Raphael /BoyxBoy/

||Twenty-One||

for 2k <33

-

I wasn't going to dwell on the feelings that wrapped around my thoughts like ropes that had seen better days, the kind that chaff against your skin and always seem to leave violent red marks behind. Instead, I forced my legs to move to Tom's kitchen. He was already there standing behind the stove, work shirt half tucked into the waistline of his dark jeans.

"You're up early."

"Jet lag," which we both knew didn't make sense at all but neither of us thought the idea of an argument appealing that early in the morning.

"I made bacon."

I made a sound of approval as I slowly gravitated towards the coffee machine. "Can I?"

He smiled tiredly. "You don't have to ask. Jesse is the only one who uses it."

I poured myself a mug and settled against the kitchen counter. "Rough night?"

He shook his head, flipping eggs and bacon over the pan and trying to avoid the continuous attack of sizzling oil. "Doesn't matter."

So I let it go, knowing I wouldn't want to talk about it either. Instead, we entertained ourselves through questions of our culinary skills, or lack thereof in my case. Even though Tom mainly handed out the drinks at the coffee shop, occasionally having to prep them from time to time, he still had the ability to cook. Picking up the skills from a family member, he practiced on his meals whenever he found the time.

"But I like baking more," he said. "It's how I got the job at the coffee shop in the first place. I made a batch of oatmeal cookies for a friend and they asked if I needed a job."

He handed me a plate of my breakfast, and I mentally thanked the universe that Tom had offered me a place to stay.

He hurried to work soon after, and I was left to wander the apartment again on my own. I settled on flipping through TV channels and wasting away on the couch. My thoughts often drifted but it was better than bumping into someone familiar in the streets. I should have gone to a place where no one knew my name, but hanging out with Tom only proved to be entertaining so far.

Hours dragged by and I found myself moving between waves of consciousness and drifting off to sleep. Flashes of pale skin and sandy hair, of morning kisses and the strong taste of coffee. I made myself another cup, an excuse to get off the couch.

When I walked back to the couch, my nose filled with the smell of coffee, I checked my phone.

Hey

i miss you

where are u

scarlet won't say anything to me. where did u go

The messages kept coming, one after the other, sending my thoughts into a frenzy of desperation. What was I supposed to? Reply back? No. He was drunk, I assumed, and once he was sober he would regret sending anything at all. Any response would only make me look weak.

But by that point, I had so many things I wanted to say back. Forgive him for something I didn't even think needed forgiving at that point. Whether he was drunk or not, Raphael wanted me. I loved that he wanted me. I wanted him too.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but when I thought of what Scarlet would say, I quickly discarded any scenarios of reconciling away. Staying away was good for me. It was the healthy option.

I turned my phone off and settled my half-hearted attention back to the TV screen.

—

For two days, I allowed myself only a few peeks at my phone. Raphael stopped messaging me, but I found myself staring at our messages, waiting for something. It was pathetic, really. When I knew that even if he did text me, it wasn't like I was going to reply. I refused to acknowledge anything he said to me, because even though a small part of me really wanted him back, another part fueled with dislike whenever I caught his name on my screen.