A shark in the ocean
What I would do to get under your skin
Behind your secrets and all of your sins
-- Greta Isaac, You
Across the street, Laith held his phone to an ear. He kept close to the wall but was only partially under a shadow, not long enough to cover anything past his legs, hair bright in the afternoon sun. The way it backlit his head made it look like a messy halo, gold-wrapped strands falling over his forehead.
As Theodore approached, he could see the scowl there, digging into Laith’s face, above his black mask. The call ended just before Theodore crossed the street, unable to catch anything that was said, but if Laith’s expression was any indication of how it’d gone, then it hadn’t been good. The moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, Laith passed him a glance and started down the block.
“Is everything okay?” He knew it wasn’t, but couldn’t think of a different way to ask.
“Yeah.”
He squinted, even if Laith couldn’t see it.
Laith’s legs were much longer than his and strode along very quickly while he practically ran to keep up, falling an inch behind despite himself. It was that midway speed, where if he walked, he’d be left behind, but if he ran, he’d shoot straight ahead, so he had to walk very fast and skip every now and then to keep pace. That call had changed everything about Laith; it’d extinguished his good humor and added urgency to his day, no longer a lazy weekend. If Theodore had to guess, he’d say one of Laith’s friends had been on the other end of the line.
Laith took the stairs down into Cantaloupe. Early in the afternoon, not a lot of people hung around the entrance, but the ones who did all passed Theodore a good, long glance as he followed Laith down.
The fact that he’d never entered the tunnels with Laith wasn’t lost on him. He thought of when he’d first gone down, V asking him if he minded being seen with a bunch of Poison Darts. Did people know who he was and associated him with Poison Darts? If so, then were they interested because Laith was an Alvorada or because Laith was the Great White? Realistically, they probably stared because Laith was accompanied. That was all.
Laith took the stairs all the way down to the subway. This station was very similar to the one near Hwan’s place, with the two train tracks, one at each side going in different directions. They took the train on the right—Theodore drilled that into his mind. It wasn’t nearly as full as he’d seen them last time, with plenty of space right in the middle. Laith crossed the wagon to lean against the metal wall by the back of somebody’s seat, in a sort of cabin of his own. Theodore stood in front of him, holding onto the pole that ran up the seat and met with the other ones overhead. Doing his best to appear nonchalant, he took out his phone and noted down everything they’d done so far, keeping close tabs on the directions to Laith’s house. If he couldn’t have his address, then he’d take note of it himself.
When he looked up again, he found a few heads staring at him from a good few feet away, people that sat on benches or stood by them, almost everyone at one end of the wagon. To confirm his suspicions, he glanced at the opposite end only to find the same scenario staring back at him. It creeped him out. With his heart in his throat, he reached back towards Laith, eyes still locked with a stranger’s. He grabbed the lapel of Laith’s jacket and tugged on it, semi-paralyzed. In response, Laith shoved his arm away and moved closer. As soon as they stood in each other’s personal spaces, the stranger broke the stare to glance at Laith next, then immediately averted his gaze. In fact, everybody in the wagon stopped looking.
“You’re okay,” Laith reassured him, voice small in the gap between them. He lay an arm over the backrest behind Theodore, where nobody sat. It didn’t touch him at all, but it was still close enough to make a statement, that they were together in some way.
The whole time Laith rode next to him, no one stared.
***
They hopped off at Blaze, a densely populated station much like the ones Theodore had been getting accustomed to. This was what came to mind when he thought of the tunnels now, hordes of people crammed into dimly lit areas with neon glossing over their hair and the leather of their clothes.
In the hustle and bustle of the crowd, they took the stairs up one flight. It seemed to come out deep into what looked like part of the guts, where a stream of people traveled east. That wasn’t to say no one went against the grain, only that they weren’t the vast majority.
With no hesitation, Laith jumped into the crowd and followed it almost all the way to the end. Close enough to it that Theodore could catch a glimpse of the other side, wide and massive, Laith took a left. Before doing the same, Theodore took a moment to glance around himself, looking for a reference point that would set this hemorrhage of stores apart from the rest that looked just like it. What he found was a sign, hanging from the ceiling, that pointed to the Dead Ponies up ahead and listed some businesses off to the left. One of them was called Forest Fire, which he drilled into his mind before taking the exit.
