Date: Thu, 31 Oct 2002 20:54:44 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: rebound - part 7

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no
way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or
anything else.  This is a work of pure fiction.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

***

I continued to wonder what Justin and Pete had been talking about all
through dinner, and I kept watching them over the top of my pizza and my
can of soda, looking for clues. I didn't really catch any, but the two of
them seemed to be getting along pretty well as they made small talk about
Pete's classes. Pete asked Justin a little about recording, and how they
make a record, and I listened as well, curious to hear about it. I knew
nothing of studios and tracks and mixing boards, so it was all a little
interesting, but I was more interested in their interplay. The two of them
made eye contact several times, but Justin seemed uncomfortable meeting my
eyes, except when Pete wasn't looking. I wondered what had happened, but
the two of them seemed to have come to some sort of companionable
understanding. I just wished I knew what it was.

After we finished the pizza, we all washed our hands (nobody was handling
books in my store with greasy fingers), and Justin did the dishes and wiped
down the table while Pete and I started wheeling boxes out of the storeroom
on the handcart, dropping them near the shelves they were supposed to go
on. We stored some books in the back, but for the most part we stored the
extras on top of the shelves, out of reach of the customers, but up where
we could see them. After we dropped the boxes on the first floor Pete and I
began carrying them up to the second floor, and Justin tried to help,
grabbing the next one off the cart.

"Where does this go?" he asked, holding it. He'd pushed up the sleeves of
his shirt, and I could see veins snaking across his forearms.

"Upstairs," Pete said. "Drop it by the children's section."

"Where's that?" Justin asked, starting up the steps.

"Look around," Pete answered. "You'll find it."

"Justin, you don't have to help us stock," I said quickly, following him up
the stairs. I grabbed the box, but he wouldn't let go of it. "Justin."

"I want to help," he said, shaking his head.

"You don't have to," I repeated. "It's stupid. You're a guest. Go sit down
and read something, or, I don't know. I didn't invite you over to put you
to work."

"Look, I said I want to help, ok?" he said, still gripping the box tightly.
We were about to tumble down the stairs. "You want me to just sit there and
watch you guys stock the shelves? That's stupid."

"You don't even know where anything is," I said, shaking my head. "It's
Pete's job to do this, and mine. We have it under control. You don't need
to do this."

"And you don't need to treat me with kid gloves all of a sudden," Justin
said, wrenching the box away from me.

"Justin, you don't owe me anything, ok?" I said. I didn't want him to think
I expected anything from him, but something else was bothering me, too. I
felt uncomfortable suddenly with having Justin around, staying with me, and
now helping out in the store. I kept thinking in the back of my mind about
what Pete must be thinking, and what the others would say. I felt like I'd
let Justin in too quickly, and it bothered me, as stupid as it sounded.

"Chris," Pete said sharply from behind me, standing on the steps with what
had to be a heavy box. "He wants to help. Let him help, and both of you,
get out of the way."

"Sorry," I said quickly, walking away.

I circled around the railing and went back down the other stairs, leaving
Justin and Pete to work up there while I started setting up displays and
unloading boxes on the first floor.  The two of them kept talking as they
worked, but I worked in silence, eventually popping a CD into the store
system to distract me. I still felt uncomfortable with Justin being here
the more that I thought about it, and wondered what the hell I'd been
thinking when I impulsively invited him to stay. When we finally finished,
Pete bid us both a good night, and let himself out with his key. Justin
picked up his bags.

"Time to go upstairs?" he asked, smiling tentatively.

"Yeah, let's go," I said, leading him through the storeroom.

I unlocked the back door of the storeroom and led Justin into the
stairwell, locking the door again behind me and arming the building alarm
system. At the top of the stairs, which were a little narrow, I unlocked
the loft and stepped in, letting Justin follow me inside.

"Wow," he said, looking around. "This is really, um, it's really nice. It's
not what I expected."

