Sweet Revenge (m|m)

Fifteen - Aaron

I leave Blake in the diner and walk back to my apartment.

The way he'd looked at me as I told him my story had hurt. It wasn't pity I'd seen in his eyes though. It was exactly what I'd wanted to see: pain, remorse, understanding, and—if I dare be honest—maybe love.

I was in a lot of danger of feeling something similar. Blake in high school had stomped on my heart. Now it seemed like he was throwing his own at my feet. I don't want that kind of power, and it scares me a little to realize I have it over him.

So instead of think about it like an adult, I throw myself into my work, heart and soul, and do my best to ignore the fact that every time I gave them a chance, my thoughts turn straight to Blake.

When he smiles and waves from across the street, my heart beats a little faster, and I have to turn away quickly to keep my feet from carrying me right to him. When I hear his voice from the front of the shop, chatting with Kate, I picture his crooked smile and hazel eyes, and my batch of brittle burns. And at night, when I lay in my narrow bed, all I have to do is imagine that it's his hand on me and I'm done.

Three days before Valentine's Day and my shop is stocked to the brim, my entry for the tri-state chocolate competition is finished (a dark chocolate truffle with candied orange peel and a bourbon flavored center) and I'm exhausted.

I haven't been eating or sleeping well, and Kate makes sure to let me know it shows.

"You look like fucking Edward Scissorhands," she scolds, ignoring her own rule about swearing in the shop. "Minus the scars," she adds. "No one wants to buy candy from a guy who looks like he's been dead for a week."

She has a point. Fortunately, she looks good enough for both of us. She's taken to wearing outfits that look like they're inspired by someone's dirty dreams of Japanese schoolgirls, and I think about half the male clientele are repeat customers because of it.

"It's cosplay, Aaron," she tells me when I complain that blue hair extensions and tiny skirts are not appropriate work attire. "Haven't you heard of Sailor Moon? People love this shit. Lighten up. And take a goddamn break, will you?"

I try, but there's a Blake-sized weight on my heart, and the only thing that takes my mind off it is more work.

Finally, the day before Valentine's Day, I've had enough. Ignoring my feelings isn't working, and I decide that the only thing that's fair to both myself and Blake is to tell him the truth.

After all these years, after everything that happened and all that I've been through since, some things haven't changed; even when I'd hated him the most, he was still the boy who saved me that day on the field, still my gold-skinned crush, still my high school hero. And I still want him.

The very idea of admitting as much makes my hands tingle with anxiety, even though I think that this time he wants me just as much.

~♡~

Mid-afternoon is one of the quietest times for business during the workweek. People are still at their jobs, or picking kids up from school, so both Sweet Revenge and Ardent Cycles are almost empty. I leave Kate in charge of the shop and cross the street to Blake's store.

He's busy on his phone when I enter, but he looks up and I wave before turning and pretending to examine the bikes.

"Yes—yes, I'm sure," Blake says. "Is there a problem?"

He sounds a little strained, and I wonder if maybe I've come at a bad time. I decide to wait around anyway. It would be weird to have come over and then leave without even saying hi.

"Why now? The business is doing well. It's off to a great start. I don't understand," Blake is saying into his phone. He's looking down, leaning against the counter and scowling at the ground. "Listen, can't we discuss this in person?"

There's a pause, and I notice that Blake's whole body looks tense.

"Fine. I'll be there in an hour. No. There's no need for that. Yes. Thank you."

Blake ends the call and then swears, slamming his phone down on the counter hard enough I think he's probably lucky it's in one of those heavy-duty cases.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, coming over.

He heaves a breath and runs his hand through his streaky blond hair. "No. Not really. What can I do for you?"

"Um..." Baring your heart when the other person looks stressed to the point of breaking is usually a bad idea, so I stall. "I was wondering if we could talk... That is, if you have time."

"Actually, I don't," he says shortly. "I have more important things to deal with right now than your hang-ups from the past, Aaron. Like my fucking future."

"Oh." I swallow and take a step back. "Okay then."

I start to leave, and he calls out and comes around the counter. "Aaron, wait—I didn't mean that. I'm sorry."

"No," I say. "It's okay. I can tell you're upset about something. I'll come back... some other time."

He pauses and then laughs. It's a sound with a bitter edge. "Well don't take too long this time. I might not be here when you finally make up your damn mind."

I stare at him. This is not at all how I pictured this conversation going. Once again, it feels like Blake is taking what I have to offer and dropping it on the floor.

A look of pain crosses his face that seems to mirror what I'm feeling, but that I know my own face doesn't show. He runs his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Yeah. Me too," I say, and make my exit.

Blake hasn't hired any help yet, so he has to close the store. I watch from my side of the street as he puts a sign in the window, locks up, and drives off in his newly repaired truck.

When, or if, we speak again, he has some explaining to do.

The rest of the day passes in a sort of blue haze, and by evening, my mind is so tired from over-thinking everything from my latest recipe to Blake's unhappy expression, that it's caught on a loop like a broken record.

I don't like to, but I decide to take one of the pills my doctor gave me the last time I complained of insomnia. One way or another, Kate is right. I need a rest, and a good night's sleep—chemically assisted or not—seems like the best way to get one.