9. DANNY

As Bruno and I stepped onto Avenue C, Manhattan, the air hummed with urban life, bustling streets, and distant sirens. Towering buildings loomed overhead, long tunnels of the roads cutting New York into its geometric shapes.

Graffiti adorned brick walls and vibrant murals depicting the diversity of the city. Neon signs flickered above storefronts, their colorful glow illuminating. The sidewalk teemed with a kaleidoscope of characters, each with their own story written on their faces. A street performer strummed his guitar on a corner, his soulful melody rising above the city. Nearby, a group of art student friends laughed and chatted animatedly, trying to be cool but trying to be real.

Despite being from a small city and having not wanted to come here for this job, not at all, as I walked alongside Bruno, I felt good. It surprised me how good I felt.

With each step, the Lower East Side revealed something new– an ancient Italian deli, a super-modern café boasting it was also an art gallery, a Subway shop, and a "performance space." We even walked past a shop that was being used as an architecture practice. Inside, cool young men and women sat around not in corporate suits but in trendy sweats and shirts. That particularly struck me.

He pointed just along Avenue C a bit further.

"The restaurant is just up there."

In there, I could see a sign hanging, visible. It had nothing on it in English, only in Chinese, with a 212 number underneath.

"No egg rolls here," I said to him, and he caught my jokey tone.

"Nope, no egg rolls, Danny."

As Bruno and I entered the restaurant, its bustle of customers and kitchen din enveloped us. The air was thick with the aroma of fragrant spices and flavors, the clatter of bowls, and the chatter of a roomful of diners. The restaurant was just white tiled walls; there were no tapestries of dragons, no red lanterns. On the wall, a sign read:

MANNY BLOOM SONS

TRADITIONAL DELICATESSEN

It nodded to the history of the place and of the whole area, perhaps. I loved it. There was nothing, nowhere like this back home. I couldn't help but marvel at the energy of the place. It was unlike any restaurant I had ever been to– a lively hub of activity where tradition and modernity collided in a symphony of flavor and culture.

A waitress pointed unsmilingly to a place where we could sit right in the corner of the restaurant. Bruno led the way through the crowded space, navigating the maze of round tables and scattered, battered chairs.

Taking our seats at a communal table, but with no one else sitting there, I glanced around. There were groups of Chinese families, young fashion types, and the odd earnest-looking tourist, and among them, an army of servers who took orders, brought food, and delivered checks.

As we settled in, Bruno explained that the restaurant specialized in barbecue and dumplings. He looked down a menu of dumplings.

"Pork and chive, pork and shrimp, pork and cabbage—"

"Pork and pork?" I interjected with a joke. He laughed.

"Do you like pork?"

"Ha! Does it matter?"

"There's a vegetarian option."

I arched my eyebrow.

"I'm good with a pork dumpling," I said, and he looked at me briefly with a small smile. "Order whatever you want, Bru. I will go along."

He nodded.

"Cool."

When the waitress approached our table, Bruno took the lead. He navigated the menu and listed steamed pork and chive dumplings, potsticker dumplings, char siu, and pork belly. The waitress scribbled down our order and walked away without saying anything.

"This feels like it could be in Hong Kong or Shanghai," I said to him. He nodded.

"But there are lots of places like this in New York." He paused a moment, looked around and then back at me. "This is a particularly good one, though."

As we waited for our food to arrive, we chatted about what I might be doing in New York. I talked about work, what the projects I was working on were, how busy I might be. I wanted to ask him more about his novel but thought maybe he wouldn't want it…yet.

Food began to arrive in no particular order.

"You okay with chopsticks?" he asked, his tone light and teasing.

I nudged him, a grin tugging at my lips.

"I'm not a complete country bumpkin!" I cried.

As the dishes were placed before us, the air was filled with an intoxicating aroma: rich, sweet, savory.

