Day Five - Goodbye
It was early morning when I woke up. The room was still dim, the soft, yellow light of dawn just beginning to pour in through the windows. For a moment, I was disoriented, and I knew I'd been dreaming, though I was already starting to forget what the dream had been about. I lay pressed up against Bryson's backside, one arm threaded under his neck, the other wrapped around his chest. His hand rested on mine, holding it in place, and it rose and fell with his breath. My hardness pressed against the small of his back, my legs curled, the front of my thighs pressed up against the back of his, making contact at every available inch.
This was unusual for me, waking up with someone. Back home, I wasn't much of a spend-the-night kind of guy. Usually, once the fun was over and we'd had enough conversation to be polite, I'd yawn and stretch my arms and cordially suggest that it was time for me to get ready for bed…alone. I'd always held on to the notion that moments like these - waking up with someone, starting the day in that silent pocket of time and space where nothing feels like it really exists except for the softness of their skin, the warmth of their body on yours - were moments reserved for someone special. They were wasted on strangers and one-night stands. Maybe that’s old fashioned, but I’d always imagined these moments with someone I knew, someone I had a relationship with outside of impersonal sex. But being here now, realizing this moment met all the criteria I’d created in my head over the years, I was a little overwhelmed. Surely this wasn't the right time - or person - I needed these feelings to finally show up. These ideas cycled through my mind until Bryson's chest rose steadily with a yawn and his hand stretched out in front of him.
“Morning,” I whispered, questioning whether or not I should let go, give him some space.
“Good Morning,” he said, mid-yawn. He finished his stretch and nestled back into me and I figured that answered my question. “How did you sleep?”
“Good,” I rested my cheek against his back. “Really good.”
“Good,” he said warmly. “What time is it, anyway?”
“I don't know. Early. I thought about checking my phone, but…I don't want to wake you,” I admitted.
“Well, aren't you thoughtful,” he teased as he reached out and checked his phone on the nightstand. It was 7:03 am. “Damn, we’re up early,” he commented. He settled back against me, my erection pressing into his back, just above his ass. “We're really up early,” he teased.
“Sorry,” I laughed. “Happens every morning.”
“Same,” he said absentmindedly, shifting his hips back, lightly pressing against me.
“Mmm,” I purred into the back of his neck. “And here I thought you preferred Big Spoon.”
His chest shook with laughter. “Add it to the list of things I've discovered I like this week.”
We laid there for a minute, neither one of us in a hurry to move. I combed my fingers absentmindedly through his chest hair, wishing I could know what was going through his mind.
“So you…I mean, you've really liked it then?” I asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as I could manage.
He barked a quick laugh. “Yes, I've liked it. Why else do you think we've kept doing it?”
“I…” I began. “I don't know, actually.”
“It wasn't just to be polite,” he said, his smile audible.
He made a good point, though one I still couldn't seem to wrap my head around. In my mind this was all still harmless curiosity and experimentation, trial and elimination, except so far nothing had been eliminated, and it made me wonder at what point Bryson stopped being my curious straight friend and started being…something else? It was too early to think about how to ask that question.
“So then…was this…,” I stuttered. “I mean, have you ever…where did this come from?”
“What do you mean?” he asked genuinely.
“This,” I gestured generally over our naked bodies cuddling on the mattress. “I mean, I know you haven't done this before, but…surely it didn't just come out of nowhere?”
He thought for a minute, his breathing steady. I wondered if I'd gone too far, probed too deep. I was about to apologize when he spoke.
“Do you remember my fraternity brother? The one I told you about?”
“Yeah,” I nodded.
“Well, he and I were pretty good friends. We played intramurals together and worked out together; we ate together a lot in the cafeteria; we'd always hang out and wingman for each other at frat parties. We were, I don't know, kind of a package deal there for a while. So when he came out…it was kind of a shock. Like, I know you shouldn't be able to tell just by the way someone looks or dresses or acts, but…we’d been friends for a while and he'd never said or done anything that made me think he was…I just didn't see it coming, I guess.
“And because we spent all this time together, there were a few people who asked me if we were, ya know, a thing. I told them no, I didn’t like him like that, but it's not like I was super offended by the idea. I mean, we'd been pretty close, and I wondered if he was attracted to me or if he had feelings for me? I didn't want to assume that, but I also didn't want to be too surprised if he did. I didn't want him to feel bad about it or anything. And I never knew what made him finally realize that about himself. I never asked.
