THE SKY IS RAINING SHINY laffy taffy, the birds are delighted and chorusing pleasant sounds, the vehicles squeal against the asphalt with no regrets; it is the picture perfect cosmopolitan Barbie scene but Dorian Ayuba isn't smiling.
Apart from the headache hammering his head into his sweaty Abercrombie beanie, his mouth feels dry--and smelly-- all the summer heat and he regrets not taking a bottle of water, at least from home.
Summer has always been his least favorite season. There's the heat which he doesn't find as aesthetic as instagram girls.
For a weird reason, electricity bills go higher and he has to work extra shifts in that god-forsaken supermart. Carrying carts and cleaning compartments is not the problem. Smiling to the customers is.
Which brings Dorian to the worst part of summer; everyone always seem so happy and well, if there's a tree that townfolk but him knows about, a tree that grows happiness in any shape or form, he would get a taste of just one merry berry.
Technically, it's pre-summer; if that's even a thing and it's raining like England paid this town a visit.
The taxi skid into a halt and from the looks of it, into a puddle. Dorian digs his hand into his pocket for loose change he's busted out of his piggy bank this morning. No notes, just coins.
The uber driver grunts in return.
"You want it or not?" Dorian sucks his teeth loudly; a habit he's picked from his mom over the years, before slamming the door shut.
Speaking of mom, that woman high out of her mind drove into a no-parking spot and now her car has been towed to God-knows-where. That's worry for another day.
He had to dodge his boss [there's no begging that man] and leave work just to be here. His mom is barely worth it but what can he do? She's the only family he's got.
Mercy Ayuba is with the shrink in her home office and Dorian is outside the drizzle, knocking the wooden door and hoping this is the right house; he's never been here before.
For a while, it is just him and the pitter-patter of water against plastic flamingoes and an overly shaved lawn. Then the door opens to reveal--
"Dorian?"
"Ehmm..." Now it all makes sense. There's only one Dr. Meyers in town and that's the devil's mother.
"What are you doing here?" says Khalid with the toothbrush shifted to one cheek.
Immediately, Dorian goes on defensive. "What does it look like? Here to pick up my neighbor of course."
Khalid cocks his head to the side, ellipsis floating on it. "You mean Mrs. Mercy. Very nice woman."
"Hmm." The rain is still flogging Dorian. "Can I come in?" He deadpans.
"Oh right," Khalid obliges. "Sorry."
Dorian walks to the hanger few meters adjacent to the door. The warmth of this house embraces him, pets his head with the strong scent of ginseng and cardamom. Which he'll pick over his house anytime, anyday.
Khalid speaks first, "And you don't have to lie about anything." Dorian's cringes, flushing in embarrassment. "The session is yet to be over and while you're waiting for your mom, make yourself at home."
"You don't have to tell me twice," he mutters before dropping into the fluffy couch. Not that Khalid could hear anyways. He's long gone after switching on TV, Netflix and throwing the remote at Dorian who catches it with glee he doesn't let show.
Dorian reclines into the couch and starts flicking through the net; Net-flicking and looking for something worth his precious time. Working day and night, he thinks he deserves this bit of luxury.
About six minutes later, Khalid comes back trudging into the sitting room with a pillow in hand. His head is wrapped in a bonnet, his slender trunk in a net singlet with just sweatpants on; Dorian is internally screaming because Khalid's print is staring back at him.
"Want anything?" says Khalid, bored and tired.
"Thanks. I'm good."
"No, you're not."
And it's true but Dorian doesn't realize his teeth clattering from all the cold he abandoned outside the door.
"Right. But honestly, you don't have to."
"Ughhh we're not adding this to the bill, if that's what you're thinking. It's on the house."
"I'm definitely not thinking that." Dorian blushes. He's definitely thinking that.
"And you should like, loosen up a bit, this isn't school. Are you always this prudish? Besides, I see no reason why you should worry about the bill."
"Have you always been this talkative?" Dorian snaps back. Khalid has no idea what he's talking about.
"Hey. You can't blame me." The taller boy grins, raising his hands in surrender. "Now, how do you like your tea? We have chai, pumpkin, chocolate cranberry, echinacea and lemongrass. Not sure about orange--"
Dorian shrugs, shifting his attention back to the TV. "Chocolate. Milk and no sugar."
Khalid makes a face but retreats into the kitchen without a word.
Just then does Dorian's phone ring. He wonders who it is, calling in this ungodly hour; an ungodly hour only in Dorian's books because he may have a thousand acquaintances, thanks to his position in the football team but it's hard to lay a finger on a single person he acknowledges as a 'friend'.
"Well, look what we have here," Dorian muses. It is Scarlett video-calling. He runs a finger through the dense side-fade and flexes his jaw before tapping the glowing green button.
"Hey," Dorian drawls his greeting. He's surprisingly awkward in situations like this.
How do people in relationships do this; everytime of the day and facetiming in their sleep, trips to Starbucks, in bathroom stalls, in concerts? Or has social media deceived him so?
Scarlett is wearing a dingy sweater and Dorian kind of breaks inside. He was low-key hoping to see some tiddies, which now that he thinks about it is really low of him. Oh, he's down bad.
"Dorian, how are you doing?" She gleams; perfect, luscious dentures and Dorian concludes she might be prettier than Lucy.
"Uhm, you know. The usual." Dorian shifts in his seat. "What's going on?"
"Come to think of it, this is the first time we'll be speaking on the phone."
"No kidding."
"Would've been better using facetime though. I thought we left whatsapp in 2018."
Who'd tell her that how offended his rusty Nokia is right now? "Well, not anyone can afford a glassy iPhone."
"Nah. You're just being modest. Give yourself more accolades. You deserve it."
"Yeah right."
