bratz slash: homeostasis
Previous part has been unlocked and can be found here and here
homeostasis
Koby thinks he might just be a little bit sick of this almost jealousy thing that happens to him ever so often, which-he considers ruefully-is a thought riddled with so many qualifiers there’s almost no sentiment left.
The problem is his lack of claim over Cameron. It’s a matter of defining the relationship correctly, something they never do out loud, so Koby has to constantly shift where he stands on Cameron’s slippery slope of acquaintanceship. He’s a friend, and occasionally they have sex, and a lot of the time they sit around and talk about what--who--Cameron wants, and Koby thinks that at some point he’s going to have to tell Cameron what he feels about Cameron, which is probably not what Cameron feels about Koby. He’s not sure if he’s entitled to be jealous, and so he doesn’t say anything about it to Cameron that could remedy the situation, just grins and bears it like he’s done since the beginning.
Cameron’s flirting with a waitress right now, a blonde no-nonsense one who probably has a boyfriend and is doing her best to ignore him. Koby admires her determination; Cameron’s really pouring on the charm. It’s just a little past Christmas, so he may still be hyped up on holiday good cheer and cake, bubbling with it really, underneath the cold chapping skin. Koby notes only absently that the waitress is really pretty. She gives him a sort of pleading look across the table as Cameron casually but earnestly grabs her wrist, and Koby sighs somewhere deep in his chest, far from Cameron’s hearing.
“Do you do this when Chloe’s around?” he asks, to distract Cameron from flirting, and in a small part to distract himself from brooding over it. The waitress gratefully sneaks away. Cameron eyes Koby over the glass of his milkshake, using his straw to poke the maraschino cherry. Cameron’s expression is that of humorous, mocking guilt, like someone who has been awkwardly caught in a harmless white lie. Koby finds his mouth tugging into a smile involuntarily.
“God no. And you know that too. She’d go crazy. That’s why she’s so clingy, actually.” Cameron tries to suck the cherry through his straw with no avail and just ends up spooning it out along with a small dent of whipped cream. He licks his upper lip after eating it, a half-hearted lewd stare directed towards Koby, who dismisses it by turning away. Cameron gives Koby a hurt look, which Koby can just see through the corner of his eyes, and eventually turns his full attention to drinking his milkshake noisily. Koby pushes the condensation on his glass around, drawing little spirals that get wiped out by the dripping water.
He wonders if he’s clingy too. He’s so close to asking Cameron about it, but instead takes a deep breath and smiles, because it would be unfair, really, sort of like asking a kid to deal with terrible adult issues. Cameron smiles back. He’s in a good mood, a very good mood. Koby doesn’t want to spoil it. He counts the days of winter break they have left, and it’s not a lot of time at all. He’ll risk ruining their friendship afterwards, maybe. If he ever gets the nerve. Which would be never. Which is fine by Koby -- actually, not. But just like he’s the generous one, Cameron’s the brave one, the one who does, or at least hopes for, the impossible, and they’re not reversible roles.
Koby waves his straw, asks, “So uh, Cam. What do you have planned for New Year’s?”
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, which Koby takes as an imminent sign of doom. He braces for the metaphorical other shoe to drop, the good mood suddenly evaporating. Cameron looks off into the distance, at another couple at another table, then back at Koby, meets his eyes briefly, smiles again, this time just lifting the corner of his mouths and dropping them. Muscle movement, Koby realizes, and sinks into his chair. Stupid, he thinks, for wanting to know. He should have just waited for Cameron to bring it up himself, so he wouldn’t feel so stupid about it. He knows what’s coming now, he should have just --
“Um. Well. Dylan’s having a New Year’s party and uh. Me and Chloe are going.”
“Right,” Koby mumbles, taking a sip out of his milkshake for something to do. “I remember now.”
“Look, Koby, I promised her -- “ A little edge of desperation, grasping at straws, and Koby says, “I know, you’ve told me,” because Cameron might apologize next and he hates that feeling, forcing Cameron to owe him something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean we had to, you know. Do anything together.” A horrible lie, and Koby bites his lip, even though Cameron probably wouldn’t hear the fakeness. This is a well-worn lie, so easy to say that it doesn’t hurt much anymore. Koby doesn’t even have to think about saying it much anymore either. Like slapping a band-aid on the tension, on the unspeakable gashes between them, the scabs Koby keeps picking at.
“Oh. Okay.” Cameron looks relieved, which makes Koby feel queasy, his lunch doing a 180 in his stomach and threatening to come up if he doesn’t concentrate really hard on the napkin in front of him with its friendly checkerboard pattern of the restaurant logo, its cartoonish text. He looks up again, because he can sense Cameron’s staring at him, waiting for Koby to give the all-clear signal, the sign that they can get out of this territory and back to being fine. Cameron says “um” and “Koby” a couple of times, sometimes with a question mark in his voice, then finally comes up with “Your mom’s going to wonder what we’re doing out so long if we keep sitting here.” Meaning ‘are we done yet?’, so Koby reaches in his back pocket for his wallet, but Cameron’s already footing the bill, calling over the pretty blonde waitress and slipping in a credit card. A reparation, Koby guesses, for being a disappointing bastard with a pretty and pretty demanding girlfriend at the same time.
Koby pulls out his car keys and waits for Cameron to fill out the receipt. He grabs a mint from the register with a brief smile at the cashier, one of his classmates in Economics class. Cameron tails after Koby, lingering briefly to sweeten up the waitress one last time. Outside, while Koby is unlocking the car door, Cameron leans over Koby’s shoulder, his arm almost around Koby’s waist, a little too close for a public area. Koby tries to slide away, but Cameron flattens himself against Koby’s back. “You smell like peppermint,” he says, sniffing against Koby’s cheek, closing his eyes happily.
“Grabbed one on my way out,” Koby answers. His fingers fumble with the metal slide of the keys, nervous because they’re so out in the open, and Cameron should really, really know better, because this kind of attention is out of Koby’s comfort zone.
“Oh. Damn. You don’t have any gum on you, do you?” Koby gets the door open and slides gratefully into the driver’s seat, unlocks the other doors and shakes his head. Cameron moves around the front of the car to get into the passenger’s seat. Just as Koby’s starting the car up, Cameron puts his hand on the back of Koby’s head and turns him around, kissing him, stealing the mint from Koby’s mouth, one fluid warm motion with no hesitation. He looks out the window after that, calm, exactly as if nothing had happened at all, crunching lightly on the mint. He waits until the car’s rounding the bend, pulling onto the main street, before saying “Sorry” and turning up the radio all the way, singing along off-key.
Koby wants to ask him, ‘For what exactly?’, but says instead, “It’s okay,” softly, so Cameron can’t hear him over the music.
*
Cameron’s dad is a big-shot businessman, the kind that travels around so often his address might as well be a plane ticket and a hotel number. Cameron’s mom is a typical suburban housewife, with a single defining trait: perpetual infidelity. Koby’s been to Cameron’s house before, when both parents were home, and that was fine -- typical American family, just with lots of money. Cameron’s mom was kind and thoughtful, Cameron’s dad was distant and masculine in his affections, and Cameron played the part of a good son well. They chatted at the dinner table about Cameron’s sprinting, his grades, classmates, and Koby got the impression that they were treating him like a girlfriend or a fiancée. Everything was very formal, and Cameron called them “mother” and “father” like it was a straight out of a movie. When Koby left Cameron walked him to the door, like a date.
But Koby hears lots of stuff indirectly from Cameron, about how Cameron’s mother sleeps around when his dad’s not home. She has a string of “boyfriends” that she rotates around, some of them even the widowed or divorced dads of classmates. She’s constantly out. Cameron rarely goes home, avoiding it if he can help. Koby thinks Cameron secretly, or at least privately, hates his mother in that way only betrayed, loyal sons can hate their mothers. It’s why he’s more often than not at Koby’s house, stealing pizza off the kitchen counter while Koby’s mom scolds him like a son, or spending the night curled up on Koby’s couch.
So when Cameron asks Koby to spend the night at his house, Koby looks at him oddly, but agrees all the same. It’s not that he minds, especially since the house is empty; it’s just that it’s such a rare occurrence Koby almost expects something to be wrong. He’s been to Cameron’s house once before, and he remembers that he likes the way Cameron’s bed smells and feels like Cameron, layered in a ridiculous amount of pillows that Cameron always throws onto the ground before sleeping. Cameron’s room is too neat, mostly because he’s never in it, but there are pictures of baby Cameron and little kid Cameron that Koby would never see otherwise.
Just outside of Cameron’s house, Koby asks, “Is it okay? Your mom isn’t going to mind or anything, right?”
Cameron knits his eyebrows, wrinkling the little spot on his forehead, and finally laughs once, very sharply. “Fuck my mom,” he says. A long pause as Koby turns the car off in the driveway. “She’s not home anyway,” Cameron finally finishes, and slams the car door shut on his way out.
When Koby’s calling his mother on the phone in Cameron’s kitchen, Cameron tries to distract him, wrapping an arm around his waist, fiddling with the zipper on Koby’s pants, kissing Koby’s wrists. When that fails, he starts tugging at Koby’s shirt, sliding a hand across the stomach or breathing lightly on Koby’s neck, and Koby can hear himself starting to falter and fade off on the phone. His mother is asking him “Are you sure it’s fine with his family?” and then “Koby? Koby? Are you listening?” Koby can barely hear her though, because Cameron has his mouth on a spot behind Koby’s ear. Finally the conversation ends, and Koby hangs up, wraps his arms around Cameron’s waist, relaxing. Cameron is warm, fluid, reassuring in his solidarity. Koby closes his eyes. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” he asks, rubbing shaky, slightly sweaty fingers into Cameron’s skin.
“What are you thinking about toothbrushes for?” Cameron retorts, irritated, and leans in to kiss Koby hard on the lips, tongue warm and heavy. Koby kisses back, craning his neck a little, guiding Cameron’s hand down to his pants, slipping two fingers under the waistband of Cameron’s jeans, grinning.
The lights in Cameron’s house seem to all be connected to one switch, and they’re all on, even the chandelier in the front of the house. Cameron scoots them slowly to the living room, touching Koby all the while. Koby says “W-wait,” and starts trying to turn his head away, but he catches sight of Cameron reaching for his mother’s hand lotion on the table (lavender scented, he groans) and resigns himself to getting fucked on Cameron’s living room sofa, the lights obscenely bright in his eyes. Cameron sucks him off first, ruthlessly and easily; sometime later, Koby bites his lip so hard he’s tasting blood. Cameron keeps saying “Sorry, sorry” as he moves quickly, callously, lovingly. This is sex as Koby knows it, Cameron’s body warm and tender and fierce pressing down on Koby, the rough feeling of Cameron’s hands. Cameron’s smell, the cold outside, the numb deafness he feels at the moment for everything that isn’t Cameron.
Koby knows he wishes for something more, but he knows he would not trade this for the world. He cranes his neck, kisses Cameron hard and dry on the mouth. Pretends dumbly, briefly, that he’s the only one.
*
Afterwards when they have showered - separately -- and are upstairs, in Cameron’s room, Koby searches for sleeping bags or spare blankets, wincing a little as he walks. Cameron lies on his own bed, hands tucked behind his head, but when Koby nears, he grabs hold of Koby’s wrist and pulls him down on top of the bed. Koby is squashed against Cameron’s warm, loosely clothed body, elbow dangerously close to Cameron’s stomach, head almost resting on Cameron’s chest.
“You’re not angry, are you?” Cameron asks, brushing the tips of his fingers along Koby’s wrist as if Koby was something precious, breakable, ‘this side up.’
“I never said I was angry.” Koby says quietly.