If the tunnels were a human body, then the guts would be the main arteries while hallways like this one would be smaller veins, spread around for better circulation. Only a fraction of the crowd from before walked down this path, but that was still a significant number of people. At the very end, it merged into a T-intersection, which Laith simply crossed for the building directly ahead. It was one of the more inconspicuous ones, just a door on the wall and balconies on both sides, from the second floor up to the fourth. The people who lived on the first floor only had a row of windows.
The door led up a few steps into a long hallway that cut sideways, so Theodore had to glance left and right to see its entirety. Straight ahead, crossing it, the path forked into a choice to take the stairs up or simply continue forward to what seemed yet another sideways hallway, where he supposed more apartments resided. That put a sideways H in his head. Laith took the stairs up one floor and turned right.
Traversing this place was in no way different than any portion of the guts, with people coming back and forth, speaking loudly to each other. It was a mess; Theodore had no idea how anyone slept in here. The doors must be soundproof.
As they walked down the hallway, he spotted two people chatting, each in their own apartment. The doors were open, so they could lean on their respective frames and talk that way, watching the hall, just how Laith had described. The two neighbors promptly caught sight of them. Conversation halted with their approach. Eyebrows were drawn up with delighted surprise, lips curled into smirks.
Laith motioned vaguely between them. “Girls, this is Theo. Theo, these are my neighbors.”
Girls?
One of them reached a hand toward him, the way royal women did in the movies, with the back of the hand up, as if showing off their rings. It definitely looked that way, since she wore a big green jewel on that hand. Was Theodore supposed to kiss it? Unsure how to proceed, he took her fingers and tugged on them a little bit, going for a sort of handshake. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing right now.
“Ms. Intervention. That’s my stage name, but I’ll let you use it.” Her voice was deep with a feminine touch to it, intentional. She was about as tall as Laith himself, but at least twenty years his senior, bald with very thin eyebrows. Her body was lean and androgynous, skin three shades darker than Laith’s. She wore a simple dress that hung from her shoulders all the way down her legs, blue and green, arms bare. A belt wrapped around her waist gave her a stunning silhouette, polished and regal. She reminded him of a queen.
“I’m D’angela,” the other neighbor jumped in, catching Theodore’s attention next. She didn’t give him a hand to shake or even moved away from her door frame, so he simply nodded his acknowledgement. She clearly didn’t want to be touched.
About the same age as her neighbor, D’angela was a little shorter than her and just as white as Theodore. Her hair was short and dark, like a crown at the height of her ears, bald at the very top, eyebrows shaved halfway off. She was bigger than Ms. Intervention, but held herself in much of the same way, feminine and poised. Her dress had ruffles on the shoulders and ended just above the knee, covered in a pastel pink floral pattern.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Ms. Intervention commented. “Are you a model, by chance?”
Theodore felt his cheeks heat up. “You think I could be one?”
“Absolutely,” both women spoke over each other.
“Look at you!” D’angela motioned up and down. “Style personified. You’d make a gorgeous woman.”
“Oh, stunning, but I’m not sure that’s what Shark’s looking for.”
Ms. Intervention’s remark drew a scowl onto Theodore’s face.
A soft creaking sound came up behind him, indicative of Laith’s disinterest in letting this conversation continue. “Okay, we’ll catch up later,” he spoke hurriedly, one hand holding the door open for Theodore.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Ms. Intervention added.
“We’ll hold you to it!”
“Glad you’re doing better, by the way. You’re sober today.”
Huh. Theodore opened his mouth just as a hand found his arm, closing gently around it.
“Okay, thanks.”
That was his obvious cue to leave, hand tugging on his arm, yet he didn’t want to. These women clearly knew a lot about Laith, information he’d been dying to know, but would never be able to ask right in front of the subject himself. He’d have to come back later, while Laith wasn’t home. That reminded him to take note of the path they’d taken after the subway—he’d do it out of Laith’s sight. Hopefully, he’d get a moment alone.
Laith’s apartment was small, like a hotel room with a kitchen in it. The front door opened into a small foyer with the bathroom on the right—door left wide open—and a sitting area on the left, together with a circular table and a bookshelf, the kind built into the wall. Up ahead was the double bed, the main focus of the entire place, since everything else was placed around it. The headboard was against the rightmost wall with a TV mounted across from it, which allowed just enough room for a passage between the two, along the foot of the bed. Pillows and sheets were strewn all over, a mount over the mattress, as if Laith had gotten up during a fever dream and tossed it all into the air.
