September Looks Good on You

Ch. 2: Feels Like Home

Mark looked around the coffee shop, with its wood and metal and the bare lightbulbs hanging from various spots in the ceiling. It looked very...craftsman. He and his flannel shirt and his scruff worked well here, Jack observed, not aware until today that he had a type. They both tucked into their beverages.

"This would be a great place to take someone on a date," Mark commented offhand.

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. That was a very comfortable thing to say to another man. Maybe I've got more of a shot than I thought. He took a risk. "Well, Markie Boy, if that's why you brought me here then get to the schmoozing!"

Mark looked at him in surprise, but didn't duck in discomfort or turn stormy. "I would, except coming here was your idea."

"Yeah, well..." Jack swallowed. "You still need to get to know a guy if you're going to talk like that." He chanced a wink. What are you doing, you absolute fool?! If you offend him you'll have nowhere to live!

Mark grinned and settled his forearms on the table. "Alright, then, let me see...uh....OH! Got it. Would you rather...have wheels on your feet, or knives on your hands?"

"Knives, Jesus...steak knives?"

"Butter knives."

"Aw, well, that settles it. It would be much easier to navigate with perma-skates than it would be to figure out how to use my weird hands. Especially in the bathroom...ergh." He shuddered.

Mark leaned back with a twisted expression. "Oh, come on, we live on the third floor! How do you expect to get up there on wheels?"

"Elevators, obviously. Masturbation, Mark! How would I survive?" he said way too loudly, making them both laugh.

"Well, you'd need help, duh," Mark said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Jack stopped laughing immediately, and seeming to realize what that implied, Mark's face fell. "I mean, uh...not everyone would have knife hands, so you'd...oh, whatever, it's a hypothetical." He fiddled with the flap on his plastic lid.

Seeing him flounder made Jack want to help by changing the subject...eventually. He smirked. "Alright, alright, but how about this: would you rather have mice in your pants, or scorpions in your shoes?"

"Permanently?!"

Jack hummed thoughtfully. "How about, every morning. And you gotta find them!" he added with a pointed finger.

"Well, if you think about it..." and Mark laid out his defense while Jack tried to hide his smile in his cup.

Eventually they had finished their drinks and decided to walk through the campus. It was new to both of them, and with classes scattered all over, there was plenty to explore. After finding a couple of the right buildings, Jack asked what Mark was studying.

"Uh...engineering?" he said with a squint.

If Jack still had his drink, he would've spat it out. Of course the guy that dresses like a carpenter wants to build things. "What?! That's wild! Don't you have ta take a lot of maths for that?"

"Yeah, I guess I will," Mark admitted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I did alright the past couple of years, though, so I don't think it'll be too bad. What are you in for?"

"Oh, um...business." Jack wasn't quite as certain as to the path for rest of his life. He had just picked something, since the study-abroad program required that he have a focus. "I think I might like to work with music, or hotels or something like that. So business sounds like it could be a good start to a lot of different things."

"That makes sense," Mark said with an accepting half-smile.

Near the path ahead, a statue held its ground. Bronze and tall, it depicted a man in a suit with a stack of papers in one arm, but something was off about his face.

Jack chuckled and pointed up at it. "Doesn't it look like his eyes are crossed?"

Mark grinned and agreed. When Jack stood in front of it and mimicked the pose, all serious except for crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, Mark all but giggled. It was such a warm, rolling giggle that Jack had to laugh too.

But Mark waved his hand at him. "Wait, wait, do it again," he ordered, pulling out his phone. Jack put in extra effort and Mark snapped a picture, giggling even harder.

"Dead accurate," said Mark. "Here, put in your number and I'll send it to you."

Jack took the phone to enter his number and his name as 'Some Asshole That Lives With Me.'

When he handed it back, Mark's smile could've lit up every building on campus. Oddly enough, it made Jack feel electric as well.