In my defense, I really do want things to be normal. I'm all for going to work and pretending nothing occurred between Dres and I. But by the time my evening shift gets here, I'm somehow less inclined to play it cool.

     I've come to the conclusion the best thing I can do for myself is try to get over Dres. But the only way I can ignore my feelings for Dres is by ignoring Dres altogether. So that's what I'm going to do. Because he'll survive the silent treatment, but I don't know that I'll survive his pity friendship.

     So I pretend not to see him when he nods at me from the kitchen and I'm deaf to the familiar "hey" he sends my way when I go to clock in. I have to look away when Dres comes into the main room toting trays of cupcakes, muscles straining under the white tee shirt he's wearing.

     "How was practice?" he asks as he fills the displays. I should help him. That is what I would do on any normal day, but the proximity that would put me to him keeps me in my spot by the register.

     "Fine," I say, staring down at a textbook I'm unable to focus on.

     Dres may glance at me, but I'm forcing myself to stare at the word sternocleidomastoid so I can't tell for sure. "And how were your classes?" he asks after a moment of silence.

     "Fine," I repeat, turning the page so I can do some more intense staring. Things are clearly going so smoothly. A moment later, Dres finishes filling the displays and I think I may breathe again.

     But then his voice breaks my focus. "You're different today."

     I look up and he's there, in front of the counter, leaning on it, staring up at me. "Different how?" I ask, my tone just a little too cold to go unnoticed.

     He's leaning over the counter enough that we're just the length of my textbook away. "Angry, maybe?" He's not sure of this.

    I step back from the counter to remedy the space problem. Flustered, I say quickly, "I'm not angry."

      Dres relents. "Okay, annoyed maybe."

     "Nope. Just trying to do my job, boss," I say stubbornly as I pick up a rag and wipe down the counter to prove my point.

     He lifts his arms so I can wipe under them then he goes, "I take it back. It's definitely angry."

     I stop cleaning, and look at him, meet his gaze rather boldly when his stare is intense enough to make me forget my name. I want to refute his statement but decide to ignore him instead, glancing away.

     He goes, "Why are you upset?"

     Shaking my head, I drag my textbook closer to me so I'm farther from Dres. "I actually have an exam to study for so..."

     Dres stares at me, something like surprise in his expression. I think that this is the end of our conversation so I turn my face back to my book.

     It's been raining most of the evening, streaks of lightening cracking the sky every so often, so there aren't many customers here tonight, giving me the opportunity to focus on my work.

     At least, I would be, if not for Dres.

     He's still leaning against the counter. I know he's staring at me and I know he's waiting for me to acknowledge him. So, finally, I give in and look up.

     "If you tell me why you're angry, maybe I can fix it," he says softly. I think maybe there's some truth to that.

     "I'm not angry, and there's nothing to fix, so," I insist.

     Dres shoots back, "Come on, Calvin. Be direct with me."

     "You're probably the least direct person I know so why do I have to be direct?" I snap back, haughtier than I intended it to be.

     Dres is smirking, a little, like this is somehow comical to him. "If you're not direct, how do you expect to get what you want?"

     He makes a good point but I'm not about to tell him that.

     "I also resent that statement. I'm direct," he adds.

     I roll my eyes. "You're only direct when it comes to things you want to know. But god forbid someone want to know a thing about Dres." I'm talking more honestly than I normally would with Dres but can't take back my words. Don't even want to, really.

     Dres is absolutely smirking now. "It is so entertaining when you get like this."

     I grit my teeth. "Glad to know my aggravations entertain you."

     His expression drops and he gets serious. "Tell me why you're aggravated."

     My tone is bitter and heated as I bark, "Do you even like me, like at all?"

     I don't know what compels me to ask him that, and I already want to take it back but the electricity flickers, stealing our attention, before it shuts off completely. Dres is still standing there, looking at me, clearly surprised by my question.

     A second later, these faint lights illuminate the room as best they can. Emergency lights, I guess. Dolores enters the room, saying, "It looks like the whole street's lost power."

     "I guess that means we're closing, huh," I say unrecognizably cold. "And I can go home."

     Dres is still staring at me, eyes in slits, like he's trying to figure something out. Dolores goes, "We might as well close for the night."

     Dres nods to Dolores, glancing back at me with the same confused expression, before walking out. Dolores looks at me like she's going to say something, but doesn't, silently moving around the bar to retrieve the register.

     I waste no time cleaning up. While most nights I'd draw it out as much as I can so Dres will come and help me that's the last thing I want. I'm moving through the tasks faster than I ever have. Luckily the place isn't really messy today.

     I get the chairs flipped over and the floors swept in record time, before I pull out the mop and finish up. As I'm putting the mop and broom back in the supply closet, Dres walks in. He glances around the room and then his eyes land on me.

     I don't give him a chance to speak, saying, "I finished everything for closing so I'm going to clock out."

     "You finished everything?" he repeats and I nod my head. "Okay, you can help in the kitchen."

     "What?" I practically exclaim mostly because the kitchen is clearly Dres's place, both in the sense that he cleans it up and also because whenever I'm back there with him he is literally a force to be reckoned.

     "Yeah, I mean it's only eight and your shift's not over till nine."

     "Right," I say with a huff because how can I refute that. He heads for the kitchen and I follow, leaving a good amount of space between us.

