Black Velvet (60) (Patreon)

Tobias and I don't really talk about what happened at Edmund's Lake, under the light of the honey moon, or the promise that we made. He does — however, find a job and apartment in Doveport.  We talk about that.  We talk about that and it feels awkward.

Where do I fit?

Tobias isn't my next door neighbor anymore.  He doesn't live here anymore.  He packs up his things.

He doesn't have much, actually.

Each of his boxes fit into the same space as he and I did nights before. He looks happier like this.  So I don't ask him where I fit.  Eventually I will...

Eventually.

And I believe him when he says he'll visit.

There's no reason that he wouldn't. I plan to save enough to trade my shitty beater car in for something reliable and visit him too.

Somehow — because maybe, this is new to both of us, we exchange numbers. I tell myself I'll get the courage to text him first.  All that we've been through, and that's something that I'm fretting over.

I sigh.

My life is comical, really.

—

I prop myself on the edge of my bed, much later. I towel dry my hair and sit in a post-heat daze.  My life feels like it has shifted in the past year towards something that makes it feel complete.

I kick my bare feet against the floor, lean back on my elbows, and sigh, like I can somehow empty myself of the butterflies in my stomach.  Two months ago, my heart felt swollen — in a not-so-funny cheesy rom-com sort of way, and now it feels like I can't keep it from thumping anxiously.

I scan the walls of my room, of the posters I've started pulling down and rolling into neat folds near the corner of my room. Two weeks ago, I had called it motivation, and I continue to try and tell myself that that is what it is.

The more I try to make myself uncomfortable in my own space, uncomfortable alone, without any particular set of goals — maybe the more I'll try to branch out.

In theory.

It doesn't seem to be working.

I snort,  eyes falling on the astronomy-themed calendar above where my laptop rests on a small desk.  I realize now how many months have passed since I last pulled a sheet off of it, or since the last time I'd marked it at all.

Unfortunately, it's a dull reminder of my expectations, and it leers at me when I rip the long-gone months from the front and toss them into the paper bin.

I don't remember writing quite as much as I did.

One of the wrinkled papers faces me, inked and circled,

"Find an apartment (before Nic does)."

I want to laugh. I think of Nic and his excitement to move towards the conservation center with his to-be certifications. So much has changed from months ago, for him, and in small bits —

For me as well.

I bend down and flick over the month of December, which is relatively blank. The others are riddled with dates set on different days where I promised myself that I would get an apartment, that I would continue school, outside of my comfort shell, outside of my online assignments. There are birthdays of half-hearted friends I never really cared to talk to, stuck in my introverted ways, and there's a list of colleges and their websites.

There's a promise to myself in those papers that I will figure out what I want to do with my life.

I lack the motivation and have a weird fear about moving forward, like I'm somehow not ready.

I think this as I pull up the blinds next to me lazily, pulling myself out of the fog that's entering my head.  The porch light is on; I can see it through the window, see the dull darkening blue behind the trees on the other side of the road.

My brother is growing and moving onto something stable, something that is his.  I can't call Tobias the boy next door anymore; I can't call him my neighbor.  He's become more than that and moved forward and away at the same time.  I wonder how long it will take me to move forward too.

I really miss him.

—

Nic comes home for a visit the following weekend. He shoots me a few suspicious glances after a baseball game with his friends — pads the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt.   His eyes narrow at the sag of my limbs, the set of pajamas I never wear unless my first pair is in the wash.

"What happened to our house being an ice cube," He clicks away at his laptop, apartment listings spread across his screen, snags his sandwich off the countertop, "or does Mom only like to keep the house at 50 degrees when it matches the outside temperature? Why are you awake?"

"So many questions, so not functioning enough for any of them, and we have clean plates," I mumble, yawn cutting off my reach to the cabinets for a coffee mug, "You animal. Anyway, who practices baseball when it's this cold?"

I don't think it's that warm, but maybe because the only physical activity I have ever enjoyed was riding my bike by the lake, or that one time I joined the track team in middle school to get out of doing "hot" yoga with Mom on Wednesday nights.

"Yeah, and then dad will throw a fit at the singular dish occupying the sink," Nic's teeth sink into his sandwich, but he makes no effort to stop talking while he chews, "which is fucking weird, okay. The sink is for dishes, but somehow once you breed, it's like you forget that dishes are for the sink and the sight of one in said sink sends you into a parental rage."

"Well, I hope you remember this speech, in case one day you also happen to —breed?"  I wrinkle my nose, fill the mug with hot water from the stove, "Very romantic word choice, by the way."