“But, you know, it made me think. Like, if he could like guys then…then, hell, anybody could like guys. And if anybody could like guys, maybe…I could like guys? I don't know, I can appreciate when a guy has a good body. Like, Alex was fit, I knew was objectively attractive. And I’d always liked spending time with him; like, I enjoy the camaraderie of getting close with another dude. So when he came out, it just brought up all sorts of questions I'd never asked before and didn't know how to answer.
“And for a long time, it was just this thing tucked away in the back of my mind. Like, I've been dating girls - and I know I definitely do like girls - so for the last year or two I’ve just been going along, business as usual, and it’s been this thing that didn’t really seem to have any bearing on my everyday life. It was more of a hypothetical scenario I thought about from time to time. Until I met you,” he added softly.
I felt myself tense up against him. “Me? What about me?”
“I don't know.” He paused, weighing his words. My heart pounded against his back. “We hit it off so well, I guess. I mean, I’ll be honest, I hadn’t really made a new friend since college, not really. So it was exciting, and I really liked being your friend and rallying people to go do stuff and being the life of the party together. I liked getting to know you. You were just so confident and open and easy to be around, and I always got really excited when I heard you were coming back to Atlanta.
“I knew you liked guys. You were never shy about that. And…I mean, I knew you were kinda into me. Like, when we'd go out and drink…something about the way you’d look at me or put your hand on my arm…I knew you were being a little flirty. But I didn't mind it.” I heard the smile in his voice, felt him shake his head. “No, that's not fair. I think I liked it.
“I liked that you weren’t afraid to show a little interest or affection. I liked the idea that a guy like you could actually be into me. It made me feel…I don’t know, good about myself. After enough mediocre Hinge dates, my self-confidence hadn’t been exceptionally high, so when we started hanging out and talking more and…and it made me think about all those old questions from when Alex came out, you know? Was I attracted to a guy or was I just excited to make a new friend? Did I like that you were into me, or do I just like being the center of attention? Or did I just need a chance to redeem myself after what happened with Alex? So, I mean, yeah, when you asked if I wanted to come to Mexico…” his voice trailed off.
“Wait,” I pulled back, the surprise obvious in my voice. “Is that why you wanted to come on this trip? You thought I was…propositioning you?”
He laughed, and turned over in bed, looking me squarely in the face. “I wanted to come on this trip because you’re my friend and I like spending time with you, and I thought it would be fun to chill on the beach in Mexico for a few days.” His expression softened. “But, okay yes, I thought that maybe it might provide an opportunity to…I don’t know…test the waters a little bit?” He grimaced as he finished his thought. “God, sorry, that makes me sound bad.” He buried his face into the pillow, cheeks glowing red.
I laughed. “No, it’s okay, I get it. Trust me I get it.” We were quiet for a second, so I continued. “It's confusing. It always is. And you don’t owe me an explanation, okay? Hell, you don’t owe anybody anything.” He looked back up at me, his face neutral. “Sometimes people are just curious, and that can mean any number of things. Or it can not mean anything at all. You don't have to figure that out now. Hell, you may never figure it out, not fully. And that's okay. But…for what it's worth,” I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Even if you were just curious and wanted to try things out or get it out of your system…I'm glad it got to be with me.”
He looked at me for what felt like forever, and despite all of our various states of nakedness over the last two days, I felt more vulnerable and exposed than I ever had before. His eyes were deep and clear, his features soft and warm. When he finally spoke, he sounded confident, resolute. “Thank you. Seriously, thanks for understanding. I feel bad now, I really made it sound like I'm using you.”
“Nah, you really didn't,” I reassured him. “And besides, even if you did, I don't mind. Let's not pretend I didn't enjoy the hell out of it, too.” I grinned playfully.
He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that right?”
I gave his shoulder a gentle shove where my hand had been resting. “I mean, I did invite you on a vacation where the primary activities involve lying around without your shirt on all week. I was excited enough for that.”
“I see. So really this was all part of your master plan, huh?” He teased, returning the playful shove.
“Can't blame a guy for dreaming,” I laughed, and shoved him again, leaving my hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. His hand found my ribcage.
“I can't believe we leave today,” he said softly, eyes holding mine.
“I know,” I replied, my voice even, not wanting to reveal the full extent of my disappointment. “It went by fast.”
“So fast,” he agreed, his eyes studying my face. Then, swiftly and confidently, he leaned forward and kissed me. It was a quick kiss, light and affectionate, and as he pulled away we stared at one another curiously.
“What?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Nothing,” suppressing a grin. “I just…it's been a long time since I've had a lazy morning in bed. It's nice.”
“Really?” He looked surprised. “Even with all the hot guys you hook up with?”
