Whatever's Next

They’re 10 minutes from DCA and Elva, who’s driving is arguing with herself. “...and what sucks about that, is that nothing can be done. Really, nothing can be done – we’ve essentially enslaved an entire species and it’s so ingrained in our culture that we can’t reverse it. Not even my girlfriend cares.” 

“Yeah,” Lucas chimes from the backseat, half listening, Huey assumes. He can’t see him from the passenger seat – he’s busy trying to seem unbothered. He’s failing, he thinks, because his knee is shaking and his hands are clammy. “You’re right but…a snake would be hard.”

Shaking her head indignantly, “No.”

“I agree with you I think it’s fucked up, but–”

“--But it sucks–”

“--yes it sucks that it’s irreversible, and it’s slavery, but…I would love a pet python.”

“Huey.” Elva slows to a red light, and Huey straightens himself turning to face her, “You’re quiet.”

“He’s always quiet.”

Elva runs a hand through her hair; curly, moppish and bright red, “Because we’re always talking.” She eases onto the gas as the light blares green. “We’re almost there,” She sings, gesturing with her head to her phone on its mount and the Apple Maps that are open. “Five minutes left.”

Huey exhales, feeling his shoulders lower as they do, “Yeah.”

“Do you know if he’s landed yet?” 

“I think…” He glances at his phone, though he knows. “He should be landing at 12:40.” 

“So…” Elva checks her phone. “Now.”

“Yeah,” Huey nods. “Now.” There’s a silence that follows, one that Huey knows they’ve left for him to fill, but he doesn’t know how to explain himself. To admit that his nerves feel more like anxiety which feel a little like excitement and that it all bridges on fear. “Well.”

“Well?” Elva smiles encouragingly, reaching across the dashboard and squeezing his shoulder. “Are you nervous?”

“Of course he is.” Lucas adds.

“I am.” Huey agrees. “And scared.”

Elva’s hand stays. “You have nothing to be scared of.”

“And it’s only a week.” Lucas cuts in. They pull up to the arrivals, and Elva parks. “Or, really a weekend. You’ll have the rest of the week to debrief or heal. Depending on how it goes.”

“Right,” Huey nods, opening his door and letting in a gust of icy wind. “Just a weekend.”

“Remember that he’s your friend.” Lucas adds, poking his head around the left side of the now empty passenger seat. “Not just your lover.” Huey closes his door.

Though it was March, winter was taking her time. Each day in the district challenged the former with biting winds that left you in tears if you were outside for more than 10 minutes, and though Huey was bundled in a full puffer coat and scarf he still felt the hairs on his arm standing on end. Yet the dry skin and tear-spotted vision were easier to ignore than the irregularity of his heartbeat or the clenching of his jaw, or the distance shortening between himself and the only person that could cause all of these things at once. 

Chris had come to one band concert in high school, it was Huey’s sophomore saxophone recital and by the time of the performance he had the entire sheet music memorized. There were the standing ovations, the affirming compliments from his family and his friends' family, and then, after he’d helped wheel the piano back, there was Chris.

“You were…” Huey ignored him at first, locking the piano in place and moving to leave, but Chris was smiling kindly. “Incredible.” 

They were in the hallway that led from the bandroom to the cafeteria, where his parents were waiting, and Huey was taken enough aback by his courtesy to halt. There was the smile too, the one that he was captivated by, and would be for months and years after. “Thank you.” He’d kept walking, there was nothing else to say, but he would remember the pride he’d felt from his praise. 

From there, greetings in the hallway broke the ice enough for Huey to feel comfortable asking to join Chris’s team in algebra when his partner caught mono. Then they were working together after school, but the work was spliced between Chris showing him soccer tricks in Huey’s driveway during brisk fall afternoons, or episodes of Community in Chris’s basement during snow days, or teaching Chris how to play Careless Whisper over spring break, right before he gave it up – but never feeling bad about the time and effort it had absorbed in his life, because it had him taught him what it felt to pour yourself into something. And how seamlessly something could become someone.