“Hey.” Cameron clears his throat, strokes his thumb across the bottom of Koby’s palm, hesitating. Koby doesn’t move. He can smell Cameron’s shampoo, Cameron’s detergent from the shirt he borrowed, Cameron’s body wash on himself, soapy and just the slightest bit vanilla. They are so close it is almost claustrophobic, and Koby thinks that they have almost never been this close without fucking. Cameron’s heartbeat is strumming against Koby’s arm, but Koby pretends like he can’t feel it. “Hey,” Cameron says again, and then whispers, “don’t go. Just sleep here.”
Koby swallows, and nods, just once.
*
Cameron convinces Koby to stay the day, and they’re sprawled out on the couch, comfortable close but not very so, watching TV -- some action flick that neither of them knows the name of -- when the phone rings. There’s a brief moment of almost panic before Koby discovers the phone buried under the cushion by his elbow. Cameron’s making a face, like he doesn’t want Koby to be answering the phone, but Koby shoves Cameron’s legs with a foot and Cameron falls off the couch, laughing.
“Hello?”
Coughing sound over the phone. Koby turns his head to look at the receiver, and then says “Hello?” again. Cameron picks himself off the ground and walks over to the phone unit. He’s checking the caller ID, and after a moment he grins to himself, pulling his shirt down from its wrinkled perch mid-back.
“It’s Eitan,” he calls over, and Koby taps the phone, says, “Eitan? Is that you? You still alive?”
“Sorry.” Eitan’s voice is scratchy. “Is this Koby?”
“Yeah.” Koby cradles the phone against his neck and his shoulder, leaning back into the couch and smirking. Cameron gets back on the couch with an “oof”. He’s trying to tickle Koby, payback for making him fall off the couch, but Koby shoves his hand away. “Stop it,” he says, and Eitan makes a questioning murmuring sound over the phone. “No, not you. Cameron’s being gay.”
“Am not,” Cameron interjects, just loud enough for Eitan to hear him, and Eitan laughs a little before descending into coughing.
“Hey, man, you all right?” Koby asks, worriedly. He sits up a little straighter, adjusts his phone, waits for Eitan to catch his breath. Cameron shuffles around on the couch before throwing his legs over the arm of the sofa and leaning his head on Koby’s free shoulder. Cameron’s hands are folded on his stomach. Koby watches the fingers move, tapping out some melody only Cameron can hear.
“Yeah, sorry. I uh, caught a cold or something. My nose is stuffed and I feel awful.”
“That sucks, dude. Nothing serious, though, right?”
“Yeah, nothing serious. Just a pretty bad cold.”
“You want to talk to Cameron?”
“Don’t really care either way,” Eitan says, then coughs again. Koby can hear him turn away from the phone. Cameron looks up at Koby, questioning, and Koby shakes his head, so Cameron goes back to watching the movie on the TV that they’ve set on mute. A car crashes into a tree and violently bursts into flames; Koby feels more than hears Cameron snort, amused.
“So what’s up?” Koby watches Cameron flip through the over hundred some channels he has on his TV. He punches Cameron on the arm to get him to stop, but Cameron simply continues pressing the up channel arrow on his remote without relenting, occasionally making sounds indicating his opinion. The images flicker quickly in a rush: a preacher, Christmas decorations, some soap opera, Brad Pitt, city landscape, make up advertisement on QVC.
“Bored, I guess,” Eitan’s saying. “Parents left for a cruise with friends. You know how it is.”
“Whoa, wait.” Koby switches the phone to his other shoulder, then to his hand, and shrugs Cameron off. “You’re home alone? And sick?”
Eitan has a fit of coughing through which he tries to say “Wait a sec.” The sounds of static-y shuffling, and finally, “Yeah, pretty much. It’s not so bad, I guess. I mean, I can still walk by myself and everything.”
“But Eitan. You’re sick. You need someone to um, cook for you or something. Or like, at least get water for you and stuff.” Koby purses his lips into a thin line, waiting for Eitan to respond. Cameron turns to look at Koby again, making an irritated expression that says “well?” Koby considers for a moment, and then asks, “Hey, you want me to drop by or something?”
“No, man, I’ll get you sick in return and your mom would kill me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t feel right knowing you’re home alone and sick.”
“Look, it’s okay -- "
“I’m coming over in a couple of minutes, then. Just sit tight.” Koby hangs up and is getting ready to stand up when he catches sight of Cameron’s expression. Cameron scowls, turning the volume of the TV back on. Koby reaches over and shuts off the sound again, crossing his arms. He leans back into the softness of Cameron’s sofa -- almost enough reason to not leave -- and says decisively, “I can’t just stay here and let him get worse.”
“You didn’t even ask me if I’d like to come,” Cameron mutters. He turns the TV off and flops back on the sofa so that his head is in Koby’s lap. His eyes are closed.
Koby stares at him in shock. “But you hate sick people. You get nervous around them.”
“I know.” Koby watches Cameron wrinkle his forehead, resisting the urge to touch that little pucker of skin. Cameron’s head is a comforting weight on Koby’s lap, amiable and just a little bit overbearing, digging just the slightest bit into Koby’s leg as if to hold him there. Cameron shifts his head, curling onto his side, and Koby puts a hand on Cameron’s head, feeling his hair softly.
“Well, do you want to come?”
“Do you think he’d want me to?”
“I don’t think you’d want to.”
“Why not?” Cameron demanded, slightly defensively. His shoulders hunch up, and Koby runs his fingers through Cameron’s hair, almost massaging the scalp, in a placating gesture.
“Because,” Koby says, “you hate being around sick people.”
“I just don’t want you going there when -- " and suddenly Cameron stops. He rolls off Koby’s lap, gets up off the couch, and without even looking at Koby walks into the kitchen where he pours himself a cup of water from the fridge and downs it.
Koby, frustrated, follows him into the kitchen where he goes to the counter and pockets his car keys “I don’t understand why you’re being so unreasonable.” He casts a glance for his coat and sees where it’s crumpled in a kitchen chair, from last night. Just a little bit angry, he gets it and crams it on, leaving Cameron alone in the kitchen to look for his shoes. “It’s not like I’m going to be -- oh for fuck’s sake, what am I saying? I don’t have to explain to you. Especially,” he adds vindictively, “if this is about being jealous.”
He doesn’t say “jealous of me”. He doesn’t say “jealous of Eitan.” Despite how strong he sounds, he’s scared, and Cameron only makes it worse when he calls from the kitchen, “Fine. Get the hell out of here. Go play sick nurse to Eitan.”
“You’re being so -- “ Koby shoves on his shoes awkwardly, almost toppling over. After a minute of standing, he takes a deep breath, says from the door, “I’ll drop by with your clothes and pick up mine later.” There’s a sound of something light crashing to the floor from the kitchen, books or newspapers, maybe. Koby pauses before stepping outside, into the cold air. He shuts the door behind him, shaking so hard he can’t let go of the doorknob.
The car is a bit frosty, so he waits for it to heat up before leaving. As he sits inside, listening to the engine rumble sleepily, and shivering a bit in the cold, he briefly glances at the passenger seat window that Cameron sat next to the night before. There are the fogged up remnants of Cameron’s fingers doodles, smiley faces and lines of indecipherable text. Koby is and feels very alone in his car, cold and light and empty. He’s almost sorry, and to make it worse, very close to going inside and apologizing, but he doesn’t. It’s Cameron’s fault -- if not this time than some other time in the past or some time in the future -- and he’s given in to Cameron many times before.
Right now, he’ll try a little holding out.
*
Eitan’s house is a mansion-like extravagance in a neighborhood that is gated electronically so that you need a password to enter. The truth is, of the four of them -- Koby, Dylan, Cameron, and Eitan -- Eitan is probably the richest. His father is a doctor of some sort, his mother is something that requires a lot of business meeting with important people and stress. Eitan, despite his lack of worth ethic and the like, is the model child for the family. His parents baby him, and he takes the opportunity to act like one right back, childishly laughing when leaving a message, or butterfly-kissing his mother on the cheek before stepping out of the house. It’s what makes Eitan cute and attractive to girls, this softness in him, this willingness to grow and stay too young all at the same time, and Koby likes to think it’s what makes he and Eitan such great friends, the way they can and will bend to each other, the way they are nice to each other in a way he can never be nice with Cameron.
It is not that Eitan is kind. Koby knows, because he is kind to Cameron, and what Eitan does for Koby is not kindness. There is no give or take relationship between them, because there is nothing to give and thus nothing to take. Once there was an offer, and Koby refused, so now there is what Koby can only term as “mutual”, and to Koby, this is sometimes the one thing he needs the most.
*
The first thing Koby does when he gets into Eitan’s house-activation of the front gate informs Eitan of visitors, so he can unlock the door without having to answer it-is search for a piece of paper and a pen. He scrawls in big letters “Will Take Care of Sick For Board” and creeps into the TV room, where Eitan is on the circular sofa in front of a flat screen TV that is truly obscene in its size. A foreign movie is playing, something Asian with rapid subtitles and lithe women with dark eyes, and Eitan says, “This movie really sucks,” before turning around and grinning at Koby. Eitan’s hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled and faded, obviously old, and his cheeks are flushed, but the smile is all Eitan, sick or not.
“Hey. Thanks for coming, man.”
Koby smiles, and Eitan does too, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Koby waves the sign in his hand and points to himself proudly, as if he were a mime, and Eitan starts laughing while Koby flops onto the couch next to him. “Aren’t you staying with Cam, though?”
“He kicked me out,” Koby says lightly.
“What, did you have a fight?” Eitan’s wrapped up in blankets, like an overgrown mutated cocoon propped up by pillows. He offers a pillow and a blanket to Koby, who curls up and sighs, luxuriating in the lazy warmth. Eitan leans in closer, their shoulders touching, then shifts so that his head is leaning on Koby. Koby can feel the feverish warmth, the fragile heat of sickness. He puts his hand up to Eitan’s forehead to test for a temperature-to stall for time-and frowns.
“When did you last take your medicine? You feel kind of warm. I wonder if it’s working. What are you taking, anyway? Ibuprofen?”
“Oh my god,” Eitan groans. “Are you channeling my mother?”
Koby rolls his eyes and reluctantly sheds his nest of blanket to reach for the medicine box on the table. Once every four hours, no more than six in twenty four hours. Koby shakes out some of the pills, shovels them back in, and looks pointedly at Eitan.
“All right! At, um. Eight, probably.”
“Good. You’re due for another one. Also, you need food, because that’s the way you’re supposed to take this stuff.” Koby gets up, tucking the blanket around Eitan, who kicks Koby away with a grin. “Chicken noodle soup. From the can, you ungrateful bastard.”
“Fuck off. I’m sick.”
Koby laughs as he walks to the kitchen. As he heats up a can of Campbells’, he hums, messing around, banging pots and ladles, and manages to not think about Cameron for the entire time.
*
It’s an unspoken rule that no one ever talks about Koby and Cameron’s rather indecent, sort of nonexistent, and completely lopsided relationship. Dylan is really the only one either of them would worry about, but Dylan usually pretends it doesn’t happen. They all do. It’s the nastiest for Dylan, maybe, who’s not straight but pretty damn narrow, and probably doesn’t like to think about two of his best friends fucking each other on a pretty regular basis.
Eitan, on the other hand, is different. Koby’s never actually told Eitan how much he likes Cameron (a lot, probably more than Cameron likes Chloe and more than Cameron likes Eitan and definitely more than Cameron likes Koby), but he thinks Eitan knows. When they’re at a party and Cameron’s dancing with Chloe in the crush of other couples, Eitan will sidle up to Cameron with a drink, smile, and engage Koby in a rudely entertaining game of rating the people who walk by. Eitan likes to count the girls off for bad highlights in their hair. Koby usually comments on fake tans. Occasionally when a boy walks by, they’ll trade glances, mouth a number, and start laughing. And for a while it’ll be like Cameron doesn’t exist, that there is nothing awkward in this situation, that there is no reason why Koby should be jealous of Eitan.