I blushed and felt suddenly embarrassed for all the stories I’d shared, all the ways I might have accidentally cheapened what this meant to me. “I mean…sure, I’ve had a lot of random sex with people…but it’s never like this.”
He held my gaze, and leaned in for another kiss, soft and gentle. Then another, and another. His mouth left mine and traveled up my jaw, down my neck, and along my collar before working its way back up to my lips. I reached up and threaded my fingers through his hair, and he sighed against my mouth and pressed forward, rolling on top of me.
His weight on top of me felt good, comforting, and I loved the way the hair on his chest felt against the smooth skin of mine. We kissed deeply, my hands still in his hair, his hand cupping me behind my neck. He pressed his hips against me, and I could feel him growing hard as he rubbed himself on my stomach. My hands ran up and down his back, cupping his bare ass and pulling him tightly against me, giving him permission to pleasure himself on my body. I threw my legs wide, lifting them up, squeezing his hips with my thighs, and he ground his hips in slow, gentle circles. We writhed together, a mixture of passion and restraint.
He gave a soft moan as I squeezed his ass, his glutes firm and smooth and strong. I kept massaging his glutes, relishing this chance to touch him in such a sacred, forbidden place - especially for a guy who, up until about two days ago, I would’ve bet was straight. Feeling bold, or at least a little mischievous, I brought my hands to his hips, caressing his lower back before slipping a finger right down the middle of his crack.
He sucked in a startled breath and pulled his face back, looking at me with surprise.
“Sorry,” I laughed. “Old habits. Too much?”
He released a nervous chuckle, and I could see him thinking. “No, I don't think so. Just unexpected.”
“I can stop if you want,” I offered.
“Don't stop,” he said immediately.
We locked eyes, and he gave a miniscule nod, his face flushed. My finger slid between his crack, gliding over the soft, puckered skin of his hole, feeling the thin patches of hair around the edges. My finger swirled, dancing over his skin with the faintest pressure, and he looked at me intently and drew in a shuddering breath.
“Shit, dude,” he growled, arching his back and pressing ever so slightly against my finger.
“How's that feel?” I asked.
“It feels…different.” He closed his eyes and moaned as I pressed slightly harder against him. “Good different.”
“Yeah?” I asked, savoring the way his face contorted with pleasure.
“Yeah.” He rocked gently back and forth as I teased his hole, pressing lightly then firmly then lightly again, never breaching him, just introducing him to the new sensations. I reached down and wrapped my other hand around his cock, letting the motion of his hips stroke through my hand. He sat up, back arched, his chest wide and strong.
“Fuck dude,” I smiled breathlessly. “You look so hot right now.”
He laughed as he looked down at me. “You too.” I reached up and grabbed a handful of his pec as he thrust more intentionally into my hand, and we watched one another for a minute, enjoying the view of deriving pleasure from each other's bodies, until finally I couldn't stand it anymore and I pushed him off of me.
“Get on your back,” I commanded. He did, falling against the pillows and kicking his legs out wide in front of him. I dove in and started to suck him off, my hands moving up his chest, groping and squeezing and twisting, as my head bobbed up and down.
“Damn dude,” he moaned, watching me with burning eyes. “Your mouth feels so good.”
After a few minutes I had to come up for air, and we both laughed. “Jesus, you're a mouthful,” I teased.
“You're so good at that, though. Holy shit.” He grinned, cupping my face in his hands and beckoning me towards him. He sat up, wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing me deeply. I threw my arms around his shoulders and pressed my stomach against his, and we clung to each other. I took his lip between my teeth and felt his cock twitch beneath me, pressing up against my hole, and I moaned against his mouth. I pulled away, adjusting my hips so that his hardness pressed against me again, and I rocked my hips slowly over his tip. He looked at me with a face of realization and surprise.
“We don't have to, if it's too much right now,” I finally said, my voice low and rough. “But…I think I would very much like for you to fuck me.”
His eyes were clouded with uncertainty. “Are you sure?” He asked. “I don't want to…to hurt you or anything.”
I smiled, touched by his concern. “You won't,” I reassured him. “We’ll take it slow.”
“Okay,” he agreed in a hoarse voice. I gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and hopped up off the bed, walking over to my bag to retrieve a small bottle of lube from an interior pocket.
“You brought lube?” He asked, amusement obvious in his voice.
“Call me an optimist,” I said, climbing back onto the bed. “Or a huge slut, either is fine.” He laughed and began to sit up. “No, stay there.” I placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down against the pillows, throwing a leg over his hips. I squirted some lube into my hands and reached behind me to coat my hole, doing some preliminary warm up with my fingers. He watched me studiously, saying nothing but observing every movement. Another squirt of lube and I reached back to apply it to his dick. He sucked in a breath at my touch.