Being around Chris was like kicking off your shoes and walking around barefoot, so in hindsight, he had probably always liked him. Athletic prowess like Chris’s made one popular at their school, yet Huey never felt like a side character in his life. It was always Huey and Chris – in any class they shared, walking together through the hallways, weekly lunches when they were both tired of their respective friend groups. They lived different lives, especially while Huey kept up saxophone, but for every class they had apart or activity the other wasn’t attending they’d find a way to make up for it. Nights on Chris’s kitchen counter, after school homework sessions on their stomachs on Huey’s comforter, Huey sneaking out of his house in his pajamas and Baja blasts in Chris’s Chevy caprice at 2am, then driving down backroads with only the fireflies for company and the entirety of "Flowerboy" in the speakers; in their throats; at his fingertips. 

In December of their junior year they kissed like lovers in Chris’s basement on the couch where Chris first showed Huey how to play Call of Duty. It was also the couch they’d pulled an all-nighter and watched every Avengers movie from start to finish. Huey had woken up the next day at 5:00 pm with Chris’s cheek on his chest and his arm over his side. He’d thought the pounding of his heart would’ve woken him but it didn't, he just kept releasing snore after snore of breaths so slight they tickled, and all Huey could think to do was to commit the softness of his cheeks mid-slumber to memory. They’d also taken edibles there that they’d bought from a sophomore their senior year. It was Huey’s first time getting high, and he’d laughed so hard that night that he peed himself, then got self conscious and so anxious that he threw up on the carpet. Chris, even in his stupor, had cleaned it up and did his best to subdue Huey’s insistent apologies, but the next morning Huey had felt so bad that he made his family breakfast – pancakes that Chris’s dad had praised. And in December, right on that couch, Chris had leaned forward, kissed him, held it, and set Huey on fire. 

Chris went to school in California and Huey was in D.C. so they’d left the weekend after but what followed was radio silence that left Huey wondering if it had really happened, if he had daydreamed the entire experience. Then he’d recall it all – Chris’s heat, the shuffling of hands, the terror laced with thrill – and he’d check his phone, waiting and wondering what could make someone go quiet after something so extraordinary. There was, of course, a three hour time difference – plus junior year was the hardest year of college. So it continued until February, right after Valentine's Day, when Chris FaceTimed him. 

​

“I’m staying in D.C.” He’d told Chris when he asked about Huey’s spring break plans on a random FaceTime call, trying to control the tone of his voice. Chris had grown his hair, almost to his shoulders. They hung like pendants, bumping each other when he moved, swallowing the sun and reflecting it back on his jaw, tracing up his cheekbones. Or maybe that was Huey, ogling. “Why?”

“What if I came to visit?” Chris asked casually. 

There was an astounded silence. Then, again, “Why?” It was the best he could come up with. He wasn’t used to being upset with him. Chris was always level headed and honest, Huey was the one who had to apologize or to backpedal. But the roles were reversed and it felt as unsatisfying as it was unfamiliar. 

“We haven’t seen each other in forever.” He’d said nonchalantly, as if there wasn’t a reason for this. As if this call alone wasn’t exemplary of how easy it would’ve been to hear from him at any point in January. Or before right now. “I haven’t seen you in forever. I hate that.”

“You could’ve texted back.” Huey couldn’t help it, he had to be snarky. And Chris deserved it. He didn’t get to call him up out of nowhere, glowy and unbothered, and not get to feel a little like shit. He could feel his face reddening as he continued, the memory of what he’d said glaring back at him like a billboard. “I texted you after break. Around New Years. And you said nothing.” 

“I’m sorry.” He’d owned it so quickly Huey expected a laugh to cut the tension. But he didn’t. His face was stern, solid, like it had been on that couch in December. He had meant every word on that couch. “Shit got…” Chris swallowed. “Shit got kinda hard in January. And I stopped talking to people. But I want to make it up to you.” His lips gently turned upward, the softest smile evident through the call. “I want to see you.”

Maybe it was that fucking smile he was so accustomed to craving, or the memory of that couch, but Huey believed him. He believed that Chris was sorry, and that Chris wanted to see him, even after the kiss and the month long silence. So he’d agreed to let him visit over spring break, and ignored the nagging thought that something would come up, that he would cancel last minute or worse – ghost him again. But he’d sent flight confirmation texts, and screenshots of things he wanted to do while he came, and Huey had let himself get excited about all of the places in D.C. he would show him. And all of the conversations they would have. And all of the things they would do. Together. Just them.

​

Huey’s phone buzzed in the pocket of his jeans. Huey swallowed back the thickness in his throat, “Waddupppp?” Silence. He coughed, as if that would redact what he’d said. “Yeah, hey, you here?”

