Black Velvet (4) (Patreon)

"This is a holy place," my brother gives a loud sigh of relief as the diner's doors swing shut behind us, "full of holy things, like syrup and powdered sugar. And wow, she's new."

The light sources inside are, of course, less scorching than the early morning sun's rays — and I'm confident that that's where his mood improvement has sprouted from. 

"Will you stop that," I groan, shouldering him to the side. He's grinning widely at the hostess behind the counter, who, in turn, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear — reluctantly returning his smile, "I can see her goosebumps forming from here."

He shoulders me right back, sticking his tongue out when I stumble from the impact,

"Cool it. I'm just friendly."

Friendly. I pretend to gag.

"... Good morning, can I get you a seat?"  She asks —although the words are soaked in forced politeness.  "We're having our early bird special until nine."

I push past my starstruck brother, asking for a table near the back and away from the elderly morning crowd. He just keeps grinning, and I neglect to tell him he still smells like booze — and there's possibly a piece of straw wrapper in his hair.

That's for not letting me go home.

The woman's shoulders loosen as I talk — much more at ease when she isn't being oggled by a hungover Casanova.  As the hostess' phone rings, I turn back to Nic to see why he isn't following — he who just happens to be searching through his back pockets with a frown.

"Let me guess; you forgot your wallet in the car."  I surmise, rolling my eyes.  He smiles sheepishly, running a hand through the back of his hair, and then he nods.  "Of course you did, since I don't have my debit card, we might need it.”

"You don't fall for anything. Ugh. I can get it." Nic offers insincerely, but I shake my head.

"I left my phone, anyway,"  I pass him and back towards the door, calling over my shoulder,  "but consider this a small favor — since you're paying.  I want a milkshake!"

—

The doors push against the wind as I exit the diner, and I can't help but observe the way the bows that are tied around the posts outside lift and flutter about. 

I smile softly to myself —

I watched as Toby had helped tie them there — months before, strong hands working quietly on something delicate, soft diner music playing behind him as Nic laughed at something forgettable.

Sometimes I find myself clinging to small memories of Toby, ones that I think are beautiful and simple.  They're thoughts that I tell myself I shouldn't have, but a stray one slips through now and then, like all the rest. 

I ignore this memory, just the same.

—

Thankfully, my car is parked close, and I haven't bothered locking it because sleep deprivation is starting to take its toll on my will to live.

I search through the passenger seat for Nic's tiny leather wallet, as quickly as digging through a messy car is possible, hoping that this breakfast will end soon — and still wondering how awkward it might come to be with Tobias as our waiter. I must love to suffer.

Luckily, Nic sticks coffee stickers to the front of his wallet whenever we drive through an espresso stand, and it's nearly covered now, which makes it easier to spot — fallen beside the console, next to my phone in the front seat.  It's a wonder that the phone is even still alive after a day and a half — but alas, the miracle of outdated cell models.

(Preview) Incoming Text: (2)

(Maybe: Charlie-Anne)

Hey.  It's Charlie-Anne.  Don't know if you remember me from last (...)

I don't have the time to admire technology, and it's newfound predictive text abilities, or wonder why Charlie-Anne decided to go through the trouble of finding my number — because that, that would be too easy.  That would be too mundane; a teenage boy wondering about a girl...

Life has other plans for me, I guess.

There's the sound of an engine revving to life, obnoxiously — a sound that I associate with small men with too few brain cells in a large truck.  It still causes me to jerk upwards, nearly ramming my face into the glove box as I do so — body sprawled across both seats.

Which absolute tool is revving their engine outside a breakfast diner at 6 am?

I pull myself upwards to investigate, nose at the base of the window.  The mystery vehicle is parked in the same spot as it was nearly ten minutes before — and I can't help but curiously glance at my phone once more.

The early bird shift is about to start.  He's going to be late.

I look back up, squinting to see why I can't place Tobias' silhouette in the passenger side and —

Oh.

That's why.

Tobias has some guy pressed flush against the passenger door, neck tilted — lips seeking his in some strange and foreign heat — something I'm not accustomed to seeing from the man. His body has lost his usual, tightly drawn composure — has been stripped of it's long built persona of Jameson's ideal bachelor and down to just...

Just what?

I gape, wide and fish-like, scrambling up on the seat like having a better view would somehow help me to process the information. It doesn't, because — what the fuck. 

All I can think is,

Holy shit, Tobias Amadeus is kissing a man, and it's not, peck peck — oh thank you, kind sir,

he is devouring his damn soul.

"Oh my god,"  I squeak, leaning back against the middle console,  "oh — oh, shit. Why did I have to see that?"

I'm blushing.

Why am I blushing?

I accidentally knock Nic's wallet back into the floorboard, just as I hear the sound of the car's door opening.

"Dammit," I whisper, palms splayed on the carpet as I search,  "— oh fucking — dammit. What is this? A telenovela?"

When I find Nic's cursed, but deceptively happily decorated wallet, I hold it between my hands like an anchor.  What did I just see — I stare at the fabric of my seat cover, blinking. Who was that guy?

My heart sinks a bit.

... Why was Toby kissing him?

I must sit there for a bit too long or with a little too much bad karma.  There are feet on the gravel beside of my car before I know it — and I'm startled by the snap of metal being hit.  My car reverberates the tiniest bit from the impact, and I jump about a foot off of the seat, flailing about — staring wide-eyed at the cause of my fright.

Tobias stands tall, dark eyes locked on my surprised expression.  He doesn't say anything, hands on the hood of the vehicle.  He stares, hard and heavy — bending forward like a crooked vine.  I feel suffocated by the weight of his stare, a strange emotion that I can't dissect, one that feels like the threat of a secret.

His eyebrows are drawing together — like maybe he feels he's gotten his message across, and then he drags his palms slowly off the hood of my car and turns to enter the restaurant.

I suck in a ragged breath, berating myself as I shakily open the car door.  Shame and embarrassment course through me, knowing I'd treaded into his privacy like I always seem to do — because intentional or not, the timing was not in my favor. 

The man's dark eyes read that he knew, and he'd known I'd seen something that wasn't meant for me to see.  That maybe, I've seen too many parts of him that he's been trying to hide.

—

I open Charlie-Anne's text.

(1) Hey.  It's Charlie-Anne.  Don't know if you remember me from last night.  Not to seem like your personal stalker... haha.  I hope you don't mind that I snagged your number off your project at the exhibition.

(2) Anyway :) I just thought you might be interested in this science fair coming up...

There's a link attached that I'll have to wait until I'm connected to wi-fi to see, but I can't really bring myself to focus on her messages, though I should want to — I think.

Instead, my mind travels back to Toby at the party,  Toby alone on the couch at my house, here in front of my car — with that look.  That terrible sort of heaviness that I've often fooled myself into believing was a trick of the light, a bad day, or an ill mood.

I turn it over and over, and I worry.  I still can't pinpoint what's hiding behind his dark-eyed gaze and false smile, and as I grow older, that fact bothers me more.

There's something. There has to be something.

I wonder, as I nervously exit my car if it's the wisest idea to pick through a rose bush — just to coax a bud into bloom.  I can tell that Tobias believes that other's interest towards him will fade if he exposes his thorns, but I think of his glare, of his knowing smirk — his carefully chosen words that disguise a threat. 

I'm frightened —

worried to think that these less lovely traits have been concealed ever so cautiously — and for what reason,

and even more so; afraid that I believe it's the most alluring thing about him yet.

—

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