User blog:SodaCat/be

brad is a meme

“C’mon… I think you’ve had enough to drink…”

Words followed by a stumble. An arm reaching out. A slump. Drowsy footsteps. A clatter. Laughter. A door slamming shut but, not in anger.

It was a little difficult to carry Edgar’s weight, they weighed about the same, even if Edgar had more muscle and a couple inches on him. The lack of balance didn’t help at all, and, even digging his feet into the dirt didn’t really help him.

“I don’ wanna go home…” he complained, steering away from Brad, setting off in another direction. Clumsy footsteps not indicating a clear one.

Panicked ones followed. Brad held onto him again. The fear a mix of logical and illogical. Blue Skies was dangerous. Edgar was the king. He was a target. He was in charge.

Still, it made him feel guilty to drag him back to the empty house. Edgar didn’t like to be alone. Brad couldn’t find it in himself to leave him alone. “We don’t have to go there, but you gotta find someplace to sleep. Someplace safe.”

“Why don’twe go to tha’ rich school of youse, pretty boy,” Edgar taunted with a laugh.

Pretty boy.

He knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment. But in this moment of solace, Edgar’s drunk and the night’s cover, Brad could pretend he’d called him pretty.

“We can’t go there,” he replied, swallowing, trying to eliminate the dry feeling in his throat. “Gate’s closed by now.”

Unexpected. Edgar detached himself from Brad’s grip and headed off, running, feet lazily splaying out with each movement. Brad was amazed, for a second, that he didn’t fall. But it only lasted a second. He had to run after him before the night’s cover took him. His sight wasn’t exactly the best, but he was told glasses would ruin his image.

It was a short run but Brad was out of breath. He’d lost him. God damn it. He stood in front of a train, a car hollowed out ahead of him. Squinting, he strained to find Edgar. Everything was a blur. It was hopeless.

“In here, superstar,” Edgar slurred, and by the sound of it, he was in the car.

Careful, mindful of the dirt that was definitely on there, Brad climbed in and stood, eyes narrowing once more to locate Edgar’s silhouette.

His back slammed into one end of the train car. Oh, there he was.

Breath hitched when lips touched his. Soft. Chapped. Warm. Cold. Not like a girl’s at all, yet, identical. Warm breath hit him. It smelled like beer.

Edgar pulled away and, at this proximity, Brad could see the smirk on his face.

“I…” he began.

“I see the way y’look at me,” Edgar said before he could even argue.

He’d never felt more intimidated in his life. He shook his head.

“I’m not gay,” he whispered and, even to him, the words felt light and empty. Hollow, like the train car.

“Bullshit.”

He was terrified.

“I don’t feel that way about you.”

“Again, bullshit.”

A gulp. Heart rate escalating. Palms sweating. He felt so warm, yet, so cold.

“I don’t know how to be gay…”

Finally, some truth.

Edgar snorted. “Y’really were raised in La-La Land,” he sneered, and even drunk Brad thought he knew more than he could ever hope to. “There’s no way to be gay. There’s only a way to be.”

But Brad wasn’t nearly as bold, brave, fearless as Edgar was. He was a coward. So he stood, wordless, scared, eyes as wide as plates.

And Edgar just shrugged. “Guess not,” he mumbled, but he didn’t seem disappointed, Brad thought, deflated. “Let’s get burgers.”