February 2020 (pre-covid)

Calvin Sumner

    "It's freaking freezing out here," I scream, wrapping my arms around myself as I run across the back deck. Dres is moving leisurely, of course, at the speed he seems to prefer to move at, particularly in ten degree weather.

     My teeth are chattering when I tell him to hurry up, bouncing on my feet like that may increase blood flow enough to warm me up even a fraction of a degree. It doesn't.

     Dres runs up behind me and picks me up unexpectedly, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. I scream his name and can feel his shoulders shaking under my hips as he laughs, moving swiftly down the stone pathway towards the hot tub.

     He walks us into the center of the tub before he sets me down. I let out a sound of satisfaction when my feet submerge into the hot water, turning towards the nearest wall and crouching down against it without hesitation. I sink low enough that the water grazes my chin. Dres remains standing, looking mildly uncomfortable.

     "Is it supposed to be this hot? It feels too hot."

     "No, it's perfect. This feels so good. Come on, sit down." I slap the water. "You just need to get used to it."

     Dres eventually sits down across from me, leaning back against the side. Most of his chest is above the water and his arms are sprawled across the back. He looks posed, like he's sitting for someone who's going to paint his portrait, even though he's clearly not trying. His eyes are closed and his heads tipped back. He could be sleeping.

     I kind of want to put my mouth on him but I've been trying to exercise restraint.

     Okay, so I just decided in this moment I'm going to exercise restraint. Because sex in a hot tub doesn't really have that much appeal to me.

     The silence must tip Dres off because he opens his eyes and tilts his head to look at me. "What?" he asks, amusement in his tone.

     "Nothing, you're just breathtaking, is all," I say in the most casual of tones.

     Dres flushes. "Stop it."

     "I'm just saying."

     "Don't just say," he grumbles.

     "You need to learn how to take a compliment. Here, try it with me. Thank you, baby, that's so nice of you to say."

    Dres is like really flushing. I want to chalk it up to the hot water, but I'm certain it's my words. Dres doesn't do well with compliments but he's going to have to work through that because there's lots of them in his future. I kind of think despite how poorly he takes them, that he needs them. Maybe even likes hearing nice things about himself.

     He's flustered now, though, as he grasps for a response. "I'm not calling you that."

     "Fine," I say with an exaggerated eye roll, even though I'd really be on board with baby as a pet-name. Especially if it's coming out of Dres's mouth. Super hot. "Thank you, darling, that's so nice of you to say."

     "No."

     "Thank you, sweetheart, that's so nice of you to say."

     Dres pushes away from the wall and wades over to me, climbing into my lap like this segue is a very natural progression. But Dres in my lap is not something I'll ever be equipped to handle, always feels like the best kind of surprise.

     He sits down and I wrap my arms around his lower back loosely. "Thank you," he says, voice low, as he dips his head and kisses at the underside of my jaw. "Sweetheart," he kisses at the other side of my jaw, "darling," and then the center of my throat before he licks his way up over my chin.

     "Baby," he says into my mouth as he kisses me. I move my hands, reaching up to cup his face and hold him there. He parts too soon and I've all but forgotten about my call for restraint. So I get a chlorine-cleaning, big whoop. I'll cross the medical ramifications of that bridge later.

     "That's so nice of you to say," he says mouth hovering over mine. I can feel his lips moving with each word.

     I make a disgruntled sound. "You're a tease."

     He bats his lashes. "Oh, whatever do you mean."

     "You know exactly what I mean —" I break off with a groan. "I swear to god, Dres if you don't stop rocking in my lap."

     "You're gonna what?" he asks nudging my nose with his. "Fuck me?"

     It's so unexpected that I jerk my head backwards, and Dres looks at me, surprised, and I'm definitely looking at him surprised. I open my mouth to speak but don't know what to say at first, giving it a moment before I go, "I didn't think you'd want to again."

     Dres's eyebrows pull together, confused. "Why?"

     "I don't know. I wasn't very good the first time."

     Dres glares at me like I've personally offended him. Like I've just said he wasn't that good. "Says who?"

     Okay, admittedly, I'd just sort of assumed it wasn't that great for Dres. It was freaking fantastic for me. I'd be chasing that feeling for the rest of my life.