Sometimes, Koby admits to himself, it’d be nice if Cameron hadn’t happened. It’d be nice if in Japan Koby had said yes, or if when Cameron kissed Koby the first time Koby had said no. He thinks maybe he and Eitan would be good for each other. He knows being with Eitan wouldn’t be like being with Cameron.
But then he thinks of Cameron, of Cameron’s hair spread out on a pillow, of the way he crawls out of bed blearily, leaving his scent and warmth behind, of his heart pounding when Cameron kisses him nervously, in the dark or upstairs in Koby’s room when Koby’s parents are downstairs watching TV, or Cameron breathing “Thank you” in Koby’s ear the very first time they had sex, and then he is quite sure, quite absolutely sure, somewhere there is love in what he feels for Cameron.
This is why when Eitan asks him if he wants to stay the night, Koby considers for a long moment, but ultimately tells him no, even though Eitan makes life feel comfortable and Koby’s still angry with Cameron. He pours a glass of orange juice for Eitan, puts it on the coffee table, and warns Eitan to get lots of sleep and for fuck’s sake stop watching the TV, that’s gotta be bad for you, plus it keeps you up. Afterwards he drives all the way back to Cameron’s house, where Cameron wrenches the door open before Koby even has time to ring the doorbell. They have sex twice, once in Cameron’s bedroom and once in the bathroom before climbing into the shower together, fumbling with the soap and laughing. Cameron is fierce the first time, tender and frightened the second, and Koby forgets the nasty things he meant to say and, pressing his mouth into Cameron’s hair as he shampoos it, whispers “Oh God, Cameron, I--” instead.
*
Yet, Koby thinks bitterly, yet. There is always a falling out. That is what equilibrium means: constant change and constant shifting back to make balance. It doesn’t mean calm. It doesn’t mean necessarily even mean stability.
Usually it means reassurance, from Koby to Cameron.
Cameron doesn’t forbid Koby to see Eitan. That would imply some sense of relationship, an ownership thing, a sense of having power over each other in ways they shouldn’t, that would make Cameron distinctly uncomfortable. There’s nothing Cameron can say without sounding jealous or stupid, and Koby’s glad for that, glad for the explicitness and pain they’re avoiding, but he can tell that when Cameron asks, “How’s Eitan?” what he really means is, “Don’t go back,” and when he says, “Hope it’s not serious,” what he really means is, “Stay.”
“Hey,” Koby says to Cameron, in the morning when Cameron’s pulling on a shirt against the light of the window, the winter sun soft and white against his shoulders.
Cameron turns his head and smiles. Koby is still on Cameron’s bed, naked with the sheets wound around his hip, and he shivers a bit, jerking the pillow out from behind him and placing that in his lap. “Hey, you,” Cameron answers, laughing, and tugs the bottom of his shirt down properly.
“If I asked you-“ Koby hesitates. Cameron raises an eyebrow, one hand on his hip. Koby says, again, “If I asked you-“
And suddenly it breaks Koby’s heart, this thing that rests with Koby and Cameron when they sleep together in the dark, this thing that keeps him from being able to talk to Cameron about the hurt, the invisible painful hurt that plagues him but doesn’t seem to touch Cameron at all. He wants to hold onto this thing, but to get rid of it as well, there is so much affection and nonsense and ridiculousness and wrongness in it, and it is so familiar, and Koby wants to tell Cameron that, wants to ask him, “If I asked you which one you wanted more, me or Eitan, what would you say?” He wants so much, wants to tell Cameron about the times he will be in bed and Cameron’s face would suddenly come up and he’d be hard, instantly, like a reflex, or the times where Cameron and Chloe are together and Koby has to wonder if it’s better being with him instead of being with her, and he knows that it isn’t fair, isn’t fair to Cameron to want but isn’t fair to himself to not.
And there is Eitan, always, who envelops them, Eitan who is their relationship but who also could ruin it just with a touch or a single kiss, and Koby wants Cameron to know that it would be too easy, he has to know how easy it would be for that to happen to Koby, and right now it wouldn’t even be difficult for Koby to say yes to Eitan, and just one word from Cameron, just one, could save him, could save Koby and Cameron both, and he thinks, Cameron, please.
Yet there are no words for Koby to say, and he stays silent, staring up at Cameron who shrugs and spreads himself on the bed over Koby’s legs. Cameron reaches for the warmth of Koby’s skin, his sleepy tousled hair, his bared chest, and Koby sighs, lets himself be pulled against Cameron, touching the pain and the simplicity and hurt, touching this thing that Koby knows must have love.
*
Koby’s parents just barely make a fuss about the fact that he’s spent two nights out at Cameron’s house, but Koby uses that as an excuse not to see Cameron until the 31st, for Dylan’s New Year’s Eve party. He stays at home and works on a particularly annoying English project, pasting pictures on a poster and writing creatively structured sentences for the write-ups. Cameron calls him five times over the course of two days, twice actually talking to Koby and three times leaving a message on Koby’s answering machine. Koby was out shopping with his mother when Cameron leaves him a message that takes up the full three minutes he’s allotted and ends with “Look -- call me back -- Koby? Koby? Are you there? Because I feel like a chick, calling you like this. Hey. Pick up, please? I --“
Koby erases it off the answering machine quickly and furtively but plays it back for the entire day in his head, and he wonders what it is that Cameron was going say before the machine cut him off. Koby calls back that evening, the 30th, and Cameron, his dad tells him, is out for a movie with Eitan.
“Oh,” says Koby, frozen where he’s standing, gripping the phone so tight he’s afraid it’s going to break.
“Yes,” says Cameron’s dad evenly, a born businessman’s voice. “Did you want to leave a message? This is Koby, right?”
“Right. No, no message. He doesn’t need to call back. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.”
“Oh, yes, the New Year’s party. You boys don’t get into any trouble, you hear?”
“You know us,” Koby says miserably, and hangs up.
*
He has a confused dream about being Superman, but then being told he can’t be because he keeps complaining about the tights. Cameron comes out dressed in a business suit with a skirt and Koby is laughing so hard he blows up Metropolis by accident, and suddenly Dylan, with a shaved head like Lex Luthor, picks them all up on a UFO and blasts them to Mars.
The cell rings at 2 AM. It’s his ring, he knows it, but he feels sick, wondering if maybe he caught something from Eitan, and he’s this close to slamming the thing into the wall and telling it to leave him alone, he needs at least 10 hours of sleep when he’s on break, when he notices the number.
It’s Eitan. He flips the phone open blearily and mumbles something he hopes sounds like “hello?” His arms are cold from under the blankets, and he touches his forehead just to make sure he’s not sick. He isn’t. He rubs his eyes, says, “Hello?” again, more awake.
“Koby, it’s me.” Eitan’s voice is solemn, too awake for this time in the morning, but Koby remembers the phone call to Cameron’s house, and Cameron being out. He shakes the sleep out of his head, thinking about whether or not Cameron is there with Eitan. Maybe this was a sympathy call. Maybe this is supposed to be like a “Koby, you’re no longer in any way involved with Cameron beyond that of a friend, let’s just the pretend the sex never happened” call. He swallows.
“It’s 2 in the morning,” Koby points out grouchily.
“Cameron is sprawled on my bed, dead drunk, and he keeps demanding I drive him to your house,” Eitan says, and he sounds flat against the phone, like he has his mouth pressed against it and is speaking softly. Koby hears movement, hears Eitan turn the phone away so he can say, “No, Cam -- hey! Hey!”
“What’s wrong?” Koby asks, suddenly worried. “Is he puking already?”
“No, he’s rolling around on the couch and whining. And he keeps saying your name.” Koby can hear Eitan smiling, that wry and completely irresistible smile he has when he finds something amusing despite himself. Koby clutches his cell phone, mentally tracing the patterns of his covers. It’s been a while since Cameron’s slept over, but Koby suddenly smells Cameron: the impossible lingering ache of stale alcohol, Cameron’s sweat, fading body wash, and he’s awake now, completely awake, and he strangely wants Cameron.
He takes a breath. “How’re you feeling?” he asks Eitan.
“Not well enough to drive, anyway. We didn’t even to go to the movies because I felt a bit nauseous; we went to Jade’s place and she ransacked her parent’s booze stash, you know, because they don’t care. So? What do you want me to do?”
Koby switches the phone to another hand and slips out of bed. His bedroom is the coldest in the house, so the goose bumps starts on his skin immediately as he slaps on a pair of pants and rummages for yesterday’s socks. “I’ll come,” he mutters, holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “I’ll drive him home, anyway, at least.”
“Koby,” Eitan says, and stops, that one word hanging on the connection between them, abrupt and sharp. Koby wonders what it means -- “Koby, don’t”? “Koby, are you okay?” “Koby, Cameron doesn’t like you at all, stop, stop, stop”? Koby’s fingers get caught in his belt buckle and he swears. Eitan says “Koby” again, this time softer, and then adds, “You don’t have to, you know.”
It’s times like this Koby suspects that when in Japan Eitan offered to sleep with Koby, it was not just a whim, or a fling that would disappear at the customs line, or an inexplicable sexual drive powered by the crowed neon lights that chased them down the streets. It's times like this Koby suspects that Eitan is just like Koby and just like Cameron, always wanting the impossible and always disappointed. It's times like this Koby wants to cry, maybe change his name, move to another town, and swear off sex forever, because everything was just so ridiculous and they were all ridiculous, and the best thing for all of them would be to give up.
"No," he answers, voice cracking without meaning to. "I don't have to." He throws on a sweater before putting the phone back against his mouth and saying, "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay." There's a sound like Eitan has let out all of his breath in one blow. A scuffle in the background, and Eitan has turned away to say sharply, "Not on the carpet you won't."
"Sorry," Koby says, and Eitan's voice is distant, coming in closer, like the touch of hot water on winter-burned hands, when he tells Koby there's nothing for him to apologize for. Koby closes his eyes, cradling the thin cell phone against his chin. "Thanks," he murmurs, hoping that Eitan can hear his smile.
Koby knows, though, that there's plenty. He could probably never apologize enough for all of them.
*
On the drive home Koby has the radio tuned to some late night channel playing horrible dance remixes that blend into one another. Cameron is silent except for the occasional guttural noise, not quite a prologue to hurling, but not very comforting either. Koby glances at him briefly -- no coat, thin long sleeved shirt, jeans, a scarf, surprisingly, hanging heavy alongside his neck. He sighs, rounds a corner sharply, and tells Cameron, "I'd roll down the windows so you can stick your head out, but I think you'd get a cold."
"Are you mad at me?" Cameron's voice is flat and unsteady. No kicked puppy, though, or that honeyed seduction he uses on Chloe and waitresses, which makes Koby feel oddly better, like he has some kind of hold or stand in this conversation.
But old habits are hard to kick, so he says, "Of course I'm not mad at you." He's stalling for time, or praying that Cameron won't realize how much of a lie this statement is. In the corner of his eye Koby can see Cameron staring at him. Cameron's face is pale, slightly flushed; Koby knows it so well he doesn't even have to look closely for the shape of the mouth, the smooth lines of Cameron's nose. There are no cars this late in suburban neighborhoods like theirs. Even though it's not silent, everything is so still and barren it smothers all the noise. Koby has this fantasy of them driving out to the coast, to the edge of the ocean, and just driving off and drowning.
"Well, something's wrong, and it's either that you're mad at me or you suddenly changed phone numbers."
"My phone number hasn't changed."
"Then you're mad at me."
"Cameron, I said I'm not mad at you."
"What did I do? Is it Chloe? Look, I'm really sorry about New Year's, I am, but you know how she is, she'd throw a fit -- "
"Cameron, it's not Chloe. It's not about New Year's." Koby slows his car down. They've reached Cameron's house. The holiday lights are still up, a ring of brilliant icicle lights around the porch, moving silhouettes of reindeer in the lawn. He shuts off the engine and lets his seatbelt roll back into the car. He gives Cameron a smile, a little on the shaky side, cold despite the sweater. "Come on. Stop being angry. I'll help you in."