“Cold,” he laughed nervously.
“Sorry,” I grinned, stroking him gently to warm him up and bring him back to full hardness. After a couple good strokes, I adjusted myself into place and angled his cock up towards me, leaning back until I felt his head make contact. His hand came up to rest on my hips, and I rocked back slowly, feeling him press against me. It took a few pulses but with a deep, fortifying breath, I sank down and felt him enter me.
He gasped, his mouth agape, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Holy…fuck,” he exclaimed. I let out a deep breath and adjusted to the feeling of him inside me. It had been a while since I'd bottomed and, with his size, I knew it was going to take a second, but when opportunity knocks, you find a way to make it work.
I rocked gently, feeling him press deeper inside of me each time, watching the bewilderment and surprise and ecstacy and lust flash across his face, until finally, after a few minutes, I sank down and made contact with his thighs. I moaned loudly and took in a long breath, bracing my hands on his chest; he gripped my hips with his hands.
“Jesus, dude,” he looked at me amazed. “How are you…are you good?”
I looked at him and laughed. “I'm good, just…adjusting.” I moved my hips in a gentle circle and he threw his head back against the pillows. “How's it feel?”
“I don't even…it feels amazing,” he looked up at me again, bewildered. “It's so much tighter than, you know…the other thing.”
“I believe it,” I laughed. “Plus it’s been…a while since I’ve done this, so I'm sure that's especially true.” I began to rock my hips up and down slowly, feeling the friction of him inside me with every move. We looked at each other intensely, and I studied every detail of his face. He looked at me with such raw desire and amazement, like he wanted to consume me whole, like he couldn't believe what was happening - which was understandable, because neither could I.
“What does it feel like?” He asked me, not breaking eye contact.
“It feels…full.” I said, gradually quickening my pace. “Like my body is adjusting to you, letting you take up space.” He moaned. “And warm. Just heat spreading through my entire body from where I feel you inside me.” He moaned again. “And big,” I said with a mischievous grin. “Really fucking big.”
I leaned down and kissed him, our tongues wrestling as my hips bucked against him, and I could feel him moaning and gasping as our mouths moved, could hear him murmur my name as I rode him with increasing abandon.
“Dude, I'm not gonna last long. You're so fucking tight,” he gasped.
“Here,” I said, rolling off him, trading places with him on the mattress. “You take over to finish.”
“You sure?” He looked worried.
“Yeah,” I assured him. “I want to watch you.”
He positioned himself over me, his hands bracing on either side of my shoulders, hooking my knees in the crook of his elbows, bending me in half. I helped guide him into position and felt him press into me, our eyes locked and unblinking. He began to thrust softly at first, gradually picking up speed as he got more comfortable, realizing I could take it. A smile crossed his face and he shook his head in disbelief.
“What?” I chuckled, loving the flush which had spread across his face and neck.
“I just…never thought…it would feel this fucking good!”
“You feel fucking amazing, dude. Don't stop.” I gasped as he thrust and hit my prostate, electricity rippling through my body. I threw one hand behind my head, bracing against the headboard, and with the other I reached down and began to stroke myself furiously, riding the waves of pleasure that crashed over me with each thrust of his hips. “God, you're so sexy when you're fucking me,” I growled.
“Jesus…Tucker…this…you…so fucking hot!” Bryson grunted between gasps. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against mine, my hands weaving into his hair as he drove deeper into me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge until, with one final thrust, I erupted all over my stomach. Bryson gasped and let out a groan as my body clenched around him, and I felt his cock spasm and spill his load inside of me. The waves hit intensely, both of us crying out and cursing like there wasn't a wall in the world that could stifle the sounds of our pleasure. He collapsed onto my chest, breathing heavily and laughing, still hard inside of me, and I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed my legs against him and held him close as we both rode the aftershocks of ecstasy we'd caused each other.
“Fucking hell, man,” he eventually sighed as he gently pulled out of me, his head still laying on my chest. His voice was warm and smooth, his breath hot on my skin. “I don't know if I can feel my legs after that one,” he laughed.
“How do you think I feel?” I retorted.
“Dude, I don't even know,” he laughed, chest shaking on top of me. “Are you okay?”
“Oh I'm good,” I combed my fingers through his hair, smiling. “I'm beyond good. That was…that was amazing. I'm sure I'm gonna be sore tomorrow, but for now…I'm perfect.”