I looked around, wondering what he was expecting. The floors were nice,
hardwood, which I'd discovered with the contractor when we peeled up the
linoleum after Matthew died. I'd broken up the separate areas with large
rugs, except for the kitchen, which I left tiled for cleanup, and the
little gym area where I had my treadmill and exercise bike. I'd put down a
square of indoor outdoor carpet there, in case I dripped sweat on it, and
there was a runner of carpet connecting my bedroom cubicle to the bathroom,
so that I wouldn't have to walk on cold floors in the middle of the
night. I'd had the bathroom walls built out of those cubes of glass, so
that light got in, but you really couldn't see inside. The glass walls of
my bedroom were clear, but I had curtains on the inside for privacy, and I
remembered that I would have to close them tonight for mine and Justin's
benefit, so that we could both have our own space.

"What do you mean?" I asked, checking the phone. No messages from April, or
from anyone else. I dropped my keys on the table next to the phone, and
walked over to the couch.

"I guess, I don't know, when I think of a loft I think of something a
little grungy or something, like thrown together," Justin said, walking
around. There were hanging lights on the ceiling that could be switched on
in sections to discreetly light the different areas, and I flicked on the
ones over the living room. "This is a lot cooler, like a house, but with no
walls or anything. And the view!"

Justin walked over to the windows as he said it, and they were the crowning
feature of the apartment, one I'd been happy to preserve. They were tall,
soaring multipaned glass, twelve feet high. They'd all been resealed, to
keep the place from being drafty, and being on the third floor meant that I
got a lot of heat from below in winter, so I didn't have to worry about the
high ceilings killing my utility bills. I'd had a wide sill built all the
way around, so that wherever you were in the apartment, on any of the four
sides, you could sit by the glass and stare out at the city. I turned away,
my eyes catching a picture of Matt and I on the bookcases. There were six
pictures of us over there, on different shelves, and I looked at all of
them, swallowing thickly. All this talking with Justin had put Matt in my
head again, and he was weighing heavily there.

"Chris?" Justin asked quietly from right behind me, startling me. I turned,
trying to cover it, but Justin caught it. "Sorry."

"What's up?" I asked, taking a step back away from him. I covered it by
walking toward the living room square, sitting in one of the armchairs so
that I wouldn't have to sit by him.

"Did I do something wrong?" Justin asked, standing with his hands in his
pockets.

"What do you mean?" I asked neutrally.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked again. "Because, I don't know, I
thought you and I were ok. We talked, we hung out, we had that really great
day together, and now all of a sudden you're snapping at me again. It's
like when we first met at the airport, and I wanted to know what I did."

I was about to tell him it wasn't like that, but he was right. I had been
snapping at him, and I'd even admitted it to myself earlier, too. I just
didn't really think he'd pick up on it so quickly. I kept underestimating
him, and I should really stop doing that.

"I'm sorry, Justin," I said, looking down. "I know I've been a little
snappy with you tonight, and it's because I'm an asshole."

"Huh?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. He dropped to his knees,
jeans stretching tightly across his thighs, so that we were eye to
eye. "Chris, what's wrong?"

"You," I answered, and he sucked in his breath in surprise. "I'm being a
dick because of you."

I stood up quickly, walking away from him into one of the darker parts of
the loft, staring out the windows. Justin stood, standing under the lights,
watching me. I could see him reflected in the window glass, his face turned
a little down at the edges.

"I don't understand," he said finally. His voice was tight, and I though I
heard a little tremble. "Please, what did I do?"

"Nothing, Justin," I said, shaking my head. "Nothing that deserves
treatment like I gave you. Do you know how many people have been in this
loft since Matthew died?"

"I don't know," Justin answered, shrugging. "Twenty? Thirty? You must have
a lot of friends."

"I do, but I go to their houses and their apartments," I answered. "If I go
out at all. Nine people have been in here. Only nine. April, her parents,
my parents, Michelle, Meg, Pete, and Julie. That's it."

"Why?" Justin asked, looking around. "You could fit like fifty people up
here. Your table seats eight."