"Oh fuck you, Koby," Cameron says. He sits up, jerking angrily at the seatbelt, fingers fumbling against the buckle. "This stupid crappy -- don't! I'll do it myself."
"Stop being ridiculous." Koby sighs out of frustration as Cameron pushes his hands away the second time. "Now you're mad at me because, what? I'm not telling you why you think I'm mad at you even though I said I'm not?"
"No!" Cameron slumps back in his seat, hunching his shoulders. Koby watches his eyes squint, focusing on the brightly lit house. "That's not it. It's just -- all of a sudden you stopped answering my calls and not talking to me and then even when I got drunk so that you would take me home -- "
"You got drunk so Eitan would call me to pick you up?" Dumfounded, Koby looks ahead too. He's stuck between wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea and maybe actually be angry at Cameron for being such a moron. He thinks to himself, 'Am I angry at Cameron?' Which morphs into the question, "Do I have the right to be angry at Cameron?" And then he realizes he's doing it again, that thing where he gives and Cameron takes without even realizing it, so he just stares ahead, hoping Cameron knows where to take this conversation.
Cameron smiles, mostly guilt and no mirth. "Sort of. Well, okay, it was also because Jade and Eitan were drinking too but -- you came, didn't you? I knew you would."
"I was sleeping."
Suddenly, it hits Koby like a punch in the stomach. It's not the drinking or Eitan or the New Year's party that Cameron's taking Chloe to. It's not the fact that Cameron and him had fought, it's not Eitan getting sick, it's not even Cameron being out with Eitan when Koby called. It's that Koby was sleeping, that Eitan called Koby because Cameron asked for Koby even when Eitan was there, it's that Koby came, it's that he came even though he didn't have to.
It's the reassurance he doesn't mean to give but does anyway.
Cameron looks at Koby quickly, confused. "Yeah, okay, I'm sorry. I should have thought about it."
"No, I didn't mean -- Cameron. I was sleeping. Eitan called. I came anyway." Koby watches Cameron get out of the car. Cameron holds the passenger door open and sticks his head in so he can watch Koby. His face is troubled, all wrinkles and almost frowns, the familiar furrow between his brow as he tries to puzzle out what's happening. Koby thinks of Chloe, of Cameron and Chloe's particular way of letting each other go, never butting heads or fighting over a sense of understanding, and Koby says to himself, 'This is a big mistake.'
"I don't get it," Cameron finally says.
"I know," Koby answers, smiling sadly. "That's why --"
He pauses, hand on the keys to the ignition. If Cameron were to ask him in, Koby realizes, he wouldn't refuse. If Cameron were to say "I'm sorry" again, melting his face from its stony uncertainty, its stranger-like detachment, the way Cameron's eyes focus on Koby's face like he's never seen it before, if Cameron were to get in the car and kiss Koby senseless like they sometimes would in the afternoons in the school parking lot when everyone else had left, if Cameron just tried again, Koby is sure he'd relent. He wants Cameron to make him regret it. It's a horribly selfish thing to do, using Cameron so unwittingly like that, forcing Cameron to make a decision he doesn't even realize he's making, but there's something bitter in Koby, something pent up and repressed, that wants to be the selfish one this time around. It's that entitlement thing that they've been avoiding, the other side of "give" that Koby never sees.
Still, he waits just a little, to give Cameron that chance. He chants in his head, ask me to come in. Ask me to stay the night. Ask me not to be mad at you. Kiss me. Need me. I won't try this ever again. I won't force you into this blind corner ever again. We can fuck and I'll forgive you, I swear.
Instead Cameron exhales in disgust and bewilderment. He closes the door with a sharp snap and walks away.
So Koby turns on the engine of the car and backs out of Cameron's driveway, pausing just a little to make sure Cameron doesn't stagger and knock his head against the sidewalk on the way to the door. Cameron doesn't. He doesn't turn around either, to watch Koby leave. He just walks straight up to the door, unlocks it, and disappears into the darkness of his house.
Koby winds his way through Cameron's neighborhood. Before he actually leaves the community, though, he pulls onto the side of the street. It's almost 3:30. Everything is pitch black except for the streetlamps that shine behind Koby, reflecting in his rearview mirror. Koby turns on the radio very loud, puts his forehead against the wheel, and starts crying.
He tells himself that this is a big mistake.
He also knows that it's probably the only thing he can do for himself now.
*
Koby arrives alone to Dylan's party, which is something he hasn’t done on a regular basis since freshman year. Yasmin is the first to wave at him when he steps in the door and deposits his coat on the customary couch. Koby waves back and waits as she squeezes through a few crowds to catch him. Offering him her drink, she starts off with, "How's your break going?" and blends perfectly into, "Why aren't you with Cameron and Chloe?"
"Is this, like, one of those personality tests in fashion magazines? If I say yes, it means this; if I say no, it means that?" Koby grins, returning her drink to her after taking a sip. Something fizzy and fruity, probably a wine cooler. It gives Koby a pleasant buzzing lightheadness, which Yasmin picks up immediately with a flirty smile.
"No, it's just to find out if you're here alone."
"Single and eligible, you know that."
"Like hell I do," Yasmin says, rolling her eyes. "Cam might as well have you on a leash with a label -- oh shit, is something wrong?" Yasmin asks abruptly, watching Koby's expression change.
Koby sighs and rubs his face. "What has he told you?"
"Nothing." Yasmin scans the crowd, her mouth set grimly. "Something felt off, is all. He walked in with his arms around Chloe's waist and everyone kept waiting for you to show up? But you didn't, and when other people asked where you were, he just shrugged."
"We kind of… fought."
"You?" True surprise in Yasmin's eyes and face. She flips her hair off her shoulder and purses her lips. Koby lets her give him a thorough visual examination before spinning around in mock-seriousness, like a model on a catwalk. "Koby, stop being an ass. I'm worried about you. Why did you and Cameron fight?"
"He thought I was mad at him."
"And were you?"
"A little."
"So then the argument was about…? The level of your anger?"
Koby takes her hand in his. He meets her eye, pressing against her palm firmly. "Yasmin. Can we not talk about this? It'll blow over, I swear, and I promise no one is going to start fighting or knocking each other out on the dance floor, okay?" A little smile at her, with his head cocked, something he learned from Cameron, and Yasmin lets up visibly. Koby relaxes too -- glad to avoid an awkward conversation, or at least stall it long enough - and takes her drink from her again. "So who else is here?"
"Oh! That reminds me." Yasmin points a manicured finger to Dylan's den, where some guys are playing a racing game on the big screen. There's a loud "Oooh!" from the crowd, which probably means someone got passed or was forced into crashing with great aplomb. "Eitan's over there. He's waiting for you. He told me to send you over as soon as you got here."
"What, you're his private maid now?"
"I’m a sucker for that face, you know?"
Koby waggles his eyebrow and gives Yasmin a peck on the cheek, calling out as he leaves, "You and everyone else."
*
Eitan and Koby spend the time finishing the racing game, and when everyone else has lost interest, Eitan challenges Koby to a personal game that ends with both of them playing dirty and engaging in a tickling war. Koby forfeits first, completely exhausted, and it's only then that Eitan drags him to where everyone's dancing in Dylan's basement.
The nice thing about being with Eitan is that no one asks about Cameron. Koby doesn't know if this is because Eitan always turns the conversation to other things, or if people just don't think about problems, like why Koby and Cameron are apart, when Eitan is around. He thinks maybe it's a little bit of both. Eitan doesn't mention Cameron at all, and his exhilaration, a mix of festive cheer and sugar high and alcohol kick, makes it impossible for Koby to be glum. Eitan's flirtier than usual; Koby's reminded of Japan all over again, the lights and the hot water of the bath, friendly sex and comfort with no strings attached. At one point Eitan has his arm around Koby's shoulder as he leans across to get a handful of chips. Leaning back, he brushes his lips under Koby's earlobe, a casual and invisible gesture, and laughing, Koby whispers, "Thank you," when no one else is listening, because he knows that was Eitan's way of making Koby feel better.
Koby doesn't realize it's almost 12 until Dylan snaps off the music so that from the TV, Dick Clark's voice can wheeze through the noise of the New York crowd who are also waiting for the ball to drop. Everyone is coupling off and waiting for the final seconds. For the first time that night, Koby sees Cameron, arms around Chloe's waist and whispering in her ear. Cameron looks the same as he always has, though Koby doesn't know why he expected Cameron to look different. Perfect hair, white teeth, a small personal smile as he brushes a strand of Chloe's blonde curled hair away.
It's only been a day since Koby drove Cameron home. Koby's been with Cameron for at least two years; he's had to build his own defenses, putting up walls and whittling tricks to keep himself from hurting too much. It's natural self-preservation, and Koby's pretty good at it so he's mentally prepared for the sharp pang he feels in his chest. But there's the difficulty breathing too, and the sudden blurred eyesight that Koby has to blink away, and just seeing Cameron makes Koby remember how Cameron would whisper in Koby's ear too, how that would make the darkness seem smaller, how Koby knows the shape and lines of Cameron's neck, the feel of his skin, and suddenly it's just too much. He looks for a place to sit down, to get away from everyone else.
There's an unoccupied couch in the corner that Koby makes his way towards before he hears Eitan calling his name. Eitan greets him with a glass of completely illegal champagne and a smile so vivid Koby swears it blocks out the light from the TV. Less than a minute to go before midnight. Someone starts counting down from 40 and everyone else joins in, making it hard to hear Eitan when he says, "I have something to ask you."
"What?" Koby yells, and Eitan moves in so close his cheek is pressing against Koby's.
"Come home with me."
"Are you serious?"
30, 29, 28, 27… Koby feels Eitan's hand come up, around his back to his shoulder, holding Koby close to him in a way only Cameron had before. Their champagne glasses are between them, untouched, cold and dangerous, but Eitan moves in even closer, mouth touching Koby's ear again as he says, "I'm very serious. I’m more serious than I ever have been before." His hand tightens on Koby's shoulder. Koby can smell Eitan's cologne -- spicier and stronger than Cameron's, a brown fragrance -- and Koby finds himself putting his nose to Eitan's neck, searching for it. Eitan is warm, so warm, and comfortable and familiar but not painfully so.
Eitan lowers his voice urgently, "I want you. No, that's not right-I mean-look, Koby, he's not right for you. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't even appreciate you. I do. I can be here for you. Start over, with me." Eitan wraps the other arm around Koby's neck. He's taller, but not that much, skinnier, even, than Koby. Eitan backs his head away, forcing Koby to look him in the eye. A darker and rounder face than Koby, and everything about him is different, but Koby thinks, not an unpleasant different, just a different, and Eitan understood balance, understood giving as much as taking, understood him, and hadn't he once thought about it, being with Eitan?
"I need you," Eitan says, and Koby feels his heart stopping. Eitan never stops looking at Koby as he finishes, "Please. Koby."
10, the people on the TV and in the basement start chanting. 9. 8. 7.
Koby draws in a breath shakily. He doesn't turn around. In the distance he knows Cameron is wrapped around Chloe, but he's not thinking about that as he says, "Okay."
"Okay?" Eitan asks, half in surprise but, Koby knows, mostly in relief.
"Okay," Koby says again, surprising himself by breaking out into a smile.
Everyone is shouting, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Someone -- Dylan, probably -- has thrown a handful of confetti into the air. A smattering of champagne glass sounds, the strains of Auld Lang Syne blaring from the TV, off-tune voices singing along. Eitan lets out a whoop and moves in for a kiss.
Koby closes his eyes, and does the same.
HAPPY NEW YEAR'S, EVERYONE (for the second time). ♥
(tell me in your comments who you think is the best for Koby and maybe I'll write something for Valentine's~!)