“I think you might have just ruined sex for me forever,” he mumbled against my shoulder, making me laugh unexpectedly.
“Well then, mission accomplished,” I teased.
After a few minutes, Bryson raised his head and looked at me, his eyes dark and his face calm, if still a little flushed, and though his demeanor was gentle, the intensity of his gaze, the directness of attention made me feel suddenly exposed, vulnerable. I know he'd just fucked my brains out for the last ten minutes, but this was different; this was a fondness and tenderness I didn't know what to do with.
“You're staring,” I finally said. The corner of his mouth twitched up.
“I know,” he replied, offering no joke or explanation. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.
For a while, we laid sprawled out on the mattress, the sheets ripped halfway off the bed, cascading onto the floor. We were quiet, a comfortable, satisfied quiet, our bodies satiated like after a good meal. Eventually my alarm went off, which I'd set to ensure we had enough time to get packed up before breakfast. Begrudgingly, we dragged ourselves out of bed.
We took a shower, washing each other clean, our hands exploring and massaging and savoring these final touches, and we made out lazily, pressed up against the cool tile. And then, we dried off, got ready, and set about collecting our things. It didn't take Bryson long to get packed up; he shoved items into his duffle bag as haphazardly as he'd pulled them out the first day. I took a little more time, carefully folding and stacking my clothes, trying to drag out the moment and delay the inevitable.
We didn't speak much as we packed up. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but it frustrated me; I wanted to say something, to keep the conversation going, but it felt like there were simply no words that would add to the moment. The trip was ending and the return to reality was looming over us like a dark storm cloud approaching from the horizon, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. As we packed up our bags and prepared to leave the room, we stood, facing each other with murky expressions. Unsure what to say or what to do, feeling the inertia of our lives already pulling us in different directions, I stepped forward and gave him one final kiss. It was brief, restrained and self-conscious, conveying the words that neither of us wanted to say out loud, a kiss that felt like goodbye.
The ride to the airport was quiet. We sat in the shuttle, silently reflecting on the past four days, emotionally preparing ourselves for the return to our everyday lives. My mind raced as I slumped against Bryson’s shoulder, my stomach hollow at the thought that in a few hours we’d board our separate planes, return to our separate lives in separate states, and leave this week behind us as little more than a fond memory.
The security line was long but not awful, and afterwards we claimed a large table in the food court to post up while we waited for our flights. Tyler and Emily had the earliest departure, so they took off for their gate while Bryson, Mitchell, Abigail and I remained.
“Man, I need some more coffee,” Mitchell finally announced after about twenty minutes.
“Same,” I agreed. “Want to go find some?” I asked, and we set off for the small coffee counter on the other side of the large atrium.
“It was good to see you guys this week,” I told Mitchell as we waited in line.
“Yeah dude, I hate not getting to see you as often these days.”
“Me too. I miss when we were all like a ten-minute drive away.”
“Yeah,” he said fondly. “But hey, change is good, right?”
“I guess you're right,” I agreed. “Like now we can afford trips to Mexico.”
“No kidding,” he laughed. “This was a trip for the books.
“Oh, top three, for sure.”
“And it was really cool to have Bryson here. He’s a good guy, I really like him.”
“Yeah,” I offered a sad smile, despite trying my best to make it convincing. “Yeah, me too. I wish he didn't live halfway across the country. I barely get to see him either.”
“I'm sure,” Mitchell said offhandedly. “But hey, people do long-distance all the time.”
I barked a surprise laugh. “Oh, I don't think…I mean, we work together. We're just friends.”
Mitchell raised his eyebrows, his face revealing little. “Well, you two seemed very friendly this week.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What did Abigail tell you?”
“She didn't have to tell me much. I can be perceptive on my own, you know.” His voice was gentle. “But you two look really good together, and…I'll be honest, I don't think we've ever seen you this happy.”
I didn't know what to say. Fortunately, it was our turn to order, so we stepped up to the counter and asked for our drinks, but as we stepped aside to the pick-up counter Mitchell spoke again. “Just don't rule out the possibilities. You never know what could happen.”
“Okay,” I replied, a bit stunned. “Yeah, I won't. Thanks.”
We made our way back to our table and handed Bryson and Abigail their drinks, settling into a comfortable lull until Mitchell and Abigail announced it was time to head to their gate. We gave our hugs goodbye and I promised to come visit them soon. Mitchell and Bryson exchanged contact info and made some comment about Fantasy Football, to which Abigail and I rolled our eyes, both smiling fondly.
“Cool people,” Bryson observed as we watched them disappear across the terminal.