"I don't, I'm not good with people, Justin," I answered finally. "I never
have been. Matt was the one who was social, and without him, I've just kind
of shut down.  It's, it's just hard for me, Justin, ok? I've been thinking
all along about your walls, and I forgot about mine, and I guess when my
brain realized you were sliding behind them, they all went back up. I'm
sorry."

Justin sighed, looking at his feet.

"I understand," he said finally. "I feel kind of the same way. I told you
before, it's hard to talk to people. It's hard for me to get used to
people, and I, it was hard to talk to you. It felt better to let it out,
and to have you listen, but it was hard for me, too, and you didn't push
it. That matters to me, a lot, Chris. I guess what I'm trying to say is I
respect your walls. Pete and I talked about them, sort of."

"What?" I asked, turning around.

"When you went to park the car," Justin said, blushing. "He, uh, he asked
what my intentions were toward you."

"What?" I blurted again. I'd kill him. I'd kill all of them. Pete wouldn't
have thought of that on his own. "What did you tell him?"

"I said I wanted to be your friend," Justin said, and I remembered earlier
thinking about how much I wanted to be his friend, too. This couldn't be a
bad thing, this being friends with him. I just had to take it slow. "I also
had to promise not to fuck you up."

"I've never heard you swear before," I said, smiling.

"I don't do it a lot," he said, grinning as well. "And it wasn't me who
said it."

"Come on, let's get that couch unfolded," I said, walking over to it. It
was kind of late, and moving all those boxes left me a little more tired
than I thought.  Justin was yawning as well, and I wanted him to be able to
rest, since he was supposed to be relaxing. "Are we ok?"

"Yeah, I think so," Justin answered. "If you want me to go somewhere else
tomorrow, I can find another place."

"No," I said, shaking my head. His bright blue eyes were widely
solemn. "Not unless you want to. I invited you to stay here, and if you
want to, I want you to stay."

"Then I will," Justin said, smiling again.

After we got the couch unfolded I showed Justin where all the lights were,
and then I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth and took care of my
other business. When I came out, Justin had changed into a pair of pajama
bottoms decorated with the Calvin Klein logo, and a clinging white
beater. He was barefoot, his back to me, as he looked through his suitcase
for something, probably his toothbrush, and I walked quickly to the
bedroom.

"Good night, Justin," I said, shutting my door.

"Good night," he called, as I pulled the curtains all the way around. The
inside of the bedroom alcove was pretty roomy. I had a large bed, an
armoire, and a pair of tables with bed lamps. There was room to walk around
and get changed in the large open area at the foot of the bed, and I was
just about to turn the lamps off when Justin tapped softly at the
door. "Chris?"

"Yeah, Justin?" I answered, opening the door. He stood in front of me,
barefoot, and the rest of the loft was dark behind him.

"I just wanted to say thank you for everything," Justin said. "For
listening to me, and making me feel better, and giving me a place to stay,
and for apologizing for something you shouldn't have to apologize for,
since you wouldn't have acted that way if I wasn't here. I'm kind of glad
April isn't here, because you're a nice guy, Chris, and I, well, I need
more friends like you."

"I'm not that nice, Justin," I said, smiling a little. "But you're
welcome."

"Yes you are," Justin said, suddenly wrapping me in a hug. His arms were
strong around me, and his grip was firm. "You're a really nice guy. I'd be
lucky to have a guy like you."

"Good night, Justin," I said, quickly, pulling away a little.

"Good night," he whispered, giving me a last squeeze before he hurried into
the darkness, blushing.

