Chapter 2
Chris raises an eyebrow from where he’s sprawled on the couch, watching Arthur get ready. “I thought you said last week that the whole fantasy-theme thing was embarrassing.”
“It is,” Arthur mutters, tugging on a shirt that could plausibly pass for a bard costume if you squinted. “But I need to meet this guy and throw him into a river."
Chris tilts his head. “Mango guy?” Chris refuses to say the word ‘vape’ if he doesn’t have to.
“Yes.”
“The mango guy who might know your major and has your number and may or may not know you and be trying to flirt with you through gaslighting?”
Arthur pulls on shoes with more aggression than necessary. “It’s not flirting. It’s harassment.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Chris sings. “You’re wearing cologne.”
Arthur ignores him.
Chris doesn’t give up. “And you’re wearing the shirt that makes your biceps stick out.”
“It’s a shirt,” Arthur says flatly. “It was the first one I picked.”
“It’s a choice,” Chris corrects, raising his eyebrows. “And you picked it first because it makes your biceps look good.”
Arthur throws his sock at him. It misses. He crosses the lounge and picks it up, a little embarrassed.
Chris grins. “Tell mango guy I said hi.”
“I’m not going there for him.”
“You’re literally going to a fantasy-themed stein because of him.”
“I’m going for justice.” Arthur adjusts his necklace in the mirror. It’s a little metal angel his sister gave him. “Retribution. Vengeance.”
Chris hums. “And if he’s hot?”
Arthur glares at him.
Chris shrugs. “I’m just saying. If you wanna shotgun with him, I won’t judge you. You guys could mix smoke together and everything. Into each other’s lungs, swirling close to the heart.”
“Stop spiralling into gay fantasies,” Arthur says, grabbing his keys. “It’s just a vape.”
Arthur does go to the stein.
And he’s had four drinks now, and no one he recognises is here. He talked to one – one! – girl. To apologise for stepping on her cape. But it still counts.
Arthur:
where are you
Cunt:
Okay so you actually don’t remember me
That hurts
Arthur:
fuck do you mean i dont remember you
i havent even met you
The guy he hooked up with in second-year walks past, scrolling through the weather app. Arthur misses his dick.
Cunt:
Cute shirt.
Arthur:
youre gaslighting me
you are not here
Cunt:
It’s black and makes it obvious that you work out
I like it
Fuck.
Cunt:
I forgot how pretty you are
Arthur:
shut up
Cunt:
Make me
Arthur:
i would if i could fucking find you
Cunt:
Oh?
Arthur:
not like that. id throw you into the nearest river
Cunt:
Bad idea. I’m known for my buoyancy. I’d float
You’re doing quite a bad job talking to those friends yours
Arthur looks up from his phone. No one’s watching him. He’s in the booth with Chris and Bach, who are mid-conversation about the difference between a bear and an otter, and it’s absolutely packed, but no one’s eyes are on him. No one he recognises is here.
Arthur:
theyre fine
Cunt:
You’re intelligent and funny
They’d like to talk to you
Talk to them for me
Arthur almost starts to. Something about the way this guy messages him makes Arthur want to listen to what he says. His instructions are so clear and kind. And he sounds like he’d be dominant in bed. That’s a thought from the now-six shots of alcohol in his system, and Arthur chooses to ignore it. Tries to.
Arthur:
you don’t even know me
Cunt:
Sure I do
You’re sarcastic when you’re nervous
You’re drinking bourbon and coke to feel mature
And you get flustered when people flirt with you
Arthur’s jaw tightens.
Arthur:
i dont like being watched
Cunt:
Yes, you do.
His fingers grip his bourbon and coke and he rolls his eyes just in-case the guy can see him. They’re in the lower part of the bar, walls black and lights bright and colourful. Arthur feels anything but at ease here.
Chris glances over. “You alright?”
“I think I’m being emotionally groomed by someone who smokes,” Arthur mutters.
Chris nods sagely like that tracks, not listening as his ex walks past.
Arthur:
do you enjoy emotionally manipulating people or is it just me
Cunt:
It’s a special service
Just for you
One of many
Arthur:
youre so gross
Cunt:
Meet me in the bathrooms
Arthur’s spine stiffens.
Arthur:
fuck off
Arthur’s message is left on seen.
Arthur doesn’t move for a full two minutes. Then he grabs his empty glass, mutters something about needing another drink – Bach encourages him – and stalks off.
His heart beats a little faster as he rounds the corner. A part of him wants to keep being watched, but the other part wants to see whose eyes are on him.
There’s no one in the bathroom. Just a bunch of drunk girls fixing their glitter and a guy throwing up into the sink. Arthur sighs.
Arthur:
no one’s here
Cunt:
Look at the mirror
Arthur does. There’s no one behind him. It’s just Arthur in the reflection, eyes lidded, shirt tight, room spinning a little with his fuzzy brain.
Arthur:
i did
He doesn’t mean it to come across so obedient.