Dorian is suddenly growing impatient. He's never been one to be insecure about money. Or this is just stemming from Khalid who's now seated beside him, a little too close to comfort and giving him a weird look.
"I have better things to do or is that the reason you called?"--which should've sounded harsh and dismissive but Scarlett is more oblivious than he gave her credit for.
"Ah yes, wanted to remind you of the presentation; the book club is still holding--"
"Dudeeeee, I told you I'm not interested in your little club--"
"Yes! And I perfectly understand your plight. You intend to explore the varieties of extracurriculars the school has to offer but while you're at it, this won't take much of your time I promise."
Dorian throws Khalid a pained look. The latter shrugs.
"Girls," he whispers before turning up the volume of The Queen's Gambit.
"What is it about anyway?"
Scarlett is tenacious; that he'll give her but the more she pressures him about initiation into her nerd legion, the less he'll look away. He knows the scope; club leaders rope freshers bone by bone, hair by hair with juicy events and before they know it, they're all in like Texas Hold'em Poker on tequila and cheap Micheal Korrs.
"Okay so it's something exciting we haven't done in a while. A joint collaboration with the theatre club and it's gonna be epic! Here's the thing..."
That moment is when Dorian zones out of the girl's excited rambling. His eyes crawl towards the boy beside him, gazing the TV with intensity, his toned, long and lean torso teasing from his supposedly sultry net shirt.
His dick twitches.
"Yes, yes," Dorian mumbles, "Hmm hmm. I get you", phasing back into the conversation and trying all possible means of picturing Scarlett in that shirt. Unluckily for him, a mental figurine of Khalid just comes to crash the image down with a baseball bat.
Out of frustration, "Argh, this is bad," Dorian voices.
"What is?"
He slaps a hand over his mouth.
"Wah?" Khalid drawls, turning to him.
"Umm, nothing. Was talking about this tea---look, we'll catch each other later. Bye." Dorian hangs up before releasing a truckload of breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Well, that was quite gentlemanly of you."
"You don't say." Dorian scoffs.
This, in a way, prompts the other boy to face Dorian entirely. "Say, is that your girlfriend?"
"N--" This close; the word is on his tip of his tongue but then he remembers this bastard set him up and almost beat the bicuriousity out of him. "Well, something like that."
Dorian swallows, pulling the collar of his jersey.
Khalid widens in a soft grin. The type that can make anyone wish they had dentures so well aligned, they could skate on them. "You don't have to lie, Doritos, or need I remind you we know of your little secret."
"So thanks to you BlockheadBuff Boys, I know myself better now." Doritos? You can be more creative than that. "I was looking for something different. Something, tastier than I'm accustomed to, I'm afraid, buuuuutt,"
Dorian flexes his thighs on the centre table and reclines deeper into the couch with the smuggest countenance he can ever muster.
How did he get so good at lying?
"But what?" Khalid questions.
Dorian isn't going to lie. This guy creeps him the fuck out.
"But I just figured out it isn't meant to me." He jabs a finger at Net Shirt Boy. "And don't even think you dumbasses have a hand in this. You're lucky I'm not actually gay or I'll be taking this a lot more worse and y'all a lot more painful."
As if, Dorian has been speaking into a glass bottle all this while, Khalid does the craziest thing.
He grabs a handful of Dorian's crotch.
Dorian yelps in utter shock and is about to smack Khalid the fuck out when the latter, pushes him, by the neck with the back of his hand back into the bouncy couch.
Dorian is obviously the stronger one but you can't blame him for being this handicapped. That's his Achilles's heel Khalid is holding right now.
"I saw you in the lockers."
Dorian heart skips a beat. "What?"
"I said, I saw you at the bathroom stall. Sorry but your moans were way too hard to not notice."
Dorian opens his mouth, about to defend himself. But nothing came out. Just a ghost of shame and self-destruction that Khalid kisses back in.
Yes.
Officially, Khalid becomes Dorian's first [gay] kiss.
You know how trains and other fast-moving contraptions have this knack of crashing into Superman? He flies to the snout of the aluminum death snake and crashes into it. The impact, the rubble, the air ripping in shreds. This information of a new life milestone collides into Dorian like that.
The headache he thought he'd left in the Uber jumps back into the seat of his skull but he can barely feel it.
Khalid's mouthwork is just out of this world.
No girl has ever kissed him this good--scratch that, no girl has ever kissed him to make him feel this good!
Okay, okay. He's going to analyze it slow. There has to be a science behind this. Gay isn't normal and Khalid's salivary glands cannot possibly secrete aphrodisiac.
Girls kiss gently; softer lips. Khalid kiss boldly; thick lips. Girls; submissive. Khalid; dominant but also...bottom-y in a way. What do they call them again? Power bottoms? There's also the slight sting of stubble.
Dorian instinctively digs his hand into the puffy afro, pulling the boy closer; the boy who's already straddling him. Khalid is fast at being gay for a straight, black football jock, faster than Dorian himself who is still even an iota close to admitting his queerness.
Wonders shall never end, Dorian muses in his head, and in a very thick Yoruba accent.
But all good things must come to an end [Dorian doubts this happening is actually a good thing] when the voices of two middle-aged women creep into the scene.
And Khalid is off him like rusty latch around a yak high on tobacco.
Doctor Meyers has to be the nicest woman Dorian has ever met in this town. She kept the Ayubas at home and all the while till the rain subsides, she then pays for their ride back home.
Khalid keeps his distance from Dorian, neither batting an eyelash nor uttering a single syllable at him.
Meanwhile, Dorian feels like he just swallowed a whole eel bathed in lightning.
Tomorrow, he's getting answers.
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heyyyy this is me, writing my first chapter in almost like two years now?? Please gimme feedback on this. Peace, Chris ♥