Carpe Diem
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
3,094
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
3,094
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
A Reconciliation of Sorts
A/N: And we're back to shorter chapters. Oh well. You know what? Physics labs are not fun when you're sick. But illness seems to motivate and/or inspire me to write. Well, here you go. Also, reviews make me write faster. Just throwing that out there.
A Reconciliation of Sorts
The sun shone through the windows, slanted shadows of bookcases crisscrossing on the floor, the walls. Jim busied himself with sweeping the store clean of any filth or grime or clutter which might have accumulated while he was preoccupied with another area. Or while he was attending to the customers. He rested the broom behind the counter when he heard the chime indicative of a customer's arrival.
“Hello?” the customer called, “I'm here to pick up my order.”
Jim's body visibly tensed at the customer's voice. Patrick.
“Just a moment,” he said, “It should be around here somewhere.”
“Is there a reason you never called me?”
Yes, there was. Jim was embarrassed about what had happened. How he had lost control of himself for that moment. Had let his urges, his desires take over. And at how he had run away like a scared puppy afterwards. He wasn't sure he could face Patrick after all of that. Of his own volition, that was.
“Sorry about that,” he said as he handed the book to the customer. “I really did mean to call you. I guess I just got busy with work and school.”
“Bullshit,” Patrick replied, “It had nothing to do with either of those and you know it.”
Jim wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.
“Here's your book back. Also. . . you forgot your concert tickets the other night.”
“Oh,” he said as he took the book and tickets in hand. “Look. . .” He tried and failed to make eye contact. “Why don't I try and make it up to you?”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“Wanna go to a concert?” he said as he waved a ticket in his direction.
“Maybe. . .”
A hint of a smile.
“See you Saturday, around seven, okay? We'll be going out to supper. Dress nice.”
“Fine. But call this time, okay?”
“Got it.”
The customer exited the store in a slightly better mood than when he had entered, and Jim could feel the tension fly out the window. Now all that was left was to make the proper plans.
Before he knew it, the shop was closing and he was approaching his boss with a question. Would it be too much to ask for some time off on Saturday? Why no, of course not; he deserved it. And would it be too much to inquire as to what this time off was for? A date, if he had to know. Oh? Who with? No one he knew. Just remember to be safe; he could never tell who had what diseases. And would his boss please not talk like that? It embarrassed him. Oh, but surely a young man such as himself would never be embarrassed by such trivial matters? Only when he was talking with old men, and could he leave yet? It was getting rather late, and he did have class in the morning.
And so they parted and Jim headed for his apartment. Where he slept, and studied, and sometimes ate. But did he live there? Now that was a question.
A Reconciliation of Sorts
The sun shone through the windows, slanted shadows of bookcases crisscrossing on the floor, the walls. Jim busied himself with sweeping the store clean of any filth or grime or clutter which might have accumulated while he was preoccupied with another area. Or while he was attending to the customers. He rested the broom behind the counter when he heard the chime indicative of a customer's arrival.
“Hello?” the customer called, “I'm here to pick up my order.”
Jim's body visibly tensed at the customer's voice. Patrick.
“Just a moment,” he said, “It should be around here somewhere.”
“Is there a reason you never called me?”
Yes, there was. Jim was embarrassed about what had happened. How he had lost control of himself for that moment. Had let his urges, his desires take over. And at how he had run away like a scared puppy afterwards. He wasn't sure he could face Patrick after all of that. Of his own volition, that was.
“Sorry about that,” he said as he handed the book to the customer. “I really did mean to call you. I guess I just got busy with work and school.”
“Bullshit,” Patrick replied, “It had nothing to do with either of those and you know it.”
Jim wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.
“Here's your book back. Also. . . you forgot your concert tickets the other night.”
“Oh,” he said as he took the book and tickets in hand. “Look. . .” He tried and failed to make eye contact. “Why don't I try and make it up to you?”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“Wanna go to a concert?” he said as he waved a ticket in his direction.
“Maybe. . .”
A hint of a smile.
“See you Saturday, around seven, okay? We'll be going out to supper. Dress nice.”
“Fine. But call this time, okay?”
“Got it.”
The customer exited the store in a slightly better mood than when he had entered, and Jim could feel the tension fly out the window. Now all that was left was to make the proper plans.
Before he knew it, the shop was closing and he was approaching his boss with a question. Would it be too much to ask for some time off on Saturday? Why no, of course not; he deserved it. And would it be too much to inquire as to what this time off was for? A date, if he had to know. Oh? Who with? No one he knew. Just remember to be safe; he could never tell who had what diseases. And would his boss please not talk like that? It embarrassed him. Oh, but surely a young man such as himself would never be embarrassed by such trivial matters? Only when he was talking with old men, and could he leave yet? It was getting rather late, and he did have class in the morning.
And so they parted and Jim headed for his apartment. Where he slept, and studied, and sometimes ate. But did he live there? Now that was a question.