The Man Who Can't Be Moved

"Hey," a then-twenty-year-old version of myself greeted, smiling warmly at the cute guy who'd just walked up behind me. I was waiting in line to get a coffee before I officially started my day, and it seemed like everyone else in the whole of Baltimore was thinking the same exact thing as well.

The attractive male looked up from where he was staring down at the ground, an easy, gorgeous smile taking over soft, pink lips as he replied, "Hi."

"Long line," I said, gesturing in front of us. It was my best first-attempt at flirting for such an early hour, but the mystery man smiled and chuckled slightly nonetheless, nodding his head as he leaned around me to look at the other ten or so people leading from the front counter inside the establishment to where we were standing out on the corner.

"Seems to be that way," he said in reply, gaze moving back to my face as he straightened his body out once more. It was silent for a moment before he laughed again, this wonderful little chime that had my heart pounding through my ribs, my insides twisting into a tight knot. He stuck his hand out next, and I didn't hesitate to reach out and grasp it in my own. "My name's Alex," he said, looking down before looking back up at me through the fringe sticking from his grey beanie.

"Well, Alex," I started, my wide grin tuning down into a much gentler, more inviting manner, "I'm Jack." Our hands were still extended and curled around each other's, and we both seemed to realize it at the same time, our arms retracting as an awkward chuckle filled the air. "Are you new here? I've never seen you around before," I asked, trailing out as he nodded his head.

"I'm originally from England," he explained, and that confused me just a bit because, hello, there was hardly any trace of an accent, "but I moved to Towson when I was seven, and, well.. now I'm here." And that would totally explain it.

"Really now. Well how long have you been here?" I inquire curiously, and he shrugs slightly.

"Last night was the first of many," is the answer I'm given, and I have to suppress a smile.

"So you don't know anyone yet, huh?"

I can see the faintest hint of a smirk as he answers, "Well, I know you."

"Hardly," I scoff playfully, rolling my eyes for that added dramatic effect.

He hums quietly, as though deliberating something before saying, "Then, if you have time, how about I buy you a coffee and you tell me about yourself?"

And maybe I wasn't completely expecting that since people are usually pretty unreceptive to my flirting attempts, and wasn't I supposed to be the one to make the first move? That doesn't stop me from winking and answering, "Only if I can get your number in the end."

A smile of his own and a nod is given my way, just before we step inside of the coffee shop.

A little less than four years later and I'm back on that very corner once more, but this time it's for much a different reason than wanting a coffee. I don't know why I thought it'd be a good idea, why I honestly expected it to work, but that really wasn't important at the time.

I know that if he was here right this very second, he'd laugh at me, full-on doubled-over hysterics and everything, the whole nine yards, before choking out, "Jack, you're insane. Like, really, this just makes no sense, babe." He'd smile down at me, teeth glinting on display, before positioning himself next to me on the ground, demanding I make room in my sleeping bag for him because 'it's cold, Jay, my ass is gonna freeze off, and neither of us really wants that to happen.'

What else would I be able to do other than give in?

But Alex isn't here with me. He isn't calling me insane, and he isn't demanding I make room for him as we huddle together on the cold Baltimore concrete.

I'm not sure where our relationship went wrong, in all honesty; I thought we were as close to the perfect couple as anyone could be. We hardly ever fought, we didn't have any problems with the other's parents.. so it just didn't make sense to me when I walked in to find Alex packing all of his things after a long day of work.

He'd gotten teary-eyed as he explained that he was leaving, that he couldn't do this anymore, and I was too in-shock to do much more than stutter out questions of what had I done wrong, why couldn't I have another chance, was there someone else?

"No, baby," he cooed, and I saw him bite his tongue as the affectionate term slipped through his teeth. Closing the distance between us, he placed his hands on either side of my face, forcing my gaze to stay locked firmly on his. "There's nobody else; it's always been you. No one could ever replace you. No one could ever mean so fucking much to me. But I just can't be in this relationship anymore. Look at me, I'm twenty-five, there's so much life out there left for me to live!"

"So live it with me," I whimpered pathetically, reaching up to grip at his wrists in desperation.

He shook his head, bottom lip trembling as he whispered back, "I can't do that, Jay." A final kiss was placed on my lips, the salt of our tears mixing, and then he was gone.

The apartment was too big after that day, far too empty. It was as if Alexander Gaskarth had never even existed, being nothing more than a mere figment of my imagination. That was, until I found a picture of him he'd missed in his haste.

Or maybe he just wanted me to keep it as a reminder of what our love once was, what he claims it still is.

