AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Will and Patrick each took a seat on the settee, sipping their beers side by side in silence while Will inwardly berated himself for not owning more furniture. He felt at once both too close and miles away from his unexpected guest and resolved to spirit an armchair away from Margo’s spare room at the first opportunity.
“It really is a laugh,” said Will. “If you wanted to join us?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Patrick said. “You didn’t see me the last time I was there.”
Will bit his tongue. But I did.
“It was fun,” Patrick added. “Until the whole…you know.”
“Poppers o’clock.”
“Yeah.” Patrick smiled ruefully into his beer, then his expression became more serious. His next words felt carefully chosen. “On second thought, I would like, I think,” he said, “to go back.”
“To the Village?”
“Yes. It was fun. Different, I guess.” Patrick’s eyes were fixed on his bottle, and his thumb restlessly rubbed at the neck like he was trying to free a genie. “That’s not the kind of place I usually go to,” he said, “…anymore.”
The word hung in the air between them, a balloon ready to fly away or pop at any moment.
“Was it once?” Will asked.
“A long time ago.”
“Big fan of cheap drinks and Lady Gaga, were you?”
“Yes,” said Patrick. “I was.” He looked up at Will. “Am.”
I knew it, Will thought, even though he hadn’t, not really. He had suspected. Hoped, even. But you never knew these things until you knew them, and now, as he sat with it, he figured it didn’t make much of a difference. This wasn’t Jordan or Ry or any other gay man Will had met. Patrick Lake being gay didn’t stop him being Patrick Lake. It didn’t mean he necessarily fancied Will just because they had this one basic thing in common. You wouldn’t put a Great Dane and a Chihuahua together just because they were both dogs, would you? If anything, it just lent credence to one of Will’s many theories: Patrick wanted friendship. Community. And that, he could provide.
“Come with me,” he said, standing up. He waved for Patrick to follow him into the next room: his bedroom. “Relax, I’m not going to jump you,” he laughed, maybe a little too loudly. “I just want to show you something.”
Patrick, brows creased either in bafflement or curiosity, trailed him into the bedroom. There were two wardrobes: a mirrored one with sliding doors built into the wall, and a free-standing, decades-old IKEA monstrosity shoved next to the bed. Will walked up to that one and, with a dramatic flourish, threw the doors open.
Patrick peered in at its contents, probably anticipating the dreadful sight of a superfan’s shrine or creepy doll collection, and Will imagined he could see the relief wash over his face, followed by sudden understanding, as he took in the gowns on wooden hangers and, along the bottom of the wardrobe, wigs placed meticulously on polystyrene heads—including a gorgeous red one that Will was exceptionally proud of as it brought out his eyes, and which he thought Patrick might just recognize.
“Grace,” said Patrick in astonishment. “Grace Anatomy. That was you.”
“The very same.” Will dipped into an abbreviated curtsy. “In the flesh.”
Patrick erupted in laughter, and an instantaneous chill shot down Will’s spine, but there was no cruelty or derision in the sound. It was the gasping, gleeful sound of an audience member who had just witnessed an inexplicable magic trick.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Patrick asked him. “All this time!” He reached out and pulled Will into a sideways embrace, still staring at the treasure trove inside the wardrobe. Will tensed instinctively as Patrick casually slipped his arm around his waist, straightening his posture, contracting every muscle in his body, breath frozen in his chest. It was hard not to stand next to a literal superhero without admonishing yourself for not going to the gym more.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. We spoke for all of ten seconds.”
“And you saved my ass.”
“From a gaggle of drunk gays. Hardly Captain Kismet stuff.”
“Hey, not all heroes wear capes. Some wear…” Patrick craned his neck to examine one of the garments hanging from the back of the wardrobe door. “Kaftans?”
“That’s just for lounging. Only hussies wear kaftans out of the house.”
“Good to know,” said Patrick, continuing his fascinated inspection.
“Another?” Will asked, gesturing with his own beer at the bottle in Patrick’s hand.
“Sure.”