Laith rushed further into the room to tend to it, throwing the pillows against the headboard and smoothing the sheets with his hands. “Sorry about the mess; I wasn’t expecting anyone today. I, uh—I never am.”
“It’s fine, really. I don’t care about that stuff.”
His mother clearly would, but he wasn’t her. Then again, she’d have far more qualms than just the mess over the bed. The more he took notice of the room, the more prevalent Laith’s lifestyle became. Dozens of pairs of pants were tossed over the arm of a chair, the circular table was stacked with books, and stealing a quick glance into the bathroom, he found piles of clothes on the floor as well as a counter covered in clutter. Did Laith really live like this? Theodore could be messy at times, but he’d never taken it this far.
Finished with the bed, Laith took a big breath. “Well, uh. I’m gonna take a shower. You can…” An arm motioned to the room in general. “You know, make yourself at home.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He approached the bed as Laith walked back to the foyer, shoulders shrugging Qasim’s jacket off. Behind the front door was a wide hanger with multiple hooks where jackets had been placed, Qasim’s alongside them. Laith kicked his boots off into a corner, already populated with other pairs of shoes, right next to the door. It bore noticing a baseball bat among them, resting against the wall, shining silver, made of aluminum. The sight brought a shine to Theodore’s eyes.
“Do you play?” His question came out with a breath, almost catching in his throat.
Laith turned to look at him, eyebrows drawn with confusion. In response, Theodore quickly motioned to the bat, eyes wide on his face. Laith turned once again, this time to see what he was pointing at.
“You never told me you played,” Theodore continued. “What position were you?”
“Uh, pitcher.”
“Really? That was Kyle on our team. I was a shortstop.”
“I haven’t played in a long time.”
Still turned toward the door, Laith pulled his shirt off. The muscles on his back moved in the low light, tattoo perfectly visible across his shoulder blades, ship sails and masts snaking up his side. With the shirt thrown carelessly into the bathroom, he worked on his pants next. The first thing that occurred to Theodore was to look away, but just before he did, a thought crossed his mind—they’d already seen each other naked. Staring at Laith now, especially with him turned around, wouldn’t make a difference. Laith didn’t tell him not to look. Explicitly undressing right in front of him welcomed his attention, right? Yes, of course; Laith would’ve walked into the bathroom otherwise.
“I haven’t played in a while either.” His eyes followed the curve of Laith’s ass, pants thrown over the arm of the chair with the others. “We could practice sometime. You’ll pitch and I’ll swing.”
Laith disappeared into the bathroom. “When I say a long time, I really do mean a long time.” The size of the apartment didn’t muffle his voice very much, still just as audible from where Theodore stood. Not closing the bathroom door helped too. “Five years, at least,” Laith clarified.
“Since high school?”
“Yeah.”
“Me too. I wish there were clubs where you could play without having to enter a championship or compete with anyone. That was the part I hated.”
Water echoed within the bathroom, loudly hitting the tiles. That probably meant their conversation was over. In silence, Theodore turned around, eyes on the kitchen across the bed. It looked incredibly neat and tidy for someone as messy as Laith, without a single pot in the sink. The counters extended along the back wall, with cabinets below most of them, except for the last few, where stools had been pushed beneath them, just two. Was that where Laith had his meals?
Taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, Theodore faced the foyer again. From here, he could also see the wardrobe, doors wide open. Inside, piles of black clothes spilled from the drawers, empty hangers on the rack. What even was in there? If the pants were on the chair, the jackets were behind the door and the shoes were on the floor, then these must be the shirts. Were the boxers in the drawers or were they part of the pile? He decided to stop looking, lest his curiosity took the best of him.
As it turned out, Laith’s apartment was one of the ones with a view, balcony doors right next to the wardrobe, window next to the stools in the kitchen. The curtains were drawn, sliding doors open a gap. On this side of the bed was a nightstand covered in empty bottles and an ashtray that overflowed with cigarette butts. The sight alone seized his heart in a hand, breath pulled from his throat. Had this been a particularly bad week, or did Laith just drink this much? He’d mentioned being bored and drinking all day—Theodore’s blood ran cold.
On a whim, he grabbed as many bottles as he could and walked over to the kitchen, eyes looking for a trashcan. He had to open a few of the cabinets below to find it. Two trips back and forth cleaned out the nightstand, ashtray included. That pulled wind into his lungs, hands fishing out his phone. Now, he could jot down the path they’d taken after the train.
