two scenes from something larger

Past

It was a winter of dying things1: tree trunks splayed open, branches bare and cracked from a month of unseasonable cold that left the ground coated in a thick and unpredictable layer of ice. He was on his way to see a boy, chewing at the edges of his fingers and carefully counting each step across the icy path, trying not to slip. 

Nothing much was open this time of year. A college city at heart, the coffee shops and bars clung to life between the seasons, desperately gorging themselves on the townies and students who had no home to return to. He agreed to meet The Man at a coffee shop just a few blocks from his apartment, but already the brief walk left….The wind cut across bare face, forming a thin line of cherry red. Or maybe it was the anxiety and anticipation. However, he preferred a simple temperature drop to be the culprit.

Few people here could tolerate the cold. It was unseasonable for Texas. Days earlier a rapid ice storm appeared, spreading its tendrils out across the city, threatening to shut everything down. Stuck at home and eying flickering lights and breaking news notifications, he and The Man planned to meet up.

He knew little about The Man, which is to say he knew almost everything one could find online about The Man. But nothing more than that. The Man was taller than him–his profile said as much. Wider too: beefy build and bushy beard. Brown hair cut tight to his head, but everyone had brown hair. He suspected The Man had a baby face hidden under his breath. An innocent yet devious smile. A chipped front tooth2 and pointed incisors. The Man was certainly conventionally attractive, but he wondered if The Man understood the full scope of it. Out of his league was one way to put it. 

Most of the men he met on the apps rarely planned a meet-up. Usually, as was the custom, they had sex and then asked questions later. Some of them remained friends. The ones that were particularly good at sex he met again. But meeting up carried different connotations. This time neither of the men had seemed eager to take the sexual turn. It had been…perfectly pleasant. They swapped stories and flirted a bit. The Man cracked a joke at his curly hair, and mentioned his college degree. Nothing usual. No position discussion (though he assumed that was more because it was already on his profile and not particularly surprising of a revelation). No what are you into (light kink, strong tops, older men that knew what they liked and did nothing more than that). Not even an innocent swapping of tasteful nudes and body shots. In the end, he knew little more about The Man than his name, ▇▇ and that they were going to meet for coffee—and drinks if things went well.

Present

The Fake Blonde said3 something indecipherable to him–drowned out by the cacophony of the club. The Man nodded back, trying to play along. The Fake Blonde laughed, stretching his hand out through the crowd and slowly mouthing the words, follow me, as best he could. They pushed their way through the crowd, bright pink and purple lights slicing and blinding, squeezing through bare-chested bears and slim older men lightly sipping their vodka sodas. The Fake Blonde picked up speed leading them outside through the back as a group of twinks leered at them. A rush of cold air soothed The Man’s already sweaty skin, he tried to focus but three drinks in, and the room felt fuzzy. He was tense. Maybe a bit nervous. The Fake Blonde didn’t say a word, just kept pushing forward gracefully navigating the thick crowds and corners of the labyrinthine nightlight.4 Like Asterius he thought–he had gained weight after all. Which would that make him? Paisphae5? Hercules? The Man’s throat twitched6 and tightened as he thought through the possibilities. Maybe he gave himself too much power. The metaphor, as it stood, was stretched and barely salvageable. He focused on staying upright. 

They crossed the street and darted down an alley, turning and crossing till they reached the back of a quiet building. “Almost there,” The Fake Blonde said as he opened the door and led them up a few flights of stairs. Out of breath and thighs burning, they exited out to an empty rooftop lined with fake grass7 and neon signs. It was quiet, slow music mixing with the innocuous chatter of the other patrons, all nestled close to each other.