And It Started Like This

Dipshit, I love you

A/N: Sorry in advance!!! 🤞✌

***

No, I can't take one more step towards you 'Cause all that's waiting is regret Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore You lost the love I loved the most

I learned to live, half alive And now you want me one more time...

***

"My, Gulf, you clean up real nice don't you?"

The greeting had come from behind him. Gulf's heart shot to his throat and his stomach knotted as if he'd taken a solid fist to the gut. He knew that voice all too well.

Bane.

Of course. He would, of course, be here. When you think about it, there's no reason for him to be anything but. After all, he'd been Mint's best buddy as well. Mint disliked a tiny self-respecting voice in his head for never bothering to at least warn him about it, give him a heads up, but he let it go. Fortunately, there wasn't anyone who could be held accountable in this situation. Except maybe a bitch's son, who lies and cheats.

"Bane," Gulf compelled to leave. As he turned to face the dreadful voice, he summoned every ounce of calmness he had. On his tongue, the name tasted horrible. "I wish I could say the same for you."

The man chortled. "Always the snarky one. I see you haven't changed."

Bane was a big man with a strong voice. With a strong back, wide shoulders, and narrow hips, he had the body of a swimmer. His pale brown hair, strands lank and drab against his skull, colorless, lifeless—much like his personality—was a better representation of the man he was.

Gulf couldn't figure out why he'd fallen in love with him, or how he'd fallen so deeply for him. Bane had managed to make him feel protected, respected, and loved at the moment, which he didn't understand now. They'd both been so young when they first met, and that's where Gulf now lays the majority of the blame for. He'd been naive and stupid, and he'd trusted too easily—too easily—in the past. When he looked back, he was certain that Bane's treachery wasn't the only one he'd committed. It should have been evident at the time that he'd been so blind.

"I've changed a lot, actually," Gulf retorted sharply. As the man worked at the booze rack, he peeked across the counter; the bartender's back was still turned away. To make a couple of cocktails, how long did it take you?

"And your band has been really successful, I see." It was as if Bane had forgotten that the last words they'd exchanged had been gut-wrecking screams, curses amid broken sobbing; as if he'd forgotten that the last words they'd uttered had been gut-wrenching cries. Gulf couldn't even look Bane in the eye because, when he did, Bane's hazel eyes reflected back at him, playing like moving pictures in his recollections of that night's events.

"Mmm," When the bartender returned and brought him his drinks, Gulf hummed nonchalantly, relief pouring over him. In his left hand, he concentrated on balancing the two Scotch tumblers while holding the Tequila shot in his right. I'm leaving now because he's turning.

"Wait."

As the hand reached his arm, Gulf practically recoiled; the weight of it was familiar, and the sensation of it was horribly familiar. Far from the grasp, he twisted away. "Don't touch me, Bane," he growled, his voice low in warning. He didn't want to draw any attention to his relationship with his ex. A scene from Bane was the last thing he needed.

"Gulf," Bane began slowly, taking a few hesitant steps forward in an attempt to narrow the gap between them. The only reason Gulf let the man to step so close was because he wanted to keep the exchange under wraps. He stood his position, cold and hard, gazing at Bane with scorn, without a smidgeon of pity or compassion in his gaze.