¤ LONGLISTED IN THE OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST 2022 ¤
// COMPLETE
- stand-alone sequel to featherlight -
Chase Collins steps onto a late night train, his last in the city before he moves to a new state with a job promotion.
What he doesn't expect, how...
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But they hadn't managed to stay in touch, after all.
And as long as he'd lost contact with Kyle, it had hurt a little less. But here he is, smelling of cologne and leather, as Chase gingerly gets up and walks across the train towards him. And Chase is forced to look at the facts right in the eye, instead of ducking under them; instead of dodging the bullets of reality. This is the living, breathing Kyle Rivera, not the way he is in Chase's head: saying only the things he wants to hear, only caring about him, only re-enacting moments of the past. This Kyle has smiled at other people, flirted with them, caught up with friends who aren't him, helped other people home when they're drunk, made love to them.
These are the realities which hit him hard in the stomach in that moment, leaving him feeling winded and faintly sick. And just plain fucking reeling.
"Hi," he says. He's fully aware of how strange his voice sounds. His larynx has chosen this very moment to go on strike, apparently. He almost stumbles as the train jolts, grabbing on to the closest pole.
Kyle's eyes scan his face. "Hi, Chase," he says, and when he smiles it's that same goddamn smile, the one which made people practically swoon back at Melrose. "Wow. Hi."
After standing in front of Kyle for a long second, Chase carefully sits down on the cold seat beside him. He taps the sole of his shoe against the floor, and then sees his IKEA bag still on the other side of the train. He walks back to pick it up, dropping it on the floor next to Kyle.
"I've never seen you on the train before," Kyle comments.
Chase sits down again, and finally his tongue unravels and his mind whirrs back into operation and he starts producing words. "I don't usually take this train," he says. "I was running late and I stopped to get coffee on the way. I've never actually taken one this late before." He pauses, and Kyle's words reach his brain at last. "Wait. You always take this train?"
Kyle clicks his tongue and nods slowly. "Yep. I do. My office is pretty far down south. I get back late every night." His eyes move from the bag at Chase's feet to their surroundings. "I almost like it better at night."
"It's quiet," Chase says, even though it's a shitty sentence. Stating the obvious. Because it's easier than everything else he wants to say.
Kyle's glance snaps back to him. "Quiet," he agrees. And then, almost confidentially, "I fell asleep once and ended up in some random fucking station." He shakes his head with a chuckle. "Never repeating that experience again."
Chase opens his mouth and shuts it. He looks at Kyle properly. A five o'clock shadow dusts his jaw, and there's a little scab on his upper lip: one Chase recognizes too well as a nick from early-morning shaving. That high-school football physique has changed, too, making Kyle a little slimmer. He looks so similar to the last time he saw him almost five years ago, and yet there's something fundamentally different. The wave of realization that he possibly doesn't know the other man at all inundates him.