"Nothing romantic about it. Speaking of breeding," Nic wiggles his brows before he narrows his eyes, "did Toby stop by here before practice?"

His legs bounce casually, a smirk forming around his mouth full of bread. I rip open a hot chocolate packet and wait for him to make any resemblance of sense,

"Tobias is visiting?"  I say it too quickly, and with way too much excitement.  I clear my throat.

"I mean.  What kind of transition was that? What does that mean?" I dump the powder into the mug while Nic wiggles his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes, "You're disgusting."

"Sure, like you think getting your freak on with Toby is disgusting?" He snorts, takes a slow-motion bite of his sandwich that I'm going to assume to be his impression of seduction, "I'm just saying, he came to visit, and despite Blake Ragsdale's presence, he was still in an awfully good mood."

"His happiness has nothing to do with whatever filthy thought that's in your head," I frown, stirring my hot cocoa absent-mindedly, and I can hear the sound of the spoon clinking against the sides of it, "he's been happier, in general." I finish lamely.

Does it count as sex if we were still basically clothed?

"Anyway, be quiet. Mom and Dad are in the living room."

"Mom will eventually find out about your previous secret boy next door love." He smirks, a bit of bread sticking out between his lips, "Only a matter of time before Dad does too.  Mom will know, and she sucks with secrets."

"He is not the boy next door."

"You're right; you'd totally be the boy next door.  You're the one pulling the shy, sweet seduction. Remember when you wore those knee socks? Was that really mom dressing you badly, or the first steps towards operation: seduce the youngest Amadeus member?"

"Ew. Those socks were awful, I didn't willingly wear them — and I've never been shy."  Nic shrugs to that.  "Anyway, Mom was trying to match my outfit with Charlie-Anne's the other night," I cringe, voice lowered because she seems to be able to pick up the use of the word 'Mom' from a football field's length away. "I think she's got a weird idea, but it isn't the right one."

Nic's nose crinkles in a way that mirrors mine, appalled,

"Cool or not, Toby would foul ball any love rival in the fucking head — not to mention, where was my motherly wing-man all those years that I was single?"

"You mean your entire life,"   I swallow, "and he would not foul ball anyone in the head," I mumble in addition, because the thought of it is ludicrous.

"Yes, my entire life,"  Nic rolls his eyes, "I said years. No correction needed."  He hums for a moment, oddly serious,  "So, how often does Tobias visit?"

I frown because this feels like a weird conversation to have with my brother.

"You think maybe," Nic frowns, uncharacteristically thoughtful, "He's lonely out in Doveport?"  He chuckles, downs some of his drink before he chews on his hoodie string,

"Lonely?"

"Wow, did I sound sentimental? Guess I did.  Now it's out and weird." He pauses, regroups himself, "Kind of like you."

"I’m not out.  Oh my God,"  I palm my stomach, shoot him a glare, "I was about to feel bad for you that your best friend moved away or offer you brotherly advice or something,"

"I'm just thinking out loud," My brother shrugs noncommittally, taps through his browser again, "I'm ready to rid myself of the label of town dating leper. With Tobias out, that makes me the most attractive guy in town."

"That is depressing,"  I check my phone, surprised to see a text from Tobias light across the screen, but then glance back at Nic — who doesn't seem too bothered by anything, "Way to look offended."

"To busy being a hottie,"  He sings, taps two fingers on his resume for the Riverside Conservation Center, and I smile back at him, "Oh. I'm hoping to woo them with my ability to use recyclable protectors, and I even used a resume template."

"Wooed they will be,"  I nod enthusiastically, hear the buzzer to my laundry go off upstairs.  "My dry sheets and pajamas are beckoning me to bed; I'll see you tomorrow."

I move my mug into the dishwasher when Nic gives me a withering stare, probably fully aware that he'll be the supposed culprit if dad sees a dirty dish.

"Night, you hussy," my brother winks, twists in his seat a bit as I reach the stairs, "give Toby my regards. I can spare a couple of fruit-flavored condoms if you'd like!"

"Church does nothing for you,"  I tell him, eyebrows twisted in mortification, "I'm surprised you don't combust upon entrance," Nic smirks at that, and I leave him there.

I don't think to read Tobias' message until I pull the clean sheets across my bed, and it's too late in the evening to respond. I have work in less than six hours, and I don't want floundering over my first text from Tobias to be the reason for my sleep deprivation. I turn off the light and tuck myself in, curl around the bedside to plug my phone in,

Tobias:

I hear you're good with cats

Asshole.

—

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