As the hands on his watch turned, his mind went back to the women across the hall—were they still there? His foot tapped, fingers fidgeting. Would Laith care if he left for a moment? He promptly got up and approached the bathroom door, hand touching the frame as he peeked in. Steam fogged up the glass in the shower, but he could still see Laith through it, a vague shape that moved under the falling water. The floor was clear now, clothes put away, hidden somewhere, probably under the sink. A freshness permeated the air, reminiscent of mint.
He stepped into the doorway. “Hey.”
His voice was just loud enough to grab Laith’s attention over the sound of the falling water, green eyes finding him through the mist. A hand wiped the glass so they could see each other better, soap on Laith’s skin, hair slicked back.
“Do you mind if I leave for a minute?”
“Are you sure you don’t wanna join me?”
His pulse skipped—should he? He didn’t even know that was an option. That wasn’t why he’d interrupted at all, but it didn’t mean he should disregard the invitation either. His mind promptly went back to this morning, how he’d felt under Laith’s touch, burning alive, hands on his thighs, kisses down his neck, the hickey there. Would Laith give him another?
“Do you want company?”
A slow smirk cut through Laith’s face. “Yeah, I do.”
He swallowed dry, hand squeezing the door frame.
“But if you have something better to do, you can leave,” Laith added, shoulders bouncing. “I’ll just see you later.”
“Well, I mean…” he replied a little too fast, pulse skipping a beat. How could he even say no? A tongue swiped over his lips, hand motioning vaguely in the air, meaningless. He hesitated. Shit, shit—fuck it. “I guess I could stay.”
Laith’s smirk widened.
Undressing under Laith’s gaze added a thrill to something he’d never really thought about before. Realization dawned when he pulled the hoodie overhead and found Laith staring back at him, eyes in silent revere. His heart jumped, even though this shouldn’t be surprising; he did the same to Laith all the time. He’d just never thought he’d be on the receiving end of it one day.
Sheepish, but still flattered, he placed the hoodie over the mess on the counter and started on his shirt next. He tried to take it off how Laith did, even if there were no muscles to flex or anything to show off; he knew Laith could find something there. The multiple comments on his appearance were proof of that, despite his inability to see what Laith saw. The one argument he’d agree on, however, was that he was pretty good-looking. He’d even go so far as to say his face was his best attribute. No, wait—he had nice thighs too. Yeah, that was fair. Everything else could be scrapped, though.
His shoes came off next, kicked under the counter. While undoing the button on his pants, he thought of how to make this enticing. Maybe he could turn around… unless that was too obvious. Would it be too obvious? With his eyes down, he turned anyway. If he took his boxers off too, then he could pretend this had all been out of shyness. Yeah, that worked; two birds, one stone.
With his jeans tossed on top of Laith’s own, he threw a glance over his shoulder. The way green eyes burned, low and intense, let him know his little performance, however amateur, had worked just fine. The effort had paid off.
Light caught on the falling water like a cascade of crystals. It reached Laith through stained glass and warm fog, casting small shadows over his chest, a picture of the droplets that clung to the glass, growing thicker before slipping down. They drew moving patterns over his skin, rain on the window of a car.
He looked like a painting, a study of light and shadow, the way water rippled down his abs, light bouncing off his pecs. A strangely holy feeling fell over Theodore as he stepped into the shower, reverence in the pews of a church, a reminder that he was in the face of something divine. That word bounced around in his mind like the voices of a choir, accompanied by a figure chiseled out of marble, unrecognizable; Moses on a throne, Michelangelo’s talent on Laith’s body, sculpting details into his skin.
He approached Laith the way a Christian neared the altar—worship kept his head low and his gaze downcast, unworthy of looking his god in the eye. First, he touched Laith’s sides and kissed his neck. Water lapped his face, drenching his hair, the introduction to his baptism. He went down willingly; his lips dragged along Laith’s body, kissing the ripples of his stomach, glued to the image of his religion. On his knees, he accepted Communion.
He’d never been god-fearing, but this could change his mind. His dedication to Laith was enlightening; it gave him purpose, it carved a path. This was what he was meant to do. He worked the head with more diligence than he’d ever seen from himself, application born out of piety.
Laith could make him believe in anything.
When a hand grabbed his hair, he understood what Laith had meant when he’d said that there was cruelty in love. He’d never felt something like it. Surprise paved the way to shock, which paralyzed him, unable to breathe. He sunk nails into Laith’s thighs as his body stiffened, eyes shut, watering.
A minute later, the hand let go.
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