"So in addition to starting off being born as hideous worms that turn into such beautiful creatures, butterflies can also taste with their feet. How is that fair?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
"As humans, I must say we're the most useless species. We exist maybe for a blink in the entire universe's timeline and all we do is, what?" Raphael waves his cigarette around. "Pollute the air with smoke? Kill each other over pure fiction? We do nothing to preserve the creatures who actually deserve to be around."
"Babe, you roll out a new joint everyday."
"I'm aware it's highly hypocritical of me, but baby, that's why I have you," Raphael presses close to Jake and they exchange lazy kisses.
Jake hums. "What reason is that?"
"To keep me in check. See," Raphael holds up the cigarette. "Go on, take it. Put it out for me, you know I can't bear to do it myself."
More kisses. Sweet kisses. Fresh honey that falls and bends from the beehive.
They pull apart, but only slightly as it's chilling on the balcony.
Jake takes the cigarette, steals a puff before stubbing it against on of the stainless steal chairs they cram in the small space.
"I think you've had too much wine." Jake reaches for the nearly empty bottle and sets it as far away from Raphael as he can without moving his position.
"I don't believe that's possible."
"You gotta," he says. "That was our last bottle."
"Fuck. You sure?"
"Checked twice."
"Fuck."
Jake runs his fingers through Raphael's hair. "Why are we talking about butterflies?"
Raphael doesn't know. Is it because he saw one flitting by this morning on his way for a coffee? Did someone ask for it tattooed this afternoon? Or was that yesterday? Last week?
"Because we'll never, ever amount to anything as great as a single butterfly. And that fucks me up."
"Why?"
Raphael lifts his head from where it was resting against Jake's chest. "Because."
"Okay," Jake is more focused on brushing Raphael's hair back now, because fuck if he knows anything else that can calm him down.
"See?" Raphael's fingers are brushing along Jake's sides.
Jake doesn't see. Jake looks down and then up, and then to the building facing them. It's all red bricks, too. The window frames are black and the glass is thin and transparent. He can see different people in each one. There, someone is handling a violin. To their left, an unconventional dance for two. He can't hear the music, but he imagines it loud and up-beat. Or else they are terrible dancers.
Jake can recall moments of solitude, those that would reoccur before Raphael (Raphael, being a star point on his personal history). He recalls dances with strangers and sliding bodies. He wonders if he has truly changed as much as he thinks, or if this is simply one of those things. One of those things, like his previous lovers, like Nate, like high school friends or favorite albums long forgotten.
He wonders if that could ever be Raphael.
Meanwhile, Raphael who is encased in the glow of streetlights, and the lamp that's still on in the living room, his yellow hair forming a bright ring of light around his hair, thinks of everything but butterflies.
And so, this means, he thinks of the termination of matters. The end, and that's all folks! He feels Jake's cotton t-shirt against his cheek. Can something without a clear beginning ever have a distinct ending? Do things simply fade in transition?
He thinks, too, of the future. Is there anything he feels with greater fear? Perhaps losing his customers, the regulars, to be exact. The man with the blue hair, the lady with the ten thousand piercings, the quiet ones who hide his tattoos in secret places. He thinks he likes them best. He likes thinking about his art as being sacred, something to hide and reveal in intimacy.
He looks up and Jake is far, far away. He looks down at their joining hands. Every line on his hand is a dashed mark to count the years that remain. Years? Maybe months, or days, or hours and he has no idea. He has no idea.
"You okay?" Jake mumbles into his ear, pressing his lips just where his hair tickles his neck. "You're suddenly so quiet."
"I'm contemplating the ins and the outs." He pauses. "Does that sound sexual?"
Jake laughs. "Only to you."
"Only when I'm around you," and it's not even funny how to true that is, Raphael realizes. Because it's truer than true, and he still can't believe he means those things when he says them. Like when he whispers "I love you". Though, then, he never knows if Jake listens. He chooses the times when it is less likely so.
"Good."
Raphael's twisting to look at him now. "Really. I mean it."
"I know," Jake smiles. "You mean it. It's sweet as hell coming from you."
"Sweet?"
"Are you hungry?" Jake pushes him off gently.
"I'm always hungry. Why are you changing the subject?"
"Simply because the subject matter is overdue. We have to move on, Raph. I'm craving eggs."
"It's well past midnight."
"I don't see your argument. Especially considering you've begged me for this three times this week already and it's only just Tuesday."
Raphael follows him into the kitchen.
"If you keep looking at me this way I won't get anything done," Jake says, glancing over at him from the fridge.
"I'm angry at you."
"You want to rip my jeans off and leave them on the couch so your clients see them first thing in the morning, and know exactly what we've been up to."
Raphael crosses his arms over his chest. "I hate you."
"You love me so mu-u-uch." Jake sings into the wooden spatula. Raphael thinks he looks like a man who's lost his marbles.
"You're old and you have a boring job."
"You're old and you think you're still young."
"Ow."
Jake laughs, slides over to kiss him on each cheek. "I'm sorry."
Raphael holds him now, he's got him where he wants him. "Jeans on the couch?"
"Eggs first." Jake shuts his eyes.
"I don't know about that."
Um
it's short and it sucks and it's uneventful but it's something and im bored and procrastinating
soo voilà!!
xx