“Yo! I just got my bag by door…six?” 

Huey looks around, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m right outside six! If you come right out–”

Chris hung up, but once Huey turns around he understands exactly why. Chris is jogging towards him with a suitcase in one hand, the automatic doors closing behind him, and then he’s right there (right there!), hugging Huey. Fully hugging him, one arm around his shoulders and the other around his waist and his cheek against Huey’s cheek and Huey isn’t sure what to do but he yelps. Chris feels like sunlight is trapped in his chest, and Huey lets the shock of being taken aback subside as his arms wrap themselves around Chris almost instinctively. Chris lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh of relief, and Huey feels himself do the same, before he’s actually laughing, the tightness in his chest lightening. Chris is laughing too, and soon they’re guffawing outside of the airport, arms wrapped around backs and necks, bodies relaxing into the curves of the other. 

They stay like that for what feels a lot longer than usual hugs last, and Huey releases him, because the desire to see Chris in the flesh beats the contentedness of staying in his embrace. He takes a step back so that he can see all of him, and feels the tightness return. Chris’s locs are cleanly parted at the scalp and neatly retwisted, ending at the base of his neck right above his shoulders. He’s also leaner, Huey can tell by the angles in his face that have sharpened since December, and tanner. He looks intentionally west coast in white and brown New Balances, baggy black cargo pants, a sherpa coat with pandas sketched onto it and a dark green puffer vest. Of course he has layered necklaces. And a silver hoop in his left ear. 

“So yeah.” Huey coughs, dumbly, dizzy with attraction. “You made it safe!” 

“Yeah,” Chris laughs, his eyes roaming up and down Huey’s body. Huey stiffens, and Chris reaches up to the top of his head. “I like this.” He says softly, the pads of his fingers flicking across his curls. 

He swallows, but can’t help but smile. If it weren’t 30 degrees he’d be blushing. Or maybe it is and his face is so frozen that he can’t feel it.

Chris, Huey decided after switching seats with Lucas in the car and studying him, has changed since winter break. There’s a quiet confidence to him – it’s evident in his easy smile, in the casual way he lounged, in the eye contact he would hold when Huey spoke to him. He decides, unwillingly, that it’s attractive and radiates self assurance that Huey can’t help but want to inhale, deeply and hold in his throat and his chest until it burns.

“How long was the flight?” Elva asks from the front, glancing at Chris through the rearview.

“About an hour.” Chris tells her, smiling politely. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waves off, “You’re important to Huey and it’s just easier this way. In fact we barely use the car as is so it’s full of gas. Maybe now that you’re here we’ll start zoomin’ around.”

Chris looks to Huey, “You guys don’t drive here?” Huey shakes his head. “Is it like New York?”

“Some Uber drivers say it’s worse, actually.” Huey told him. “There’s so many one ways so it’s super confusing.”

“Unless you’re going through Virginia or something.” Lucas chimes in. “Which y’all probably won’t do.”

“You never know.” Elva shrugs. “There’s good thrifting out there, better than D.C.”

“And good food.” Huey adds, “Korean Barbecue–”

“Fuck yes.” Chris squeezes his arm, it goes straight to his heart. “I’m down for whatever, seriously.”

Elva and Lucas drop them off and as they enter their townhome, Huey gazes around as if really looking at it for the first time. He tries to see it through Chris’s eyes, tries to imagine the unfamiliarity of the people in the photos on the walls, the Regular Show rug, beneath the coffee table in front of the aged green sofa, spotted with random stains that Huey’s roommate, Lucas, has tried (and failed) to get all the way out, the eucalyptus mint candle still burning from this morning near the window facing the street out front, but he can’t identify it as anything but home. The three of them have really made the space their own and he’s proud of it, but a small part of him was worried that seeing Chris here would feel disorienting. It wears off though, slowly, as he watches him move about the space. 

“Digs are immaculate Huey.” Chris admits as he lands on the sofa and begins untying his shoes. 

“You live in California.” Huey reminds him. “You won.”

Chris pats the Regular Show rug with his socked foot, “But you got this. You won.” 

The rug was a recreation of the cast in a golf cart shooting into the air with the words Regular Show below it. Near the white “W” was a dark orange, almost brown stain in the shape of diamond with squiggly edges. Huey nods towards it, “You see that stain?” Chris looks, and nods. “Guess what it is.”

