Sweet Revenge (m|m)

Thirteen - Aaron

Blake's green and tawny eyes are wide with surprise. Then a crooked grin stretches his mouth, catching adorably on his one snaggy tooth.

I know I just basically told him to fuck off until further notice, but I feel like that notice is already in the mail.

The thing is, until I sort my feelings out, it's not fair to either of us for this to go any further.

He waits while I shave and dress, and then we leave my apartment together and walk down the street to the little diner at the corner. I notice that he's still favoring his leg, and keep my pace deliberately slow.

The diner's always busy on the weekends, but we're lucky and get a small table near the back. I look over the menu, keeping my eyes off Blake with an effort. The memory of his lips on mine, and the promises in the hard strength and solid heat of his body, are making me warm, and it's too early for that kind of discomfort. I need something to distract me.

When the waitress comes by, I order the huevos rancheros, extra hot.

"You like hot stuff, huh?" Blake asks. He ordered waffles.

"When I'm in the mood," I shrug. "You don't?"

Inexplicably, he blushes. "No. I can't really endure it."

I can't figure out why he looks so embarrassed, and then I remember the 'hot truffle' I gave him.

Then I make myself another mental note to rethink that name.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I always ask people about the nuts, but I didn't even think about that. I'm sorry."

He lifts one shoulder. "It hurt, but I liked it."

A lady at the next booth turns to look at us. I replay our exchange in my mind, and my coffee goes down the wrong pipe.

When I'm done choking, I look up to find Blake watching me with that crooked grin. I can't help but return it.

Then I feel the smile slip slowly from my face, like paint washed away in the rain, and I look away.

I realize that what he did was out of fear, and what I did was out of thoughtlessness; his pain lasted minutes, and mine—if I'm honest—is still with me. But I also realize that both hurts were equally unintentional. 

When I look back up at him, I see that his smile is gone, too.

"I'm sorry," I say again, quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies, and I can see in his eyes he's right with me. "I know you didn't."

People hurt each other without meaning to all the time, and then they have to live with it. Holding it against them only keeps the wound open longer.

Not that people shouldn't be held accountable.

"The guy who hit you—the drunk driver—did you forgive him?" I ask.

He looks up at something about four feet above my head. "Yeah. Eventually," he says.

"What happened to him?"

His eyes drop back down to mine.

"He's in jail."

"Good," I say, and offer him a shadow of my earlier grin.

Then I tell him what he wants to know.

~

The day after I gave Blake and his team the fudge—Valentine's Day—I walk to school along my normal route. It takes me down an old track through the woods that comes out on the back of campus.