     "Cas," Dres says and he nudges at my forehead with his so I'll look up. "It was good for me." He waits for my reaction or response and when I don't give one, he goes, "It was good for me. Okay?"

     "Okay," I repeat back if only to get him to stop looking at me like that.

     "I would do it again," he says finally. "I would like to if you want to."

     "I don't know," I answer quickly. "I just feel like I wasn't — and I don't really know how — and it's just, it was really intense and it's a lot, you know, overwhelming and I'm nervous. I'm nervous to—"

     "Cas," Dres says, cutting me off. "It's just us. It's not like there's an audience."

     "Just us, like you aren't you."

     "What does that even mean?"

      "It means—" I sigh heavily, a nauseating combination of frustrated and embarrassed. "It is intimidating enough to be doing something I'm not used to doing and then to be doing that thing with you..."

     Dres frowns. "So did you not want to do it the first time?"

     "No," I say quickly. "No, I did. I do. I just — I want to impress you. That's it, that's all it is. I want to impress you."

     "Sex is the one place you don't have to worry about impressing me." He says it so seriously that I suddenly feel like I've built up all this anxiety around topping for absolutely no reason at all. "I like our sex life, Cas. It's not unsatisfying in the least. But it's also not the reason I'm with you at all. I don't need some stallion in the sheets. What I like about sex is that I'm having it with you."

     "Oh," I say quietly. "Okay." I drop my head on his shoulder, whispering into his neck, "You make me nervous and I keep expecting that feeling to go away but it doesn't."

     He caresses the back of my head. "Maybe feeling a little nervous is a good thing. Or maybe it's not nerves at all that you're feeling."

     I know exactly what I'm feeling, though. This sense of dread coupled with the embarrassing response to give him everything I am and everything I have to give. I'm not really trying to impress Dres, that's not what makes me nervous. I'm trying to convey a bigger message than I know words for, something that says you can have every inch of me, it's all yours. I'm nervous because it constantly feels like I have something to lose.

    So maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe that's all you can be when you love someone so vigorously.

     "Come on," I say.

     "Where are we going?"

     "Where do you think? To the bedroom for a Cas tops Dres part two. Giving it the ol' college try."

     "We really don't have to, if you really don't want to."

     "I really do want to but I really can't overthink it or I'm going to vomit on you."

     "That's one way to foreplay."

     So it goes if at first you don't succeed, try again.

     Because apparently you will succeed.

     Topping 0 Cas 1

     The sex endorphins haven't worn off yet and I'm feeling too good. Good enough that it doesn't even bother me that topping leaves me way sweatier and I could benefit from a shower right about now. I'm not going to shower, though, because Dres is wrapped around me, head resting on my chest and his arms tucked under mine, linking across my back. One could say I was big spooning and they would be close to accurate. And I never big spoon. I'm just going to enjoy this in all my sweaty glory.

     I run my hand along his shoulder blades and then up over the curve of his arm. I remember the feel of it, how the flesh rises slightly and is softer than the rest of him. Feels delicate, feels like a thin sheet of skin draped over a memory.

     "What are the odds this place is haunted?" I whisper.

     Dres grumbles and sounds half-asleep when he answers, "It's not haunted."

     "But like what are the odds it is?" I ask.

     "There are no odds," he says.

     "But those are odds. The odds are zero, then."

     "It's not haunted, Cas."

     "I think I heard something."

     "You didn't. Go to sleep."

     I close my eyes but I can't quell the weird panicky feeling in my stomach and that spot on Dres's shoulder feels hotter than the rest of him, like it's burning to warn me. I don't really believe in ghosts. And I don't actually think this place is haunted. No, what I really think is this place just isn't secure.

     "Do you think someone could break into here?"

     Dres unravels himself, shifting up the bed so his head's on the same pillow as me. "What's going on?"

     "I didn't lock any doors, did you lock the doors?"

     Dres gives a curt nod. "Yes, I locked the doors. Do you want me to double-check?"

     "I believe you," I say after a moment and then, "Why don't we have an alarm on this place?"

     "We can get one," he answers.

