Chester checked his watch before he looked back at his line of shirts hanging in the closet in the upstairs bedroom of the loft. He checked his watch again, and then he pulled another shirt down, folding it neatly and dropping it into the bag.
"Stop it," Ryan called from the dresser. "We have plenty of time before they get home."
Chester looked over, the next shirt already in his hands. "I don't want to fucking see him, Ry."
"And you won't have to," Ryan promised as he took a stack of folded joggers from the dresser. He briefly glanced through the various colors and styles before he decided they were all Chester's. He dropped them into the bag he was working with, which was already almost full. "We'll have you out of here in no time and back over to Amir's."
"Good. I don't know what I'd even say to him. Nothing. I don't want to say anything to him." Chester's eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. It had been three days since his breakup with Mike. Three days since Mike had accused him and Ryan of cheating, and three days since Chester last saw his ex-boyfriend. Now it was finally time to get his stuff from the loft, and officially move on. "I should have done this days ago," he grumbled, pulling more shirts from the hangers.
"You've been in bed for the last three days," Ryan reminded him as he took a pile of underwear out of the dresser next, flipping through them, just to make sure they were Chester's. The last thing he needs is for me to accidentally put a pair of Mike's underwear in his stuff. I think Mike wears boxers though. He opened the next drawer, and sure enough there were two neatly stacked piles of boxer shorts. Ryan slammed the drawer closed. "What about the furniture?" he asked, turning around and scanning the bedroom. There wasn't much - the bed, and the two nightstands. The dresser, and the television mounted on the wall. Ryan scratched his head as he tried to recall what was and what wasn't Chester's.
"It's all Jason's," Chester admitted, his heart sinking a little as he scanned the half-empty closet. "It's been nice," he said softly, his piss and fire attitude from only minutes ago fading. His emotions had been amuck for the last three days, going from sad and heartbroken, to downright angry when it came to thinking about Mike and how things had gone. His therapist had gently pointed out that Chester had lost more that day than his boyfriend, and he needed to give himself time to accept and process all the casualties that went with it. Not only did he lose his boyfriend, but he lost his home, and his living situation with Ryan, which she had pointed out was very significant in Chester's support system. He'd gone from living on his own, to staying in someone's guest bedroom, so he'd lost his independence, and with his relationship ending, he'd lost the dreams and future plans he'd emotionally invested in as well.
It was a lot, and Chester wasn't coping with it very well. His moods were unstable minute to minute, and that was making everything twice as bad. "None of this is mine," Chester stated again, pulling down four shirts at once, and folding them all together. "The bed, the dresser, closet, the couch, it's all Mark's and Jason's. Or, just Jason's," he corrected quickly. He glanced over at Ryan. "You guys will be sleeping up here now." His eyes drifted over to the bed; it was neatly made, the corners of the red and black flannel blanket tucked and pulled, just the way he liked it, and Chester's heart hurt. He's still making the bed just like we always did. The way I like it. The way I showed him.
He looked down, shoving his hand across his face. He didn't want to cry. He felt like he'd already cried enough over the last three days to last him a lifetime. He stared down at his black and white sneakers, and the way his jeans barely fell over the top of them. He tried to focus on how important it was to finish getting his stuff, so he could leave the loft and never come back, but it wasn't that easy.
Ryan watched as Chester got very quiet, very still. He stepped across the space, to meet him in front of the closet. He wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "It's okay, Chazzy," he whispered as he kissed the soft, curly blonde mohawk going down the middle of his head. "You can do this. You're so strong," he encouraged. "Come on, keep going."
Ryan took a step back, and he waited as Chester nodded, and took the next shirt from the closet. "Baby steps, Chaz. We got this." He smiled before he decided maybe changing the subject would help. The less they talked about Mike, the better. "So how's it going over at Amir's?" he asked, as he decided to stay at the closet and help. It was packed to the brim, and Chester's progress was slow. "And I mean how it really is, not just the nice answer you gave me in front of him the other day."
"It's okay," Chester answered, his voice already pulling up out of the doldrums. "I can't wait to hang up all my clothes in the closet. Actually, I think all of my stuff could probably fit in that closet."
It was the first time Ryan had seen Chester really smile in days. "I bet you could. It's huge!"
"I know. I love it. I just leave the closet doors open and lay on the bed and stare at it. It's like my happy place." Chester looked over at Ryan, at the way he was pulling the next shirt off and carefully folding it. His dark hair kept falling over his eyes, and brushing against the dark scruff on his jawline. He's so handsome...and I know he doesn't know it. Chester reached over, touching the sleeve of Ryan's dark shirt. "Ry?" he called softly, and the moment he saw Ryan's piercing blue eyes look his way, he felt his insides lift. "Thanks for doing this with me."
"You don't have to thank me, Chaz, I want to be here." He leaned forward, and pecked a soft kiss to Chester's closed lips. "Now, finish spilling the dirt about Amir's," he said playfully as they both turned back to the job at hand.
"Noah's been there every single day," Chester told him. "Having coffee and eating dinner with us. Amir says it's only because I'm there, and Noah's trying to help, or whatever...but I don't know."
"They have gotten really friendly," Ryan agreed as he pulled down the last shirt. "I never would have thought someone like Noah would get to Amir. He's usually all over the exotic looking guys. Bad boys and people who don't want anything other than a good bang."
"I used to be like that. We both were," Chester reminded him as he dropped to his knees and started pulling his shoes out from the bottom of the closet. "My name was Charlie Bang afterall."
"I know," Ryan said with an eye roll. "I don't ever want to be like that again. Looking back now, fuck, we were reckless."
