23. DANNY

That night, I lay awake in bed. My body felt so heavy, like I was sinking through my bed. The mattress seemed so wide, to sleep alone again, not to feel another body, its weight, its presence, its warmth. I sleep on the right and spread my arm across to the left. The sheet was clean and cold. I opened my eyes and stared in that direction. In that little bed in that little room, he would have slept wrapped against my body, with us almost kissing in our sleep. I closed my eyes again and failed to sleep.

The memory of our initial moments together, that process of two people realizing they were starting to fall for each other, lingered ghostly in the recesses of my mind. It was a moment of uncertainty yet brimming with possibility. It had felt like the start of something. Had it turned out to be the start of nothing?

With mine shut, I remembered Bruno's blue eyes, light, happy, pretty, on me. I had allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for us. I hadn't imagined how good the sex would be between us, not just physically but emotionally, the connection we would feel. In the heat of the moment, the fact we were two people blurred. Our intimacy transcended that; we had felt like one person. Was that gone?

I could still feel the warmth of Bruno's touch, his fingers on my skin, his legs wrapped around my back, my lips against mine, his hands holding my shoulders as I fucked him, turning his mouth to mine to kiss me as I was inside him. I had never experienced sex like it, sex that had just seemed so important, so essential to me.

I mean, we had been falling in love.

I thought the words clearly in my head, perhaps for the first time. We had been falling in love. I shuddered. Wasn't that what I had wanted, to meet someone cool in real life, and just to like them, to want to look after them, to love them?

Now, as I lay in the silence of the night, loneliness smashed into me like a wave. The euphoria of our hopes had dissipated. "All is lost." The words echoed in my head. Any dreams we had started to have had shriveled away, and all because I had been too invested in being with them, that I had threatened my job. With a wave of the hand, my boss had brought it all to an end. But I had worked so hard for my career. I couldn't just give it up over, what? I didn't even know if I could live a gay life.

Was that what was really in my mind? Was this just an escape route, for me to avoid having to make hard choices, in which the world would see me differently? Was I running away from Bruno or from the world knowing that I was in love with him?

That possibility haunted me. I was in love with him, but still, I had abandoned him. I was having to choose between the life I had and the life I could have, and I was finding myself wanting. As I grappled with the enormity of that realization, it felt like the darkest hour, deep within my soul, that I hadn't been brave. Me, Danny, the bro, the guy who never let people down, gym guy, good guy, that Danny hadn't been brave.

As I lay there, tangled in the sheets of my restless thoughts, a stifling heat overwhelmed me, sweat clinging to my skin. I couldn't shake that sense of my own failure. I sat up and reached for my phone to see if he had messaged me in the night. But he had not.

In the darkness of that room, sitting up, eyes open, phone in hand, I watched the shadows of that time just before dawn shift slowly. Although morning was coming, the darkness seemed to grow thicker, more oppressive, merging with the heat to become this weight on my body. I kicked off the sheets to feel some cool, then got up and stalked naked around my room to find the air-con remote to turn it on.

Only then did I notice a sliver of light creeping under the edges of the drapes, casting a soft pink-gold glow along the floor, the first blush of dawn. Over minutes, I watched the colors of the coming morning cast themselves inside the room, more hues of pink and purple and indigo. My mind seemed to clear. I realized what the situation was. I had a job here, a life here, and perhaps, that was enough.

I had a career that demanded my time, that I had worked hard for, that had brought me comfort and purpose, a job that provided stability, security, a sense that I was someone in the world. To abandon it now, that was also wrong.

Maybe the truth was I wasn't ready to be gay, perhaps not yet, perhaps not ever. Maybe this was only a fleeting thing. Lots of straight guys have had one-off experiences with another man, at college, or just with a bud in a hotel room. They don't go off and change the course of their lives. They hold the desires firmly within themselves and cling to the life that gives them that stability. That woman I met, Rachel, I could message her right now and say, "Hey, I'm back in town," and what would any of this have been? Just another straight guy having a lone gay experience, out of town, with no one watching.

My thoughts hung heavy as the air-con and the morning finally provided some relief to me. I thought about the arc of Bruno's novel, A Place to Stay, in which love does not die but returns, in a new form, to save the central character. Maybe that was true for both Bruno and me, but perhaps ours hadn't been that love. We were just a small, strange point in one another's story, nothing more.

Did I believe that? I threw back my drapes and stood naked in the moonlight, looking out over the empty street below, too high to be seen. I watched the dawn unfold, casting aside the doubt of night. I knew that the choice was mine to make, the choice I had to make. And I would make it and live with it.

I would have to.

As I stepped into the gym, the familiar scenes of my life came back. The rhythmic pounding of weights, the whir of machines, music pumping, gym bros shouting. I smelled the sweat on people's bodies, watched it glisten on their skin, smelled the disinfectant as people sprayed benches and seats, scrubbing away each other's humanity.

