The Man in the Park

Chapter Four

Brian was beyond pissed off at a certain demon for multiple reasons. After his little confession Matt had again taken to not letting Brian have his release in his dreams; usually Brian is a lucid dreamer, meaning that he can control his own dreams, but not now. No matter how hard he’d try, he always was unsuccessful. Then, there are the stunts that Matt has been pulling at the bars – whoever Brian talks too, whenever he leaves to go get drinks, he’ll come back and they’ll be fucking gone. He can’t seem to catch a break; wherever Brian goes, Matt’s two steps in front of him.

It had slowly become a goddamn game of cat and mouse – a game that Matthew to love.

Once again Brian’s solitude had been moved to the confinements of his house. Locking himself in his bedroom unless it’s to get the bare essentials – food, body wash, dog food, tissues and hand cream. He wasn’t overly fussed about letting Pinkly out to do her business as she has a dog flap in the back door. Brian knew that the physicality of his house wouldn’t keep the damn demon at bay.

For days now, whenever Brian would peer out of the curtains, he swore that he saw Matt walking past his house; whether it was a small figment of the imagination, or if it was actually him, Brian was petrified. And, when hazel met warm mocha, it was as if a bucket of ice cold water had been poured down his back, his teeth would chatter to the point where he was sure that his jaw was going to jump out of its socket, his body would quiver in pure fear. For minutes, he’d remain rooted to the spot with his hand clutching dangerously to the harsh material of the curtain, unwilling to move in case Matt suddenly appeared in front of him.

Again, as long fingers carefully hold up the now dry photograph, there was the slightly blurred outline of Matthew in the far right-hand corner, resisting the urge to tear the glossy polaroid in half, Brian instead put it with the ever-growing pile of ruined shots and walked back upstairs and then, into his room. Getting changed out of his dirty boxers, he pulled on clean ones then his gym clothes. Humming a random song that was popular on the radio, he walked back downstairs, grabbed a towel from the linen closet before walking out into the far corner of his garage.

He’d turned that small area into a workout space; a punching bag was suspended on a chain from the roof, a bench press was near the wall and there was also a treadmill. Frequently, Brian found himself down there, punching away his pent up frustrations. He walked over to the cabinet, opened it and pulled out his boxing gloves. Slipping those on his hands, he lifted his arms up and over his head; stretching his body from slide to side. When he was ready and all limbered up, he made his way over to the bag. He bumped both fists against the sand filled bag. Before stepping back a little and started to punch.

With every strike that his gloved fist made to the punching bag, Brian felt that little bit better. He was jumping on his feet like a boxer does as he circles his opponent, his arms up; shielding his body as if the bag could punch back. A light sheen of sweat formed on his forehead as he moved; his muscles would ripple whenever his arm struck forward.

But, what he didn’t know was that someone was watching him, fascinated and highly aroused.

Once Brian had formed enough sweat to flood the Pacific Ocean, he decided to move onto the bench press, removing the now sweaty gloves, he swung his arms around in front of him, stretching before he lay down on the cushioned bench, his arms lifting up, allowing his hands to grip the cool, horizontal metal pole. He didn’t bother changing the weights, they were already at 30lb, taking a deep breath, he lifted. Moving his arms back a little, he then brought it down to his chest. His breathing soon became laboured as he pumped the weights.

And, an hour passed before he found himself feeling a whole lot better. He decided to take a shower and then take Pinkly for a walk. Even while he was stood in the shower, he felt that strong urge to turn around. He just couldn't reason as to why he was suddenly washed with paranoia, but it was there.

Soon, he was dressed and looking mildly presentable. As he walked downstairs, he grabbed Pinkly's leash off of the hook on the wall and bent down, ruffling her silky fur before clipping it onto her collar. She barked happily at him before walking out. Her nails making a clipping sound on the tiles. Brian paused by the hat rack and grabbed his skull beanie, sliding it down over his hair before stepping out into the sun. His hand immediately came up to shield his eyes, regretting not wearing sunglasses. But, seeing as though he was lazy as fuck, and he was already outside, he just continued to walk, not bothering to walk back inside and walk upstairs to grab his sunnies off of his bedside table.

* * *

It was only when Brian was sitting down on a park bench, scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed that he saw Matthew approaching him out of the corner of his eye. Like, literally, walking up to him. Just about damn near dropping the phone in surprise, Brian quickly looked around before frowning when he saw Pinkly in the demon's arms; strangely she looked at home but, that was even more weird as normally didn't take too well to strangers.

"Is this your dog?" Matt asked with his smooth honey-like voice. And, it was his voice that had Brian drop his mental guard and have him nodding like a bobble-head doll on crack. Sensing the smaller man's nervousness, Matt just gave him an award-winning smile, one which made his crater-like dimples dot his cheeks. Just that alone had Brian just about pool at Matt's feet.

"Y-yeah," Brian squeaked uncharacteristically, but he quickly covered it up with a cough, "I could have sworn that she was clipped to the leash," Brian frowned, pushing himself up. He slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans before he took Pinkly out of the larger man's arms. As Brian stroked Pinky's fur, he felt Matt's stare penetrating the side of his skull. Flitting his eyes up slightly, warm mocha soon met melted honey and just like that, Brian was drawn in, never to be let out again.

"What do you want from me?" Brian whispered, knowing full well that Matt had heard him. Matt's gaze softened just slightly as his hand reached out to push an escaped clump of still wet hair back in under the material of Brian's beanie.

"A date."

"You want a date with me? How do you know that I will go? How the fuck do I know that you won't just use it as an excuse to tie me up and fuck me senseless then kill me?"

"Because, I know you. I've watched you for years, Brian. You're not the type of man who turns down a date."

Brian's nose scrunched up as he realised that what the demon said was true, never has he turned down an opportunity to be treated like a prince for the night. He loved dates, even though majority of the dates that he'd been too had turned out shit; he still went and tried to have the best time of his life. He just sighed, and nodded at Matt.

"Fine, I'll go with you. But, on one condition. . ." Brian relented, his gaze hardened as he took in the composure of Matt. With that last word, he'd tensed slightly.

"What's your condition, Haner?" Matt mused, genuinely interested at what would be said next.

"I don't fuck on the first date."