OMG IT IS FINALLY DONE. SO TIRED. I WASH MY HANDS OF IT.
homeostasis
Koby thinks he might just be a little bit sick of this almost jealousy thing that happens to him ever so often, which-he considers ruefully-is a thought riddled with so many qualifiers there’s almost no sentiment left.
The problem is his lack of claim over Cameron. It’s a matter of defining the relationship correctly, something they never do out loud, so Koby has to constantly shift where he stands on Cameron’s slippery slope of acquaintanceship. He’s a friend, and occasionally they have sex, and a lot of the time they sit around and talk about what--who--Cameron wants, and Koby thinks that at some point he’s going to have to tell Cameron what he feels about Cameron, which is probably not what Cameron feels about Koby. He’s not sure if he’s entitled to be jealous, and so he doesn’t say anything about it to Cameron that could remedy the situation, just grins and bears it like he’s done since the beginning.
Cameron’s flirting with a waitress right now, a blonde no-nonsense one who probably has a boyfriend and is doing her best to ignore him. Koby admires her determination; Cameron’s really pouring on the charm. It’s just a little past Christmas, so he may still be hyped up on holiday good cheer and cake, bubbling with it really, underneath the cold chapping skin. Koby notes only absently that the waitress is really pretty. She gives him a sort of pleading look across the table as Cameron casually but earnestly grabs her wrist, and Koby sighs somewhere deep in his chest, far from Cameron’s hearing.
“Do you do this when Chloe’s around?” he asks, to distract Cameron from flirting, and in a small part to distract himself from brooding over it. The waitress gratefully sneaks away. Cameron eyes Koby over the glass of his milkshake, using his straw to poke the maraschino cherry. Cameron’s expression is that of humorous, mocking guilt, like someone who has been awkwardly caught in a harmless white lie. Koby finds his mouth tugging into a smile involuntarily.
“God no. And you know that too. She’d go crazy. That’s why she’s so clingy, actually.” Cameron tries to suck the cherry through his straw with no avail and just ends up spooning it out along with a small dent of whipped cream. He licks his upper lip after eating it, a half-hearted lewd stare directed towards Koby, who dismisses it by turning away. Cameron gives Koby a hurt look, which Koby can just see through the corner of his eyes, and eventually turns his full attention to drinking his milkshake noisily. Koby pushes the condensation on his glass around, drawing little spirals that get wiped out by the dripping water.
He wonders if he’s clingy too. He’s so close to asking Cameron about it, but instead takes a deep breath and smiles, because it would be unfair, really, sort of like asking a kid to deal with terrible adult issues. Cameron smiles back. He’s in a good mood, a very good mood. Koby doesn’t want to spoil it. He counts the days of winter break they have left, and it’s not a lot of time at all. He’ll risk ruining their friendship afterwards, maybe. If he ever gets the nerve. Which would be never. Which is fine by Koby -- actually, not. But just like he’s the generous one, Cameron’s the brave one, the one who does, or at least hopes for, the impossible, and they’re not reversible roles.
Koby waves his straw, asks, “So uh, Cam. What do you have planned for New Year’s?”
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, which Koby takes as an imminent sign of doom. He braces for the metaphorical other shoe to drop, the good mood suddenly evaporating. Cameron looks off into the distance, at another couple at another table, then back at Koby, meets his eyes briefly, smiles again, this time just lifting the corner of his mouths and dropping them. Muscle movement, Koby realizes, and sinks into his chair. Stupid, he thinks, for wanting to know. He should have just waited for Cameron to bring it up himself, so he wouldn’t feel so stupid about it. He knows what’s coming now, he should have just --
“Um. Well. Dylan’s having a New Year’s party and uh. Me and Chloe are going.”
“Right,” Koby mumbles, taking a sip out of his milkshake for something to do. “I remember now.”
“Look, Koby, I promised her -- “ A little edge of desperation, grasping at straws, and Koby says, “I know, you’ve told me,” because Cameron might apologize next and he hates that feeling, forcing Cameron to owe him something he doesn’t want to acknowledge.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean we had to, you know. Do anything together.” A horrible lie, and Koby bites his lip, even though Cameron probably wouldn’t hear the fakeness. This is a well-worn lie, so easy to say that it doesn’t hurt much anymore. Koby doesn’t even have to think about saying it much anymore either. Like slapping a band-aid on the tension, on the unspeakable gashes between them, the scabs Koby keeps picking at.
“Oh. Okay.” Cameron looks relieved, which makes Koby feel queasy, his lunch doing a 180 in his stomach and threatening to come up if he doesn’t concentrate really hard on the napkin in front of him with its friendly checkerboard pattern of the restaurant logo, its cartoonish text. He looks up again, because he can sense Cameron’s staring at him, waiting for Koby to give the all-clear signal, the sign that they can get out of this territory and back to being fine. Cameron says “um” and “Koby” a couple of times, sometimes with a question mark in his voice, then finally comes up with “Your mom’s going to wonder what we’re doing out so long if we keep sitting here.” Meaning ‘are we done yet?’, so Koby reaches in his back pocket for his wallet, but Cameron’s already footing the bill, calling over the pretty blonde waitress and slipping in a credit card. A reparation, Koby guesses, for being a disappointing bastard with a pretty and pretty demanding girlfriend at the same time.
Koby pulls out his car keys and waits for Cameron to fill out the receipt. He grabs a mint from the register with a brief smile at the cashier, one of his classmates in Economics class. Cameron tails after Koby, lingering briefly to sweeten up the waitress one last time. Outside, while Koby is unlocking the car door, Cameron leans over Koby’s shoulder, his arm almost around Koby’s waist, a little too close for a public area. Koby tries to slide away, but Cameron flattens himself against Koby’s back. “You smell like peppermint,” he says, sniffing against Koby’s cheek, closing his eyes happily.
“Grabbed one on my way out,” Koby answers. His fingers fumble with the metal slide of the keys, nervous because they’re so out in the open, and Cameron should really, really know better, because this kind of attention is out of Koby’s comfort zone.
“Oh. Damn. You don’t have any gum on you, do you?” Koby gets the door open and slides gratefully into the driver’s seat, unlocks the other doors and shakes his head. Cameron moves around the front of the car to get into the passenger’s seat. Just as Koby’s starting the car up, Cameron puts his hand on the back of Koby’s head and turns him around, kissing him, stealing the mint from Koby’s mouth, one fluid warm motion with no hesitation. He looks out the window after that, calm, exactly as if nothing had happened at all, crunching lightly on the mint. He waits until the car’s rounding the bend, pulling onto the main street, before saying “Sorry” and turning up the radio all the way, singing along off-key.
Koby wants to ask him, ‘For what exactly?’, but says instead, “It’s okay,” softly, so Cameron can’t hear him over the music.
*
Cameron’s dad is a big-shot businessman, the kind that travels around so often his address might as well be a plane ticket and a hotel number. Cameron’s mom is a typical suburban housewife, with a single defining trait: perpetual infidelity. Koby’s been to Cameron’s house before, when both parents were home, and that was fine -- typical American family, just with lots of money. Cameron’s mom was kind and thoughtful, Cameron’s dad was distant and masculine in his affections, and Cameron played the part of a good son well. They chatted at the dinner table about Cameron’s sprinting, his grades, classmates, and Koby got the impression that they were treating him like a girlfriend or a fiancée. Everything was very formal, and Cameron called them “mother” and “father” like it was a straight out of a movie. When Koby left Cameron walked him to the door, like a date.
But Koby hears lots of stuff indirectly from Cameron, about how Cameron’s mother sleeps around when his dad’s not home. She has a string of “boyfriends” that she rotates around, some of them even the widowed or divorced dads of classmates. She’s constantly out. Cameron rarely goes home, avoiding it if he can help. Koby thinks Cameron secretly, or at least privately, hates his mother in that way only betrayed, loyal sons can hate their mothers. It’s why he’s more often than not at Koby’s house, stealing pizza off the kitchen counter while Koby’s mom scolds him like a son, or spending the night curled up on Koby’s couch.
So when Cameron asks Koby to spend the night at his house, Koby looks at him oddly, but agrees all the same. It’s not that he minds, especially since the house is empty; it’s just that it’s such a rare occurrence Koby almost expects something to be wrong. He’s been to Cameron’s house once before, and he remembers that he likes the way Cameron’s bed smells and feels like Cameron, layered in a ridiculous amount of pillows that Cameron always throws onto the ground before sleeping. Cameron’s room is too neat, mostly because he’s never in it, but there are pictures of baby Cameron and little kid Cameron that Koby would never see otherwise.
Just outside of Cameron’s house, Koby asks, “Is it okay? Your mom isn’t going to mind or anything, right?”
Cameron knits his eyebrows, wrinkling the little spot on his forehead, and finally laughs once, very sharply. “Fuck my mom,” he says. A long pause as Koby turns the car off in the driveway. “She’s not home anyway,” Cameron finally finishes, and slams the car door shut on his way out.
When Koby’s calling his mother on the phone in Cameron’s kitchen, Cameron tries to distract him, wrapping an arm around his waist, fiddling with the zipper on Koby’s pants, kissing Koby’s wrists. When that fails, he starts tugging at Koby’s shirt, sliding a hand across the stomach or breathing lightly on Koby’s neck, and Koby can hear himself starting to falter and fade off on the phone. His mother is asking him “Are you sure it’s fine with his family?” and then “Koby? Koby? Are you listening?” Koby can barely hear her though, because Cameron has his mouth on a spot behind Koby’s ear. Finally the conversation ends, and Koby hangs up, wraps his arms around Cameron’s waist, relaxing. Cameron is warm, fluid, reassuring in his solidarity. Koby closes his eyes. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?” he asks, rubbing shaky, slightly sweaty fingers into Cameron’s skin.
“What are you thinking about toothbrushes for?” Cameron retorts, irritated, and leans in to kiss Koby hard on the lips, tongue warm and heavy. Koby kisses back, craning his neck a little, guiding Cameron’s hand down to his pants, slipping two fingers under the waistband of Cameron’s jeans, grinning.
The lights in Cameron’s house seem to all be connected to one switch, and they’re all on, even the chandelier in the front of the house. Cameron scoots them slowly to the living room, touching Koby all the while. Koby says “W-wait,” and starts trying to turn his head away, but he catches sight of Cameron reaching for his mother’s hand lotion on the table (lavender scented, he groans) and resigns himself to getting fucked on Cameron’s living room sofa, the lights obscenely bright in his eyes. Cameron sucks him off first, ruthlessly and easily; sometime later, Koby bites his lip so hard he’s tasting blood. Cameron keeps saying “Sorry, sorry” as he moves quickly, callously, lovingly. This is sex as Koby knows it, Cameron’s body warm and tender and fierce pressing down on Koby, the rough feeling of Cameron’s hands. Cameron’s smell, the cold outside, the numb deafness he feels at the moment for everything that isn’t Cameron.
Koby knows he wishes for something more, but he knows he would not trade this for the world. He cranes his neck, kisses Cameron hard and dry on the mouth. Pretends dumbly, briefly, that he’s the only one.
*
Afterwards when they have showered - separately -- and are upstairs, in Cameron’s room, Koby searches for sleeping bags or spare blankets, wincing a little as he walks. Cameron lies on his own bed, hands tucked behind his head, but when Koby nears, he grabs hold of Koby’s wrist and pulls him down on top of the bed. Koby is squashed against Cameron’s warm, loosely clothed body, elbow dangerously close to Cameron’s stomach, head almost resting on Cameron’s chest.
“You’re not angry, are you?” Cameron asks, brushing the tips of his fingers along Koby’s wrist as if Koby was something precious, breakable, ‘this side up.’
“I never said I was angry.” Koby says quietly.