Chester nodded as Ryan crouched down with him. "I owe that to Mike, pulling me out of that pattern. He was so...starry-eyed, you know?" He turned and met Ryan's eyes for a minute. "I wasn't looking for anything other than a hot date, and he had us going on picnics and feeding ducks and holding hands, but not actually having sex." Chester stopped, the memory of his first time being intimate with Mike popping into his head. It wasn't just their first time, but Mike's very first time. "It was really good for awhile," Chester mumbled as he and Ryan placed the pairs of shoes into a box they'd brought upstairs with them. "He started to change after YRS."
"It changed all of us," Ryan mumbled. "And Mike was lucky to have you as his first. I hope he knows that."
Chester shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. He lied to me, Ry." He paused for a minute, trying to stay calm as he smoothed his fingers over the bright green shoelaces that were laced through a pair of his sneakers. "That night that I had that really bad nightmare, he told me that if something happened, and I never wanted to have sex again, that he'd love me anyway. That it wouldn't matter because he loves me...but that wasn't true. Six weeks, Ryan, it only took six weeks for him to hold it against me and start accusing me of sleeping around with other people."
Ryan dropped the last pair of shoes in the box before he leaned over it to kiss the side of Chester's fuzzy scalp. "It's over now, Chaz. He's not worth torturing yourself over. You didn't do anything wrong. And I didn't either." He waited till he saw Chester nod, and then they stood up together, their knees aching from the hardwood floor. Ryan scanned the room. "Anything else? You want the blankets?"
"No," Chester answered as he stood staring at the bed. "I bought those for Mike. He can keep them."
Ryan picked up the box of shoes and set it on the bed with a huff. "Amir's closet isn't going to know what hit it," he teased before he turned to the nightstand and opened the drawer. "What about in here?" he asked, before he realized what he was looking at - lube, a blindfold, a pair of zebra print fuzzy cuffs, a lacy pair of pink panties, and the black leather spiked collar.
Chester moved to stand beside Ryan, looking down into the drawer. "I never let him put those cuffs on me," he said, even though Ryan hadn't asked. "We actually bought those for him. We didn't use them very often." He reached in the drawer and pulled out the collar, his hand shaking as he held it up. He stared at the shiny silver buckle, and the bulleted spikes that he loved the look of. He could feel the leather between his fingers, and his hand slowly went to his throat, his eyes stinging with tears. "I actually liked it a lot when we first bought it," he said, his voice trembling. "But he would get so crazy on me, which was good until it was too much. And I, I, I..."
Ryan gently pulled Chester into his arms. The moment their bodies touched, Chester's knees buckled and Ryan caught his weight. "It won't happen again, Chazzy. Never again." He held him for the few seconds it took for Chester to regain his footing, the collar squeezed tightly in his fist. "Come on," Ryan said, coaxing Chester towards the stairs. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"We're going to put an end to this right now." He didn't explain more as he helped Chester down the stairs. He kept his arm looped around Chester's back as they crossed to the kitchen, and Ryan took the collar from his hand. He glared at it, before he slammed it down on the cutting board sitting on the counter. "Get your sharpest knife," he said, pointing down at the restraint. "Let's chop this fucking thing up."
Chester was frozen, his eyes bouncing from the collar to Ryan's determined face. "What?"
"Let's get rid of it. Let's destroy it, so it can never hurt you again, and Mike will never be able to put it on anyone else." He stopped, knowing he sounded harsh, and the immediate expression on Chester's face told him he'd gone too far. "Chester," he whispered as he reached out and put both hands on his friend's shoulders. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm just saying that it hasn't done any good. I know it haunts you," he said, one hand lifting to trace a light finger down Chester's neck. "And I know Mike didn't hurt you on purpose, but it's obvious he can't control himself, and that collar isn't helping."
"I don't ever want anything around my neck again," Chester confirmed, and he saw the acknowledgement in Ryan's eyes. They both knew it. The collar had left an invisible scar on Chester forever. He didn't say anything else as he turned away and headed for the wooden block on the counter, where his best knives were sliced inside. He pulled the biggest one out. "I want to," he stated as he lined the knife up with the collar. This ends it. It's done after this. I'm getting my stuff, and I'm moving on.
It only took a few minutes and a few hard cuts with the intensely sharp kitchen tool, and the leather strap was cut in four places. Ryan scooped the pieces up before he leaned over and kissed Chester on his flushed cheek. "You did the right thing," he said, squeezing the bits of leather in his hand. "I'll take this back upstairs, why don't you start on the kitchen. That's really going to take forever."
"Nonsense," Chester answered, a happier flip in his voice as he opened the first cabinet and beamed at his favorite mixing bowl. "I know exactly what's mine in here...everything." His giddy expression faded for a second as he spun around and watched as Ryan was already headed across the room. "Ry! I mean, if I take it all, it will leave you guys with nothing!"
"If it's yours, take it, Chazzy. You don't owe any of us anything!" Ryan shouted back before he darted up the stairs. He thought he would put the collar back where it had been safely hidden in the drawer, but as he stood looking around the room, he decided on something else.
He stood beside the bed, and held his hands out, letting the pieces of leather fall to the flannel blankets. "There," he said with a feeling of relief, "that's been long overdue." He turned and picked up the box with Chester's shoes in it, and headed back downstairs.
****
Jason walked into the loft, tugging at his tie as he moved his head left to right and back again. His bag was still on his shoulder as he came to an abrupt halt and his fingers stopped loosening the knot. Directly in front of him, where he should be able to see the coffee maker, there was empty counter space. He took a cautious step forward and looked around the kitchen. It was impeccably clean, as always, with a complete absence of the stuff that made the apartment look inhabited. The kitchen was completely bare, and Jason knew instantly exactly what that meant.