     "But what if someone breaks in tonight?"

     Dres gives me a weird look. "No ones breaking in tonight. No ones breaking in any night."

     "But I heard something."

     "You didn't hear anything."

     And then I hear something again. Louder. Definitive. My eyes are wide as I stare at Dres, who seems perfectly unfazed.

     He huffs. "I'll go check."

     "No!" I reach out to stop him as he sits up. "You've already been shot twice. Statistically, it's unlikely you'd survive a third."

      "Wait, what does that even—?"

      I interrupt him, continuing, "It could be another psycho stalker who wants to shoot the gay vet. Yeah, no, I'll go check."

     I push the covers off of me as Dres goes, "Well I'm going with you.'

     Because the house is not furnished in the slightest, there's nothing to bring with me as a weapon. I grab Dres's boot by the door as we step out into the hallway. Dres is in front of me, leading the way like there is nothing to fear as I creep behind him.

     "You're walking too loudly," I whisper.

     Dres glances over his shoulder so I can see just how unamused he is. It's not like I imagined the noise. We get to the stairwell and it's dark downstairs, save for light streaming through the front door. Which means someone was outside our front door because the outdoor lights are on a sensor. I'm definitely not imagining things. There's someone in the house.

     We walk downstairs and I'm quiet but Dres is not. He's strolling like there isn't any imminent danger. As we round the corner into the living room, I get in front of him just in case someone's waiting for us with a shotgun.

     "What are you doing?" he asks his tone confused and amused. "And why do you have my shoe? What are you going to do with that?"

     "Throw it at the person who's clearly broken into our house," I respond.

     "There's no one down here," he says as he flips on the light switch. It's way too bright for this time of night and I have to squint before I get used to it. There's a loud crash outside, on the deck, and I visibly jump.

     "I'll go check it out," he says calmly.

      I grab his arm, stopping him from continuing towards the back door. "Maybe we should just call the police. They can do a walk around."

     "Cas," he says softly. "There's no one out there."

     "You don't know that," I snap, frustrated by how lightly he's taking this.

     The night he came into my ER with a gunshot wound, he'd told the police that the guy who shot him told him to beg. Of course he didn't. I honestly wouldn't have expected him to, though, I would've hoped some self preservation would've kicked in. No, instead, Dres said something utterly ridiculous, something like 'we wear the same uniform,' to a guy who hated the fact a gay man had served in the military.

     Dres takes risks, puts his life at risk, and I'm simply not okay with that.

     "Alright, come on, we'll check it out together." Dres pulls me towards him, holding my hand as he leads the way. He opens the back door and we step out onto the porch. My adrenaline isn't so that I don't immediately feel frozen to the bone. I'm barefoot and only wearing the boxers I'd pulled on before we'd come downstairs. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs. It's so cold my nose instantly starts running.

     I dart my gaze along the tree-line near the lake. If someone was here, they were probably spooked by the lights and would've retreated into the darkness. They've probably got a sniper trained on us right now. We should run back inside before the both of us get shot.

     Admittedly, I know I'm sort of running with these thoughts now. I'm about to apologize to Dres for dragging us down here when his hand squeezes mine. "Cas," he says, tone very calm. Like forcibly so. "I need you not to scream."

     My stomach drops into my ass. I was right. There's a freaking sniper in the woods. I glance down at my chest to see if the little red dot is floating on my skin. It's not

     I turn to look where Dres is looking and meet two white orbs in the darkness. The bears a short distance away, at the end of our deck, hovering in the darkness. It's big but I don't know by what standards. I've never seen a bear in its natural habitat before.

     "Oh," I say as Dres takes a step back and then tugs me into his chest. His arm crosses over my chest as he practically drags me backwards into the house. My legs are so cold they've locked up and have stopped working. That may also be a fear response.

     I watch him shut the door softly and then turn the lock.

     "So do we call animal control? Should we make a run for the car? Like what's the protocol for this. I have never seen a bear outside of the zoo before."

     Dres chuckles. "No, it'll be gone by the morning. I'm surprised it was even out and not hibernating. But it's not going to bother us." Dres puts his hands on my back and ushers me back towards the stairwell. "Do you feel better now? It's not someone coming to kill us."

