Fall for You, page 8
God, that session in the corn maze was hot. Patrick fighting to keep control as he melted under Spencer’s touch, whispering his name in begging gasps. It was a memory Spencer cashed at the spank bank multiple times this week. Good thing he didn’t break his hand.
Spencer and Ryan settled on a gathering at Spencer’s apartment tonight. Ryan, ever the dutiful friend who liked to be in control, took the lead in texting their friends. Spencer went to text Patrick, and again, his thumb hovered.
Was this all in his head?
Where had things gone sour? They had an amazing, for-the-record-books day in Wisconsin, and now Spencer was jerking off in his apartment alone.
Were things sour? Was Patrick really that busy with work or was he blowing him off?
This was why Spencer didn’t fuck with relationships. Because anything remotely serious fucked with your head. He shouldn’t have talked about the fucking pumpkin carving and other shit he wanted to do with Patrick. That was too couple-y. It was now clear that Patrick just wanted to have fun. That’s what Spencer was all about, too.
Right?
He stopped when he reached the stairs up to the Roosevelt El stop, his thoughts traveling back to all the times Patrick cleared a path for him during their commute, making him feel like the El was their own private shuttle service. All the times they squeezed in close on crowded cars, Patrick looking up at him with those gleaming green eyes. And all the times Spencer slipped his fingers through his when nobody was looking.
Oh shit. I’ve gone mushy. I’m mushier than cooked butternut squash seasoned with thyme.
Fuck. And I’m thinking in fall metaphors.
Patrick had taken over his brain.
He didn’t want to lose Patrick as a friend, as a presence in his life. So he had to reel it in.
“A toast to Spencer and his fully functioning foot.” Ryan raised his beer in the air.
“To feet!” Another partygoer yelled out.
The other guys and gals in Spencer’s apartment yelled out cheers and air clinked their drinks with Spencer.
He snorted a laugh from the couch. For extra effect, he wore flip-flops and shorts to show off how pale his right ankle was after three months away from daylight. It was like some creepy before-and-after.
Spencer relished having a packed apartment full of friends he had barely seen these past few months. It proved hard to go out to bars with crutches. They caught each other up on work and groused about the status of the Cubs and Bears. It all felt strangely adult and reminded him of conversations his parents had with their friends.
But there was one person missing from the fray. Spencer had texted Patrick an invite, and Patrick said he would be there. An hour into the party, and no sign of him. Spencer was tempted to go across the hall and knock on his door, but he was afraid he’d find Patrick hanging out with no intention of coming over. He might’ve been surrounded by friends, but without Patrick here, he felt a sting of loneliness.
Ryan squeezed through the partygoers to join Spencer on the couch just as he was getting up.
“I’m going to get another beer,” Spencer said, holding up his empty bottle.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“Nah, man. I’ve waited three months to do stuff on my own.” He clapped Ryan on the shoulder and ventured into the kitchen.
Spencer weaved through people, appreciating the dexterity he now had with both feet working. He pulled open the fridge, which was overflowing with craft beer and La Croix. In the back of the fridge was a carton of apple cider he’d gotten from the farm in Wisconsin. He thought about Patrick’s face turning when he tasted it. He loved fall, he loved apples, he loved warm beverages, but he hated apple cider. It was an anti-venn diagram.
“Are you hot?” Ryan asked behind him. “We can open a window.”
Spencer took a beer and shut the fridge. “I’m good. Just deciding on what to drink.”
“It’s not too late to sign up for flag football,” Ryan said. “The season only started last week.”
In addition to volleyball, Chicago also had a gay flag football league. They had a gay league for nearly any sport, including badminton. Spencer had considered joining it for a hot second since he liked tennis, but he couldn’t play a game where he’d have to say shuttlecock with a straight face.
“I’ll think about it. I’m in physical therapy this month, so I don’t know if I should be risking playing football.”
“It’s flag football.”
“I know some of the guys in that league. They don’t play like it’s flag football.” Spencer walked back to the living room in hopes of getting others to follow. Like most gatherings, people seemed to find themselves squished in the kitchen closest to the alcohol. He needed cooler air by the living room, which benefited most from the apartment’s cross breeze.
He looked to the front door. No sign of Patrick.
Spencer supposed he didn’t have to show up. He lived across the hall and could celebrate the cast removal whenever he wanted. But the more Spencer thought about it, the more he wanted Patrick here to celebrate with him. It was odd celebrating without Patrick, a big gaping hole in the festivities.
“What’s this?” Marnie, one of Spencer’s friends who didn’t know he had hooked up with her gay best friend once upon a time, picked up a deep burnt orange unlit candle on the window sill. “Spencer, I didn’t know you were into candles.”
Falling Leaves.
The candle Patrick gave him. He held it up to his nose; vivid memories of their time at Yankee Candle flooded his mind. Where was Patrick? Spencer felt a thrasher plow over his heart.
“It smelled nice.” He shrugged, remembering Patrick doing an analytical deep dive on the floor of Yankee Candle.
“Did your neighbor give this to you?” Ryan came over and plopped on the couch.