He dug in his pocket for his phone and looked at his text thread with Ryan. It had been light all day. One word answers and long pauses. He didn't even tell me. I can't believe him.
Jason dropped his bag on the counter and his phone next to it. He opened the first cabinet door. It was empty, wiped clean. He opened another and was met with the same view. He pulled out the drawer where the silverware was kept and it, too, was empty. "Fuck!" he said to nobody. The loft was empty and still. He didn't even bother to open the rest of the cabinets and drawers. Chester had been there and he'd left with everything that belonged to him. The reality of that wasn't something he'd been totally unprepared for, he just didn't think it would happen so quickly. Ry's right. He's not coming back. It's only been three days. Three completely miserable, awful days. But that's all. Chaz hasn't responded to anything Mike has sent him.
As selfish as it was, there was a part of him that was relieved that Chester was ignoring Mike. It was hard right now, but it would be harder if the two of them bounced back and forth between breaking up and being together. Jason hadn't been entirely sure Chester had it in him to be so decisive, and he was impressed the other man was standing his ground. The past few days Mike had been going through the motions of his life, getting up and going to work, then coming home and crawling into bed. Ryan and Mike refused to occupy the same space, so Jason had been making trips upstairs to check on Mike, take him dinner, and talk with him a little. It hadn't been easy going back and forth between Ryan and Mike with Mike as emotional and clingy as he was. Keeping the balance between time with him and time with Ryan was exhausting. And then Ryan, every chance he gets he's telling me Mike needs to move out. This next week can't go by fast enough.
He leaned against the counter and looked out over the loft. All of Mike's paintings were still there, and Jason knew this would be a new source of distress. Some of them had been created specifically for Chester, and even though Jason understood why Chester would leave them behind, it would just be one more stab to Mike's already broken heart. There's no easy way for Mike to come home to this. God. I wish I could get him out of here now. Our trip to Seattle can't come fast enough.
The day after Chester left, Jason purchased flights, reserved a hotel, and contacted a realtor. It would be better to have one ready if Mike leaned more toward a house than an apartment, and Jason wanted to be prepared. He wanted to show Mike he had it all together, that it was going to be a smooth transition. All he had to do was keep Ryan calm enough about Mike staying in the loft. He just needed time to get everything squared away in Seattle so they could move Mike's stuff. I'll get Mike up there, and then Ry and I can talk, like adults. I'll tell him it's okay to go be with Chaz. He'll know I'm right. I know he can feel that we're different than we were. Maybe he'll be relieved it's over.
Jason played with his promise ring with the thumb of his left hand, thinking about the night Ryan had given it to him. Oh, Ry. I'm sorry it's come down to this. So much had happened since the moment Ryan declared his love in front of all their friends.That night had truly been the beginning of the end. He closed his eyes, remembering how he'd stupidly walked into Mark's wrath and tried to fight his way out of it. He felt his hands become clammy at the memory. You could have just let me go, hon. None of the rest of this would have ever happened. Me and Mike, we would have never known, but you wouldn't let me go. You wanted to keep me all to yourself, and this is how it's turned out.
The door to the loft opened and Mike came in, bringing Jason abruptly out of his mental conversation with Mark. His eyes flashed over to his lover. Mike looked worn out, his hair messy and eyes tired. His t-shirt was wrinkled and Jason was almost sure the flannel he had on was the one he'd worn yesterday. Their eyes met and there was a hint of happiness in Mike's dark eyes that twisted Jason's stomach in knots. Mike would know soon enough that Chester had left for good, and nothing Jason could do would soften that blow.
"Hey," Mike offered quietly as Jason stepped toward him. "What are you doing in the kitchen? Did you just walk in?" He let Jason smooth his hair back and they kissed, light and simple.
"I haven't been here long. Maybe five minutes," Jason answered. "You look so tired, sweetheart. You're not sleeping, are you?" He could hear the worry in his voice. It was part concern for Mike's health, and part concern that he'd underestimated how much Mike was still in love with Chester.
"Not really." Mike turned and headed across the loft to put down his bag.
It was his routine, and Jason watched as Mike set the bag next to his keyboard, the way he'd done every day since he'd gone back to Red Pelican Music.
Mike had his phone in his hand as he turned around and called across the loft, "ideas for dinner? Maybe we can decide and get something ordered before I take a shower. I just want to lay down."
"Not sure," Jason responded carefully. "I'm not sure if Ryan's going to be here for dinner or not." He waited for Mike to come back to the bar and watched him lean both elbows on the counter while he looked at his phone.
"Oh yeah? Did he text you?" Mike asked bitterly. He'd been trying to get Chester to respond to him for days with no success.
"Not yet. But, well... I just think he might not be back for a while." He cleared his throat and decided to just come out with the news. "I think he and Chaz came and took Chaz's stuff out of the loft today."
Mike looked up from his phone. "What?" He knew exactly what Jason said, but it was almost incomprehensible. "Already?" His eyes flicked over Jason's shoulder to the bare counters in the kitchen. He hadn't even noticed when he walked in. "All of it?"
"I don't know. I think so. I've only been in the kitchen, I didn't go upstairs. Everything in here's gone." Jason motioned over the cabinets with his hand. "I'm pretty sure that means they got it all. Ryan didn't even tell me they were doing it today."
"Of course he didn't," Mike grumbled. "He knew you'd tell me. Not that it would have made any difference," he said, the fire going out of his tone as his shoulders slumped. "I wouldn't have been here to stop him anyway. I had a full day."
Jason looked at Mike's defeated posture and took a deep breath. "Would you have wanted to stop him? I can't figure you out, Mike. You've been all over the place with this."
