Twenty-One Wilted Roses

"Yes sir, a one-bedroom."

I didn't like talking on the phone. You could never tell what kind of person that you were talking to without looking into their eyes, really.

The person on the phone this time was a realtor. Justin and I were ready to make the next big step, to buy a house together.

"Mr. Delone, will you be having anyone else staying with you?"

I didn't like the realtor's voice. It was very booming and deep, yet very scratchy. I didn't like his questions either. What difference did my personal life make to him?

"Yes sir."

Now he was going to ask one of those smartass questions that realtors ask.

"Oh, so whos the lucky lady?"

I sighed. This wasn't going anywhere. The realtor on the phone sounded like the newspaper reporter from Spiderman. A very straight, very conservitive man. Probably a hardcore supporter of Bush.

"Sir, I'm gay. One bedroom for my partner and I."

There was a pause. I hate pauses. Just then Justin entered the room. He wrapped his arms around my back and looked up at me. His eyes were filled with love, care, and hyper, like a small innocent child.

He smiled, I could tell he wanted to know how everything was going with getting a place.

"I'm sorry Mr. Delone, but I would never sell a house so two fags could fuck eachother!"

Click.

So the realtor hung up on me. I frowned and put the phone down.

I frowned.

Justin rested his head on my shoulder and cried.

I rested my hand on his back and sighed.

"Its okay, Justin, we still have eachother."

He looked up at me. The happy, hyper eyes had turned solemn.

"Think we'll ever find a place, baby?"

His voice was soft and sweet.

I couldn't help but drown in it.

"One day love, one day."

We are the couple who had the Realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.