Normally I started with a run, but now, I made my way to the free weights section. I wanted to pound my doubts and anguish away. I stood before the polished mirrors reflecting rows of men on benches, curling their biceps, the young ones to attract girls, the older ones to look like the young ones. All were lost in their own worlds of exertion and phones, a bit of pumping, then stare at a screen.

I was not a bicep guy. My biceps were big but only because I worked the whole of my body so hard. I decided to do old-fashioned clean-and-press, which you hardly see anyone do anymore, lifting a heavy barbell from the floor to your hips in one movement, then to your chest in a second, then, hard, above your head in the third, holding more than your own weight above your head for ten seconds. I counted them out each time, with my body quaking under the weight I was holding up.

Catching my reflection in one of the mirrors, I locked eyes with the image staring back at me, this figure of a man, me. Who was real, the big man in the reflection holding this vast weight above his head, knowing that the bicep guys were stealing intimidated glances at me? Or was it the besuited guy in corporate meetings, who everyone respected and liked? Or was it the cute dad figure joking and playing on the swings and pretending to be a mutant turtle with Evan in Battery Park?

Or was it Bruno's lover, who wanted him so much, that every morning he asked to be allowed to fuck him once more before Bruno went back to his bed "just for five minutes"? But it was never for five minutes. I had never had such a sexual connection with someone before.

Standing there in the gym, I felt a pulse in my penis. I knew I had to stop thinking this way. I stared at my own reflection. I had to get it together. What was done was done. I had to be strong. It was better for everyone.

My body suddenly buckled. The weight came crashing to the ground. The whole room shook, and people turned to stare. I felt so shocked, but then I started to grin.

"Sorry, guys! Sorry!"

Always making space for others, that was me, that was Danny.

But what about making space for the guy I loved?

What about that?

My workout done, I went into the locker room, the air thick with steam from the showers. I found my locker and started to strip naked, pulling off my gym vest, my running shoes, my socks, and finally, my shorts.

Just as I was fully naked, the moment my cock released from the shorts and slapped the top of my thigh, I could feel myself being watched. I turned and saw the cute young man who had looked me over before I went to New York casting hungry glances in my direction. His body was wet from the steam room, and he was naked, too.

His eyes lingered on mine, and he smiled a little – quite shyly, in fact – and then his gaze dropped, tracing the contours of my musculature and finally looking very directly at my dick. As he saw it, his eyes widened. I knew I had a big one, but even so, it was very obvious…

Before Bruno, I relished the attention, reveled in the validation it brought. But now I found myself not wanting his lust. I didn't want to be looked at, scrutinized like some object on display. I wanted something…something else.

"Hey," he said, looking up at me. He nodded. "Nice."

"What?" I said.

There was no one else around.

"Your dick. Your everything." Then he laughed. He seemed a nice guy, in fact. He just fancied me. There was nothing wrong with that, but I felt so awkward. I couldn't tell if he remembered me from before. Did he do this every day with a different "straight" guy, or was he just acting like he didn't remember me, a form of self-protection to avoid a second rejection? Isn't that what we are all doing, most of the time, protecting ourselves from others' rejection? I thought of that therapist I used to see. They might answer: "No, not everyone is doing that, Danny."

The guy was staring at me.

"Um, thanks," I faltered.

He grinned.

"Look, I don't suppose you want to shower at my place?"

It was so direct.

"What?"

"Do you want to come back to my place? I'd love to…" He looked at my cock again. "I'd love to have a ride of your big dick."

That was enough. Perhaps before, talking like this might even have given me a hard-on, but now I felt like this was not what I wanted at all.

"Sorry, man, no offense. You're cute," I said, as always, wanting to make everything all right, "but I just broke up with someone. I am not in that place."

He nodded, unoffended.

"No worries." His mood remained light, and he started to towel himself dry. "A girlfriend?" he asked.

I gazed at him and wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm seeing a guy in New York."

He looked surprised to hear it.

"Wow!" he went.

Then I realized something else.

"I mean, I was seeing a guy in New York."

"So you're gay, then?" The whole situation seemed absurd, me telling this random guy something I hadn't told another soul in the world, that I had a boyfriend in New York. And from that, the absurdity of the whole thing spun out: was I really choosing work before love? What kind of life was that? He was still looking at me. "Are you gay?" he asked.

I shrugged, picking up my towel and my shower gel.

"You tell me, man, you tell me."

He gave me the strangest look, smiled a little, then turned away.

As I stepped into the shower, the hot water cascaded over my tired body, cleansing. Every drop of water seemed to beat me as hard as any workout. And as I stood beneath the steady stream of water, the echoes of the encounter with the guy, I thought of Bruno.

My dick was hard in a way it hadn't been moments before. And it's gross to admit, maybe, but I jerked off there and then, in the shower cubicle, my eyes shut, my cock in my hand, the water running over my body, the whole time, picturing Bruno beneath me, me inside him, his blue eyes open, then rolling back in his head, his mouth hungry for my kiss, but murmuring my name over and over again.

