Oh My God, They Were Roommates

37 | I Write Sins Not Tragedies

"I really don't want to be in a TikTok," Sora said, but his insistence did little to convince Charlie. If anything, it just egged him on.

"I know you know the dance," Charlie said.

"Yeah, because I sent it to you. I thought we could do something for the stage—not a damn TikTok," Sora said. He'd be lying if he said he couldn't fall asleep without getting a few TikToks in, and the habit nearly slipped away entirely until Ray, half-asleep, became entirely too invested in Sora's dim phone screen the night before when Sora sent the dance over to Charlie.

And by Friday night, Charlie had watched it a dozen times over and had the choreography committed to memory. When Sora came into work that evening, Charlie had pawned off his phone to David under the impression that David would be their camera man.

"I've got a bar to run, dude," David said.

"The drinks can wait—I gotta see this," a customer said, waving David off and eliciting a laugh through the group of people he was with.

Charlie gave Sora a "you see?" look, and Sora gave him a dull stare that slid into a smirk when he caught the intrigue on the customers faces. He feigned disinterest, arms crossed and a grimace on his face until they egged him on with compliments and requests for a... TikTok dance.

He sighed, dramatically relenting, and gave them a bow. "Well, if you insist."

David recorded the several takes it took for their choreography to sync up. When it did, Charlie took the phone back, the customers got their drinks, and they all cheered and spread a round down the table full of vodka shots. Sora took one the moment Charlie sent the video off to the great wide web and let the alcohol sent a hot flush through his system.

Sora drank on the job plenty of times—read: most of the time—but that night, he got particularly wasted after a few fourth year students from a nearby university tipped him to film another video—this time with them and a dance they invented. After yet another successful video, he was three shots in and feeling it.

Working at a club had plenty of perks. On weekend nights, it felt more and more like a fucked up frat party, especially considering the number of college kids that came by. Drinking, talking, dancing, lap dances (people did that at frat parties, right?) and just like every frat party, there was an entry fee that sexy motherfuckers didn't have to pay (Sora and the other dancers). Unlike a frat, however, Sora was getting paid to party, and he considered that a bonus.

Later in the evening, though, when things mellowed out, Sora was back on the pole until two in the morning when he metaphorically clocked out for the night.

Sora's head felt heavy as he sat on the bus that early, early morning scrolling through videos and memes. His brain was still sloshing with alcohol, and continued to do so as he staggered off of the bus at his designated stop. As the bus continued on, he paused to look across the street to his apartment building, where the living room window was still lit.

A faint smile tugged on his tired lips. He frequently forgot that his new "normal" involved coming home to the company of his favorite person.

Weird, he thought as he crossed the street. I've never had a favorite person before.

It seemed like an off-handed thought, but the more he considered it, the more he realized how he looked forward to his interactions with Ray. He never really despised the thought of seeing Ray, even from the start. He had only ever avoided Ray when his work was a secret.