It's now one of my tools at hopefully finding him again; it's not like he could've gone all that far, after all, what with neither of us having too much money, but the city is a big place, and it doesn't take much to get lost in, especially if that's what you want to happen.

It's a simple picture, one of him that I took about two months before the break-up, on our three year anniversary. He'd just woken up, hair a mess and eyes bleary yet somehow wide and filled with excitement. He hadn't had the time to shave just yet, and though I'd never actually told him this, I found that little bit of scruff to be endlessly attractive. His arms had been wrapped around my waist as we stood in the kitchen, and I had him lean away from me to get the shot.

I'd never seen anything so perfect in my entire life.

It now stays clutched in my hand every damn day, right next to the piece of cardboard with the words, 'Have you seen this boy?' written in sharpie. So far, the people who stop, though, try to give me money, but they just don't understand; I'm not broke, I'm just a broken-hearted man. I always deny the cash and change they hold out to me, and while they sometimes leave it on the ground anyway, I never fail to make sure to ask them of only one thing: "If you see this boy, can you tell him where I am?"

My efforts seem pretty futile, but I know for a fact that if one day he wakes up and finds that he's missing me even half as much as I'm missing him, he'll start to wonder where on this earth I could be. He'll narrow it down: my apartment, my—old—place of work, and finally, the place we met, the place we'd go to every single day of the working week to sit down and get lunch together, discuss our day up to that very point so we'd have more time to just sit and cuddle, kiss and relax at home that night without the complete stress of work and bosses and customers constantly looming over our heads.

It sounds inane, absolutely irresponsible, reckless, asinine, any and every other word that could possibly mean stupid, but I know that's how it'll play out, and he'll see me waiting on the corner of the street. There's nothing that could get me to move at this point. That'd be like giving up, moving on, and how can I move on when I'm still in love with him?

The police have tried to get me to leave on numerous occasions, but since I'm not disturbing anyone—apparently I'm actually attracting attention and bringing more business into Alex and I's coffee shop, which would probably explain why they haven't filed a complaint and have no problem with feeding me every day—they can't say all too much to me. The most I've gotten thus far would be, "Son, you can't stay here."

I'm always quick to reply with, "There's someone I'm waiting for, and I don't care if it's a day, a month or a year." He'd gotten pretty ticked off at that the first time I’d said it and had made to grab for me, but one of the owners of the shop, Zack, had come out and put a stop to it, and soon enough the other owner, Rian, and some of the customers were coming to protest my moving.

They don't know much about me, other than the fact that I'm waiting for a boy, and yet they still continue to talk about me. Never anything bad, really, just words of amazement and awe; they would never, could never, sit through the rain and snow like I do just for one person. They talk with me, of course, and are always fascinated to hear about what I'm trying to do. There's not one time where they don't leave absolutely bewildered; who in their right mind, who had a well-paying job and luxurious apartment, would give up everything they owned just for some boy? Someone who clearly didn't even care enough in the first place?

They don't understand. They don't get that Alex and I love each other; that he didn't want to leave, he just needed to get away for a bit, to go out and do things that he wasn't able to do with our routine, but I get it, and I forgive him. They don't know true love like we do, and they may never. If you wouldn't give up absolutely everything for someone, you probably don't really love them in the first place.

As more and more days pass, more and more people come in to encourage me on, leaving me things like food and jackets as a form of support. I appreciate it more than they could ever really imagine, but what I want more than anything is to have my Alex back, and I don't care how obsessive and pathetic that sounds; he's my world, and without him, I'm nothing.

Apparently, though, someone had the idea to bring in the local news crew. I was a bit hesitant at first, of course—I can't remember the last time I had an actual shower—but that didn't stop them from coming down to visit me anyway.

They asked me silly questions: name and age, how long I'd been sitting there and how long I was planning on staying, what I was hoping to accomplish. They asked me for the first name of the person I was waiting for, nothing more, and before I even knew it, the reporter was signing off and the camera man was moving to put his equipment away before returning to her side once more.

They told me I'd be famous, dubbing me 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved', and making me aware of the fact that apparently the entire state of Maryland knows about my mission, how I don't plan on leaving until Alex is in my arms again.

"He'll see it," they tell me, reaching out to pat at my shoulder before stopping the gesture halfway through and instead offering up a mere smile. "He'll see it, and he'll come running to the corner because he'll know it's just for him."