“He suggested the scent. And I like it. It does smell like falling leaves.” Patrick could articulate the reason behind the candle better than he could, so where was he?
Spencer pulled out his phone, about to text him, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t going to do the desperate thing and act like some boyfriend who got stood up. He was not the mushy type. Even though his insides were crumbling. Even though the memories of their fall day and watching fall-designated movies together and people watching on their commute lanced his heart.
Don’t be mushy, he told himself. They weren’t in a relationship. Therefore, there was nothing to be hurt over. Spencer had sworn off relationships for exactly this reason, but now here he was feeling exposed and bruised over something that was not a relationship.
Twenty minutes later, Patrick finally arrived. Spencer was back in the kitchen having another beer and talking with Ryan and some of his volleyball teammates. He saw Patrick down the hall, and his heart did a quick somersault before he locked it down.
He glanced at Patrick as he came into the kitchen and gave his neighbor a quick nod of acknowledgement then turned back to his friends, something impersonal you would give to an acquaintance you passed on the street. He remained in place as his teammate Marshall went on about his strategies for Call of Duty, pretending to be interested.
Patrick squeezed between people and scooted around Ryan, who made room for him in their circle. He wore a navy v-neck sweater that hugged his chest and torso in all the right ways, but Spencer forced himself to avert his eyes.
“Hey. Nice foot,” Patrick said.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Sorry I’m late. I had to finish up case work when I got home.”
Spencer shrugged. “No worries. Come whenever. There’s beer and other good stuff in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Um, cool.” Patrick stood there for an awkward extra second before heading to the fridge behind them; it took all of Spencer’s willpower not to pull him into his arms and plant a big, fat kiss on him. That was obviously not what Patrick wanted, and Spencer wasn’t going to be a sad, little puppy dog about things.
“Dude, I am so glad to have you back in action.” Marshall smacked his chest, something he did with every guy for emphasis. Spencer wasn’t sure how he held conversations with the opposite sex. “You gotta come out with us this week to the bars. Because it’s still warm out, Sidetracks has kept its outdoor section open.”
“This weather has been great,” Ryan said. “They’re saying it could hit seventy on Wednesday. We should corral the guys for a volleyball game. I think the nets might still be up.”
“Or maybe even play some pick-up basketball.”
Ryan and Marshall went back and forth with activity ideas, and Spencer couldn’t deny he was excited by what he was able to do. All the things he’d missed out on over the summer were in his grasp. He didn’t glance over his shoulder, but he knew Patrick was still there and probably hating the weather talk. October always had warm spells, one final hurrah before the cold settled in.
“What’s been up with this weather?” Patrick asked when he rejoined their group. Spencer caught a whiff of his cologne, which scrambled his circuits. “Why has it been so warm?”
“Aren’t you hot with that sweater on?” Marshall asked. Patrick was the only one not in short sleeves.
“It’s October. I can’t not wear a sweater.”
Spencer sputtered out a laugh, finding Patrick’s earnestness incredibly endearing.
“There’s always a warm spell in October,” Spencer said. “Usually only lasts a few days. The last hurrah before the cold officially takes over.”
“I don’t know, man,” Ryan said. “Remember last year? It was warm for most of the month. I remember going to a concert at Millennium Park, and it was full sun.”
“That would be awesome,” Marshall said.
“That would be climate change in full force,” Patrick said. “I really hope October isn’t like that. It’s prime fall season.”
Spencer’s friends traded a look with each other.
“We’ll bring jackets to the football game on Saturday just in case,” Ryan said.
“Football game?” Patrick asked, head cocked to the side.
“Spencer and I are going to a Northwestern game this Saturday. Neither of us went there, but we can’t afford Bears tickets, so it’s the next best thing.”
“Oh.” Patrick looked at Spencer as if he were going to say something. “I thought PumpkinFest was Saturday. You said you wanted to go.”
The guys shifted their eyes to Spencer. Patrick did, too, for completely different reasons. He felt himself turn roasted beet red.
“I didn’t know you were going to that,” Ryan said. “That’s cool.”
“You should go to the game,” Patrick said before Spencer could speak up, a trace of ice in his voice.
“You sure?” Spencer croaked out, heart in his throat.
“Yeah. It’s just a fall festival. And like Ryan said, it’s going to be warm anyway. The game should be fun.”
“It should be a good game. They’re playing Ohio State,” Ryan said. “The last time Northwestern beat Ohio State, the stadium got so hyped a kid had a heart attack!”
“Nobody’s died of a heart attack at PumpkinFest,” Patrick said with a tight smile. He took another sip of his beer and clapped Spencer on the shoulder in the most dudebro, friends-only fashion of all time that knocked the wind out of him. “I have to finish up this report for work. Congratulations on getting the cast off, Spencer. I’m glad you can return to your old life.”
Patrick waved goodbye to the guys. He squeezed out of the kitchen and, to Spencer, out of his life.
8
Patrick
Patrick’s report for work consisted of sitting on his couch and watching The Sixth Sense, an ideal movie to bridge the October gap between fall and Halloween. A little bit of scares, a little bit of autumnal ambience. But sorry Haley Joel Osment, he just couldn’t get into the film.
