𝐒𝐢𝗺𝗼𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐥 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝗼𝐭𝐬.

𝑨 𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒌

"Paul, listen, I need-"

"Oh, shut up!" Paul was drunk on the other end. "You call me for the first time in what, five weeks, to ask me for something! Still have your head up your ass, huh?!"

"It's not like that-"

"Fuck off!" The phone was slammed, ending the call.

Art screamed, his throat getting sore. He stormed out of the hotel after he grabbed his car keys.

-----
Flashback: five weeks ago
------

This was it. He was going to ask him, he needed to tell him. He waited for years. This was it.

"Hey Paul?" Art walked in the room, brushing his wet hair with a comb. "Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?"

The shorter chuckled. "A date? Do you want to kiss afterward?" Art froze up, his palms sweating. "Where do you want to go?"

"It's a surprise, but dress nice."

-

Around seven, the taller drove his friend to the diner. It was fancy looking. Red roses, candles, a guitar player, there were a lot of couples there. They sat by the window, the sunset looking gorgeous.

They were quiet, though there was tension. Paul played with his fingers. He could barely eat. Art looked down, playing with his curls. What if he rejected him? What if he screamed? He doesn't even know his best friend since middle school likes boys.

-

After an extremely awkward walkout, Art wanted to walk. Nowhere exactly, just a walk. Paul's stomach felt heavy. This is very unlike him. He loves to talk about what he's doing or how he's feeling. He's been so closed-off lately, even depressed looking.

"Listen, man," they stopped. "I have something to tell you."

"Um, sure." He noticed the taller's hands shaking.

Art bit the dead skin off his lip. He wanted to throw up. "I like boys."

There was a silence. The taller couldn't look at the other. Otherwise, he would've seen the disgusted look on his face. He felt hot tears in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

"I...." His voice trailed off before it returned. "I like you. There, I said it."

Happiness visited. He did it, he actually did it. It was like picking nails or hair, but it was done! He took a deep breath before turning to the other. The visitor left.

"Ew."

Paul's mouth worked faster than his brain. Art's face dropped. 

"...ew..?"

The shorter finally looked up. He saw what he did.

"Art, I didn't-"

Embarrassment quickly turned to rage. A red-faced, teary-eyed, shaking rage. He pushed past Paul to the car, blocking out anything he might say. Enough words. Enough of him. He drove off, leaving the other by the park they walked to.

------

Paul rubbed his forehead, flaming tears rolling down his face as he remembered last night. Why does he do stupid shit like this?

He loves boys too, he understands that now. He used to loathe Art because he made him question his sexuality. He really likes women. They have soft skin, pretty hair, and they paint their faces with beautiful makeup. But now, he also really likes men. They're strong, hairy, who wouldn't want that?

He got in his car and drove to Art's hotel room. He remembers the heartbreak in his eyes. The way he got pushed. He didn't mean to say ew. Why did he do that? Why can't he just be normal?

He stepped in and looked around. His best friend wasn't there. He bit his nails as he tried to ring Art's mother. The singer and her are very close, he tells her everything.

"Hello?"

"Oh, it's you." Just from her tone, Paul knew she knew what he did.

"Yeah...how are you?"

"Just fine. Why are you calling?"

He sighed. "Oh, um, I can't find Artie. I figured you would know where he is."

"Yes, I do. You need to make up with him, even if you don't feel the same way." She could less what her son liked. Besides, she likes men too. They bond over who they think is hot or not.

"I like him, that's the thing. I just reacted-"

"You made him cry." Paul's stomach felt tight again. "He hasn't cried like that since he was a little boy. You really hurt him."

There was a ball in his throat. "I know. I'm sorry." He looked up, staring at his bitten nails. "What type of flowers does he like?"

-

"Mom, I really don't want to see him. He's a dick."

"I know, but all men are." She sat on her chair, a cup of tea on her lap. "However, he has a surprise for you. He really wants to see you. He's waiting in the subway station next to the wall."

He whined as he sat up, rubbing his head. "Fine."

-

Dressed in a gray suit, Art walked down the steps to the station. Despite being unusually small, Paul was easy to spot. He was standing next to a red trash with a big guitar. Not looking at him in the eye, he walked up to him.

"Here."

Art looked up and saw his best friend holding white roses. He never saw him look so regretful. Something about Paul is that he's very hot-headed and stubborn. If he feels like he's right, even if he's dead wrong, he would die on that hill and never admit he's wrong. He'll never apologize.

"I'm sorry." His voice was gentle, it cracked like old walls. "I'm so sorry."

"Paul-" He was going to say something, but a teenage boy with braces tapped his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Uh, I'm a photographer. I see you guys look stylish and whatnot, and I would love to take a picture of you, for free." He fixed his glasses. "If you don't mind."

"Um, sure, ok."

They moved closer together, Paul holding his guitar and Art leaning on the wall. It would've been a great picture if the shorter wasn't pouting and a train didn't pass by. They were given the photo before the young man walked off.

"It looks lovely." Paul's voice was shaking as he pointed to the other's face. "You look handsome."

He suddenly turned away, covering his eyes with his fists. Art, being the gentle soul he was, touched his shoulder.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry." His voice was high, breaking in-between sobs. "I love you."

Art pulled away. "You do?"

"Yeah!"

"T-thank you." His voice was also getting high.

Paul suddenly wrapped his arms around him, going up to his torso. The other hugged him back, tears spilling down on the floor. They didn't care who looked, who said anything. Things were going to change.