Mike looked up sharply. "Well, how do you think you'd react if breaking up with Ryan had happened so suddenly? And so hatefully? I know it's my fault, and I said a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have, but I didn't think he'd just walk out so easily. He won't even take a phone call for me to tell him I'm sorry. Just. Nothing." He walked around the bar and systematically opened every cabinet door, as if Jason were lying. "I don't know, Jay. Maybe I'm not wrong about them. Ches doesn't seem to want to give me an opportunity to apologize. Maybe he was ready to go."
Jason stopped himself from arguing with Mike. He knew Ryan wasn't sleeping with Chester. He'd known it the moment Ryan slumped down on the kitchen floor when Chester left. But telling Mike that wasn't going to help anything right now. He didn't want to say anything that would take them backwards. He watched Mike check every cabinet and every drawer before he turned around and looked over the loft. "I'm pretty sure it's all gone. He's not coming back, and I don't know why he won't answer your texts or your calls, but you've got to believe it's better this way. At some point you'll get to say your thing to him, but it's going to be on his terms. When he's ready. Let this play out, Mike. It was going to eventually anyway, right?"
Mike didn't say anything. Everything else about the downstairs that he could see was the same as it had been since Jason and Ryan moved in. Every bit of his artwork was where it had been since Chester picked out a spot and hung it on the wall. There was nothing except the absence of what amounted to the entire kitchen to indicate that things were amiss, and he dreaded going upstairs. He had no idea what he would find. In his mind he saw a stripped down bed, his clothes in heaps on the floor where they'd been carelessly tossed while Chester retrieved his own belongings. His frustration and anger and sadness all pooled together in his stomach as he thought about crossing the apartment and meeting the reality of it all head on. "You're right," he said quietly, somewhat in Jason's direction. "It was going to happen. I just didn't think it would happen like this. I thought we'd at least part on good terms. I fucked that all up."
He didn't wait for Jason's response. He left his phone on the bar and went for the stairs, determined to just get it over with. He couldn't change anything now, and he might as well deal with whatever Chester had left him. The urge to take the stairs quickly was there but he pushed it down and took a deep breath, trying to get his competing emotions under control. He couldn't decide if he was angry that Chester had taken all of his stuff without a word, relieved to avoid the confrontation, or just bitterly sad that it had all come to this. He closed his eyes to take the last two steps, his hand clutching the railing.
Whatever he'd been expecting - chaos, retaliation, total upheaval - was totally absent when he opened his eyes. Everything about the bedroom looked completely normal, as though he and Chester had gotten up, gone to work, and everything was waiting for their return. Mike stood at the top of the stairs and looked around quickly, but he didn't see anything out of place. He forced his heavy legs to move to the dresser and he opened Chester's drawers one at a time, feeling the numb, empty feeling start to crawl through his limbs as he looked at the vacancies. This morning the drawers had been stuffed, crammed full of his boyfriend's belongings. Now all of that stuff was gone. Wiped clean, like it had never been there. He opened another drawer and was met with the sight of his boxers, neatly folded and stacked the way they always were.
Mike checked every drawer and went to the closet. He opened the double doors and stood there, his heart pinched in his chest as he looked at the vast emptiness. His own shirts were still pushed to the far side, the small space they'd occupied looking particularly lonely without Chester's array of different shirts, jackets, belts, and pants. He felt cold looking at all the space in Chester's beloved closet. His own flannels and folded hoodies were lifeless, devoid of the personality that Chester's sense of fashion had provided.
He left the doors open and backed up to sit on the bed, his knees feeling a little unsteady. He really did it. He took everything. All of it. He felt the sting of tears again and it frustrated him. It felt like all he'd done for days was cry. His hands felt the familiar fabric of the red and black blanket, the one Chester had surprised him with so long ago, and that was it. The hot stream of tears started again, choking his throat with emotions that he didn't want to feel anymore. It was obvious that Chester had left behind anything that would remind him of Mike. He's just going to erase me. Like it never happened.
Mike kicked off his shoes, ready to curl up on the bed and nurse his regrets for the rest of the evening. He turned to grab his pillow, and his eyes landed on something he wasn't expecting. Right in the center of the bed, camouflaged by the black patterns on the blanket, was something he recognized immediately. He reached out and picked up the collar, surprise rippling through him when he realized it was in pieces. Mike wiped his face and leaned over, picking up the four studded pieces of leather left behind. His body felt the way he imagined it would feel to drown. He couldn't get any air into his struggling lungs as it all hit him at once, sharp and clear like a laser beam.
This is why. Everything that went wrong between us, it's this. His mind clicked through memories of the collar rapidly, all the way from the exciting day they'd brought it home, the first time he'd buckled it around Chester's pale neck. The way Chester had responded to his light tugs, and the way over time it had become more and more of a focal point in their sex life. A symbol of how everything changed from making love to fucking like they were in front of the camera. A broken symbol of how he'd changed.
It was overwhelming to hold the pieces in his hand now, realizing the power it had over Chester, and how he'd abused that power with no more thought than asking for toast to go with his eggs. They'd both fallen into the trap, Chester unwilling or unable to say no, and Mike not knowing his own strength. It wasn't that I didn't care. I didn't know. I didn't realize how much I let this take over. It was controlling me, too. The hard thoughts kept flowing in, real thoughts that made Mike feel sick. The last time, when I hurt him, that was the last time we had sex before he started therapy. And before that... I can't even remember the last time we made love. Really took our time and worshipped each other. The thought that he'd done that two nights after the aggressive handcuff shoot at YRS crossed his mind and lodged heavier stones in his stomach. We made love that night. Or he made love to me. Because I'd hurt him. All I've done for months is hurt him, and he never said a word. Not until that nightmare.
