advised plans. This one was no different.
Link shivered, and Rhett’s arms tightened around him. Link wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this, but whatever it was, he was grateful for it. He wanted to stay here forever. He closed his eyes, let himself sink into the feeling. Just for a moment.
Over Rhett’s shoulder, he could see the dark plum of night fading away to lilac and pink--the beginnings of a sunrise, and a new day. Soon, students would start pouring out of the apartment complex. They couldn’t stay here.
“How’s about this,” Link said, pulling away regretfully, so he could look into Rhett’s eyes. Which were red-rimmed, but clearer now than before.
“If you don’t regret this, then tomorrow, the first thing I want you to say to me when you see me is...is…” Link fished for a word.
“Peanut butter,” Rhett finished for him.
Link stared at him.
“‘s because you love it, and I love you,” Rhett mumbled, and Link couldn’t help but laugh, giddy, warmth spreading down his veins.
--
When Link stepped into the kitchen, light was streaming in through the window. It was sometime past 11am, according to the clock above their stove.
Rhett was already seated there at their small table, a big bottle of Gatorade next to a smaller bottle of aspirin. He was nibbling on toast, squinting like the sun was too bright. Hungover, hair wet from the shower, dressed in nothing but sweatpants that had a hole in the left knee.
Link stopped short in the doorway of the kitchen. Unsure of whether or not Rhett really remembered what he’d said last night, or if it had been a rare moment of forgotten vulnerability.
Rhett glanced up and met Link’s gaze. He was exhausted--that much was obvious from the bags underneath his eyes. But his gaze was clear, and his eyes twinkled in the light from the morning sun. Link felt his breath catch in his chest.
“Peanut butter,” Rhett said, voice gravelly with sleep, and casually went back to eating his toast, a small smirk gracing the corners of his lips.
One that Link was going to kiss right off his face.
--