“Umm…” Chris laughs uneasily, “Cum?”

Huey shook his head, bewildered, “Who the fuck has brown cum?”

“Who the fuck has cum stains on their carpet?”

“It’s not cum!” Huey laughs, “It’s shit.”

“Shit?!”

“Rabbit shit.” Huey clarifies, the both of them laughing. “Elva’s girlfriend got a rabbit last month and we babysat it, or rabbit sat it, and it shit on the carpet but we didn’t even notice for a whole day.” He nods towards the stain again. “The next morning I stepped in it and we could barely get it out.”

Chris gazes down at Huey’s foot. “Wow.” He says, disbelief and the lightness of humor on his face, “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Huey turns towards him then, playfulness in his tone. “Your turn. Tell me something gross.” 

Chris laughs, his head tilting back and tapping the wall behind him. Huey had missed that sound and the feeling of accomplishment that came with it, he would chase that high for the rest of his life if he could. “Let me think,” He mulls for a moment, moving his head left and right. “I cut my toe last month.”

Huey winces, “Jeez.”

“Climbing a fence.”

“The fuck were you doing climbing a fence?” Huey chortles, and Chris laughs again. Huey felt his heart squeeze.

“My roommate and I’ve been doing parkour–”

“Like jumping over walls and shit?” Chris nods.

“And we wanted to try a fence. We usually do it barefoot, but I didn’t think it’d be a big deal–for whatever reason. So I was climbing the fence and I got to the top but my toe, like the meaty part, snagged on the pointy part of the fence–”

“Aht! Aht!” Huey covers his ears.

“You asked.” 

Huey shook his head but he was smiling at the thought of Chris becoming more adventurous and spontaneous than he had been in high school. It was always in him, he was always the one to get them to try new things: the edibles from the sophomore had been his idea, and he was always egging Huey on to sneak out of his house and come with him to some party he was invited to. But Huey’s life, no matter how often it collided with Chris's, was starkly different, and only Huey seemed to know that. Chris was well liked, sought after, and known. He was so cool in high school for never caring about being cool, his indifference to what people thought about him was what made people think about him. Huey could never understand it, or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he just enjoyed being so close to someone so desirable.

Chris shrugs, yawning. “It keeps me busy.” 

“It better have.” Huey had meant it as a joke, he thought, but it came out too sharp. “Is that all? That’s kept you busy?”

“I’m a student, Huey.”

He rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.” 

“Do I?”

“Your life, dumbass.”

Chris raises his brows, puzzled, “Has my life kept me busy?”

“Has it–” He laughs, embarrassed and irritated at the awkwardness that’s squeezing itself between them. An unwelcome guest. “Okay, what’s kept you busy. School…?” Chris nods, smiling appeasingly. “People…?”

He pauses, sensing the tension that would follow. Slowly, “Sometimes.”

“How busy?” He wanted to sound genuinely curious but instead he hears his own animosity. He is, pathetically, self sabotaging. He wants something to blame the tension on – Chris’s jet lag or Huey’s five hours of anxiety ridden sleep from the night before – but naming the culprit is pointless. It’s there and he’s spiraling, drilling himself over what he tried to fight as hypotheticals but were, most likely, reality. Maybe Chris had realized that if he could kiss Huey he could kiss anyone – even another boy – and that doing so meant that Huey was merely a diving board for Chris to swim in deeper, bluer water. 

“Busy enough.” Chris suffices, closing the conversation. “You too?” Chris offers, but to Huey it feels like pity. 

“Not really.” He might’ve said, whatever it was it had taken half his brain to come up with. He was focused on retreating to his room, their proximity had become suffocating. He stands, rubbing the back of his neck, his chest tight with jealousy. “You’re probably tired from the flight and everything,” He suffices, smiling as casually as he can muster, but it feels stiff and forced. “We can rest and then grab something to eat a little later, if that’s cool?”
 

“Sleeping and eating is definitely cool with me.” Chris stretches himself out on the couch, no doubt oblivious to Huey’s newfound anxiety. Huey’s both grateful for his aloofness, and disappointed by his failure at noticing that something was wrong. “I’m on the couch this weekend, right?”

“Yup.” Huey chirps, turning on his heel so that his back is to Chris, “I’ll see you in a few hours.” He tosses over his shoulder, grateful to create space between them.

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