“They're the best,” I agreed. We settled back into our chairs and I could feel the clock ticking, counting down our final minutes.
“So do you go back to work tomorrow? I asked after a few minutes of strained silence.
“Yeah,” Bryson nodded, looking up from his phone. “Going into the office, too.”
“Oof,” I chuckled. “That’s gonna be a rough morning then.”
“Probably,” he smiled. “But at least they’re catering lunch, so I’ll get something out of it.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot the town hall meeting is tomorrow afternoon. That will be nice. Takes up a few hours of the day, at least.”
“Yeah, it’ll be good,” he agreed. “When’s your next Atlanta trip?” he asked offhandedly.
I thought for a second, running through my calendar in my head. “You know, I’m not actually sure. I don’t think we’ve got one scheduled yet.”
“Oh,” he said evenly. “That surprises me.”
“Me too, I figured we’d have something planned,” I commented. “Hopefully we get one scheduled before too long.”
“Yeah.” His face was blank, impossible to read. “Yeah, hopefully.”
After another ten minutes or so, Bryson stood, stretched, and announced he was going to go find his gate. “We should start boarding before long,” he added.
“Yeah, don’t want to miss that,” I said stupidly. I stood up and stepped around my suitcase, and for a second we just looked at each other, unsure what to say or do. “Well, uh,” I finally began. “This was fun. I’m glad you were here.” I knew it was a worthless comment, that it absolutely failed to capture all the ways I felt about the time we’d spent together this week. I wanted to tell him that I couldn't imagine this week without him, that his presence made literally every part of the experience better, that I hated the fact that I’d wake up in my apartment tomorrow and he wouldn’t be there; but the words I wanted to say felt too heavy, too important, too much too soon. “I guess I’ll see you next time I’m in Atlanta.”
He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll see you then. Thanks for…a great trip.” He stepped forward and hugged me, his arms wrapping around my rib cage, his head resting on my shoulder, and I returned it, putting my arms over his shoulders and feeling his body against mine for what I hated to admit was probably the last time. Eventually, he pulled away. “Have a safe flight, man.”
Then, without another word, he slipped on his backpack, grabbed his duffle bag off the floor, and walked off in search of his gate.
I hadn’t been able to sit still since I’d arrived at my gate. I was restless and angry, and no matter how I shifted my weight in my seat, I couldn’t get comfortable. I had another half hour until I started boarding, but once Bryson had left, taking up a four-top table in the food court felt a little superfluous, so I decided to wander to my gate and hopefully kill some time walking. The walk had only taken three minutes.
So now, here I was, fidgeting in my chair, locking and unlocking my phone, crossing and uncrossing my legs like a child who had to pee. My head buzzed like a hive of bees, and I wanted to punch something or scream at someone or just curl up on the ground and cry, and I didn’t know why. Okay, that wasn’t true, I knew why. I felt like I wanted to explode because, since the moment I sat down in this chair, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to Bryson. All the things I should have said to him instead of just “see ya next time”.
But it was too late. I’d missed my moment. He was probably boarding his flight already, putting in his earbuds and watching sports highlights on the internet and thinking about the girls on Hinge he was going to hang out with once he got back home. And even if he hadn’t boarded his flight yet, anything I did would require I become the kind of foolish, melodramatic romantic who ran through an airport to tell someone how he really felt, and I’m just not sure my conscience - or my pride - would ever let me stoop so low.
Giving up on getting comfortable, I decided to try my luck at another walk. I meandered down the main aisle of the terminal, passing a coffee shop, a bookstore, and more than one bustling bar. It helped to move, the restlessness in my mind working itself out through my body, but in its place another feeling took over, one which I was very unused to feeling - regret. I’d had one chance to be honest with Bryson before we left and, excuses be damned, I chickened out. I had convinced myself it would be easier to let things go back to normal, but what was normal for us?
I thought about what Bryson said earlier this morning, about him always knowing - at least to some degree - that I liked him, about him being intrigued by that idea, about him being open minded enough to admit that maybe he didn’t know everything about what he did and didn’t like. As I thought back on the last year of our relationship, I realized that normal was the two of us always enjoying each other’s company, stealing glances and sharing smiles at the office, cherishing secret touches and feeling our bodies gravitate towards one another in sticky leather booths at the bars, testing the waters on what amount of attention and affection and attraction our friendship could take before it turned into something more than a friendship. In a way, our relationship had always been building towards this, whatever this currently was, and I’d be an idiot to get on an airplane and go home without being willing to admit that. And while I would ultimately respect whatever he wanted, I wanted this to be our new normal.
