Tourist - (B.U.)

Affection

If you've recently gotten out of a relationship, and you're not quite certain if you're ready to start seeing other people again, maybe afraid that any small similarity in your date would send your mind reeling to comparisons of your ex-lover, all it really takes is for you to see them out with someone new.

This situation was tricky for me anyway, considering that Brendon and I hadn't actually broken up yet. Not publicly.

But before this moment, this Tuesday night at the Sacred Hearts Club venue in Los Angeles California at a time that was too late to be out but too early to go home, I actually thought I had forgotten him.

Maybe forgotten's not the best word. And maybe the fact that I can't even visualize the phrase "broken up with" rather than "we're on a break" means that I was never over Brendon to begin with.

But holy shit is it a sickening feeling when you're heart and mind are finally on the same page, and the visual representation of them both breaking was walking toward you in an Anthony Franco blazer.

"You're squeezing my arm," Mark smiled softly and whispered down to me.

I instantly relaxed and tried to stand up straighter, diverting my attention anywhere else. Why did I have to think of where to look? I shouldn't have to tell myself to act casual.

I was acting perfectly casual before, damnit.

"I'm sorry," I squeezed my fingers around his bicep gently as a loving gesture and Mark grinned.

"Stop being a fucking weirdo," he laughed breathily, shaking his head and then shaking Brendon's outstretched hand when he and the girl on his arm were suddenly in front of us.

"Nice to see you again, Brendon," Mark nodded firmly like he was running into the CEO of a prestigious company. Very respectful, very refined.

I hated him for that. A part of me wanted Mark to just dismiss Brendon altogether. Don't shake his hand after you know what he did to me. This was an act of betrayal.

Brendon, being the absolute middle-school aged boy that he was, pulled Mark in for a hug and slapped his back roughly, shaking off his hand and baring his tongue while laughing.

"Foster! How are you man?" Brendon stepped back and let his eyes roam over Mark's frame. "Fuck, don't act so fucking formal! Is this a party or not?"

I narrowed my eyes and took in Brendon's figure. He was wearing black jeans with a blue, silk button up tucked into his pants, a few tops buttons, actually most of the buttons, were undone and illustrated his chest and part of his abdomen.

I couldn't tell if he was drunk. He looked quite drunk by the dewey highlight that his cheeks and skin gave off, and the way his clothes were practically falling off his body, his hair was pretty sloppy as well, but when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me in for a hug, he smelt alcohol-free.

"Something wrong?" He perked an eyebrow up and smiled politely at me when I continued to stare over his body.

I shook my head, "no, nothing. You just look like maybe you've been exercising or something, you've sweated through your shirt."

Wait.

Brendon's cheeks flared up, turning a nice shade of pink, before he cleared his throat to speak.

He wouldn't cheat on me. Would he?

Is it technically cheating?