He kept staring at his front door and the dull hum of Spencer’s party on the other side. He’d spent all day debating whether or not to show up. The party was not only a celebration of Spencer getting his cast off, but a return to his old life, one that didn’t include Patrick. He had his big group of friends, his sports leagues, and random hookups with guys he met at bars and online. He had taken a break from that because of his fall, but it wasn’t permanent.
Of course Spencer the volleyball bro didn’t want to attend PumpkinFest. His excitement about the event wasn’t real: it was him being nice to the guy helping him get on the train and get off in bed.
So what if Patrick liked him? He was a fun distraction to Spencer, and he couldn’t risk putting himself out there only to have his heart broken again. He had been in it with GFA, gave himself completely, only to have the rug pulled out from under him. And even though he’d known Spencer for a fraction of the time he knew GFA, his feelings felt stronger.
Eventually, the party noises got quieter until there was silence, like a candle burning to its ends. Patrick went to bed. Not to sleep. He stared at his ceiling for fifty-six minutes - he kept looking over at his clock to check.
He needed fresh air, something to clear his mind of Spencer. Patrick crept past Spencer’s door to the ladder for roof access. True to Ryan’s word, it was a balmy night. Somewhere in the sixties. A cool breeze that smelled like remnants of summer slipped through his hair. Sure, it was nice being able to stand up here not freezing his ass off, he admitted to himself. Patrick looked left to the skyscrapers of the Loop glowing in the distance, and the dark expanse of the Lake in front of him. Even though the weather wasn’t quite what he wanted, he was still glad to be here, grateful to have escaped from Los Angeles and the bad memories it held.
“Hey.”
Patrick turned around. Spencer stood in silhouette against the yellow glow of the city, his tall, muscular frame making Patrick’s head all fuzzy.
“I forgot you know about the roof access.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell our neighbors downstairs.”
God, he looked good. Stubble the perfect length. Still in his clothes from the party, a button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and khaki shorts, like he just stepped off a yacht.
“It’s a beautiful city,” Spencer said, looking toward the Loop. “All because a cow knocked over a lamp.”
Patrick had heard the tale of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, who kicked over a lamp in the late 1800s and inadvertently burned Chicago to the ground. In its wake, architects from all the world flocked to the city to rebuild it into an architectural marvel. Patrick had moved to Chicago for the same reason - to burn down the memories of the past and rebuild himself new. But he felt like he was making the same mistakes all over again.
Spencer came closer. Patrick could feel a wall between them, yet the moment also vibrated with intimacy at the same time. His head was a jumble of clashing feelings.
“Congrats on getting the cast off,” he said.
“Thanks.” He looked down at his foot and wiggled it around for show. When he glanced back up at Patrick, he was completely serious. “I have a question. Did I do something?”
Patrick’s throat turned to sandpaper. “What do you mean?”
“I feel like things have...ever since I got my cast off, I feel like you’ve been acting kind of weird.”
“Aren’t I weird? That’s what you and Ryan said right on this roof a few months ago.”
“A different kind. I thought you were going to be at the party.”
“I told you. I had that thing for work.” A bolt of guilt struck Patrick. He hated lying, and he hated bad lies even more. What did it matter anyway? When he got to the party, Spencer paid him little attention.
“I’ll totally go to PumpkinFest with you. I still want to go...” His clipped tone said otherwise.
“No, it’s really okay. You should go to the game. It’s going to be wild, it sounds like.”
“Ryan asked me if I wanted to go to the game, and we haven’t really seen each other this week, so I thought…”
He trailed off, but his train of thought wasn’t over. Patrick might’ve been avoiding him, but it was a form of self-protection.
And maybe a misguided one.
Maybe he was pushing Spencer away too fast. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. Spencer licked his lips, and they glistened in the glow of the city. They were begging to be kissed.
I like you, Spencer.
Fuck, why was that so hard to say?
“I feel like you…” Spencer struggled with his words. “I feel like you don’t want to be friends.”
Friends.
The word was a kick in the nuts, a punch in the gut, and a slap in the face all at once. He didn’t know friends cuddled on the couch together to watch movies, or kissed each other good night, or jerked each other off in fucking corn fields. This whole time, all these months spent together, and it only amounted to friends?
Patrick didn’t want to be friends. He wanted more with Spencer.
It was worse than a rejection.
“You’re right. I don’t.” Patrick walked past him, getting one final close-up look at that sweet face, one final smell of that Spencer scent.
He left him alone on the roof, went back to his apartment, and found Tylenol PM in the back of his medicine cabinet. He wasn’t going to spend all night thinking about Spencer; his heart could break while he slept.
Patrick had an answer. His decision to stay away from his neighbor had been the right one. It was his fault for letting himself fall for Spencer, for opening his heart up to the dangerous idea that they were anything of substance. The hurt shattered his insides like a baseball bat in an antique store. He had learned this lesson once before with GFA, and the rejection felt even worse this time around.
It was a fall fling. Didn’t mean a thing.
October
a.k.a. Prime Time Fall
9
Patrick