“Hey.” Cameron clears his throat, strokes his thumb across the bottom of Koby’s palm, hesitating. Koby doesn’t move. He can smell Cameron’s shampoo, Cameron’s detergent from the shirt he borrowed, Cameron’s body wash on himself, soapy and just the slightest bit vanilla. They are so close it is almost claustrophobic, and Koby thinks that they have almost never been this close without fucking. Cameron’s heartbeat is strumming against Koby’s arm, but Koby pretends like he can’t feel it. “Hey,” Cameron says again, and then whispers, “don’t go. Just sleep here.”
Koby swallows, and nods, just once.
*
Cameron convinces Koby to stay the day, and they’re sprawled out on the couch, comfortable close but not very so, watching TV -- some action flick that neither of them knows the name of -- when the phone rings. There’s a brief moment of almost panic before Koby discovers the phone buried under the cushion by his elbow. Cameron’s making a face, like he doesn’t want Koby to be answering the phone, but Koby shoves Cameron’s legs with a foot and Cameron falls off the couch, laughing.
“Hello?”
Coughing sound over the phone. Koby turns his head to look at the receiver, and then says “Hello?” again. Cameron picks himself off the ground and walks over to the phone unit. He’s checking the caller ID, and after a moment he grins to himself, pulling his shirt down from its wrinkled perch mid-back.
“It’s Eitan,” he calls over, and Koby taps the phone, says, “Eitan? Is that you? You still alive?”
“Sorry.” Eitan’s voice is scratchy. “Is this Koby?”
“Yeah.” Koby cradles the phone against his neck and his shoulder, leaning back into the couch and smirking. Cameron gets back on the couch with an “oof”. He’s trying to tickle Koby, payback for making him fall off the couch, but Koby shoves his hand away. “Stop it,” he says, and Eitan makes a questioning murmuring sound over the phone. “No, not you. Cameron’s being gay.”
“Am not,” Cameron interjects, just loud enough for Eitan to hear him, and Eitan laughs a little before descending into coughing.
“Hey, man, you all right?” Koby asks, worriedly. He sits up a little straighter, adjusts his phone, waits for Eitan to catch his breath. Cameron shuffles around on the couch before throwing his legs over the arm of the sofa and leaning his head on Koby’s free shoulder. Cameron’s hands are folded on his stomach. Koby watches the fingers move, tapping out some melody only Cameron can hear.
“Yeah, sorry. I uh, caught a cold or something. My nose is stuffed and I feel awful.”
“That sucks, dude. Nothing serious, though, right?”
“Yeah, nothing serious. Just a pretty bad cold.”
“You want to talk to Cameron?”
“Don’t really care either way,” Eitan says, then coughs again. Koby can hear him turn away from the phone. Cameron looks up at Koby, questioning, and Koby shakes his head, so Cameron goes back to watching the movie on the TV that they’ve set on mute. A car crashes into a tree and violently bursts into flames; Koby feels more than hears Cameron snort, amused.
“So what’s up?” Koby watches Cameron flip through the over hundred some channels he has on his TV. He punches Cameron on the arm to get him to stop, but Cameron simply continues pressing the up channel arrow on his remote without relenting, occasionally making sounds indicating his opinion. The images flicker quickly in a rush: a preacher, Christmas decorations, some soap opera, Brad Pitt, city landscape, make up advertisement on QVC.
“Bored, I guess,” Eitan’s saying. “Parents left for a cruise with friends. You know how it is.”
“Whoa, wait.” Koby switches the phone to his other shoulder, then to his hand, and shrugs Cameron off. “You’re home alone? And sick?”
Eitan has a fit of coughing through which he tries to say “Wait a sec.” The sounds of static-y shuffling, and finally, “Yeah, pretty much. It’s not so bad, I guess. I mean, I can still walk by myself and everything.”
“But Eitan. You’re sick. You need someone to um, cook for you or something. Or like, at least get water for you and stuff.” Koby purses his lips into a thin line, waiting for Eitan to respond. Cameron turns to look at Koby again, making an irritated expression that says “well?” Koby considers for a moment, and then asks, “Hey, you want me to drop by or something?”
“No, man, I’ll get you sick in return and your mom would kill me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t feel right knowing you’re home alone and sick.”
“Look, it’s okay -- "
“I’m coming over in a couple of minutes, then. Just sit tight.” Koby hangs up and is getting ready to stand up when he catches sight of Cameron’s expression. Cameron scowls, turning the volume of the TV back on. Koby reaches over and shuts off the sound again, crossing his arms. He leans back into the softness of Cameron’s sofa -- almost enough reason to not leave -- and says decisively, “I can’t just stay here and let him get worse.”
“You didn’t even ask me if I’d like to come,” Cameron mutters. He turns the TV off and flops back on the sofa so that his head is in Koby’s lap. His eyes are closed.
Koby stares at him in shock. “But you hate sick people. You get nervous around them.”
“I know.” Koby watches Cameron wrinkle his forehead, resisting the urge to touch that little pucker of skin. Cameron’s head is a comforting weight on Koby’s lap, amiable and just a little bit overbearing, digging just the slightest bit into Koby’s leg as if to hold him there. Cameron shifts his head, curling onto his side, and Koby puts a hand on Cameron’s head, feeling his hair softly.
“Well, do you want to come?”
“Do you think he’d want me to?”
“I don’t think you’d want to.”
“Why not?” Cameron demanded, slightly defensively. His shoulders hunch up, and Koby runs his fingers through Cameron’s hair, almost massaging the scalp, in a placating gesture.
“Because,” Koby says, “you hate being around sick people.”
“I just don’t want you going there when -- " and suddenly Cameron stops. He rolls off Koby’s lap, gets up off the couch, and without even looking at Koby walks into the kitchen where he pours himself a cup of water from the fridge and downs it.
Koby, frustrated, follows him into the kitchen where he goes to the counter and pockets his car keys “I don’t understand why you’re being so unreasonable.” He casts a glance for his coat and sees where it’s crumpled in a kitchen chair, from last night. Just a little bit angry, he gets it and crams it on, leaving Cameron alone in the kitchen to look for his shoes. “It’s not like I’m going to be -- oh for fuck’s sake, what am I saying? I don’t have to explain to you. Especially,” he adds vindictively, “if this is about being jealous.”
He doesn’t say “jealous of me”. He doesn’t say “jealous of Eitan.” Despite how strong he sounds, he’s scared, and Cameron only makes it worse when he calls from the kitchen, “Fine. Get the hell out of here. Go play sick nurse to Eitan.”
“You’re being so -- “ Koby shoves on his shoes awkwardly, almost toppling over. After a minute of standing, he takes a deep breath, says from the door, “I’ll drop by with your clothes and pick up mine later.” There’s a sound of something light crashing to the floor from the kitchen, books or newspapers, maybe. Koby pauses before stepping outside, into the cold air. He shuts the door behind him, shaking so hard he can’t let go of the doorknob.
The car is a bit frosty, so he waits for it to heat up before leaving. As he sits inside, listening to the engine rumble sleepily, and shivering a bit in the cold, he briefly glances at the passenger seat window that Cameron sat next to the night before. There are the fogged up remnants of Cameron’s fingers doodles, smiley faces and lines of indecipherable text. Koby is and feels very alone in his car, cold and light and empty. He’s almost sorry, and to make it worse, very close to going inside and apologizing, but he doesn’t. It’s Cameron’s fault -- if not this time than some other time in the past or some time in the future -- and he’s given in to Cameron many times before.
Right now, he’ll try a little holding out.
*
Eitan’s house is a mansion-like extravagance in a neighborhood that is gated electronically so that you need a password to enter. The truth is, of the four of them -- Koby, Dylan, Cameron, and Eitan -- Eitan is probably the richest. His father is a doctor of some sort, his mother is something that requires a lot of business meeting with important people and stress. Eitan, despite his lack of worth ethic and the like, is the model child for the family. His parents baby him, and he takes the opportunity to act like one right back, childishly laughing when leaving a message, or butterfly-kissing his mother on the cheek before stepping out of the house. It’s what makes Eitan cute and attractive to girls, this softness in him, this willingness to grow and stay too young all at the same time, and Koby likes to think it’s what makes he and Eitan such great friends, the way they can and will bend to each other, the way they are nice to each other in a way he can never be nice with Cameron.
It is not that Eitan is kind. Koby knows, because he is kind to Cameron, and what Eitan does for Koby is not kindness. There is no give or take relationship between them, because there is nothing to give and thus nothing to take. Once there was an offer, and Koby refused, so now there is what Koby can only term as “mutual”, and to Koby, this is sometimes the one thing he needs the most.
*
The first thing Koby does when he gets into Eitan’s house-activation of the front gate informs Eitan of visitors, so he can unlock the door without having to answer it-is search for a piece of paper and a pen. He scrawls in big letters “Will Take Care of Sick For Board” and creeps into the TV room, where Eitan is on the circular sofa in front of a flat screen TV that is truly obscene in its size. A foreign movie is playing, something Asian with rapid subtitles and lithe women with dark eyes, and Eitan says, “This movie really sucks,” before turning around and grinning at Koby. Eitan’s hair is a mess, his clothes are rumpled and faded, obviously old, and his cheeks are flushed, but the smile is all Eitan, sick or not.
“Hey. Thanks for coming, man.”
Koby smiles, and Eitan does too, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Koby waves the sign in his hand and points to himself proudly, as if he were a mime, and Eitan starts laughing while Koby flops onto the couch next to him. “Aren’t you staying with Cam, though?”
“He kicked me out,” Koby says lightly.
“What, did you have a fight?” Eitan’s wrapped up in blankets, like an overgrown mutated cocoon propped up by pillows. He offers a pillow and a blanket to Koby, who curls up and sighs, luxuriating in the lazy warmth. Eitan leans in closer, their shoulders touching, then shifts so that his head is leaning on Koby. Koby can feel the feverish warmth, the fragile heat of sickness. He puts his hand up to Eitan’s forehead to test for a temperature-to stall for time-and frowns.
“When did you last take your medicine? You feel kind of warm. I wonder if it’s working. What are you taking, anyway? Ibuprofen?”
“Oh my god,” Eitan groans. “Are you channeling my mother?”
Koby rolls his eyes and reluctantly sheds his nest of blanket to reach for the medicine box on the table. Once every four hours, no more than six in twenty four hours. Koby shakes out some of the pills, shovels them back in, and looks pointedly at Eitan.
“All right! At, um. Eight, probably.”
“Good. You’re due for another one. Also, you need food, because that’s the way you’re supposed to take this stuff.” Koby gets up, tucking the blanket around Eitan, who kicks Koby away with a grin. “Chicken noodle soup. From the can, you ungrateful bastard.”
“Fuck off. I’m sick.”
Koby laughs as he walks to the kitchen. As he heats up a can of Campbells’, he hums, messing around, banging pots and ladles, and manages to not think about Cameron for the entire time.
*
It’s an unspoken rule that no one ever talks about Koby and Cameron’s rather indecent, sort of nonexistent, and completely lopsided relationship. Dylan is really the only one either of them would worry about, but Dylan usually pretends it doesn’t happen. They all do. It’s the nastiest for Dylan, maybe, who’s not straight but pretty damn narrow, and probably doesn’t like to think about two of his best friends fucking each other on a pretty regular basis.
Eitan, on the other hand, is different. Koby’s never actually told Eitan how much he likes Cameron (a lot, probably more than Cameron likes Chloe and more than Cameron likes Eitan and definitely more than Cameron likes Koby), but he thinks Eitan knows. When they’re at a party and Cameron’s dancing with Chloe in the crush of other couples, Eitan will sidle up to Cameron with a drink, smile, and engage Koby in a rudely entertaining game of rating the people who walk by. Eitan likes to count the girls off for bad highlights in their hair. Koby usually comments on fake tans. Occasionally when a boy walks by, they’ll trade glances, mouth a number, and start laughing. And for a while it’ll be like Cameron doesn’t exist, that there is nothing awkward in this situation, that there is no reason why Koby should be jealous of Eitan.