The pork and chive dumplings glistened invitingly, their delicate skins steaming gently. Fragrant steam rose into the air. Each dumpling was a work of art, meticulously crafted and bursting with the deep scent of the tender pork, the chives, the soy and herbs. Next to them, the potsticker dumplings sizzled enticingly, their golden-brown exteriors promising a satisfying crunch.

The char siu, or barbecued pork, was a sight to behold – glistening red with a sticky glaze that glinted in the light in iridescent hues of amber and gold. It was sliced thin and arranged beautifully in a fan shape on a plate. The meat looked tender and succulent, with a side of chili oil.

And finally, the pièce de résistance – the pork belly. Crisp and caramelized on the top, it looked melt-in-your-mouth below, plated up with a little dish of what looked like hot English mustard. It was a feast fit for kings, and I couldn't wait to dive in.

We ate with gusto and great pleasure. The food was every bit as delightful as I could have imagined. Two bowls of steamed rice and garlicky gai lan came out, too, very dramatically white and green. As we wolfed it down, chopsticks clicking, Bruno and I chatted and laughed.

Bruno leaned in, his gaze very attentive.

"So, tell me about your relationship history, Danny," he said.

It surprised me. I didn't know we'd get there that fast, two guys.

"Well, there have been a few," I began.

"Much serious?"

I shrugged.

"Not a whole bunch. There was Judy. We met in college, but things fizzled out pretty quickly. I think I just wasn't ready for anything serious back then."

"Back then?"

"Then there was Emily," I mused, a faint frown creasing my brow. "We had a good run, but I guess I just felt like something was missing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew it wasn't right."

"It's hard, you know, to meet someone you like."

I rolled my eyes.

"And apps make it worse. Really, you just want to meet someone in real life."

He laughed.

"IRL."

I nodded.

"Exactly."

I found myself opening up to Bruno in a way I hadn't anticipated. I wasn't really an opening-up guy. I was a man's man, I supposed, but there was something gentle about Bruno that made it feel okay to be honest with him.

"I saw a therapist for a while," I began.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Just to deal with my own stress at work, but she connected it all to what a shitshow my childhood was."

"I see…"

"She said to overcome the disconnectedness of my childhood, I put a lot of pressure on myself to succeed, to focus on work, and so I avoid relationships because they'd threaten it."

"Do you think that's true?" he asked.

"I guess I've always been so stressed-out, you know?" I continued. "Especially back in school. I just never felt like I could afford to fail. And the therapist said that fear of failure is what defines not going into relationships for some people."

"Wow," he said. "That's pretty deep for a man like you to admit."

As I spoke, memories of late-night study sessions and relentless academic pursuits flooded my mind, a relentless tide of pressure a teenager put on himself so that he wouldn't end up like my mom, with nothing, no stability, or his deadbeat dad, who just went off and never gave a dime.

It was a constant battle, a relentless pursuit of perfection that, if I was honest, I would say changed my life, but not always for the better. That therapist was onto something.

"That's why I admire you so much, Bruno," I confessed. "You're out here, freelance journalist, writing a novel. It's inspiring, you know?"

"Nah," he said.

"Yes!" I could hear how passionate I was coming across. "To see someone living life on their own terms, unencumbered by the constraints of convention and expectation. Man, I am so conventional. Sometimes I feel like I have imprisoned myself with convention."

Saying it out loud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me. I had never told anyone this, not even that therapist. Perhaps I had hardly even understood it about myself. Now, as Bruno listened, his expression was one of genuine empathy, and I was glad that I was sharing this with him.

"I'm amazed to hear you say that, Danny," he said, his voice tinged with genuine wonder. "It's like seeing a whole new side of you. You think a person is one thing, but it turns out they are another."

I shrugged, not quite knowing what to say.

"Yes, that's true."

"So, what do you want out of your life, then?" he asked with a directness I hadn't been expecting in that moment. And I didn't completely know the answer.