As I admitted this, my chest tightened into a knot. For the first time in years, I met somebody who made me want something, who despite all the risks and uncertainties made me want to try. I wanted this thing with Bryson, whatever it was and wherever it went, even if it strung along for a few more weeks and fizzled out with distance and time, at least we’d given it a shot. At least I’d tried. My heart pounding, I rushed over to the flight board and scanned the columns for the 2:45 to Atlanta. Delayed, it flashed in italics. Boarding in 5 minutes.
Well shit, I thought to myself. Looks like I’ll be running through an airport after all.
I was out of breath and just starting to sweat by the time I reached his gate. People were already starting to gather in a huge cluster waiting for the boarding process to begin. I scanned the crowd, looking for Bryson’s face, his white baseball cap, his baby blue t-shirt. I pushed my way into the center of the mob and crossed out the other side where I finally saw him, standing against the wall, scrolling on his phone. As if by fate or instinct, he looked up and saw me.
His face was blank, motionless except for that tiny twitch above his eyebrow I’d seen when he was asleep, and while he didn’t look immediately happy to see me, he didn’t look terribly surprised either.
“Tucker?” he said as I walked up to him. “What…” he began.
“I don’t want to wait,” I blurted out, a bit breathless from the run. His brow furrowed, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. “Until my next work trip. I don’t want to wait indefinitely for the chance to see you again.” He didn’t say anything, but he put his phone in his pocket. I saw him swallow hard. My heart was beating like I’d run a marathon and I could feel my cheeks growing hot, but I took a steadying breath and pressed on, taking a step towards him. “Look, I know this is probably crazy, and it’s definitely melodramatic, but…this has been the best week I’ve had in…ever. And sure, it was nice because we were at a cushy resort in Mexico, but it was great because of you. Being with you. Spending time with you makes me the happiest, truest version of myself…it always has, but this week just proved it.
“And look, if all of this was just a chance to explore and answer some questions and get it out of your system…if this was just what happens when you drink too much tequila on the beach…then you can tell me that, and I will respect it and I will go back to being your friend and never push this point again. But if there is even the slightest chance that this week meant as much to you as it did to me…well then, I couldn’t let you get on an airplane without telling you how I feel.
“I don’t know what this is yet, but you got to be a part of my life this week outside of work, and I loved it. You got to meet my friends and hear embarrassing stories about me and make new memories together, and…if you'll have me, I want you to be a part of it tomorrow, and the day after that, and next week and next month…until you get sick of me.” I swallowed hard. “I really like you, Bryson, and I want to see what this could be.”
He was quiet for a minute, no doubt processing the barrage of emotional revelations I’d just hurled his way. I fought every instinct in my body telling me to keep talking, to fill the silence, to turn and run before he had a chance to say now. Instead, I stood there, taking deep breaths and planting my feet firmly on the dingy airport tile. An eternity passed in a matter of seconds, until a smile began to break out across his face - the shy, boyish smile I’d seen in bed.
“Well,” he said, dropping his eyes and taking my hand in his. He looked back up at me, his eyes shining with a mix of emotion. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.” We both laughed, easing some of the tension. “I didn't expect any of this to happen, but…” he shrugged, “I was really starting to hate the idea that it was coming to an end. And I’ll be honest, I don't know what I can offer you right now, but…I think I'd like to find out.”
We stared at each other for a minute, incredulous. My head was spinning and my heart was racing and my mouth was moving nonsensically as I tried to think of something to say, but in a moment like this words seemed entirely insufficient. And so, I stepped forward, cupping his face in my hands, and kissed him. His hand fell to my hips as he kissed me back, smiling against my mouth. It was a gentle kiss, joyful and optimistic, a kiss that contained a thousand questions and uncertainties about the future, but at the same time, in the here and now, contained one simple and resounding answer: yes.
Epilogue - Atlanta
“Alright then, you have a good afternoon,” the Uber driver said cheerfully as I opened the passenger door and retrieved my bags.
“Thank you, you too!” I closed the door and the car slowly pulled away from the curb. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, double checking my text message for the right number - 1312. Fairly confident I was in the right spot, I picked up my suitcase and began to walk towards the stairs.
I think I’m here, I texted as I reached the landing and found the door labeled 1312. A few seconds later, the door swung open and I was looking into Bryson’s slightly startled face.
“Oh! You’re here here,” he laughed. “I was about ready to come find you downstairs.”
“You know, I am a pretty capable individual.” I smiled sarcastically, and for a few long seconds we just stood there in the doorway, staring at each other like idiots. Finally, a wide grin broke out across Bryson's face and he rushed forward to hug me. I returned the hug, burying my face in his shoulder and breathing in his scent. “I missed you,” I said softly.