Sometimes, Koby admits to himself, it’d be nice if Cameron hadn’t happened. It’d be nice if in Japan Koby had said yes, or if when Cameron kissed Koby the first time Koby had said no. He thinks maybe he and Eitan would be good for each other. He knows being with Eitan wouldn’t be like being with Cameron.
But then he thinks of Cameron, of Cameron’s hair spread out on a pillow, of the way he crawls out of bed blearily, leaving his scent and warmth behind, of his heart pounding when Cameron kisses him nervously, in the dark or upstairs in Koby’s room when Koby’s parents are downstairs watching TV, or Cameron breathing “Thank you” in Koby’s ear the very first time they had sex, and then he is quite sure, quite absolutely sure, somewhere there is love in what he feels for Cameron.
This is why when Eitan asks him if he wants to stay the night, Koby considers for a long moment, but ultimately tells him no, even though Eitan makes life feel comfortable and Koby’s still angry with Cameron. He pours a glass of orange juice for Eitan, puts it on the coffee table, and warns Eitan to get lots of sleep and for fuck’s sake stop watching the TV, that’s gotta be bad for you, plus it keeps you up. Afterwards he drives all the way back to Cameron’s house, where Cameron wrenches the door open before Koby even has time to ring the doorbell. They have sex twice, once in Cameron’s bedroom and once in the bathroom before climbing into the shower together, fumbling with the soap and laughing. Cameron is fierce the first time, tender and frightened the second, and Koby forgets the nasty things he meant to say and, pressing his mouth into Cameron’s hair as he shampoos it, whispers “Oh God, Cameron, I--” instead.
*
Yet, Koby thinks bitterly, yet. There is always a falling out. That is what equilibrium means: constant change and constant shifting back to make balance. It doesn’t mean calm. It doesn’t mean necessarily even mean stability.
Usually it means reassurance, from Koby to Cameron.
Cameron doesn’t forbid Koby to see Eitan. That would imply some sense of relationship, an ownership thing, a sense of having power over each other in ways they shouldn’t, that would make Cameron distinctly uncomfortable. There’s nothing Cameron can say without sounding jealous or stupid, and Koby’s glad for that, glad for the explicitness and pain they’re avoiding, but he can tell that when Cameron asks, “How’s Eitan?” what he really means is, “Don’t go back,” and when he says, “Hope it’s not serious,” what he really means is, “Stay.”
“Hey,” Koby says to Cameron, in the morning when Cameron’s pulling on a shirt against the light of the window, the winter sun soft and white against his shoulders.
Cameron turns his head and smiles. Koby is still on Cameron’s bed, naked with the sheets wound around his hip, and he shivers a bit, jerking the pillow out from behind him and placing that in his lap. “Hey, you,” Cameron answers, laughing, and tugs the bottom of his shirt down properly.
“If I asked you-“ Koby hesitates. Cameron raises an eyebrow, one hand on his hip. Koby says, again, “If I asked you-“
And suddenly it breaks Koby’s heart, this thing that rests with Koby and Cameron when they sleep together in the dark, this thing that keeps him from being able to talk to Cameron about the hurt, the invisible painful hurt that plagues him but doesn’t seem to touch Cameron at all. He wants to hold onto this thing, but to get rid of it as well, there is so much affection and nonsense and ridiculousness and wrongness in it, and it is so familiar, and Koby wants to tell Cameron that, wants to ask him, “If I asked you which one you wanted more, me or Eitan, what would you say?” He wants so much, wants to tell Cameron about the times he will be in bed and Cameron’s face would suddenly come up and he’d be hard, instantly, like a reflex, or the times where Cameron and Chloe are together and Koby has to wonder if it’s better being with him instead of being with her, and he knows that it isn’t fair, isn’t fair to Cameron to want but isn’t fair to himself to not.
And there is Eitan, always, who envelops them, Eitan who is their relationship but who also could ruin it just with a touch or a single kiss, and Koby wants Cameron to know that it would be too easy, he has to know how easy it would be for that to happen to Koby, and right now it wouldn’t even be difficult for Koby to say yes to Eitan, and just one word from Cameron, just one, could save him, could save Koby and Cameron both, and he thinks, Cameron, please.
Yet there are no words for Koby to say, and he stays silent, staring up at Cameron who shrugs and spreads himself on the bed over Koby’s legs. Cameron reaches for the warmth of Koby’s skin, his sleepy tousled hair, his bared chest, and Koby sighs, lets himself be pulled against Cameron, touching the pain and the simplicity and hurt, touching this thing that Koby knows must have love.
*
Koby’s parents just barely make a fuss about the fact that he’s spent two nights out at Cameron’s house, but Koby uses that as an excuse not to see Cameron until the 31st, for Dylan’s New Year’s Eve party. He stays at home and works on a particularly annoying English project, pasting pictures on a poster and writing creatively structured sentences for the write-ups. Cameron calls him five times over the course of two days, twice actually talking to Koby and three times leaving a message on Koby’s answering machine. Koby was out shopping with his mother when Cameron leaves him a message that takes up the full three minutes he’s allotted and ends with “Look -- call me back -- Koby? Koby? Are you there? Because I feel like a chick, calling you like this. Hey. Pick up, please? I --“
Koby erases it off the answering machine quickly and furtively but plays it back for the entire day in his head, and he wonders what it is that Cameron was going say before the machine cut him off. Koby calls back that evening, the 30th, and Cameron, his dad tells him, is out for a movie with Eitan.
“Oh,” says Koby, frozen where he’s standing, gripping the phone so tight he’s afraid it’s going to break.
“Yes,” says Cameron’s dad evenly, a born businessman’s voice. “Did you want to leave a message? This is Koby, right?”
“Right. No, no message. He doesn’t need to call back. I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.”
“Oh, yes, the New Year’s party. You boys don’t get into any trouble, you hear?”
“You know us,” Koby says miserably, and hangs up.
*
He has a confused dream about being Superman, but then being told he can’t be because he keeps complaining about the tights. Cameron comes out dressed in a business suit with a skirt and Koby is laughing so hard he blows up Metropolis by accident, and suddenly Dylan, with a shaved head like Lex Luthor, picks them all up on a UFO and blasts them to Mars.
The cell rings at 2 AM. It’s his ring, he knows it, but he feels sick, wondering if maybe he caught something from Eitan, and he’s this close to slamming the thing into the wall and telling it to leave him alone, he needs at least 10 hours of sleep when he’s on break, when he notices the number.
It’s Eitan. He flips the phone open blearily and mumbles something he hopes sounds like “hello?” His arms are cold from under the blankets, and he touches his forehead just to make sure he’s not sick. He isn’t. He rubs his eyes, says, “Hello?” again, more awake.
“Koby, it’s me.” Eitan’s voice is solemn, too awake for this time in the morning, but Koby remembers the phone call to Cameron’s house, and Cameron being out. He shakes the sleep out of his head, thinking about whether or not Cameron is there with Eitan. Maybe this was a sympathy call. Maybe this is supposed to be like a “Koby, you’re no longer in any way involved with Cameron beyond that of a friend, let’s just the pretend the sex never happened” call. He swallows.
“It’s 2 in the morning,” Koby points out grouchily.
“Cameron is sprawled on my bed, dead drunk, and he keeps demanding I drive him to your house,” Eitan says, and he sounds flat against the phone, like he has his mouth pressed against it and is speaking softly. Koby hears movement, hears Eitan turn the phone away so he can say, “No, Cam -- hey! Hey!”
“What’s wrong?” Koby asks, suddenly worried. “Is he puking already?”
“No, he’s rolling around on the couch and whining. And he keeps saying your name.” Koby can hear Eitan smiling, that wry and completely irresistible smile he has when he finds something amusing despite himself. Koby clutches his cell phone, mentally tracing the patterns of his covers. It’s been a while since Cameron’s slept over, but Koby suddenly smells Cameron: the impossible lingering ache of stale alcohol, Cameron’s sweat, fading body wash, and he’s awake now, completely awake, and he strangely wants Cameron.
He takes a breath. “How’re you feeling?” he asks Eitan.
“Not well enough to drive, anyway. We didn’t even to go to the movies because I felt a bit nauseous; we went to Jade’s place and she ransacked her parent’s booze stash, you know, because they don’t care. So? What do you want me to do?”
Koby switches the phone to another hand and slips out of bed. His bedroom is the coldest in the house, so the goose bumps starts on his skin immediately as he slaps on a pair of pants and rummages for yesterday’s socks. “I’ll come,” he mutters, holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder. “I’ll drive him home, anyway, at least.”
“Koby,” Eitan says, and stops, that one word hanging on the connection between them, abrupt and sharp. Koby wonders what it means -- “Koby, don’t”? “Koby, are you okay?” “Koby, Cameron doesn’t like you at all, stop, stop, stop”? Koby’s fingers get caught in his belt buckle and he swears. Eitan says “Koby” again, this time softer, and then adds, “You don’t have to, you know.”
It’s times like this Koby suspects that when in Japan Eitan offered to sleep with Koby, it was not just a whim, or a fling that would disappear at the customs line, or an inexplicable sexual drive powered by the crowed neon lights that chased them down the streets. It's times like this Koby suspects that Eitan is just like Koby and just like Cameron, always wanting the impossible and always disappointed. It's times like this Koby wants to cry, maybe change his name, move to another town, and swear off sex forever, because everything was just so ridiculous and they were all ridiculous, and the best thing for all of them would be to give up.
"No," he answers, voice cracking without meaning to. "I don't have to." He throws on a sweater before putting the phone back against his mouth and saying, "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay." There's a sound like Eitan has let out all of his breath in one blow. A scuffle in the background, and Eitan has turned away to say sharply, "Not on the carpet you won't."
"Sorry," Koby says, and Eitan's voice is distant, coming in closer, like the touch of hot water on winter-burned hands, when he tells Koby there's nothing for him to apologize for. Koby closes his eyes, cradling the thin cell phone against his chin. "Thanks," he murmurs, hoping that Eitan can hear his smile.
Koby knows, though, that there's plenty. He could probably never apologize enough for all of them.
*
On the drive home Koby has the radio tuned to some late night channel playing horrible dance remixes that blend into one another. Cameron is silent except for the occasional guttural noise, not quite a prologue to hurling, but not very comforting either. Koby glances at him briefly -- no coat, thin long sleeved shirt, jeans, a scarf, surprisingly, hanging heavy alongside his neck. He sighs, rounds a corner sharply, and tells Cameron, "I'd roll down the windows so you can stick your head out, but I think you'd get a cold."
"Are you mad at me?" Cameron's voice is flat and unsteady. No kicked puppy, though, or that honeyed seduction he uses on Chloe and waitresses, which makes Koby feel oddly better, like he has some kind of hold or stand in this conversation.
But old habits are hard to kick, so he says, "Of course I'm not mad at you." He's stalling for time, or praying that Cameron won't realize how much of a lie this statement is. In the corner of his eye Koby can see Cameron staring at him. Cameron's face is pale, slightly flushed; Koby knows it so well he doesn't even have to look closely for the shape of the mouth, the smooth lines of Cameron's nose. There are no cars this late in suburban neighborhoods like theirs. Even though it's not silent, everything is so still and barren it smothers all the noise. Koby has this fantasy of them driving out to the coast, to the edge of the ocean, and just driving off and drowning.
"Well, something's wrong, and it's either that you're mad at me or you suddenly changed phone numbers."
"My phone number hasn't changed."
"Then you're mad at me."
"Cameron, I said I'm not mad at you."
"What did I do? Is it Chloe? Look, I'm really sorry about New Year's, I am, but you know how she is, she'd throw a fit -- "
"Cameron, it's not Chloe. It's not about New Year's." Koby slows his car down. They've reached Cameron's house. The holiday lights are still up, a ring of brilliant icicle lights around the porch, moving silhouettes of reindeer in the lawn. He shuts off the engine and lets his seatbelt roll back into the car. He gives Cameron a smile, a little on the shaky side, cold despite the sweater. "Come on. Stop being angry. I'll help you in."