Danny…

Danny…

Oh, Danny…

As I stepped into my office, back in the bustling world of architecture, the familiar sounds and sights greeted me. Colleagues greeted each other with nods and smiles, talk of what people had done the night before or of emails they were just reading. "Man, they are so difficult!""Jeez, how are we gonna pull this off?"

"Morning, Danny," my colleague Sarah called from her desk as I passed by. "Did you catch the game last night?"

I offered a half-hearted smile.

"No, missed it. How'd it go?"

Sarah launched into a detailed rundown of the game that, in truth, I hadn't even known was on. Despite my distracted state, I nodded and said, "Right,""Cool, "Oh, good result," glad that she was asking nothing more of me.

The office buzzed with the animated brainstorming sessions, client phone calls, either pally or tense, with people asking if someone had the so-and-so file open. As the morning progressed, I found myself immersed in work, poring over project blueprints and design concepts with this member of the team or that, and I was glad to feel so busy.

"Hey, Danny, got a minute?" Mark, my colleague, asked as he arrived at my desk, waving a set of plans in his hand. "I need your input on this layout."

I nodded, following Mark to his workstation, where he had some models up on his double computer screen. We debated the merits of this element or that, debated the pros and cons, talked about budget and "creative drive." And the whole time, I was thinking, This is great, I love this. This is what I wanted, too. But I also stole a glance at my phone: no messages from Bruno.

I didn't take lunch. I didn't want an hour to think about my life, no, thanks. Staying at my desk, I pored over spreadsheets and project timelines, typed out emails, wrote things to do in a list.

As the afternoon wore on, some new impulse was in me. His silence bore down on me. I knew that there were all sorts of reasons why you don't speak, at least not for a while, who knows, maybe never again. And yet I wanted contact with him. I wanted to know how he was doing. I wanted to know about the book.

I wanted to hear how Evan was. I wanted him to send me a pic of the two of them doing something fun, thinking of me, thinking they wanted to send it to me. Or I wanted a pic of Bruno, just looking beautiful, staring into the phone camera lens, with his pretty smile.

Eventually, I mustered the courage to send him a message, my fingers typing out the words.

CAN WE TALK?

He didn't come online at once. I wondered if perhaps he had blocked me, but no, the two ticks showed that the message was received. I waited a moment, then put the phone down. People have a right to be busy. People have stuff to do. Man, I had stuff to do!

I went back to my work, but with each passing minute, I waited anxiously for Bruno's response. Time stretched into what felt like an eternity. My phone didn't ping. Now and then, I turned it screen down so I wouldn't think about it. Then I turned it over, to check a message hadn't come in, but the sound notification had failed. Nope, no new messages.

Annoyance began to grip me. An hour had passed, then more. Eventually, I decided to go somewhere private, and where is more private at work than the bathroom? I went to one on the next floor up, where it was mainly meeting rooms, not offices, and went inside a cubicle. No one else was there.

Locking the cubicle door behind me, I leaned against the partition and took out the phone. The soft glow of the screen shone on my face – I could feel it in the cool dim of the bathroom lights.

I fixated on the screen, willing it to come alive, but it didn't. I stared at the message I had sent him, unanswered. And then, like a specter emerging from the shadows, Bruno's name flickered:

brUNO

ONLINE

My pulse quickened with anticipation, my hand gripped the phone. But as the seconds stretched out, Bruno remained silent, didn't type, didn't respond. Anger bubbled in me. He was just being mean now, unfair. I had been pulled from New York. I would have kept going every week forever if they had let me.

None of this was my doing, I reasoned with myself, as desperate people do. The unforgivingness of it all gnawed at me. Eventually, I let myself return to impulse. I typed out the words and didn't care about the impact:

ARE YOU GOING TO ANSWER?

I sent the message and at once felt like I had made a mistake. Time seemed to stand still as Bruno hovered online, reading my message, I didn't doubt. With bated breath, I watched and waited. Very briefly, Bruno was typing, and then he was not. He remained online. I held my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest. Then he was typing again…

And then the most awful words appeared…

I DON'T THINK WE SHOULD SPEAK AGAIN

And then…

I THINK IT'S BEST JUST TO FORGET IT EVER HAPPENED

I typed:

WHAT ABOUT OUR FRIENDSHIP?

His response appeared quickly:

WE WEREN'T FRIENDS BEFORE AND WE AREN'T FRIENDS NOW

LET'S NOT BULLSHIT EACH OTHER ANY FURTHER

"Bullshit each other?" Shock coursed through me as I stared at what he had written. The words blurred before my eyes, the totality of his rejection reverberating through me.

And then, as if on cue, I heard the bathroom door open and a voice call out. It was Scotty. "Danny boy, you in here? The next meeting is starting."

"Sure," I said, my voice echoing inside the cubicle. "Just a second."

With trembling hands, I put my phone in my pocket and, standing up, remembered to flush the toilet, because why else would I be in there? Reading messages from my secret boyfriend? I came out and grinned at my friend.

"All good!" I called, going to the sink to pretend to wash my hands. All good, I said, and I felt a bit like I was dying inside.