Intellectual Property Ch 5: 2 Best Friends (Patreon)

It was the sixtieth of Summer, the day of the Makanuele Rumble’s opening ceremony. Which meant that Geoff was off gallivanting around Xatetu Field with that guy whose name Awsten couldn’t even remember.

Well, that was a lie. The man’s name was Pulo. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that fucking name for the past three days. Embarrassingly, he’d even gone to Geoff’s social media profile the day they finally separated and searched the name in his Following tab, to no avail. On one hand, it pissed Awsten off even further, because he wanted to know more about this mysterious Pulo. But on the other, it gave him a mild sense of reassurance; how close could the men really be if they didn’t even follow each other?

But then he realized that he and Geoff still didn’t follow each other either, and he conceded to his pissed off side. Then he followed Geoff, who followed him back an hour later.

Now it was three days later, and they’d texted off and on throughout those days but only hung out once, grabbing a quick dinner before Geoff had to hurry off somewhere else. For a guy with no job, he sure seemed awful busy. Although, maybe that was part of being unemployed—having to constantly hustle to make ends meet.

While Geoff was off with Pulo, Awsten was desperately trying to turn his mind off. Trying not to let himself dwell on images of the two of them together, this stranger putting his mouth on Geoff’s. Lacing their fingers together as they strolled through the park at the bottom of the crater.

Normally, under such circumstances, he would throw himself into bed, shut the lights off, and force himself to sleep. That was still an option, he supposed, but it was the middle of the day so it was not a very viable one. Instead, he was out with his two best friends, trying anything not to think of Geoff.

And Pulo.

Geoff and Pulo.

Merely thinking of their names coupled up like that irked him.

He shook it off, trying to focus on the friends he was with. That was the whole point of being here, after all.

The three of them had piled into Jawn’s car, an old beaten-down sedan that had been passed down to him from his father. The paint was a metallic green and scratched in several places, which Jawn had never bothered to patch up. His reasoning was: “If I fix it and it gets messed up again, I’ll just be mad that I wasted that money.” So, as a result, he let his car look like absolute shit all the time. Another advantage, he claimed, was that it deterred robbers.

Awsten was laying across the back seat, scrolling through and ignoring emails on his linkpad. Travis was in the front passenger seat with Jawn’s linkpad in his hands, trying to pick a song to play.

“All you’ve got is bullshit,” he told Jawn, speaking around a fat purple straw in his mouth. When they picked him up, it had been from a bubble tea shop. He’d gotten a regular milk tea that he’d then poured a generous shot of rum into from a flask he’d brought along. The combination seemed disgusting to Awsten, but what did he know really? Travis merrily slurped up his tea cocktail, chewing on the black tapioca pearls once they made their voyage up the thick straw.

“It’s not bullshit,” said Jawn, running a hand through his streaky blonde hair. “You just don’t get it.”

Travis took a loud, dramatic sip of his drink in retort. Then he smacked his thumb on the linkpad screen and a garbled mess of noise blasted from the car’s speakers. It was nearly indecipherable as a piece of music. Awsten couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“You’re right, I don’t get it,” Travis said. “You get it, Awssie?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” said Awsten. “What’s this band, dude? I wanna look ’em up when I get home.”

“Fuck y’all,” Jawn said dourly.

“No, for real,” Awsten insisted. “Tell us their name.” He had to half-shout to be heard over the wall of sound.

“It’s Twizted Metal,” Travis supplied.

Awsten barked with laughter. “Did I hear a Z in there?” he asked. “Instead of an S?”

“You did.”

“Man, that is rough,” he sighed. “Jawn…c’mon, man. Have some respect for yourself.”

“Fuck y’all,” Jawn repeated.

“They replaced the S with a Z, dude.”

Travis jumped in and said, “Here, this is better.”