"Oh fuck you, Koby," Cameron says. He sits up, jerking angrily at the seatbelt, fingers fumbling against the buckle. "This stupid crappy -- don't! I'll do it myself."
"Stop being ridiculous." Koby sighs out of frustration as Cameron pushes his hands away the second time. "Now you're mad at me because, what? I'm not telling you why you think I'm mad at you even though I said I'm not?"
"No!" Cameron slumps back in his seat, hunching his shoulders. Koby watches his eyes squint, focusing on the brightly lit house. "That's not it. It's just -- all of a sudden you stopped answering my calls and not talking to me and then even when I got drunk so that you would take me home -- "
"You got drunk so Eitan would call me to pick you up?" Dumfounded, Koby looks ahead too. He's stuck between wanting to laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea and maybe actually be angry at Cameron for being such a moron. He thinks to himself, 'Am I angry at Cameron?' Which morphs into the question, "Do I have the right to be angry at Cameron?" And then he realizes he's doing it again, that thing where he gives and Cameron takes without even realizing it, so he just stares ahead, hoping Cameron knows where to take this conversation.
Cameron smiles, mostly guilt and no mirth. "Sort of. Well, okay, it was also because Jade and Eitan were drinking too but -- you came, didn't you? I knew you would."
"I was sleeping."
Suddenly, it hits Koby like a punch in the stomach. It's not the drinking or Eitan or the New Year's party that Cameron's taking Chloe to. It's not the fact that Cameron and him had fought, it's not Eitan getting sick, it's not even Cameron being out with Eitan when Koby called. It's that Koby was sleeping, that Eitan called Koby because Cameron asked for Koby even when Eitan was there, it's that Koby came, it's that he came even though he didn't have to.
It's the reassurance he doesn't mean to give but does anyway.
Cameron looks at Koby quickly, confused. "Yeah, okay, I'm sorry. I should have thought about it."
"No, I didn't mean -- Cameron. I was sleeping. Eitan called. I came anyway." Koby watches Cameron get out of the car. Cameron holds the passenger door open and sticks his head in so he can watch Koby. His face is troubled, all wrinkles and almost frowns, the familiar furrow between his brow as he tries to puzzle out what's happening. Koby thinks of Chloe, of Cameron and Chloe's particular way of letting each other go, never butting heads or fighting over a sense of understanding, and Koby says to himself, 'This is a big mistake.'
"I don't get it," Cameron finally says.
"I know," Koby answers, smiling sadly. "That's why --"
He pauses, hand on the keys to the ignition. If Cameron were to ask him in, Koby realizes, he wouldn't refuse. If Cameron were to say "I'm sorry" again, melting his face from its stony uncertainty, its stranger-like detachment, the way Cameron's eyes focus on Koby's face like he's never seen it before, if Cameron were to get in the car and kiss Koby senseless like they sometimes would in the afternoons in the school parking lot when everyone else had left, if Cameron just tried again, Koby is sure he'd relent. He wants Cameron to make him regret it. It's a horribly selfish thing to do, using Cameron so unwittingly like that, forcing Cameron to make a decision he doesn't even realize he's making, but there's something bitter in Koby, something pent up and repressed, that wants to be the selfish one this time around. It's that entitlement thing that they've been avoiding, the other side of "give" that Koby never sees.
Still, he waits just a little, to give Cameron that chance. He chants in his head, ask me to come in. Ask me to stay the night. Ask me not to be mad at you. Kiss me. Need me. I won't try this ever again. I won't force you into this blind corner ever again. We can fuck and I'll forgive you, I swear.
Instead Cameron exhales in disgust and bewilderment. He closes the door with a sharp snap and walks away.
So Koby turns on the engine of the car and backs out of Cameron's driveway, pausing just a little to make sure Cameron doesn't stagger and knock his head against the sidewalk on the way to the door. Cameron doesn't. He doesn't turn around either, to watch Koby leave. He just walks straight up to the door, unlocks it, and disappears into the darkness of his house.
Koby winds his way through Cameron's neighborhood. Before he actually leaves the community, though, he pulls onto the side of the street. It's almost 3:30. Everything is pitch black except for the streetlamps that shine behind Koby, reflecting in his rearview mirror. Koby turns on the radio very loud, puts his forehead against the wheel, and starts crying.
He tells himself that this is a big mistake.
He also knows that it's probably the only thing he can do for himself now.
*
Koby arrives alone to Dylan's party, which is something he hasn’t done on a regular basis since freshman year. Yasmin is the first to wave at him when he steps in the door and deposits his coat on the customary couch. Koby waves back and waits as she squeezes through a few crowds to catch him. Offering him her drink, she starts off with, "How's your break going?" and blends perfectly into, "Why aren't you with Cameron and Chloe?"
"Is this, like, one of those personality tests in fashion magazines? If I say yes, it means this; if I say no, it means that?" Koby grins, returning her drink to her after taking a sip. Something fizzy and fruity, probably a wine cooler. It gives Koby a pleasant buzzing lightheadness, which Yasmin picks up immediately with a flirty smile.
"No, it's just to find out if you're here alone."
"Single and eligible, you know that."
"Like hell I do," Yasmin says, rolling her eyes. "Cam might as well have you on a leash with a label -- oh shit, is something wrong?" Yasmin asks abruptly, watching Koby's expression change.
Koby sighs and rubs his face. "What has he told you?"
"Nothing." Yasmin scans the crowd, her mouth set grimly. "Something felt off, is all. He walked in with his arms around Chloe's waist and everyone kept waiting for you to show up? But you didn't, and when other people asked where you were, he just shrugged."
"We kind of… fought."
"You?" True surprise in Yasmin's eyes and face. She flips her hair off her shoulder and purses her lips. Koby lets her give him a thorough visual examination before spinning around in mock-seriousness, like a model on a catwalk. "Koby, stop being an ass. I'm worried about you. Why did you and Cameron fight?"
"He thought I was mad at him."
"And were you?"
"A little."
"So then the argument was about…? The level of your anger?"
Koby takes her hand in his. He meets her eye, pressing against her palm firmly. "Yasmin. Can we not talk about this? It'll blow over, I swear, and I promise no one is going to start fighting or knocking each other out on the dance floor, okay?" A little smile at her, with his head cocked, something he learned from Cameron, and Yasmin lets up visibly. Koby relaxes too -- glad to avoid an awkward conversation, or at least stall it long enough - and takes her drink from her again. "So who else is here?"
"Oh! That reminds me." Yasmin points a manicured finger to Dylan's den, where some guys are playing a racing game on the big screen. There's a loud "Oooh!" from the crowd, which probably means someone got passed or was forced into crashing with great aplomb. "Eitan's over there. He's waiting for you. He told me to send you over as soon as you got here."
"What, you're his private maid now?"
"I’m a sucker for that face, you know?"
Koby waggles his eyebrow and gives Yasmin a peck on the cheek, calling out as he leaves, "You and everyone else."
*
Eitan and Koby spend the time finishing the racing game, and when everyone else has lost interest, Eitan challenges Koby to a personal game that ends with both of them playing dirty and engaging in a tickling war. Koby forfeits first, completely exhausted, and it's only then that Eitan drags him to where everyone's dancing in Dylan's basement.
The nice thing about being with Eitan is that no one asks about Cameron. Koby doesn't know if this is because Eitan always turns the conversation to other things, or if people just don't think about problems, like why Koby and Cameron are apart, when Eitan is around. He thinks maybe it's a little bit of both. Eitan doesn't mention Cameron at all, and his exhilaration, a mix of festive cheer and sugar high and alcohol kick, makes it impossible for Koby to be glum. Eitan's flirtier than usual; Koby's reminded of Japan all over again, the lights and the hot water of the bath, friendly sex and comfort with no strings attached. At one point Eitan has his arm around Koby's shoulder as he leans across to get a handful of chips. Leaning back, he brushes his lips under Koby's earlobe, a casual and invisible gesture, and laughing, Koby whispers, "Thank you," when no one else is listening, because he knows that was Eitan's way of making Koby feel better.
Koby doesn't realize it's almost 12 until Dylan snaps off the music so that from the TV, Dick Clark's voice can wheeze through the noise of the New York crowd who are also waiting for the ball to drop. Everyone is coupling off and waiting for the final seconds. For the first time that night, Koby sees Cameron, arms around Chloe's waist and whispering in her ear. Cameron looks the same as he always has, though Koby doesn't know why he expected Cameron to look different. Perfect hair, white teeth, a small personal smile as he brushes a strand of Chloe's blonde curled hair away.
It's only been a day since Koby drove Cameron home. Koby's been with Cameron for at least two years; he's had to build his own defenses, putting up walls and whittling tricks to keep himself from hurting too much. It's natural self-preservation, and Koby's pretty good at it so he's mentally prepared for the sharp pang he feels in his chest. But there's the difficulty breathing too, and the sudden blurred eyesight that Koby has to blink away, and just seeing Cameron makes Koby remember how Cameron would whisper in Koby's ear too, how that would make the darkness seem smaller, how Koby knows the shape and lines of Cameron's neck, the feel of his skin, and suddenly it's just too much. He looks for a place to sit down, to get away from everyone else.
There's an unoccupied couch in the corner that Koby makes his way towards before he hears Eitan calling his name. Eitan greets him with a glass of completely illegal champagne and a smile so vivid Koby swears it blocks out the light from the TV. Less than a minute to go before midnight. Someone starts counting down from 40 and everyone else joins in, making it hard to hear Eitan when he says, "I have something to ask you."
"What?" Koby yells, and Eitan moves in so close his cheek is pressing against Koby's.
"Come home with me."
"Are you serious?"
30, 29, 28, 27… Koby feels Eitan's hand come up, around his back to his shoulder, holding Koby close to him in a way only Cameron had before. Their champagne glasses are between them, untouched, cold and dangerous, but Eitan moves in even closer, mouth touching Koby's ear again as he says, "I'm very serious. I’m more serious than I ever have been before." His hand tightens on Koby's shoulder. Koby can smell Eitan's cologne -- spicier and stronger than Cameron's, a brown fragrance -- and Koby finds himself putting his nose to Eitan's neck, searching for it. Eitan is warm, so warm, and comfortable and familiar but not painfully so.
Eitan lowers his voice urgently, "I want you. No, that's not right-I mean-look, Koby, he's not right for you. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't even appreciate you. I do. I can be here for you. Start over, with me." Eitan wraps the other arm around Koby's neck. He's taller, but not that much, skinnier, even, than Koby. Eitan backs his head away, forcing Koby to look him in the eye. A darker and rounder face than Koby, and everything about him is different, but Koby thinks, not an unpleasant different, just a different, and Eitan understood balance, understood giving as much as taking, understood him, and hadn't he once thought about it, being with Eitan?
"I need you," Eitan says, and Koby feels his heart stopping. Eitan never stops looking at Koby as he finishes, "Please. Koby."
10, the people on the TV and in the basement start chanting. 9. 8. 7.
Koby draws in a breath shakily. He doesn't turn around. In the distance he knows Cameron is wrapped around Chloe, but he's not thinking about that as he says, "Okay."
"Okay?" Eitan asks, half in surprise but, Koby knows, mostly in relief.
"Okay," Koby says again, surprising himself by breaking out into a smile.
Everyone is shouting, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Someone -- Dylan, probably -- has thrown a handful of confetti into the air. A smattering of champagne glass sounds, the strains of Auld Lang Syne blaring from the TV, off-tune voices singing along. Eitan lets out a whoop and moves in for a kiss.
Koby closes his eyes, and does the same.
HAPPY NEW YEAR'S, EVERYONE (for the second time). ♥
(tell me in your comments who you think is the best for Koby and maybe I'll write something for Valentine's~!)
OMG IT IS FINALLY DONE. SO TIRED. I WASH MY HANDS OF IT.