I want to believe them; I do. But it's been going on four months now, and even I can't help but feel that maybe I'm wrong, that maybe he really isn’t coming back. It’s been nearly a week since the news reporter came to ‘interview’ me, and though Rian and Zack, who’ve become pretty good friends with me in the numerous weeks I’ve been sleeping outside their store, continually assure me that they’ll let me know when it gets aired—if Alex isn’t already back by then—and that they haven’t heard anything on it yet.

“I just.. it’s not worth it, is it? I shouldn’t have given everything up; it was fucking stupid of me to do, wasn’t it?” I mumble, feeling the tears start to prick in my eyes. The shop’s just closed and Rian and Zack, following our newly appointed routine, are leaning against the establishment on either side of me.

“No, don’t think like that, man,” Rian consoles, reaching out to pat my leg, “love is never a stupid thing. Well, it is, but if that shit’s real, then it’s all worth it.” At least he and Zack don’t care that I’m probably the most disgusting thing they’ve ever had the displeasure of being any sort of company to.

“No, it was stupid,” I mutter, pushing his hand away and, for the first time in months where I’m not simply standing to use the shop’s bathroom, I climb to my feet and stretch my legs out properly.

“Where you goin’?” Zack asks when my pacing range starts to get a bit wider.

“I think I’m gonna go see if my parents will let me live with them for a while; they’re only like an hour’s drive away,” I explain looking down at my two friends.

“Why don’t you just stay with me? I have plenty of room, and my apartment gets pretty boring, since I’m the only one there and all. You can come and shower, and, I mean, you’d have to use my clothes for the night, but we can go out and get you some things tomorrow,” he offers, standing to his feet as well, Rian following soon behind.

“You’ve seriously done too fucking much for me as it is. I can’t accept your offer,” I reply, smiling easily even though his face falls.

“Well then let me at least give you a ride wherever you’re going,” Rian cuts in, and I shake my head once more.

“I’ve seen your car, dude. You really don’t want me riding in it; not in this state. I’ll come see you guys soon and I expect a chauffeur for the day,” I joke, and he sighs but nods all the same.

“Promise you’ll come see us soon?” they push, only a hair off from being in unison.

I scoff playfully, my heart panging of the memory of doing so the first time I’d met Alex in this exact spot, and nod my head. Before I even know what’s happening, they’re both pulling me into a hug, disregarding the dirt and grime covering my body.

“See you soon, bro,” Rian says when they pull away, Zack giving me a quick smile and wave as I return the gesture. Then I’m turning and heading off down the sidewalk.

There’s the sudden pounding of footsteps coming up behind me out of the blue, and I honestly only think that it’s just someone who forgot something and was hoping to get it back tonight instead of waiting for the place to open back up in the morning. They stop after another few moments, and I don’t turn to look, simply continuing to walk on down the road; I can make it to my parents by early morning if I just keep walking.

That’s when I hear my name being called, the single word breathless and rushed, but I’ve never heard anything that made my heart crack in the most horribly wonderful way imaginable. I wouldn’t have guessed that I’d totally lost it, not yet, and it hurts to know that I’d finally hit my limit.

However, I then hear it a second time, a bit louder and slightly clearer than before, but not by much. It seems to be at a further distance now, and that’s probably because I’ve yet to stop walking. It’s only when I hear a faint, “Baby, please,” that I stop in my tracks. I’d know that voice anywhere.

Spinning on my heel, I make eye contact with the figure now doubled over, chest heaving from the running and faint traces of tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. Some part of me knows he’s real, that he’s actually standing in front of me, but it’s still hard to believe.

The only word I’m able to form is, “Alex?” and he nods, teeth pressing into his bottom lip as he straightens himself out once more and closes the distance between us. He, much like Rian and Zack, doesn’t seem bothered by my appearance, and his arms are soon wound around my neck, face pressing into my chest.

His body starts shaking then, and if I strain myself enough, I can hear him whimpering apologies, telling me how stupid he was to leave and how much he loves me, how he never wants to be without me again and that he’ll do anything, everything, to make it up to me. At one point he even dares to ask if I’ve moved on, if I’ve finally gotten over the one person in the world who doesn’t even deserve him.

I don’t know what to do, really. Standing there with my arms wrapped around his crying figure doesn’t seem like it’s helping the situation at all, but I’m not sure how to tell him that I already understand, that I’ve already forgiven him, that I’m not over him.

Shifting around a bit, I eventually get him to look up at me. I gaze down at him, taking in his shiny eyes, his trembling lip and ruffled hair, before I duck down to kiss him. He reciprocates the action without a thought, and while I’ve waited literally months to feel this again, to feel his skin against my own, I have to pull away so I can whisper, “I know it makes no sense, but what else can I do? How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?”