Mike felt the fear grip his insides. Am I part of those nightmares? Is that why he wouldn't tell me? I did this, I ruined it, I made it easy for him to walk away. He gave me chance after chance to prove myself and I saw what I wanted to see. Ryan didn't do anything other than treat him gently. No wonder Ches wants him. I fucked this up. I changed. The thought that he might not be able to pull it back was terrifying. Jason. What if I ruin things with Jason, too?
The first real heavy sob escaped. It was all crashing down on him now. He could try to blame his changes on YRS, on Mark's encouragements in front of the camera, but that didn't excuse what he'd done. How on screen had bled into off screen, how his need and drive to prove Chester was his changed his entire approach to intimacy. If he wasn't proving Chester was his on screen, he was determined to take him back at home, and it had all spiraled dangerously to the moment that it became too much. The moment he'd left marks all on his own, left Chester tender and abused. He remembered the way he'd pushed away Mark's accusations of abuse in the office that day. Telling himself it wasn't abuse if he was in love.
With a horrible moment of clarity he realized he was no better than Mark, abusing Jason and calling it love. Jason stood in the kitchen downstairs and justified Mark's tattoo as his desire to possess him, to claim ownership. Jason had blatantly reminded Mike that he, too, had marked someone he claimed to love. Mike had been so adamant that he would never make those mistakes again, and now he had no idea if he was even capable of recognizing when things had gone too far. He hadn't been able to see it with Chester when it was happening. The cut up leather collar he held in his hand right now was proof he had no self-control.
Jason didn't hesitate to take the stairs two at a time when he heard Mike crying. It was the first time he'd ever heard him cry, and his heart was thundering in his chest when he got to the bedroom. "Mike?" He was at Mike's side in an instant, pulling him over close. He was surprised when Mike fell over face first into his lap and held on to his legs, crying into his dark gray dress pants. "It's okay, it's okay," he tried to soothe, his hand running over Mike's back.
"It's not!" Mike cried, his voice muffled in Jason's legs.
Jason let him cry, petting his hand over Mike's back and shoulders, up over his hair, and back down again. They stayed that way until Mike got it all out, his tears leaving a huge wet spot on Jason's thigh that felt somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't know what to say. He knew Chester leaving and the definitive signs of that being true would be hard to take, but he didn't know it was going to lead to a complete meltdown.
Slowly Mike sat up, his chest heaving with broken sobs as he tried to breathe. He wiped his face and then took off his flannel, using it to wipe his eyes a little better before he held out the broken collar in his fist. "This is why," he choked out as Jason opened his hand to take it from him. "This is how I ruined us. Don't let me do it to us, Jay. Don't let me lose control. I don't know what happened to me, but I swear to you, I'm not like Mark. I'm not, I'm not!"
Jason was stunned, not just from the collar but Mike's declaration. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't had moments where he'd drawn similarities between Mark and Mike. They were subtle things, but things Jason had turned over and over in his head before deciding that unlike Mark, Mike was savable. He could change. He was young. He'd been fully consumed in Chester and unable to handle the cloak of manipulation and deception that YRS dropped on his first relationship. Jason could look at Mike's need for control and attribute that to how helpless he felt to protect Chester, and the possessive behavior was an offshoot of that. None of it mattered with Mark still in the picture - Chester had always been enamored of Mark - and once Mark was gone, Mike was fully entrenched in his ways. It was a spectacular mess, one that Jason hoped would be cleaned up as Mike relearned how to be in a relationship... with him.
"I know you're not," Jason said carefully, taking the pieces in his hand and closing his fist around them. He'd never been restrained by anything other than Mark's hands and greater body weight, and he knew with Mike things like the collar would never be part of their life. "You can't put all the blame on yourself, Mike. There are many, many things about YRS that have fucked with all of our heads. I remember you, when you first got there. All your anger and spitfire that was really just fear. I admired you for standing up to him. You didn't know any better. You were completely innocent, and he took that and twisted it." Jason stood up and walked the pieces over to the dresser. He set them down on top and turned to look at Mike. He looked completely destroyed, and Jason's heart ached.
"You stood up to him and he found ways to wear you down, little by little. I'm sure it was a challenge to him. Everyone else did exactly what Mark said, but you didn't. You did your best with what you had, sweetheart." Jason walked over and took Mike's distraught face between his hands. "You don't have to protect me. You don't have to worry about a thing. Let go of all that and just let me take care of you. We'll do this together, figure it out together, and not repeat our past mistakes. I won't let you control me. We're already good like that. Look at me, Mike."
Mike looked up from between his long hair, his eyes puffy, and Jason knelt in front of him so they could see each other better. "You're right, so much went wrong with you and Chaz, but you can do better this time. I know that you can. I'm here to make sure you can do it." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Mike's. They were salty, the way Mike had tasted for days. "I promise you, when we're free to be together, you'll feel more like yourself. We just have to get through this little period." Jason felt like all he'd been doing was repeating himself, but he had to get through to Mike, to get him to understand that it was hard now, but it would get better.
"I didn't know," Mike whispered. "I didn't know I was doing it all wrong."
Jason nodded. "I know." He gave Mike another soft kiss. "You've just got to trust me. It's all going to be fine when we're gone."
****
"It's like we're doing everything again from earlier, only in reverse," Ryan chuckled as he stood inside the big walk-in closet with Chester. He pulled the next shirt from the bag, this one with gray stripes running across the black underprint and slid a hanger in the neck hole before placing it on the bar. He glanced over at Chester, who hadn't laughed at his joke. "Chaz?"
