Misconceptions
Awkward
Zack drains his glass with a flick of the wrist and then flashes one of those sparkling smiles. For a brief moment, Brandon feels more like hiding from him than hurting him. It’s unsettling.
“So you’re the Cody expert, are you?” he says, prodding viciously to hide his sudden insecurity.
“We’ve been friends for a long time. We shared an—”
“If you say ‘an intense experience’ I may have to push you off your stool.”
Zack snorts and brushes fastidiously at a speck on his velvet waistcoat. “Cody and I were never like that... and thank Merlin we weren’t.”
“Because?”
“Because Cody... Cody’s the only friend I have who has a real job and a real life, and who doesn’t need shit in his veins or his head to get by.”
“That doesn’t mean that you don’t feel...” Brandon shrugs wordlessly, recalling Lupe’s suggestion:
‘I think he shows off because he’s jealous.’
“Look. I’m going to say this just once more. Cody and I have never been involved that way. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but I do know that they never saw each other after treatment. Before you came over earlier I was telling Madison that rehab relationships hardly ever work out. And... I just don’t feel that way about Cody.” Zack pulls an almost disgusted face and Brandon bristles. “Oh... don’t say a word, have you any idea how defensive you are, really? I’d have you in a group, do you know that?”
“Shame you’ll never get the chance, isn’t it,” Brandon mutters, but despite his indignation, he feels a little bit better. There’s something in Zack’s stupid, smug face that makes Brandon believe he’s telling the truth. He’s still an idiot, though. Brandon stands by that.
Cody, he thinks, momentarily distracted from this whole can’t-possibly-get-more-surreal Zack business. Brandon slips a hand into his pocket almost without thinking and twists the broken string around his fingers, aching and confused. He doesn’t even know if he’s still angry at Cody or not, but he knows that he wants to see him.
“I need to speak to Cody,” he says at last.
Brandon tips the rest of his drink into his mouth, licking the taste of bitter tonic from his lips and realizing that he hasn’t even consumed enough alcohol to feel unsteady when he climbs down from his stool. He rolls his eyes as much at himself as at Zack. Brandon presses palms against his still-pounding temples and gazes in mild disgust at the paltry collection of empty glasses lining the bar. “Look at me. I can’t even get drunk properly. And the worrying thing is, I think that on some level it’s because I’m trying to be responsible. When did I become so old?”
“Cody’s older than you,” Zack points out helpfully.
“You know when my birthday is?”
“Of course I do.” Zack pretends interest in a triangular beer mat, turning it this way and that as though he’s never seen such a thing. That being said, perhaps he hasn’t. “Pull yourself together, Wonder Boy. We’re a team!”
“Stop calling me Wonder Boy,” Brandon demands from between gritted teeth, placing his heavy stool awkwardly back against the bar.
“Absolutely not.”
Brandon grimaces, almost sneezes but doesn’t quite, shakes his head experimentally until he decides that yep, it still hurts, and stares at Zack, who’s still sitting on his stool in his ridiculous velvet ensemble. And grinning. And... fancying Brandon, apparently.
“Laurie?” She looks up from where she’s eating a sandwich at the end of the bar. “My friend here is going to sort out our tab. Aren’t you, Zack?”
“Er,” says Zack, turning his winning smile on Laurie and kicking it up several notches.
“Thanks, Zack,” Brandon says, almost under his breath, but he hears it and looks over his shoulder.
“So it’s ‘thanks, Zack, for saving my relationship, and by the way, can you pick up our bar tab?’, is it?” he enquires, lifting a dark eyebrow.
“Pretty much.”
Without waiting for an answer, Brandon turns, walks out into the rain, and ducks into a cab.
“So you’re the Cody expert, are you?” he says, prodding viciously to hide his sudden insecurity.
“We’ve been friends for a long time. We shared an—”
“If you say ‘an intense experience’ I may have to push you off your stool.”
Zack snorts and brushes fastidiously at a speck on his velvet waistcoat. “Cody and I were never like that... and thank Merlin we weren’t.”
“Because?”
“Because Cody... Cody’s the only friend I have who has a real job and a real life, and who doesn’t need shit in his veins or his head to get by.”
“That doesn’t mean that you don’t feel...” Brandon shrugs wordlessly, recalling Lupe’s suggestion:
‘I think he shows off because he’s jealous.’
“Look. I’m going to say this just once more. Cody and I have never been involved that way. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but I do know that they never saw each other after treatment. Before you came over earlier I was telling Madison that rehab relationships hardly ever work out. And... I just don’t feel that way about Cody.” Zack pulls an almost disgusted face and Brandon bristles. “Oh... don’t say a word, have you any idea how defensive you are, really? I’d have you in a group, do you know that?”
“Shame you’ll never get the chance, isn’t it,” Brandon mutters, but despite his indignation, he feels a little bit better. There’s something in Zack’s stupid, smug face that makes Brandon believe he’s telling the truth. He’s still an idiot, though. Brandon stands by that.
Cody, he thinks, momentarily distracted from this whole can’t-possibly-get-more-surreal Zack business. Brandon slips a hand into his pocket almost without thinking and twists the broken string around his fingers, aching and confused. He doesn’t even know if he’s still angry at Cody or not, but he knows that he wants to see him.
“I need to speak to Cody,” he says at last.
Brandon tips the rest of his drink into his mouth, licking the taste of bitter tonic from his lips and realizing that he hasn’t even consumed enough alcohol to feel unsteady when he climbs down from his stool. He rolls his eyes as much at himself as at Zack. Brandon presses palms against his still-pounding temples and gazes in mild disgust at the paltry collection of empty glasses lining the bar. “Look at me. I can’t even get drunk properly. And the worrying thing is, I think that on some level it’s because I’m trying to be responsible. When did I become so old?”
“Cody’s older than you,” Zack points out helpfully.
“You know when my birthday is?”
“Of course I do.” Zack pretends interest in a triangular beer mat, turning it this way and that as though he’s never seen such a thing. That being said, perhaps he hasn’t. “Pull yourself together, Wonder Boy. We’re a team!”
“Stop calling me Wonder Boy,” Brandon demands from between gritted teeth, placing his heavy stool awkwardly back against the bar.
“Absolutely not.”
Brandon grimaces, almost sneezes but doesn’t quite, shakes his head experimentally until he decides that yep, it still hurts, and stares at Zack, who’s still sitting on his stool in his ridiculous velvet ensemble. And grinning. And... fancying Brandon, apparently.
“Laurie?” She looks up from where she’s eating a sandwich at the end of the bar. “My friend here is going to sort out our tab. Aren’t you, Zack?”
“Er,” says Zack, turning his winning smile on Laurie and kicking it up several notches.
“Thanks, Zack,” Brandon says, almost under his breath, but he hears it and looks over his shoulder.
“So it’s ‘thanks, Zack, for saving my relationship, and by the way, can you pick up our bar tab?’, is it?” he enquires, lifting a dark eyebrow.
“Pretty much.”
Without waiting for an answer, Brandon turns, walks out into the rain, and ducks into a cab.