marcus had an exit plan. he’d been doomscrooling while procrastinating when he came across a tweet from his twitter crush who had tweeted: “in the mood for a new lovah.”
the crush was going to be at the new bar in uptown manhattan tonight. marcus was committed to dinner and karaoke in brooklyn.
while taking a shower, marcus figured he could say dinner isn’t sitting well with him after 2 songs so no one offers to leave, and then head uptown to casually bump into adrian.
marcus didn’t know why, but it felt like it was time to make a move. he should be adrian’s new lover.
“yeah, he’s into me. that’s why we argued so much in class. he follows me on ig and twitter, that means something,” marcus convinced himself before the inevitable self doubt crept in.
“nah, today’s the day,” affirmed marcus as he stepped out in his friday best with jordans to match and all that new york swagger. so did adrian with his interesting sense of style, ten million dollar smile.
marcus was the antithesis of adrian. quiet, apprehensive, introverted. adrián was loud, always so sure of himself, outgoing. a match made in heaven, if opportunity and timing collide.
on the train to meet his friends, marcus remembered the first time he and marcus spoke in class.
a heated debate emerged between the superstar and the champion over something innocuous. immaturity and sexual tension.
adrian stopped marcus on the hallway and apologized for raising his voice. marcus wondered how often that happened, that this smug hottie apologized. he wondered a little too long and missed the chance to ask a question and hope for a conversation.
the truth is, marcus disliked the way adrian responded to a good morning with a fake smile, even if in the middle of a cackle with his friends.
the way adrián was always quick to argue, and rarely losing.
more than anything, marcus disliked the way adrian always smelled so good and his pants were always right without trying to grab attention to it. marcus pulled his coat over his pants and thought of ryan murphy instead. erection gone, the trick worked.
marcus joined his trio of friends at a sushi spot in brooklyn. they updated each other on work, family, life. the trio discussed their relationships and marcus listened. this wasn’t his area. marcus always saw himself as the kind of gay who jumped over drama and landed on his feet. he got it when he wanted it, but his fear of intimacy kept him from evolving into something more with the guys he had no trouble getting in bed.
the walk from the restaurant to the karaoke bar was uneventful. marcus checked his phone to make sure adrian was at the bar and, of course, he had tweeted about being there already. a few minutes into ordering drinks and selecting songs, marcus took a bathroom break. he stalled behind a stall for a few, took way too strong a hit of his vape to purposely cough and get watery eyes to really drive the point. a committed man.
on the walk to the bar, marcus took deep breaths and focused on the mission he had set for himself. he stopped in front of an empty storefront, readjusted the gold, and reassured himself of his skills and abilities.
they make eye contact not even a minute after marcus entered the bar. marcus smiled. adrián nodded. cold.
adrian, too occupied in his mind to consider public perception, forced himself to remember what marcus’ name was. adrian wondered what was it that was making him feel excited and want to remember more about marcus.
adrian told his friends marcus had walked him. he shared they had gone to grad school and had had a thing, something, probably nothing, but totally interesting.
adrian goes to the bathroom seeking an escape, a second to plan how to go about talking to marcus.
waiting in line to pee, adrian looks at his phone and notices his hands are trembling.
the screen opened to adrian’s last conversation, the one he’d had with his now official ex boyfriend. “it’s too hard, I can’t.”
adrian was dancing to i like it and singing it like he believed it, bad bitches do make him nervous.
marcus ordered a beer.
“make it two,” marcus shouts to the bartender and smirks at adrian.
“you’re adrian, from twitter, right?” asked marcus.
the embrace took marcus by surprise. the familiarity with which adrian said his name, mÁr-cos, with added puerto rican swagger, like adrian didn’t naturally carry enough for eight and a half of him.
adrian was turned on by the edge a few years and facial hair had given marcus.
they got their drinks while marcus shared he was around at a dinner with friends and wanted to check out the bar.
“cool,” said adrian. see you around, and turned, in slow motion marcus would swear, to give him a perfect view of what he was working with. and he’d be right.
marcus stayed near the bar with his drink, bopping to the music, being handsome with his vibe. adrian went back to his friends where they kept to themselves laughing, flipping their imaginary hair, trying not to look at marcus. but it happened. their eyes connected as rihanna ordered the bar to put in work, work, work, work, work.
adrian had one approach to mating: i ain’t easy, just not afraid to rush.
while marcus convinced himself to go over, adrian made his way.
adrian stood in front of marcus and said, “sup?”
marcus grabbed adrian by the small of his back and they start to dance.
by the end of the song, the smug hottie is ready. their lips meet.
the kiss kick started rolling the rolodex of memories they each had of each other, quickly turning into imagining how each other would look,
close like this,
undoing their zippers, kissing on the neck without context, compromises.
“i’m getting it,” marcus thought.
“i’m over him,” adrian assured himself.