"Yeah?" he mumbled as he looked away from where he'd only hung five shirts over the last half hour. It took a minute for him to realize he was supposed to say more. "I'm sorry, Ry," he said with a long sigh. "This is just harder than I thought it would be."
Ryan took the step over to close the space between them. He laced his arm gently around Chester's back. "Are you going to be okay?"
Chester nodded as he let Ryan hold him, his eyes closed. "I miss him, and I know I shouldn't. One second I'm so mad at him and the next I just want to drop in front of him and ask why...why he was so mean to me. And I know some of it's my fault."
"No," Ryan disagreed immediately. "Chazzy, it's not your fault."
"No, it is," Chester told him as he looked up and took a step away. "Not everything, but I could have been a better boyfriend. I should have cared more about what he thought when it came to us." He motioned between the two of them, and Ryan's mouth dropped open slightly. "God, Ry, I love you. You know I do," Chester assured him. "And I love us spending time together."
"I do, too," Ryan rushed to say, but Chester put his hand up, not letting him go further.
"But all that closeness that was going on the last few months, us kissing so much, we shouldn't have done that. We let the lines go blurry, and I know Mike and Jay did, too, but...I know Mike's always been suspicious of us. I let him down," Chester said, his chin dropping to his shirt front.
"It's been nice being so close with you lately," Ryan offered, though his voice had gone softer. It was clear Chester was feeling a wave of guilt, maybe regret, and Ryan knew it was important that he feel his way through it, not push it away.
"It has been nice," Chester admitted. "But it hurt Mike and that's not okay." He wiped his hand across his face before he looked around the closet. They'd already brought all the boxes in and stacked them neatly around the simi-circle of the closet floor space. There was a section left clear, right at the back, where Chester planned to put his shoes, but they were still in the box. "You should go home," he said suddenly as he looked up and met Ryan's beautiful eyes and the shadow of confusion that had just crossed them. "Go home and be with Jason. I can finish this." He pointed down at the two bags of clothes they'd been working through.
"Chazzy, I can stay," Ryan argued lightly, though he dropped it quickly when Chester shook his head no. That was it. His friend needed his space to think, to mourn, to cope, and Ryan would never deny him that. "Okay," he agreed as he leaned over and kissed Chester on his cheek. "If you get lonely, call me. I can come back."
Chester smiled. It was nice to be someone's priority, even if he wasn't the boyfriend. "Thanks, but I think I'll be fine. I'm going to go make me a cup of coffee and finish hanging stuff up. I'll text you tomorrow."
Ryan agreed before he turned and left the closet, walking back out into the bedroom. His leather jacket was draped across the bed, over the pink and silver blanket and he cringed. I should bring him something better than that. Something that's comforting. I don't think he took any blankets or sheets from the loft. He left all that stuff for Mike. The thought brought a frown to his face, but he dismissed it quickly. He knew Chester was doing what he felt was best, and Ryan wasn't going to second guess him. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Maybe we can grab breakfast or lunch?"
"Sure," Chester said as he stepped out of the closet, and wrapped his arms around himself. He'd already had a shower, and he was only in a flimsy white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of black joggers, and zebra socks. As soon as he was done with the closet, he'd lay down and try to get some sleep. "And hey," he said, just as Ryan opened the bedroom door. "Tell Jay I'm sorry I took all the dishes. That was really shitty of me." He pulled his bottom lip in.
"They're yours," Ryan reminded him.
"I know, but now you guys have nothing. I could have left you the ones I don't like."
"Whatever," Ryan laughed, rolling his eyes. "You love all of them." He watched as Chester admitted that was true before he said goodnight. They shared kisses through the air, and then Ryan stepped out into the dark apartment, to leave quietly.
Chester waited until he heard that Ryan had left, and then he walked out and flipped on the lights. He knew Amir and Noah were upstairs, and he wouldn't be disturbing anything by making coffee. He tip-toed into the kitchen, got down a coffee cup, and made quick work to get the water heated up. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the counter as he waited. As he looked around at the small, but efficient kitchen. They gave all the space to the bedrooms, rather than in here. Guess that makes sense. If you're not a cook. God, I can't stay here forever. Look at this place...full of Amir's kitchen stuff. There's no room for my stuff. It's not my kitchen. I don't have a kitchen anymore.
The thought was painful, and Chester tried not to dwell on it as he pulled his phone from his pocket to try and busy his mind instead. He meant to flip to the news, or to a social media page, something else to concentrate on, but instead his eyes went right to the little number one on his text app. I bet that's from Mike. I don't think I opened his last one. His finger hovered over it, as he debated over reading it, or just leaving it be. He told me he was sorry, this is probably more of that. I wonder if he means it. He clicked on the message.
Mike: Please. I just need to tell you something.
Chester read the message, and then read it again. What's he going to tell me? He's already admitted he was being an asshole. But it's something more than that. He looked at the timestamp and realized Mike had texted him after he and Ryan had been at the loft. A swift intake of air hit Chester's lungs. The collar. He's probably upset I ruined it. I don't want to hear about that. Or maybe it's the dishes. He loves to eat, and now he has nothing to eat off of. God, what's wrong with me? I should have left him some plates and a cup.
The coffee was finally done, and after Chester stirred in his milk and sugar, he headed back to his room, closing the door easily with his foot. He sat down on the bed, clicking his phone back to life. Three days. I've been ignoring him for three days. Maybe that's been long enough. He sipped his coffee, and he hummed at how good it tasted before he set it down and texted back.
Chester: Okay. I'm listening.