     "No, it's just a bear who could rip our intestines out of our bodies with one swipe."

     Dres doesn't respond and we trudge back upstairs and get back into bed quietly. Dres is radiating heat and I cling to it, curling up against his body. My feet are icicles so naturally I tuck them up into Dres's lap. He reaches down and rubs at my feet like he's using them to start a fire.

     "So what's going on?" he asks. I can't really see him in the darkness of our room, which is nice because I know I'm making a face that just totally gives away how anxious I feel.

     "Well you're rubbing my feet presently, which may be frost bitten."

     "You can't be a doctor and be this wildly overdramatic."

     "I'm a man of many talents."

     He's staring at me hard. That I can tell even in the darkness. "You know what I meant."

     I frown, taking my time to answer. "Okay, so I maybe worked myself up a bit."

     "Yeah, a bit," he agrees. "But why?"

     "I just got to thinking about your shoulder, which made me think about your arm. And, you know, up until you, I'd never met anybody who'd been shot before. And now you've been shot twice." I sigh loudly. "Look, I know we never really talked about this. But that night you came into my ER? That really fucked me up. And I felt like I couldn't even really express how hard it was to see you like that."

     "I'm sorry," Dres says.

     I pull my feet away so I can shift closer to him. There's just enough light that I can see his eyes, the shadow of his nose and the ring in his nostril. I focus on the gentle curve of his lips. "You don't have to be sorry," I say quietly. "You just have to be more conscious of the fact if you die you're killing me, too, so. And that's not me being overdramatic. I'm serious. I can't handle you rolling into my ER again."

     "Alright, I'll let the EMTs know from now on I exclusively go to University only."

     "Dres, I'm serious."

      "I know." He touches my face, thumb brushing along my jaw. "I'll be more careful."

     "Thank you."

     The day I decided to stop writing Dres, I was sitting in an advanced psychology class. It was the middle of the summer before my last year at school. I'd started taking classes during my breaks Sophomore year to finish as quickly and as early as possible. I hated college. I think I would've hated college even if all of the things that went down between Dres and I hadn't gone down.

     My class had a tendency to veer off topic. I liked those kinds of classes best, felt like it suited my learning style more than being lectured at for an hour and a half. Professor Rosenthal, who preferred we call them Jamie, was telling us the story of how they'd come out to their family. Jamie had been raised in rural Arkansas. Their parents flat out refused to accept any of the changes Jamie was asking of them, and never used their preferred pronouns. Eventually, Jamie said they had to accept that things weren't going to change. Despite how much they loved their family, they couldn't hold out hope that they could be the people who deserved to be in their life.

      It was a hot day in California and sweat was pooling everywhere it could on me — the back of my neck, my palms, the crooks of my elbows and backs of my knees. I was counting down the seconds class would be dismissed and I could take my board to the beach.

     Then Jamie said, "There comes a time, maybe many times, where you're going to have to turn your back on someone you love. You're going to need give up the belief that things will change, particularly when they've given you no indication that it will. You have to make the choice to move on and keep making it everyday until eventually, you start making it without thinking. Until eventually it stops feeling like you're making a choice at all."

     For obvious reasons, it resonated.

      At that point, I'd written Dres more letters than I should ever really own up to — all of which had gone unanswered. I'd told Dres about my life here, keeping him up-to-date on college, swimming, my surfing progress, even a few dead-end dates. I'd sent those mostly to see if I could even get a jealous angry letter back but I got nothing.

     And then Jamie quoted to us, "Letting go means coming to the realization that some people are a part of your history, but not a part of your destiny."

     And maybe it was the heat or dehydration or the fact I would be graduating school next year and transitioning into the next phase of my life but I knew they were right. Or I wanted them to be right. I wanted it enough that I decided I wouldn't send any more letters. I would write Dres one last time just to say I was finally letting him go.

     Staring at Dres in this moment, with the stitch between his eyebrows and his dark lashes fanned against the tops of his cheeks, it's crazy to think that there was a chance we'd never be together again.

     Maybe letting go means realizing that if someone's your destiny, they'll find their way back to you.