I closed the door and flicked off the lights, trying not to think about
what he'd just said, and what it might have meant. He said friend, and that
was it, nothing more.  I kept thinking about it as I pulled off my clothes,
stripping down to my boxers, even though I wanted to think of anything
else. In the dark, I could almost feel Justin's large hands brushing over
my shoulderblades as he squeezed me tightly, hugging me goodnight. I slid
into bed, glancing at the nightstand I couldn't see, and the picture of
Matt and I on it that I knew was there. Eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up just before my alarm clock went off, and dug through my closet to
find a bathrobe. I didn't usually have a need for one, since I tended to
just pad around the loft in boxers or a towel or whatever I happened to
have on, but I didn't want Justin to wake up and spot me walking around
naked on my way back to the shower. I couldn't say for sure why that
bothered me, since I'd been naked in locker rooms with lots of my male
friends before, but I just didn't feel comfortable doing it in front of
Justin.  Somehow it seemed wrong, like hugging him last night had seemed
wrong, too. I knew he was just looking for comfort, to feel better about
everything that was going on with him, and that was completely
understandable, right? When he'd said he'd be lucky to have a guy like me,
he'd meant a friend, and that was all. I was just tired, and misreading him
again. I kicked off my boxers, pulled on the robe, and walked down the
runner to the bathroom.

After I was showered and dressed, I hastily made my bed, something I didn't
usually do.  There was no point when you were just going to get back in it
again, and nobody was going to come upstairs to see it. When I was done I
went back out into the loft, walking quietly, carrying my shoes in my hand
so that they wouldn't make noise on the pieces of floor between the rugs. I
peeked carefully over the top of the couch to check on Justin, and
smiled. It was nice to see him completely relaxed, his face smooth, mouth
open a little. The covers were pulled tightly around him, and he was trying
to bury his face in a pillow, as if escaping the light. One bare shoulder
rose above the covers, smooth and tanned, and I reached down and caught the
edge of the comforter in my fingers, pulling it back over him. He made a
little noise, and squirmed a little, burrowing in tighter, and I smiled
again. He was kind of cute like that, all sleepy and innocent, sunlight
just starting to stream through the windows, catching in his amber lashes.

I spent a minute or two going through the phone table, until I found the
other set of apartment keys. They tinkled softly, and I tried to muffle
them, not wanting to wake him up, as I pulled them out and looked at them,
swallowing the lump in my throat. I'd forgotten that they had a Toronto
keychain, a memento from another trip with Matt, and I glanced around at
the nearest picture of him a little guiltily, knowing that he'd just
watched me watching Justin sleep. Matthew would never have disapproved of
me having a new friend, or of taking care of someone who needed help, but I
still felt a flush creeping over my skin as I remembered hugging Justin in
the doorway of my bedroom the night before. It wasn't so much that I'd
hugged him. The reason I felt guilty is that I liked it.

I pulled the keychain off, dropped it back into the drawer, and left Justin
a note on the door of the loft before I went downstairs to start the
opening chores.

"Justin-

I didn't want to wake you this morning, so I snuck out without saying
anything. There's food in the fridge if you're hungry. Towels are in the
tall cabinet in the bathroom, and you can just drop it in the hamper when
you're done. If you want to check your e-mail, the computer is on. I'll be
downstairs all day, so come down if you're bored or you need something. If
you just want to stay in and call people or hang out or whatever, videos
and dvd's are in the bottom of the entertainment center. I don't have any
video games, but there are games on the computer. (Don't kill my Sims,
please!)

Hope you slept ok, and I'll be done working around dinner time if I don't
see you before then.

Chris

PS: Here's my cell number, in case you need something but don't want to
come downstairs."

I figured he'd be ok with that, and met Michelle down on the first floor as
she began bringing the bakery boxes in.

"Running a little behind this morning," she said, smirking. "Late night?"

"Well, Pete and I did have all that stocking to do," I said, shrugging, as
I went to get the newspapers. "Good morning to you, too."

"I heard you guys had a little help," Michelle said, filling up the case,
her voice a little playful. She was a black wraith in hanging lacy wraps
this morning, one even wrapped around her head like a turban.

"Don't you guys have lives?" I asked, shaking my head. "Do you have nothing
better to do than call each other and gossip?"

"Actually, I ran into Julie in my lobby, oh defensive one," Michelle said,
shaking her head. "That happens sometimes, what with she and I living in
the same building, you know? She just mentioned that, you know, you had a
houseguest. How's that working out for you?"