The terrible, awful, disgusting song by Twizted Metal abruptly stopped and what played next was one of Awsten’s own songs. He groaned loudly, overpowering the twinkling guitars and steady drumbeat.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Ohhh, yeah!” Travis cheered, sipping his alcoholic tea. He momentarily choked on a tapioca pearl, but swiftly recovered so he could continue pretending to vibe to the song.

It was excruciating for Awsten. He only liked being around other people listening to his music when it was on his terms, when he was showing it off. This was torture. Glancing to his right, he could see Travis’s seat rocking forward and back while he danced. Awsten whacked it and he immediately stopped.

“Yo, don’t kill the vibe,” said Travis.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Where should I even be driving to?” Jawn asked, trying to steer the conversation into a more productive direction. They had been absentmindedly driving around Makanuele for the past twenty minutes without any concrete destination.

Travis said, “Let’s go do some bad shit.”

“We don’t ever do bad shit,” said Jawn.

“Hey, speak for yourself, brother.”

“What even is ‘bad shit’? What does that mean?” asked Awsten.

“If you have to ask, you’re too young to know,” Travis replied.

“You’re only three weeks older than me.”

“And apparently it makes all the difference…”

Awsten chose to ignore his ramblings and said, “I don’t care where we go.” It was the truth. As long as he was sufficiently distracted, he didn’t much care what he was doing or where they went. Hell, he’d even go for Travis’s suggestion of “doing bad shit,” whatever that meant. He added, “All I know is we should avoid Xatetu Field, ’cause the traffic around there is gonna suck ass.”

“Oh, right,” said Jawn. “That Jekua tournament’s starting today.”

“Yep. They got Zawé to open it up, too.”

“Oh, shit! Fuck!” Travis roared, whipping around his seat to glare at Awsten. “My girl’s in town and you didn’t tell me?”

“Sorry,” Awsten laughed. Stuff like that never really occurred to him.

“And you didn’t hook us up with tickets to see her either?” said Travis. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

That garnered another laugh. “If you think I’ve got the clout to get free Zawé tickets, then you have an insane understanding of my career,” said Awsten. He was popular, sure, but Zawé was a mega-millionaire global pop sensation. Honestly, it was astounding that the organizers of the Makaunele Rumble had even been able to secure her performance fee. She must have taken a (massive) pay cut on account of being a fellow Volukhan. Or maybe Jekua tournaments were more lucrative than he gave them credit for.

It took a full ten minutes for Travis to forgive him for not somehow obtaining backstage passes to meet (and, presumably, subsequently fall in love with and marry) Zawé. In that time, Jawn drove them to the north side of the city—nicely circumventing the traffic around the crater at the city’s epicenter—and parked a few blocks away from a smoothie shop.

“We’re doin’ the classic,” Jawn declared as he turned the car off. “Smoothies and shopping.”

“I don’t want a smoothie,” said Travis, shaking his plastic cup of milk tea for emphasis.

“Then don’t get one, bitch.” Jawn promptly got out of the car, with Travis and Awsten following suit.

As teenagers, they would often get together to buy smoothies and walk around the mall. Most of the time they couldn’t afford to even buy anything, but window-shopping was still a good time. Nowadays, they all had more money in their pockets to throw around. Considerably more, in Awsten’s case.

The mall was on the complete opposite side of town, though, so Awsten wasn’t sure what stores Jawn had in mind. He wasn’t overly familiar with the north side of Makanuele. Annoyingly, they weren’t terribly far from Geoff’s apartment, but Awsten kept that nugget of information to himself.

First things first: smoothies.

The shop was a local chain called Mango Hut, which was pretty popular all over Na Tana Island. It had made the jump to Kou Tekkis Island as well, but not any of the other Volukho Isles, and definitely not beyond the archipelago. Awsten got his usual, which was a strawberry-banana smoothie. Jawn ordered something that turned out to be a bright green, and Travis copied Awsten’s order with a strawberry-banana. Outside the shop’s front door, he’d slurped up the remainder of his tea and tapioca balls and tossed the cup in a trash can.