Arthur:
why did you make me do that
Cunt:
Because I wanted you to see something pretty
You look nice, babe. You should appreciate that more
Arthur stares at the message, then at his own reflection again. His face is flushed, jaw tense like he’s trying not to react.
He quickly looks away and exits the bathroom area, glass still in hand.
Back at the booth, Chris smiles as Arthur sits down. “So, did you fight him or fuck him?”
“Neither,” Arthur mutters, sliding into the seat. “He’s playing psychological warfare.”
Bach hums thoughtfully. “Hot.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. He scrolls back up through the conversation, thumb pausing over the last line.
Arthur:
prove youre actually here
There’s no reply for a minute. Arthur wonders if he’s busy talking to someone. He hates that he misses the attention.
Cunt:
(Photo attached)
It’s a large hand curled around an empty glass. Arthur doesn’t look at the veins spidering the backside of his palm, the bones arching up through the skin. He doesn’t. The hand nearly covers the glass. Arthur’s heart beats a little faster.
There are a million glass stains on the table in the photo. Enough for Arthur to believe that he’s telling the truth. And the table’s black, which means he can’t be far.
Arthur wants to get up and go booth by booth until someone gives it away. Wants to. But a part of him likes being watched, likes not knowing when someone’s looking. It makes him feel on edge in a good way, having eyes on him.
Arthur:
okay so youre white
Cunt:
Very brave of me
Arthur:
and you work out
Cunt:
Oh?
Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, cursing himself for listing his deductions to the one guy he’s trying not to flirt with.
Cunt:
So therefore we have a lot of things in common
We should hook up or something
Again
Arthur stops breathing.
His eyes go wide as he stares down at his phone.
He’s had sex with this man.
The man he’s texting.
They’ve fucked.
...
He’s had sex with a man that works out and is white.
Arthur leans his head against the booth. That does not narrow the list down.
Cunt:
Oh my god you still don’t know who I am
How many people have you hooked up with??????
Arthur:
shut up
Cunt:
Oh you little slut
Electricity doesn’t run up Arthur’s spine from the word. It just doesn’t.
Arthur:
shut up
Cunt:
Again, make me
He thinks about the guy from second-year again as he walks past. His dick was fucking massive and he left hickies like he was marking territory. And then he never messaged again.
Chris pushes Arthur out of the booth and then pulls him unceremoniously to the other end of the bar.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Arthur hisses.
"Distracting you!" Chris yells back.
Arthur doesn’t realise it’s the stage until he’s got both feet on it, still reading through their messages.
“Fuck, Chris, no way, fuck off,” Arthur says, but the guy manning the music pushes him by the small of his back onto the stage, and Arthur doesn’t want to get kicked out.
Chris beams at him, microphone in hand like he’s just done Arthur a huge favour. “Go on, babe!” he shouts. “You love attention!”
Arthur flips him off and mutters, “I’m going to strangle you in your sleep,” but a second mic is already being handed to him, warm from someone else’s sweaty grip. The bass of whatever song had just finished is still rattling through the floorboards, and now the crowd’s watching him.
Expectant. Drunk. Cheerful.
He could leave.
Arthur’s halfway through planning his exit when Chris hits play.
And then the beat drops.
It’s Pony by Ginuwine.
Arthur stares at him in horror.
Chris winks.
“No,” Arthur says. “No way–”
Too late. Chris is already grinding. Grinding. Onstage, both hands in front of his face, wiggling like a worm. Like it’s a full moon and he’s possessed by every stripper who’s ever lived. It’s kind of so bad it’s good.
“You better start singing, bitch,” Chris yells over the bass, and Arthur’s laugh slips out before he can stop it.
So he sings, pushing down the awkwardness and leaning into humiliation. If he’s going down, he’s at least taking Chris with him.
Something happens. The crowd gets loud, Arthur’s hips find the beat, shy and teasing, and Chris joins in for the harmony with just enough sincerity to make it even funnier how bad he is. Arthur throws his head back during the chorus, voice low and sultry, and the screams that follow almost drown out the music.
In the far corner, someone whistles. Arthur doesn’t look, but his heart kicks once, hard, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He knows it’s him.
Chris smacks his ass at the final note, and makes them both bow. The crowd screams, and Arthur loves the eyes on him.
His phone buzzes again as he hops off the stage, body warm, ears still ringing.
Cunt:
Nice voice, pretty hips
Does your voice get darker when there’s a mouth on your neck?
Arthur feels a terrifyingly familiar heat pool in his stomach at the image that comes to mind. But he tries to be brave.
Arthur:
you dont remember if it does?
Chris is buzzing around the press of bodies beneath the stage as Arthur waits for the reply.
Cunt:
I remember everything, Arthur
You get louder when you know there’s someone listening
You want everyone to know how good you sound when you’re like that
Arthur escapes out the door of the bar and fucking inhales his vape. The use of his name makes something burn in his gut like fire.
The night air is cold and the streetlights are golden.
The guy actually knows him. Actually fucked him. And he watched Arthur and his hands are wide and careful around his drinks and he was probably a good fuck. And he still wants Arthur.
Arthur's not gonna block him.