Chapter Text
A light breeze flits through the second-hand vintage shop as Seth flips through old vinyls. His broad shoulders roll forward. The sudden chill reminds him of Dean’s pungent breath and cold stares from the past few nights. Seth snorts. The word ‘friend’ emblazoned like a patch to the corner of his mind. He gazes down. While absorbed in thought, he was stroking a couple fingers along the edges of the same album. His eyes scan the cover: ratted hair, pleated leather, and overly-confident snarling faces. Seth quietly chuckles. Not his first choice, but for some reason, he picks it up. He looks the record over. Great condition, Seth thinks, you’re coming home with me.
The apartment is eerily silent like a reality show on mute. Seth is accustomed to the sound of the door echoing shut behind him. Dean works. Dean goes out. But Dean rarely comes home.
He shakes his head, trying to unroot the image that lands there. Any thought of Dean, out or even at work, is like throwing grenades inside of his mind. Even an inadvertent thought of Roman is enough to make Seth internally combust.
Seth shakes his head, attempting to unroot the weeds burrowing deep inside his mind.
“Roman,” Seth’s lip curls upward as he flicks on the kitchen light, “is just my friend.”
Seth presses two fingers to each temple and rubs vigorously. Five weeks ago, he went to visit Dean at work. A surprise visit including a container of spaghetti and a flask of whiskey in his jacket pocket. Seth bounced in the elevator, excited to watch Dean’s eyes light up as he walked in. But he found his boyfriend’s desk empty. He waited an hour for Dean. His anxiety making him feel as limp and useless as the lunch in his hand.
A burst of laughter boomed through the elevator doors as two men maneuvered through. All jokes. All smiles. All familiar. Seth crouched and backed away from Dean’s desk. He watched his boyfriend fist bump this strange man. A man Dean never talked about at home. Before he was spotted, Seth pivoted around the desk next to Dean’s and scurried out of the office.
The fridge offers no comfort, only leftovers. Seth stares at the unappetizing meatloaf as it slides to the bottom of the container. His lips press together forming a tight thin pale pink line. The fight from the night before beginning to replay in front of him.
“It’s late…” Dean trails off.
Seth wraps an arm around Dean’s tapered waist.
“But I need you,” Seth husks.
Dean tries to unlatch Seth’s arm.
“Nah, I need some sleep."
Seth’s arm snaps back to his side with the same intensity as a scolded child, “Don’t you ever want me anymore?”
The pitch of his voice rising by several octaves.
Dean reaches back and rubs his neck, “Can we talk later?”
“Later for me but never for him, huh?” Seth spits.
Dean’s eyes narrow, “Fuckin’ drop it”, he says through gritted teeth.
Turing on his heels, Dean leaves as Seth stands in the kitchen alone: slumped shoulders, and red-faced, and unsatisfied once again.
Seth’s jarred back by the buzzing of his phone.
Dean: Drinks. Dont wait up.
Seth doesn’t bother responding. It’s as if last night didn’t happen. Talk about it later but you’re never home so…when’s later, Seth wonders. He forgave the first couple nights. Even the first couple of weeks. However, it's been a couple of months now. He doesn't deserve what Dean's putting him through. Not at all.
He's beginning to forget what Dean sounds like saying his name. The taste of Dean lingering in his mouth. How Dean feels inside of him. In the moments he can be honest with himself, it’s the fear that Dean belongs to someone else now. He says Roman’s name. He has the taste of Roman lingering in his mouth. He likes the feel of Roman inside of him.
Seth slams the fridge door shut causing a magnet to fall to the floor. He stomps to his hide-out, the guest room. Some days he can’t find enough to fill the space left by Dean’s absence. I didn’t ask to be put on leave, he reminds himself, and once the incident dies down…
Seth stares at the shelf holding the records he’s accumulated over the years. Nothing calls out to him. Next to the shelf sits a record player that Dean bought him for his birthday two years ago.
“Why have all these an’ not listen?” Seth beamed and listened to music for the rest of the day.
But that was then. Dean now...he's "busy", Seth thinks as he lets the silence settle around him. Then he remembers the new haul he left sitting in the living room.
His eyes fall on the obscure rock album again. An urge to play it surges through him. He carefully puts the record down and lays the needle on top of it. He flings himself on top of an old black and white futon, dragged along from his college days. His body relaxes into the grooves and creases. His eyes flutter. The slow fight against the heavy lead feeling of sleep takes over. As sleep wins, the over-the-top rock ballad pauses and the record screeches.
***
Dean taps the polished wooden table of the bar. He stares at his clean hands while waiting for his third beer. He no longer has the calloused and filthy hands of the hard-working man he has always been. The man who worked on cars. The man who spent hours in a junkyard. The man sweating inside small mom and pop garages hoping to make enough money to pay rent that month. Dean glances at his hands once more before looking for the bartender. A bitch at a desk but now I can pay rent.
Dean chugs the beer as soon as it is plopped down in front of him. The string keeping his head attached to him is cut. The slow sense of relief spreads through him. Three beers have never been enough. But the volume of the voices in his head are turned down. Work harder, Seth deservers more. Maybe you should cut and run. You’ll always be a low-life piece of shit.
“I know that look. Wanna talk?” Roman asks.
Roman eases in the opposite side of the booth and slides him another beer with a warm smile.
Dean shrugs before taking a long gulp.
“Fuckin’ work an’ shit,” Dean grumbles as he looks for the bartender. Never satiated.
Roman laughs, “Yeah. It sums it up doesn’t it?”
Dean smiles, some of the tension rolling off his shoulders.
Both men simultaneously take a drink from their mugs.
“He needs me,” Dean offers up.
Roman nods as they finish their beers.
The fourth always goes to Dean’s head the fastest.
Dean rubs his neck, “I’m messed up Ro.”
Roman’s voice lowers, “Hey you’re talking about my best friend bro. Best guy I know.”
Dean shrugs, “Fucker. Ready for more?”
Roman smirks, “Damn right.”
The keys shake in Dean's oversized hand. Fumbling to find the right one, Dean wonders when the lock shrunk. Shoudna switched to whiskey, he muses as the door squawks open announcing to the entire complex that he’s home.
The door to the guest room is cracked open. Another night of Seth listening to music until he passes out cold. There’s a slight tug in Dean’s chest as he enters the room. With how much I work, why can’t I fuckin’ go out, Dean thinks. A soft whimpering sound replaces the static that brought him into the room originally. The vinyl player whines in the background. Dean tip-toes over, turns it off, and twists around facing Seth. Dean reaches out and tucks a few dark brown strands of hair behind Seth’s ears.
“So—sorry,” Dean slurs as Seth whimpers.
Dean inhales and scoops Seth up in his arms. He stumbles back momentarily and heads to their bedroom.
“P-princess?” Dean breathes.
Seth remains asleep in his arms.
“I love you,” Dean says solemnly before he plants a sloppy kiss on Seth’s sweaty forehead.