Smoothies in hand, Awsten nodded toward Travis’s and asked, “You gonna pour some rum in there, too?”

Travis pondered this joke suggestion for a moment before saying, “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Awsten resolutely disagreed, but still he watched Travis extract the silver flask from his pocket and gently pour some rum into the pink smoothie. He then took a cautious sip from it and his eyes lit up.

“Amazing,” he said, handing it to Jawn to taste. The man did so, nodding in appreciation. Awsten grimaced.

Next, Jawn led them down the block and around the corner to a row of cute storefronts ranging from antique shops to high-end luxury fashion. The clothing store, weirdly enough, also had an ice cream parlor attached to it.

As they walked down the street, Awsten noticed one of those Jekuas Geoff had been imprinting, a Dunceling, toddling along the street beside them, ducking underneath parked cars. Even something as stupid as that tiny little lightbulb-shaped creature was making him miss Geoff. He couldn’t resist drifting into thoughts about the week they’d spent together.

“I already know which one Awssie wants to go in,” said Jawn, stirring Awsten from his daydream.

He wasn’t wrong. The trio ventured into the clothing store, which was named Fend. None of them had the faintest clue why that was the name, but they all agreed they wanted to stop by Fend Treats once they finished their smoothies. Why not?

There was a line to get in, with about a dozen people standing on the street awaiting their turn. Seeing a clothing store with a bouncer outside was ridiculous, but they made their way to the back of the line to enjoy their smoothies and wait for entry.

“Don’t they know who you are? Don’t they know who they’re disrespecting here?” Travis teased. “You should get special treatment everywhere you go!”

“Shut up and drink your smoothie,” Awsten told him. He did so with glee.

The wait was longer than any of them could have anticipated (since only ten customers were ever allowed inside at one time, for some reason), but it turned out to be a good thing. They had plenty of time to bullshit with each other, mostly making cracks about Jawn’s dismal romantic life. The latest update on that front was that he’d broken up with another guy over some petty thing, specifically that the man routinely wore shoes without socks.

By the time they reached the front of the line, they’d all finished their drinks (and Travis had more than a healthy buzz going), which was good because the bouncer told them no food or drink was allowed inside.

The three men had a blast once they finally reached the inside of Fend. Every stitch of clothing was precisely something that Awsten liked, although his friends ridiculed him for that fact at every turn. He let their jabs slide off him like rain; they simply didn’t understand high fashion. Even he could admit, however, that some of the pieces looked like hot garbage.

Travis drunkenly held too-big shirts up against his frame, swaying back and forth and asking how he’d look in it. In a store like Fend, there were naturally no fitting rooms, so a person had to pray whatever they bought actually fit and also looked good at all. Jawn jokingly encouraged him to buy it, but Awsten did genuinely think it would look good on him. He even offered to pay, since he knew the place was out of his friends’ price range, but Travis scoffed and rebuked the offer.

“I ain’t askin’ you for that,” he said, returning the shirt to the rack. With a grin, he said, “Thanks, though.”

They proceeded to have a great time walking around the small but fancy shop, holding various bits of clothing up to each other and rubbing the high quality fabric between their fingertips. Travis and Jawn took turns picking out a full outfit—shirt, pants, hat, sometimes even a jacket for good measure—and helped each other hold everything in front of their bodies, then pretended to be Awsten. Jawn would yell at his nonexistent assistant about something ridiculous on his rider being unsatisfactory (“This ice sculpture of me fucking myself got the nose all wrong! Have them redo it now so I can get off before my set!”), while Travis meticulously went through the songwriting process for a song titled “Shit Follows,” based on a real song from Awsten’s first album.

At one point, Awsten realized how much more raucous their group was being than any other, but thankfully no employees came over to scold them. A woman did come by and ask if they needed assistance with a look of derision plastered across her face, but they told her they were fine on their own. She seemed relieved and walked back over to her post, presumably to pray that they would soon be gone.

