Strangers In The Night

6. 22 Hours, 46 Minutes Until It Ends

Ian darted around the lobby, suffocating in its chatter, a new onslaught of people waiting to check in or out. The line for the casual restaurant wrapped from the host stand, down the hall, and towards the steakhouse. Families passed with pool noodles and floaties, people with trailing luggage and suit bags. Everywhere, the air burned hotter, sticky as the temperature ticked closer to 100. He smirked as he excused himself through standing groups, shuffled around in the minuscule spaces available while swallowing his rage at his politeness.

"Ian." Bo reached for him without moving his feet. Despite this, his forehead still dripped with perspiration.

"Sorry. I-I know I'm late," he said, out of breath, red rings around his wrists where the Walmart bags once hung. Ian stepped in line with Bo, offering an apologizing expression to the people behind them. "I don't know what else is happening today besides the other two weddings, but God, it was awful trying to find parking. I-I thought I had time to run back to my room and drop off some stuff, and then I couldn't find you –"

"It's fine," Bo tried to whisper, though the sentiment was entirely lost in the noise. The anxiety in his stomach settled, relieved that he showed up. "Serves me right, though. I didn't make a reservation, and it's a summer weekend."

"But hey," he said, smiling. "A good spot in line, though. Right?"

Bo crossed his arms. "After standing in it for half an hour."

"Sorry. I – "

"It doesn't matter." It did. Ian showed up despite how many times he tried convincing himself that he wouldn't. It annoyed him in so many ways that this man held true to his word.

"Well, at least we're in line," Ian said, glancing towards the host station. "And we're close to the front, too. I'll call that a happy accident, huh?" Ian turned back to Bo to find his gray eyes fixed on him, his stare soft and confused and uncertain. His mouth dried. "Are you...okay?"

Bo nodded, saying nothing. His stare stayed fixed on him, gray and blue and swimming in melancholy and yearning.

Ian clenched his jaw, a trembling breath falling through his teeth. He started tracing his thumbs along the side of his fingers. "Hey, uh..."

Sounds were swallowed – by looks, noise, the heat, the movements – until everything hummed indiscernibly, a growl of the world moving around them. The line moved forward, and they moved with it, but it felt involuntary, numb to the motions. People faded into indistinguishable shapes, the world softening blotches of color. A cloak – heavy against their shoulders – fell on them.

Bo glanced away first. Rather, he forced himself to turn away first. He stepped into the vacant space in front of them. He could feel his ears burning hotter than the air around them, and wondered why this was happening to him now, of all times. That hole in him, the empty growing void, hummed softly in him, leaving Bo breathless, angry, terrified. His hands trembled against his sides, and he couldn't stand getting closer to this person. Bo's internal clock ticked down more and more.

Yet he ached, such an all-consuming feeling he wondered how people survived with it. The first taste of something bright red and sweet in so long hung on his tongue, and something in his chest held onto it like a frightened toddler. Possibilities and fantasies danced through his mind like how Bo imagined his music. He wouldn't let himself have it, no matter how overwhelming the feeling became.

"It's hot in here... isn't it?" Bo managed to say.

Ian's gaze dropped to the polished flagstone floor as they inched ever forward, eyeing Bo's hands with such intensity he had to look away out of fear of his stare being felt. Bo's face was such a deep shade of crimson that Ian wanted to ask if he felt all right. Thousands upon thousands of questions and comments pushed towards his lips, but he pressed them back. He wouldn't risk scaring Bo any more than he clearly was.

Yet it felt selfish, this want in him. This want was akin to when he was younger and starry-eyed, drawing buildings with the grace and proportions and restrained decadence of a classic movie starlet. Ian wanted to cocoon himself around Bo and forget the world existed for a second. Something in him ached to reach out, afraid of overstepping but growing too tired to care. Ian had never wanted to say so many things at once.

"Yeah," he forced out.

As the world came back into focus, and the two stepped forward, Bo pressed his hand over his chest, suddenly bothered by how close they were to the front of the line. Licking his lips, he drew in a wet, stagnant breath. His shoulders rolled forward, chin tipping down, eyes fixed on Ian. "Are you hungry?"