Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch. 2.1 Rockstar, Sewer Rat

Zef calls his dad back.

"I got the job."

"Wait— You're shitting me. But you said you didn't?"

"Well, I guess I didn't balls it up half as bad as I thought."

A moment of quiet on the other end and the smallest noise. Definitely a sniffle.

"Are you crying?"

A wobble in his dad's voice, "I'm just so damn proud of you, son."

"You helped."

"Listen." Some determined throat clearing. "You listen, that money I sent? You keep it, but you promise me you'll take that money out on the town and celebrate."

"Dad—"

"Not done! You deserve this. You worked so damn hard for it. Live a little and see the city. Maybe revisit old haunts from uni."

Zef doesn't really have those, unless you count study halls. "I don't know. Should save it, just in ca—"

"No! Listen to your old man. You're the hardest working man I know, and so talented, and you're gonna do great things. But you never let yourself have much fun."

"I don't even know where I'd go."

"Well, use that fancy McGuffin you planted in your head and find somewhere! Have a drink. Maybe pick up a nice boy—"

"DAD."

"Or a bad boy, but only if he's temporary! Only the best for you. I'm gonna hang up, but you'd better celebrate, you hear?"

Zef feels a sharp, keen tug in his breastbone. Maybe he's the age most grown men wouldn't want to go out drinking with their dad, but he is the first person Zef would choose to celebrate with. If Zef drank at all. "Okay. I'll try. For you."

"I appreciate it. All right, I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you, too."

The comm line drops. Zef looks at the half-emptied aircon unit and his dreary flat. His dad's dead right. No way to celebrate in this dump.

He doesn't even notice the bloodstain on his way out.

~***~

The Gilded Road attracts a certain kind of clientele. Primarily? Tattooed leather daddies, chain-smokers and drag queens. The odd criminal. And people like Zef who couldn't afford to go elsewhere.

It meets his needs though. Queer? Check. Affordable? Check. Filled with the sort of fags he'd like to one day fuck? Very check.

In the bayou, there weren't really gay bars. There was the car charging station on the hill where queers went dogging, and there was the diner owned by a crew cut lesbian with a sawed off shotgun behind the counter. Not that she needed it much anymore, but she said it worked to keep dickheads from poking their heads out of the cesspits they occupied.

So, The Gilded Road is Zef's first gay bar.

The interior has that French art nouveau thing going on, but in a gay, big city way. Lots of neon lights and pride flags. And the floor's all gold brick, like he's Dorothy on his way to Oz. The bathroom sink has faucets shaped like dicks. Zef ducks in to adjust his binder and see if the humidity made his hair marshmallow-in-a-microwave big. Luckily, it's fine. As he adjusts his curls, a burly guy comes over to wash his hands after using the urinals. Doesn't even blink at Zef's presence in the gents, and it's a special kind of moment. A helium balloon in the chest moment. One Zef earmarks to think about later. 'Cause he's used the gents for a while, even if he doesn't pass, and no one's told him not to. But he does get The Looks. The double takes. The 'oh, sorry, I thought this was the men's!' from blokes who saw Zef before they saw the urinals and toilet papered floor.