In the center of the store was a pillar with various shoes displayed on all sides of it. For whatever reason, the shoes were clearly treated with more reverence by the store, given that they had their own mounted displays on the weird rounded wall, so Travis and Jawn hadn’t grabbed any for their cosplaying. None appeared to be created by Fend, so it was strange that they held such a distinctive place in the store. Most of the shoes were some shade of cream, but there were a handful that actually incorporated pops of color. Those were the ones that caught Awsten’s eye.

The three of them walked over and Awsten took a pair of neon blue shoes down, holding one in each hand. Every aspect of the shoe was the same shade of vibrant blue—the sole, the tongue, all the fabric, even the laces. He presented them to Jawn and Travis and asked, “You think I can pull these off?”

Jawn shrugged and Travis, eyelids heavy, said, “Sure.”

“Not a super enthusiastic response.”

“You can pull anything off,” Travis said. “You’re Duremjul’s favorite boy. The best she ever made.”

“Shut up.” He took another look at the shoes and decided he didn’t need them, placing them back on their mount. It was entirely possible he could talk to his managers and secure a free pair anyway. Clothing brands were always sending him expensive shit to wear. He hadn’t yet received anything from Fend specifically, but that was why it was a good thing the shoes weren’t manufactured by Fend.

Suddenly, Awsten couldn’t help himself. He checked the time on his linkpad, but really he was seeing if he had any notifications. He didn’t. Well, that wasn’t strictly true—he did, just not for anything that he gave a shit about at the moment. What he’d been hoping for was a text from Geoff.

It was a foolish hope, since he was on a date with some other guy. According to the time, they were probably in the middle of Zawé’s performance at the opening ceremony.

A piece of him wanted to send Geoff a text. He wasn’t sure what he’d even say, but he wanted to give the man a reminder of his existence. Take his mind off Pulo, just for a moment. He was sick of playing it cool.

But he remained tight-lipped (or tight-fingered?) and grumpily slid the linkpad back into his pocket without composing a message, hoping his friends didn’t notice the scowl temporarily adorning his face. He tried his best to obscure his sour mood. Luckily, Jawn and Travis were already distracted by some other pair of brightly-colored shoes with their dismal attention spans, so they didn’t notice.

After almost forty-five minutes of goofing around, their continued presence in the store without purchasing anything was straining credulity. Travis got one more Awsten impression in, then messily hung the clothes back up and marched toward the exit at the back of the store.

“Thanks for stopping by,” said the woman with the derisive face. Her tone perfectly matched her expression. The trio strolled out the back door, laughing at how much the woman obviously hated them.

Without even a moment spent conferring on the matter, they all bee-lined for Fend Treats and began scanning the menu. The place specialized in cereal-based milkshakes, blending ice cream with various sugary cereals. It sounded kind of delicious. Awsten knew he didn’t need more sugar today, especially since he never bothered to work out when he stayed at his parents’ place, but he was mightily tempted.

Apparently, Jawn could tell just by the look on his face what was flitting through his mind. He elbowed him playfully, flashing him a cheeky grin. “C’mon,” said Jawn in a low, disarmingly sultry voice. “Do it.”

“No,” said Awsten, smirking despite himself.

“C’mon. You know you wanna.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Jawn guffawed. “You’re too easy, dude.”

Awsten treated them all to their cereal milkshakes, which Travis slurped down with aplomb. Awsten couldn’t fathom how the guy was able to consume three heavy, sugar-filled drinks in a row. Once he started pouring his rum into the milkshake, Awsten was further baffled and yet somehow it made it all make more sense.

Given that none of them bought anything in Fend, it really was like the good old days of stomping around the mall without a dollar in their pockets. Smoothies and shopping, without any actual shopping. It brought Awsten a sense of relief, reverting back to his youth, when he didn’t have the pressure of multiple strands of income to quality control and sky-high fan expectations weighing him down, crushing him like the magic of a Gravity-Type Jekua.

