Fruitbat

10. 10

10

Danny

2:10 am

Ames nods. “Hey Danny.” She’s still soft spoken and her sweet face hasn’t aged a bit since high school. Neither of them have. I remember hearing about some wild car accident they were in, right after graduation.

“Hey.” I groan, dragging the six-pack of beer toward me, clinking glass bottles against each other.

“What have you been up to, man?” Grayden is still seeped in arrogance. Maybe I’m just triggered by my old nickname.

I’m not surprised these two are still together. He’s an asshole, but she was always infatuated, for some reason. I suppose Grayden’s confidence could be construed as attractive. His pale blue eyes, jet black hair and chiseled features help the cause. Ames could do better though. She was always kind and put others before herself. We might have been best friends had her choice in men been a bit more tasteful.

The cash register beeps as I scan the purchase. “Twelve seventy-eight.”

“Man, things are expensive now.” Grayden slaps a bill on the counter. “Hey, are you still writing?”

I’m surprised he remembers my hobby. But then, he used to tease me about it.

“Yep.” I brace for the snide remark that I know is coming.

The time he snatched my journal out of my hands, when we were about sixteen, and read an entry aloud in front of our entire social circle will always live in my mind. It just happened to be a page where I confessed filthy sexual fantasies involving our friend Bobby—outing me to everyone.

I was mortified and that was the moment he branded me “Fruitbat.” I didn’t realize its meaning until a few years later.

Bobby did end up being my first—everything—a few weeks after. So maybe I owe this prick a thank you?

“Good.” Grayden smiles. “You’re really good, you know?”

Huh? I wrinkle my face, “Do you want a bag?” Bye now.

“No.” Grayden chuckles. “It’s great seeing you.”

Maybe he has matured?

“Sure,” I grunt.

“Later, Fruitbat,” he says as he gathers the cardboard basket of beer with a wink and clinks toward the door.

My face singes .

“See ya around, Danny.” Ame’s warm eyes smile and she follows Grayden back into the night.

I slide the cash drawer against my hip, until it hitches shut.

“They seem nice.” Si floats around the counter.

“That guy was such an asshole.” I grumble. “Ame’s okay.”

“Why’d he call you Fruitbat?” Si’s eyes quirk and candied lips purse.

“I was the queer goth kid of our friend group, back in high school.”

He leans an elbow on the counter, hooking his thumb into the waistband of his jeans, hanging off his hip. The edge of his nipple barely peeks at me from under his slack collar, before he catches the shirt from falling off his shoulder.

My cotton tongue scratches my throat.

“It’s a cute name,” he beams.

“Ironically, it’s a slur, he might as well just call me a faggot.” My brows wing up, “it’s also a term to describe a loser,” I say, biting my lip.

“Oh.” Si looks stunned. “That’s—”

“I didn’t know at first.” I interrupt. “Honestly, I’m not sure Grayden knows what he’s saying. He’s not the brightest.” I chuck.

Si shrugs. “Own it. It’s still cute.” His grin lights up. “We are faggots after all.” He winks and twirls up on the ball of his foot, prancing toward the coffee bar. “And you’re not a loser.”

I smile so wide, my cheeks hurt.

I think he might be magic.