"What is everyone's problem?" I snapped, wheeling the empty handcart back
into the storeroom. "Why do all four of you have something to say about
this? OK, I hung out with a friend. OK, he's going to stay with me for a
little bit. What the hell is the big deal?"

Michelle sighed, shaking her head, and I wanted to smack her.

"What?" I snapped, starting to take the chairs down as she switched on the
coffee machines. "Just say it."

"OK," she said, crossing her arms. "None of us have a problem. It's a
little amusing, actually. I mean, you were all pissy about having to pick
him up, and then the two of you get in not one, but two fights, but now all
of a sudden you're hanging out and he's sleeping on your couch. Like I
said, we're a little amused, but none of us really have much of a problem
with who you hang out with and what you do with them. The only one who
really seems to have a problem, actually, is you, so maybe I should bounce
that question back at you. What's the big deal, Chris?"

I sat down on the edge of the counter, and she came and sat next to me.

"I don't know," I said finally. "I just, he's not as bad as I thought, like
I told you guys yesterday. He really is a nice guy."

"But?" she asked, waiting. "I hear one coming."

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "I realize I barely know him, but he and
I seem to really connect sometimes. We're really different, but we seem to
think about a lot of things the same way, and it's just kind of nice to
have someone to talk to."

"I still hear that 'but' that you're not saying," Michelle said, tapping a
nail on the counter.

"I feel guilty," I said, looking down. That was the truth, finally, behind
everything else.  "I've been hanging out with a nice guy, having a good
time, and even though nothing's going on, nothing like that, I still feel
bad. I feel bad for going out and having fun, or, actually, I feel bad for
going out and having fun with someone else."

Michelle nodded, and then got up, walking away from me.

"You know what you need?" she said, walking behind the counter as I
finished putting the chairs down. I looked at her questioningly,
waiting. "You need some coffee, and maybe a nice cheese Danish."

"That's it?" I said, confused. I'd forgotten, for a second, that as a
bitter Goth girl she wasn't allowed to be directly nice to anyone. "I tell
you I feel guilty and you tell me to have some coffee?"

"It'll help you think," she said, pouring one for me and one for herself.
She dropped cream in mine, knowing how I liked it, and pushed it across the
counter. I'd pick it up after I unlocked the front doors. "And you have a
lot to think about."

"I know," I sighed, flicking on the lights. "Pop something calm into the
stereo? Pete and I had Greenday in there last night."

"Sure," she said, leaning into the storeroom, where the sound system was.
"You know, Chris, Matthew wouldn't mind you having a friend."

I froze, staring at her back.

"I know you're about to snap at me for bringing him up, but one of us has
to," Michelle said quietly. "Matthew wouldn't want you to sit up in your
apartment without ever talking to anyone. He'd want you to go out and live
your life and have fun."

"Would he?" I asked icily. I knew what she meant, and that she meant well.
The five of us in the store had started together, and when Matt was gone we
mourned him together.  Michelle might have been the only one who would say
this, the only one who would be this direct with me, but I knew that if she
was saying it, they were all thinking it.

"Yeah," Michelle answered, turning around, her eyes locking on mine. "He
would. The problem isn't Matt, Chris. It's you, and how you feel, and
that's what you need to think about."

It was hard to argue with someone who was right.

I spent the day helping people and doing the general sort of tasks that
always popped up, but I also spent it thinking. Michelle was right, in a
way. I'd known all along that Matt wouldn't care if I made a new friend, or
how much I hung out with him. I'd known that last night, when I apologized
to Justin for snapping at him. It wasn't that I liked Justin as a person
that was really bothering me. It was that, just a little bit, I could kind
of see the possibility that I might like him a little more than that, or
that there was at least the potential that I might. It was hard to explain,
even to myself. I didn't like Justin as more than a friend, or at least I
didn't think I did, but I could see that someday, I might, and I felt
guilty about that. I felt bad for thinking about someone who wasn't Matt.