The sun beat down on them, and Awsten found he missed the gentle ocean breeze this far inland. The trio spent another hour or two walking up and down the street, going in and out of each shop. None of them ended up buying anything, but they had a great time chatting and messing around. All the alcohol he’d consumed finally hit Travis hard, and he spent much of the afternoon rambling about absolute nonsense and stumbling around, much to Awsten and Jawn’s amusement.

By the time Jawn got them back across town, Awsten’s grumbling stomach reminded him that it was nearing dinnertime. He suggested they all dine together, but Travis had to decline for reasons he bizarrely refused to share. Nonetheless, Jawn dropped him off at home, then he and Awsten headed over to Gahnta’s.

The hostess greeted them with a smile, as she always did when Awsten showed up. He was a regular before moving away to Aya Toske, so the staff was always happy to see him return. He and Jawn were seated at his usual table, and he placed his usual order: a spicy, sour soup brimming with chicken and vegetables. He always ate around the mushrooms. Jawn opted for something new this time around, landing on a plate of grilled, marinated chicken thigh on a bed of rice with broccoli and pineapple.

He and Jawn also got some fresh spring rolls to split. An order came with three rolls, so they each had one then shared the third. Jawn ate half first, then Awsten ate the second half.

Conversation over dinner was light and easy, and Awsten found himself lost as he gazed at Jawn across the table from him. As the man spoke, Awsten reminisced about the night they’d spent together the previous year. How unexpected that had been, how passionate and intense. Both of them had been in a weird place emotionally and sought comfort in each other. Awsten did not want to date him, and he knew Jawn didn’t want to either, so he’d been worried for a long time that the experience might have ruined the relationship they had. Today, though, he’d discovered that was far from the case. They’d settled into their old rapport with ease.

As a result, he found himself wanting to relive that night. Just like last time, his mental state was all over the place, his brain wracked with bitter thoughts about Geoff going on a date with Pulo. It made Awsten want to get lost in someone else’s body, shut his mind off for the evening. If Geoff could see other people, then he could too. Why deny himself that fun? Outside, the night was growing cold, and he didn’t want to be alone.

It didn’t take much convincing for Jawn to bring him back to his place. They shared some mango sticky rice for dessert, then hopped in Jawn’s car and raced back to his apartment. Once past the threshold, they kicked off their shoes and made their way into the bedroom.

Awsten stood in the doorway while Jawn walked over to the bed and turned to face him, a wide grin on his face. For a split second, Awsten thought Jawn was going to ask him if he was sure he wanted to do this. If he had, maybe Awsten would’ve said no. But maybe he would’ve said yes. He didn’t know. Really, he just kept thinking about Geoff and Pulo together, and he wanted that image out of his head no matter what.

Jawn said nothing, and Awsten cut across the space between them, sliding his hands around him and gripping the man’s waist. He pulled him closer, their lips nearly touching. Their hot breath mingled in the small space between them, and then Awsten leaned forward.

At first, he drank Jawn in. Breathed in his scent, felt his hardness pressing against his own—but something about the kiss tasted wrong. Not literally—in fact, there was a pleasant sweetness on his lips from the mango sticky rice—but something about it was off. He couldn’t stop picturing Geoff in Jawn’s place.

But that didn’t matter. Geoff wasn’t here. He was off with some dipshit, and it was Jawn who was in front of him. Jawn who was kissing him, who was unbuttoning his pants.

So Awsten ignored the taste and dove in.

As he lay next to Jawn an hour later, the man dozing peacefully in the lamplight, all Awsten could think about still was Geoff. He’d tried his hardest not to think of him, and it didn’t work. Even after all this, he still felt like shit.

With nothing else to do, he clicked the lamp off and turned onto his side, clamping his eyes shut and willing himself to fall asleep.

He would wake up tomorrow and try again.