Café Anomalies

Arcane

Another short chapter because I wanted to leave this one with a not very interesting cliff hanger.

Enjoy.

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ar·cane : /ärˈkān/

adjective : arcane

1.   understood by few; mysterious or secret.

Somehow, Ziven had found himself agreeing to Erik's invitation, and was currently lounging in his living room.

"It's clean," Ziven had said after walking into Erik's living room.

"I told you I've been trying," Erik had responded proudly.

Shaking away his thoughts, the brunette looked around the room, his dark eyes catching little trinkets he hadn't noticed before.

A fireplace adorned the wall in front of him, right below a large screen television, furnished with a single picture frame and other decorations. Curiosity piqued, Ziven stood from his seat and walked over to the fireplace, gently picking up the frame.

"It's my parents," Erik murmured as he walked up beside Ziven.

"They look happy."

And they did. His mother stood beside his father on a cliff, overseeing a marvelous sunset. He could see where Erik got his pretty looks. His mother smiled brightly at the camera, arm wrapped around her husband, bright hazel eyes twinkling beneath the dimming light.

"...Yeah."

Erik's hand covered Ziven's and gently pushed the frame back onto the mantel.

Hand in hand, Erik tugged Ziven onto the couch. Their legs were nearly touching as they sat down. Erik scooted closer to close the minimal space between them.

"You're too close."

"I know." Erik grinned and rested his head atop Ziven's shoulder.

"Turn on the TV, at least."

Erik shot up from the couch and did as he was told before bounding back over to Ziven like an all too eager puppy wanting to get praised. He snuggled against Ziven, wrapping both arms around one, and rested his head on his shoulder once more.

Pushing Erik away would be too much of a hassle.

"You don't have cable," Ziven said, slightly disappointed.

"I don't watch TV."

He pursed his lips and pressed the buttons on the remote, trying to figure out the foreign mechanics. After a few minutes, Ziven settled on a channel and leaned back to watch- Erik following the suit.

"I like you," Erik said.

"I know."

"Do you like me?"

"...See that guy on TV? I read that he made an entire song and video dedicated to telling his fans to basically fuck off."

"Are you telling me to 'fuck off'?" Erik's grip on Ziven's arm tightened.

"No. I'm saying you should just leave some things alone."

"So you're saying 'fuck off'."

"You know what I mean. Stop trying to twist my words around."

“What if I don’t want to?” Erik’s voice began to grow desperate, “What if I want to be more? More than friends?”

Ziven sighed and turned his head to look down at Erik.

Erik peered up at Ziven with pleading eyes.

“I’m not gay,” he simply replied and looked away, focusing back on the TV screen. However, with Erik beside him, begging for the impossible, it was hard to focus.

“You don’t have to be!” Erik squeezed Ziven’s arm, “I-It can be a secret! Please.”

Irritated, Ziven yanked his arm away from Erik’s grip, eliciting a hurt whimper, and stood up. “I’m going to go home.”

The heartbroken male didn’t respond as Ziven walked out. The silence would have been deafening if it hadn’t been for his soft sniffs and sobs.

 

Ziven had only been in Erik’s home for less than half an hour and already he’d left in annoyance. Erik was proving to be too much—too much for a man who already had enough complications. And as selfish as he was, those complications were nothing to Erik’s messed up past.

The brunette was nothing more than a college drop-out rejected by his family of high-end influential persons. They were ridiculously wealthy, spending all those dollars on lavish commodities and materials. It was almost all too much- the fame, the media, the pressure. So, Ziven dropped out of his Ivy-league college. He just wanted a simple life. Nothing more than a small shop, living with the necessary needs- nothing more.

And then there was his sexuality. Ziven wasn’t sure what he was. Perhaps bisexual. He had no preference toward men or women; however, he did have a slight preference of women over men. It had been chaos when Ziven had once brought home a man and was caught together in bed. His family had been furious. Their reputations would have been tainted in the wealthy community. Dropping out of college became the last straw.

They disowned him, leaving him with nothing more than his suitcase and a couple thousand dollars to live somewhere far, far away from home.

Telling Erik that he wasn’t gay was no lie and yet, wasn’t the truth either. He simply wasn’t interested in a broken boy like Erik.

“Hello?”

“Sarah?”

“Oh! Ziven? Wow! You haven’t called me in ages! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Ziven tucked his phone between his cheek and shoulder as he idly flipped through a magazine.

“That’s good, that’s good. Where are you now?”

“I’m home.”

“Ziven.”

“Glenn Farrell.”

“Where’s that?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Wow! That means I’ll have to take one of the private planes if I want to visit you!”

“Mm. I guess. Or a regular commercial plane.”

“Ew. Those are gross. Don’t even suggest that, Zi. Why’d you call anyways?”

“I need a favor.”

“Anything for my baby brother!”

“Can you get me the medical files on an ‘Erik Garson’?”

“Oooh. Is he—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Okay. Well. Give me a few days. I can get you something by then.”

“Thanks.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.