Part of that problem was Justin himself. He was cute. There was no denying
that. He was in great shape, and he had this energy and enthusiasm about
him. His whole face lit up when he smiled, but when he frowned, it was like
hitting a dimmer switch. He was a lot smarter than I had initially given
him credit for, too, and had a little more depth. I realized that I hadn't
really seen Justin, the real Justin, until yesterday when we'd talked about
him. Before then I had seen the one I wanted to see, and had painted
everything he did to fit the picture of who I thought he was supposed to
be. Now that I'd seen behind that, seen a little bit of who he was and what
he was really like, I had to admit that under different circumstances I
might actually be a little bit interested in him, or could be.

We weren't under different circumstances, though. Justin was a young guy
from a different world. He was interested in a friend, and someone to
listen to him, not in some old guy who thought he was cute. And I wasn't
interested, either. I loved Matt, and I wasn't going to betray his memory
by going after the first cute guy who wandered by and seemed a little
interested in me. Actually, that wasn't true, either. Lots of guys had hit
on me since I lost Matthew. Working in a bookstore you met guys all the
time, and every once in a while one of them expressed an interest, but I
never reciprocated.  I wasn't interested in them, any of them. The reason I
was feeling so torn up now, though, so snappish and confused, was that I
felt a little interested. I felt a little spark of something, and I didn't
understand what I should do with that feeling, or even if I should do
anything. Michelle was right. I needed to think, and I tried to all day,
but my thoughts just seemed to circle themselves in my skull, leading me
nowhere.

Why couldn't April have just stayed here and entertained her friends
herself?

Justin didn't come down all day, and by lunchtime he had kind of drifted
out of my thoughts as we fell into our daily routine. Julie was the morning
shift today, and she kept trying to convince Michelle and I that we should
have the poet from the other night back for another reading, because she
was just about to publish another book.  >From a business sense, I could
see the point of having her back, especially since she'd brought so many
potential customers with her, but from a personal perspective, I couldn't
think of anywhere I wanted to be less than at a second reading. Michelle
seemed to feel the same way, but Julie just wouldn't give up, and I
wondered how long it would take to wear us down.

"Just think about it!" she called as I walked through the storeroom to the
stairway doors just before dinner. Julie was about to leave, and Meg
snickered as she hung up her jacket in the back.

"Maybe," I said. "And I'm only giving it a maybe if you line up someone
else before then, someone a little less, well, a little less like her. Good
night, ladies. Call if you need me."

"We won't need you," Michelle said, smirking.

I shook my head, climbing the stairs. When I opened the door, two things
struck me. The first was that my apartment smelled like food, not like
gourmet food or anything, but like someone was cooking, and I saw a couple
of pots on the stove. The second was that I didn't own any music like what
I was listening to, and as I watched Justin's back, where he stood in front
of the sink in a t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, I realized that he was
beatboxing and dancing along. When I closed the door he jumped, stopping
and turning around to grin.

"Hey," he said, smiling. He began walking over toward me.

"Hey," I said, nodding toward the stove. "What's all this?"

"I was making dinner, and I thought I might make you some, too," Justin
answered. "It's not fancy, because, you know, I don't know how to cook. Hot
dogs, mac and cheese, some beans I found in a can in your cabinets. I
wanted to do something nice for you."

"Justin, you don't have to do anything nice for me," I said, shaking my
head. He surprised me by hugging me tightly, and I stood, unsure of what to
do.

"I know, but I wanted to thank you," Justin whispered, his head on my
shoulder. "I wanted to say thanks for being so good to me, and for being my
friend, and for, well."

He didn't say anything, holding me tightly, and I thought about how warm he
was, and how strong his arms felt, and how good he smelled. Justin
carefully pulled back, his arms still around my shoulders, and I stared
into his bright blue eyes, frozen.

"I want to be nice to you because I like you," Justin whispered, and then I
felt his lips flutter across mine, light and quick.

***

To be continued.