"I'm not sure. That's the question. I assumed I wanted one thing, you know, to be the guy,cool Danny, great Danny with the big job, and I've realized…"

My voice trailed off, and I saw the concern in his eyes.

"What?"

I sighed heavily before I spoke.

"Maybe I don't want those things, or at least I don't want them with the cost they have right now, the big corporate job, no time, or rather feeling I have no time for a relationship. Maybe that's why I admire you so much, Bru, for what you're doing because you're free, whereas I feel chained to the life I built for myself."

Bruno's expression softened.

"My life is very far from perfect," he breathed.

"No, I know. I really do know, money, Kelly, all of that. I am not saying it's perfect, but imagine it works out."

He looked at me.

"Works out?"

"Imagine you get a big deal for your novel, you make money. Imagine you have money to live here comfortably, maybe get some help looking after Evan. Imagine how amazing it would be to have that life."

He laughed.

"But in the meantime, there's all this uncertainty and worry."

"I know," I said, and I heard my own compassion for him, the truth of what he was saying. "But if you don't try to follow your dreams, they won't come true. And at least you're trying."

We were interrupted by the arrival of the waitress.

"Finished?" she said.

We more or less had.

"Sure," I said, and she began to clear the plates.

"You can pay now!" the waitress barked, pointing curtly to the cashier sitting by the door.

I couldn't help but laugh at the waitress's bluntness, my amusement mirrored in Bruno's grin.

"Well, I guess it's time to settle up," I quipped, reaching for my wallet. But before I could retrieve it, Bruno's hand went for his, too. I laid my hand on his. He looked up at me. "No, I'll take care of it," I insisted, a note of sincerity in my voice. "Consider it my treat, Bruno."

A warm smile spread across Bruno's face.

"Okay, if you insist," he murmured. There was a soft blush on his cheeks. "Shall we go get a drink?"

"Great!" I cried.

The bar fitted right into the area's quirky mix of stores and cafes, its entrance adorned with flickering lights and an inviting warmth that beckoned us inside. As we stepped through the door, the atmosphere enveloped us in a whirlwind of sights and sounds – a kaleidoscope of arty, fashion-forward individuals mingling and conversing, their smart, knowing laughter rising above the hum of the crowd.

My gaze swept the interior: exposed brick walls adorned with vintage posters of old punk groups, Beat writers, and hip-hop stars of years before, mismatched furniture, and an old black-and-pink jukebox lending a quirky retro charm to the space.

Despite my reservations about the city's hipster scene, I found myself drawn into the cool, retro energy of the place. A bartender was rattling a cocktail in a shaker full of ice. Two young women looked Bruno and me up and down, and I didn't know if they thought we were out of place, or good-looking, or maybe even together. Bruno headed through to the bar, and I followed him.

"What'll it be?" I asked as we hit the wooden countertop.

"How about mojitos?" he suggested, the same drink that Rachel had ordered on our disastrous date. I smiled at him but said nothing about that.

"Sounds great."

The bartender overheard us.

"Two mojitos coming right up," he said.

We watched him make the drinks, let our attention focus on his craft, and then we took the drinks over to a corner booth. The clink of glasses and murmur of conversations were swirling around us. The ice cubes in our mojitos clinked as we each took a sip.

"Wow, these are strong," Bruno said.

I laughed.

"Good, isn't it? Let's drink about eight."

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear.

"You would have to drag me home by the heels if I did that."

We paused a moment.

"Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged.

"Sure."

Leaning in slightly, I posed the question that had been lingering in the back of my mind.

"When did you first realize you liked guys?"

Bruno's gaze shifted a little, his eyes moving around the room. A fleeting shadow crossed his features before he spoke.

"It's complicated," he said. "I knew, deep down, but it took me a long time to accept it."

"Did you think you were gay when you got together with Evan's mom?"

He sighed.

"I don't know when I ever thought to myself that I was gay."

"Okay, bi, or whatever."