Mike was staring blankly at the movie on the television when his phone vibrated. Jason was downstairs, waiting for Ryan to come home, and he was dreading the rest of the evening. With a heavy sigh he picked up the phone, fully expecting the text message to be any other person he knew on Earth besides Chester. He sat up, his pulse already racing. He's texting me back. I have to say the right thing. I probably only have one chance at this. He put the phone down and looked at it for a second, trying to decide what the most important thing was. He'd already apologized, and it had gotten him nowhere.
He picked the phone back up carefully and tapped the screen to bring his text message thread back to life.
Mike: I just wanted to tell you, the last 3 days have been awful without you. I've realized a lot of things. Stuff I should have done differently. I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry.
He pressed send, and then freaked out. That wasn't the most important thing. He rushed to send another message.
Mike: The collar. I'm sorry about the collar. If I could go back we never would have bought it.
Chester was mid-sip when the second message popped up right behind the first, and he almost spit his coffee out. His eyes popped as he read Mike's words. He's not mad...he's sorry. Chester's hand was shaking as he carefully set his coffee cup on the nightstand. He looked around the room, the very quiet room, but he was totally alone. He read the message again, his hand drifting up to his neck for a minute before he forced it away. "Good," he said out loud, his heart heaving a heavy sigh.
Chester: I'm surprised to hear you say that. I guess you found it. Or what was left of it. And I agree. The last three days have sucked balls.
He hit send and stood up. He walked over and opened the window, letting in the night air. He lingered, taking a few deep breaths before he went back to the bed to sit down. He was already feeling antsy - excited almost - to see if Mike would say more. Their breakup had been so fast, so hostile, and now it felt like they could really let everything out they both wanted to say.
Mike: I know I messed up. I know I said some awful things. I wish I could look at you and tell you the whole list of things I did wrong. I don't want you to hate me.
Mike wanted to keep going, but he was afraid Chester would stop responding. He meant it. He'd spent the last two hours making a list in his head of everything he'd done to make Chester hate him, and he wanted to apologize for each one, one at a time.
Chester's eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the text. "I don't hate him," he whispered, his heart pinching a little at the thought. I know we've been through a lot, but...I don't think I could ever hate him.
Chester: I don't hate you. I guess somehow we think alike. It felt like you hated me. I did things wrong, too. If you're making a list, I've got one of my own.
Mike: You don't need to make a list. And I don't hate you. Will you call me? Can I talk to you?
Mike held his breath and watched his phone, waiting to see if he'd get three little dots for a text message refusal, or if it would ring. He really, really wanted it to ring.
Chester's hand was over his mouth, his fingers playing with his lip ring as he waited. As he debated his options. He didn't want their calm messages to turn into an argument, which seemed to happen more and more lately whenever they talked. But he also knew that there was only so much to express over text. If he was going to get his chance to say he was sorry - that he was really sorry - he wanted Mike to hear the sincerity in his voice.
He clicked over to his contacts, and pulled up Mike's name. He hit call, and listened as it rang, the phone to his ear, his coffee cup to his lips as he took another quick sip. He dug his toes into the soft, dark gray carpeting and stared blankly at the closed bedroom door, and he was thankful for the privacy, something that had really been lacking in his life for the last six months.
Mike didn't even hesitate. He slid the button on his phone and put it right to his ear. "Ches? Hi." He let out a huge breath in a rush. "Thank you for calling me, I didn't think you would."
"It's nice to hear your voice," Chester said. "It feels like it's been longer than three days."
"I know, I know." Mike fell back on his pillow and wrapped his free arm around his stomach. Just hearing Chester's voice made his body ache. "I miss you."
Chester nodded. "I miss you, too. Mike, I, I know you said I don't need to make a list, but I do have things I wanted to say I was sorry for." He paused, taking a hard swallow. "I'm sorry I didn't leave you any dishes. I hope you found a way to eat." The moment the words were out of his mouth, Chester cursed himself for sounding stupid. The idea of apologizing for that had sounded much better in his head.
Mike felt the knot in his stomach loosen just a little. "There's been a lot of takeout," he admitted. "None of us can cook, you know. Tonight hasn't been any different in that respect." He shook his head at himself. "I'm not saying I didn't miss your dishes. You! Not your dishes. God, this isn't what I wanted to say."
A short giggle passed Chester's lips, and he felt himself smile briefly. "I know what you meant," he offered. "I haven't gotten to cook anything since I've been here. I haven't really felt up to it, honestly. I've been...wallowing. And eating a lot of breakfast tacos and ice cream."
"I love breakfast tacos," Mike whined. "I, I ate your pie. The pie you made me." He squeezed his arm around his middle a little bit tighter. "It was really good. All of it. I ate the whole damn thing by myself."
"Really?" Chester asked reflexively. "I wasn't sure you even wanted it. You didn't seem to be interested in it when I made it. You didn't have to eat it." He looked down at the floor, at the way his zebra socks looked against the plush carpet, and he tried to keep memories of that horrible Thursday night from coming back. The night Mike had been so cold to him.
"I'm sorry," Mike said, his voice just above a whisper. "I know I've said that a lot in my texts, but I am." He closed his eyes and mumbled, "I'd never eat pie I didn't want."
"You have said that a lot," Chester agreed. "Mike, I don't know what happened. I'm sorry the ad upset you," he heard himself say, even though that hadn't been on his list of things he wanted to apologize for. "I shouldn't have done it, for work or for the camera or for whatever reason."
"I wish I wasn't such a jealous idiot," Mike said. He sat up on the bed and picked at the blanket. "Ever since I found out about your job at YRS I've been an insecure, jealous idiot. I guess it all just came out the other night." What Jason and I have done hasn't helped. It's too much stress. I know I'm doing this all wrong. "I've been watching you with Ryan for so long, and I... I know I've made you feel bad about your friendship with him. And I shouldn't have done that, either."
