“I’m not allergic to anything except social situations, but I really don’t want anyone buying stuff for me when I can afford to get it myself. I don’t cook because I don’t really have time. It’s kind of an art and I’m no artist.”
As they were pulling up to his apartment, his heart started thumping again. He dawdled, getting his bike out of the back of the truck with care and precision so that he could stall for time, and then there was nothing left but to lean in the window and say, “So… you can come up for the drink if you want.”
Because he’d rather die of humiliation than be rude. He was raised better than that.
The apartment was on the second floor of a two-story building, with a store underneath it. He liked it because it was close to the clinic, quiet, and a relatively good size for a one-bedroom. He chained his bike to the staircase outside, then climbed the steps to his front door, unlocking it and waving Jack inside.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said.
The apartment was spacious with the kitchen to the right of the doorway, and a vintage turntable on the left. In front of them wash his living room where bookshelves lined the right wall and windows lined the back wall. He’d left the television on, casting a blueish light to the dark room. Off to the left was the short hall to his bedroom and adjoined bath. He’d decorated relatively sparsely aside from the bookshelves which were crammed full of books, with modern, light-wood furniture and a few fake plants. Other than the the empty pizza box on the kitchen island/bar area, the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, and the blanket tossed over the arm of the couch where he’d fallen asleep last night, the place was absolutely immaculate.
“So, what’ll it be? I have wine, beer, and gin. Pick your poison.”
Jack had already known that he was going to spend a good chunk of time doing all he could to take in Theo’s apartment, but, just like the man himself, the real thing was nothing compared to what he had imagined.
It was difficult to tell where to look first. The plants were fake, which seemed a lot less surprising when he remembered how much of Theo’s time was eaten up already. It wasn’t as if trying to bring over flowers from the farm wouldn’t have been entirely too forwarded anyway.
He was a little too skittish to touch the turntable, afraid of somehow touching the wrong thing or hurting one of the records, but, God, if he didn’t love the thing. The books would have been a safer bet to touch, trying to see what titles were actually there, but he was distracted by Theo’s question.
And, to be entirely honest, the cigarettes on the coffee table, which reminded him of some of his wilder teen years and, at the same time, made it all seem entirely unfair to apply to Theo.
“Beer’s fine.” He braced his forearms against the counter as he leaned over, not entirely able to push away the urge to stay close. “But if this is your version of messy I think I get why you stay away from the farm. That place is a horror show by comparison.”
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