“I missed you, too.”
Since Mexico, we’d continued talking. In most ways, things weren’t any different - we chatted a lot during work, kept our virtual lunch date every week, sent each other a whole lot of nonsense on Instagram, and called each other a few evenings each week to talk. The main difference was the length of those calls and the fact that they often now led to phone sex. We’d both wanted to take our relationship - whatever it was - further away from work and into our personal lives, and so far it had been going well, even if it was still a bit nebulous. When I’d pitched the idea of coming to visit, Bryson had happily suggested Labor Day weekend. So here we were, with three days to ourselves and nothing but time to see how this thing might work in the real world.
“Come on in,” he said as we broke apart, reaching down to grab my suitcase. I stepped into the apartment and looked around. It was simply furnished but neat and cohesive, not the haphazardly assembled apartment you might expect with a single, twenty-three-year-old guy. I stepped into the small kitchen as he dropped my suitcase by the couch and turned to look at me, grinning widely. “I’ve picked out a bunch of stuff for us to do. I know you’ve never really seen Atlanta, so we gotta do the tourist staples like the Aquarium and the Coca-Cola museum or hit up a Braves game. And I thought we could go hiking or check out the Botanical Gardens since the weather is going to be great. Or we can just stay here all weekend and order in and watch tv together if you don’t feel like getting out.”
I grinned widely and blushed, touched by the amount of thought he’d given this. “No, that all sounds great. Let’s do it. Show me the world.”
“Aye aye, Princess Jasmine,” he winked.
My jaw dropped. “You did not just weaponize Aladdin at me.”
“So what if I did,” he shrugged innocently.
“Give me my bag, I won’t stand for this blasphemy,” I rushed forward, laughing, and reached for my suitcase. He caught my hand and twisted my arm, pulling me in towards him. My chest bumped against him and he kissed, a soft and playful kiss. As we broke away, I looked into his face, studying every line and curve of his features, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“What?” he asked, grinning a little self-consciously.
“Nothing, I’m just…I’m really glad I’m here.”
“I’m glad you’re here, too.”
He showed me around the apartment, which aside from the open kitchen and living area consisted of his bedroom and the bathroom. Maybe it was the long flight, but there was something oddly arousing about seeing the place where he slept, where he showered, where he lived the most private moments of his life. I was excited about what activities we would get up here. As we returned to the kitchen, he offered me a drink, which I gladly accepted, and for a few minutes we stood there, leaning against the counter, chatting about nothing.
“You said we’ve got dinner reservations, right?”
“Yeah, at this Italian place in Midtown.” He flashed his shy smile. “But we can go anywhere! I just…wanted to have something lined up, you know, cuz it’s Friday and the wait times can be crazy and…”
I cut him off, smiling. “Italian sounds great.” He exhaled, showing his relief and sudden nervousness that I found adorable. “What time is the reservation?”
“It’s at seven,” he said. I looked at the clock and saw it was just after four.
“So we’ve got a few hours to kill.” I looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He smiled and stepped towards me in the kitchen.
“Looks like we do,” he agreed with a cocky grin.
“What can we do with a couple of hours and nowhere to be?” I asked playfully.
“Hmmm,” Bryson pondered, putting his hands on the counter, one on either side of my hips. “I’ve got some ideas.”
“Yeah?” I asked, feeling the electricity buzzing between us, fighting the urge to throw my arms around him. “Tell me.”
He pressed against me, his chest and stomach and hips making contact with mine, and I could already feel myself getting hard in my jeans. “How about I show you instead?” I stared into his eyes and saw them dark with desire.
“Deal,” I said breathlessly, and he leaned in to kiss me. It was slow and sensual and deliberate, the kind of kiss that foreshadowed all the ways we couldn’t wait to get our hands and mouths on each other after the last two months apart. I was excited and relieved and overwhelmed to have him back in my arms, pressed up against me at the kitchen counter.
Sure, I still didn’t know what to call what we were doing or where we wanted this thing to go. I didn’t know if we were dating or just screwing around or stumbling upon something terrifying and real. I’m sure we would ask some of those questions over the long weekend, and hopefully we’d even come up with an answer or two, but for now, as Bryson reached up and cupped my face in his hands, I took comfort in his desire, in the tenderness of his kiss, in the feeling of his body against mine, and in the knowledge that, in this moment, standing in his apartment kitchen far from the sunny shores and magic of Mexico, he still wanted me. And I knew I wanted him in return.
I took his hand and followed him to the bedroom.