"I knew something even back in high school that I felt something for men. At college, I had a couple of experiences, but I dated girls. And then after that, Kelly kinda pursued me, and I gave into it, and then suddenly – real suddenly – she was pregnant with Evan. I was twenty-three, and suddenly I was just in that life. A pregnant girlfriend, a kid on the way, a straight kind of life."

I listened intently as he talked about his relationship with Kelly. He spoke neutrally of the woman whose presence in his life had seemed to have brought problems, and some unkindness, but also Evan, the thing of which he was proudest: his son.

"I thought I could bury that part of myself," he admitted. "But life has a funny way of unraveling our assumptions, whether we're ready for it or not."

"How was it when she left you? Were you relieved? Or upset?"

"I was shocked more than upset," Bruno confessed. "I kind of just accepted that I had chosen that life, a woman partner, a kid, convention, and then one day, it was kind of over. I was back at the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"Not knowing what it was I wanted at all."

Half-jokingly, I raised my glass in a toast.

"Snap, man, snap." I didn't mean anything about being gay, because I was in a different boat, obviously. "Did she just want to end it?"

"Pretty much."

"Did you try to persuade her not to go?"

"I tried," he admitted, his tone heavy with resignation. "But you know, she didn't want me anymore. And so I was back out in the world…"

A wistful sigh escaped my lips as I leaned back against the worn leather of the booth.

"I get it," I murmured. "The never-ending cycle of searching for perfection on the apps."

"I don't think I am looking for perfection," he said. "I'm maybe looking for something real."

"Wouldn't it be nice," I said, "if it were just that simple? To meet someone and just…like each other?"

He laughed sadly.

"An urban myth."

I shook my head.

"A unicorn."

He took a sip of his mojito.

"So, Marlon," I ventured, the name rolling off my tongue before I was even sure it was right. "How did you two meet?"

The corners of Bruno's lips curled into a wistful smile.

"We really did meet in real life."

"Yeah?"

He nodded.

"We met at the gym," he began softly with a small smile. "Just kept checking each other out, you know?" A playful glint danced in his eyes. "Eventually, Marlon started talking to me. Little flirty chats here and there."

"You knew he liked you?"

"Oh, he made it really obvious. Eventually, he would start touching my arm."

"And you liked that?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "He's crazy hot, but it's not just that. He's kind and attentive. And funny."

"That's what you like in a man?"

I saw him gazing at me for several seconds.

"Yeah," he said softly. "That's what I like." As Bruno recounted the unfolding of their courtship, a flicker of amusement passed over his eyes. "He's quite the gentleman at heart."

I laughed.

"Does that make you the lady?"

I had meant it as a joke, but I could see he didn't take it as one.

"Are you asking me if I was the bottom in the relationship?"

I hadn't been, really, I hadn't. It was just a dumb joke.

"Oh, no!"

His eyes dropped to his cocktail.

"I mean, I was, yeah. I am not ashamed to admit it."

"Cool…" I hesitated. I didn't know why, but my cheeks were hot. Some image flashed through me: this big, masculine guy fucking this small, blond guy, the latter's legs wrapped around his huge, muscular back, the former's cock hard inside him as I had seen in the few times I had secretly watched gay porn. I felt a pulse in my cock, then almost an annoyance, that he was too open with me, that he was putting his desires into my head. I shook it off.

"Did you go out much, the two of you?"

"Oh, yeah. We were friends as much as anything."

"Where did you go?"

"Just a gay bar nearby."

"Are there gay bars around here? I thought New York would be too cool to have a gay bar anymore. I thought gay guys could go anywhere they liked here."

"Sure, of course there are gay bars," he laughed.

And I didn't know why, but suddenly, I drained my mojito, the sugar and the mint at the bottom intoxicatingly strong. I looked at him very directly. A laugh bubbled from deep within me, and his blue eyes met my gaze.

"Let's go there!" I cried.

He was laughing.

"What, now?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I want you to take me to a gay bar."

His eyes grew very wide.

"Okay," he said.