Chester felt a little gasp escape his throat. He was pretty sure it was the first time he'd ever heard Mike apologize for how he acted when it came to Ryan. "Sexy Boy, you don't have to feel insecure," he said, before he stopped, a small panic hitting. "I mean, Mike," he corrected. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Old habits." He cleared his throat and started over. "Ryan's my friend, and we're close. I know we get too close sometimes, and I should have been more considerate of your feelings about that. I really should have. That was my fault. It was never because I wanted him and not you, Mike. It was never that...and I want you to know that I've never cheated. Not with Ry or anyone else."
Mike felt his stomach roll sickeningly. He knew that. He believed Chester one hundred percent. He'd gone out of his mind the other night with the guilt he felt and the shock of Jason asking him to come to Seattle, and he'd put all of that on Chester. It wasn't fair, and he knew it. "I know. I know, Chester." He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out another sigh. "All I can do is tell you I'm sorry. Again."
It was a massive moment of relief, hearing Mike say that he believed him. That he knew Chester wasn't the dirty cheater he'd accused him of being. Chester stood up from the bed. "Thanks, Mike," he said, and he heard the raise in his tone. "I was worried you wouldn't believe me, after what you said. I think it's good we're talking. My therapist says that we would really benefit from better communication, and I think she's right. And I'm learning more about saying what I'm feeling." Chester stepped over to the doors of the open closet, looking inside as it hit him. He'd only been away from Mike for three days, but he'd failed at sharing anything much about his therapy from day one. It was one more fail in their communication. "Are you busy?" he asked, not sure if he was really going to go through with what he wanted to ask.
"Just staring at the tv. Jay's downstairs waiting on Ryan to get home so they can have dinner together." Mike bit his lip for a second before he asked, "why?"
Chester took a few steps inside the closet. "Would...would you want to come over and talk some more?" he asked. "I have to finish putting stuff away, and so I need to go, but if you want...I'm here. I'll give you the grand tour of this massive closet. I'm standing in it, Mike. Like, right now. Standing in it," he repeated for emphasis.
Mike felt the pull in his chest, the part of him that wanted to see Chester. He wanted to give him a hug and look him in the eyes and tell him what an idiot he was and how sorry he felt for everything. Especially the collar. "Yeah. I don't know where I'm going, you'll have to send me the address." He stood up from the bed and grabbed his flannel, then remembered he'd used it to wipe his face earlier. It's probably got snot on it somewhere. I can't wear that. "I'll leave right now, before you change your mind." Or me, before I change my mind.
"Okay, I'll text you the address. Don't knock when you get here...there are people here and I don't want to disturb them." He walked out of the closet and over to his bedroom door, opening it up and looking out into the dark bottom part of Amir's apartment. "Just text me when you get here. I'll see you soon."
Mike nodded, then remembered to say, "okay," before he hung up. He grabbed the first hoodie on the stack in the barren closet and shoved his body into it before he started down the stairs. Jason looked up at him in surprise. It was the first time he'd come downstairs with a purpose in three days.
"You okay?" Jason asked, looking over Mike's sloppy hoodie and sweatpants as he stood up to meet Mike at the bottom of the stairs. His hair was a wreck and his eyes were still bloodshot from earlier. "Do you need me to get you something?"
"No." Mike stopped and his phone vibrated. It seemed very loud in the awkward silence between them. "Ches. He wants to talk. He finally texted me back and we're going to talk through some stuff." He looked away from the guarded expression on Jason's face. "It will be good to talk it out. And I'll be gone when Ryan gets home. You know, so you two can talk."
Jason narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?" He stepped back as Mike stepped around him, headed for his keys that were in his backpack under the stairs. He felt his heart racing as he watched Mike dig around for his stuff, anxious to get going. "If you think I'm going to break up with him tonight, I'm not." Jason crossed his arms and waited for Mike to face him.
"I just meant, maybe there were things you should talk about, so you can do better than what I did with Chester. Don't you think maybe you owe him that? After so many years together? Maybe it shouldn't just hit him out of the blue." Mike stood up, keys in hand, and stepped back to Jason. "I just meant, I'm getting a chance to make things better. I don't want Ches to hate me. I don't hate him. I didn't stop loving him overnight, and he thinks I did. That's not fair to anyone. You have the opportunity to do better than me. So you should take it." He leaned forward and kissed Jason on the cheek. "I'll be back. Just put my dinner in the fridge."
Jason watched Mike leave before he walked over to the table and sat down. He wasn't sure what Chester had said, but it was a replay of the other night. All Chester had to do was beckon, and there was Mike, crawling back on his hands and knees. Maybe I've got this whole thing wrong. Mike might never be ready to leave him. It doesn't matter what I say, or how good I know we'll be together. Until he makes up his mind, one way or the other, he feels obligated to Chester. Jason pulled out his phone and tapped through a few screens, looking at the e-tickets he'd purchased for their trip to Seattle. If Mike stays, then that means Ryan can come with me. That means everything we do in Seattle next week, it won't matter. I should make sure whatever we pick out, Ryan would like, too. I want him to be happy. With me, or with Chaz, whichever way this all goes. Mike's right about that. I owe him better than dragging him off without any consideration for what he wants. Maybe I need to tell him about Seattle tonight. Maybe I'm the one who's wrong. Maybe it's really meant to be me and Ry, no matter what Mark thought about him. I don't have to make Mark happy any more. He's not here.
He let the phone screen go to black. I could see us together there. We were happy in Seattle. Maybe it would be like that again. Before he could think things through any further, there was a knock at the door, and with a heavy sigh, Jason got up to get the dinner he'd ordered for three that only two of them would be eating.