     The kitchen looks mostly like it's clean. Just by eyeballing it, I don't really see anything that needs to be done. "What do you want me to do?" I ask, lagging behind to maintain the distance between us.

     Dres turns around, leans back against the island, and crosses his arms. "What is up with you?" he asks.

     I repress a groan. I saw this coming from a mile away. I stare down at my feet, avoiding him and his question.

     "Calvin," he says, his tone harsher.

     I'm really not thinking when I blurt, "I quit."

     Dres's arms drop to his sides. "What?"

     "I, uh, I quit. Consider this my form of resignation," I repeat.

     Dres shakes his head. "No. You're not quitting."

     I don't have a single clue what I'm doing here. Really, I'm just winging it. I try to find my footing, saying, "Pretend two weeks ago I gave you two weeks notice."

     "I'm not pretending anything."

     "Okay, fine, then this is my two weeks notice."

     Dres stares at me, the shadows of his face deeper in the dim emergency lights. "You're really going to quit?"

     I press my lips together, hold out on answering his question for a second so I can really give it some thought. I shake my head, slowly. "No, I don't really know why I said that."

     "What is going on?" he asks again.

     "Nothing. Just forget I said anything."

     Dres makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. "That's the thing - you haven't really said anything."

     I don't respond.

     Dres goes, "So you're mad, why?"

     "I'm not mad," I respond defensively.

     "Fine, aggravated, then," he clarifies voice testy like he's not interested in arguing semantics. "Why?"  he repeats.

     I don't challenge him on it because aggravated probably comes the closest to frustrated so it seems pretty spot on. But also, I'm getting tired of having this argument with him. And he should really know the answer to that. I'm aggravated because of him. Because I like him too much to forget about him and I can't have just a friendship. It's not enough. It's never going to be enough. I'm yearning for him in every corner of my soul at this point. 

     I want it all - all of it. I want the dates, and dinners, and midnight conversations, and late night drives, and morning texts, and his family to meet my family. I want his family to be my family. I'm in way over my head.

     He starts towards me, making lengthy strides to close the distance between us and I put an arm out, saying, "What're you doing?" I'm pressing my back to the fridge to preserve the last of the space between us because it to maintain my resolve.

     "Talk to me," he says, looking down at me.

     "I have nothing to say." Which isn't true, necessarily. I have a lot of things to say. I just don't know how to say them. I don't know how to say them without sounding crazy. Without putting it all on the table. Without getting myself hurt.

     "I don't believe that."

     I make a face. Even in the lowlight, he can read me so well. It's fucking annoying.

     "Can you back up?" I make a hand gesture for him to move, but he stays where he is. "You know, just to, like, be clear here you're paying me to have a conversation with you."

     Dres ignores everything I'm saying. "What'd I do?" I shake my head, not entirely sure what he's talking about. "You're mad at me. So what did I do, Calvin?"

     I don't answer because what I want to say is figure it out, Dres. Put it together. Realize that it hurts being this invested in you when you are so clearly not invested in me.

     He goes, "Is it because I paid for everything yesterday?"

     I frown. Okay, so he seriously has no idea why I'm mad. Wow. "No, Dres," I snap.

     "Are you mad at me because I didn't tell you I was in the military?"

     "Why would that be the thing that's made me mad?"

     "I don't know, Cas! Why is there anything making you mad? I thought-"

     "You thought what, Dres?"

     "I thought we had a good time, yesterday. I thought that was what you wanted."

     What I wanted? So that's all it was. Wish fulfillment. Dres trying to do something nice for me. There's a hot feeling behind my eyes and the last thing I want to do is cry in front of Dres. Then what, he'll take me out for some pity icecream? Miss me with that.

     I try to shove past him, muttering, "Move, Dres." Dres is a wall and I bounce off of him. He grabs my arms and shoves me back up against the fridge, rooting me to my spot. My breath catches inside my audible gasp and all I can do is stare up at him, mouth gaping in surprise. Dres presses his hands against the fridge on either side of me and leans down so his mouth is hovering entirely too close to my face.

     He says quietly, "What happened in the last twenty-four hours to set you off like this?" I still don't respond so Dres says, "Please, Cas. Just tell me how I can fix this."

     I open my mouth, then shut it on second thought. Dres turns his head slightly and goes, "What? What were you going to say?"

     I knead my bottom lip with my front teeth. "It's..." I trail.

     "It's what?" Dres prompts.

     "Can you back up?" I ask instead and Dres deflates, looking hurt. He drops his arms and steps back. Breathing is easier but not by much.

     I shake out my hands, trying to wring the anxiety out of them. I have to look away from Dres's beating stare as I say, "I have no idea who you are."

     "You know who I am," he responds fiercely.

     I frown. "Not really. You don't give anything away."

     "I thought you liked that."

     I don't what to say because maybe I did. When the idea of liking Dres was just that an idea. But now that I've got very real feelings for him, I kind of need him to be more concrete, too. It's not good, liking the idea of a person. Too much time has elapsed and Dres's expression is getting more distressed by the second.

     So I say, "You're like the solar system."

     And I have no idea why I've said it. But it's too late now. it's out there. There's going to be no mistaking how I feel when he hears this.

     "What does that mean?"

     "It means... You're the solar system," I repeat with emphasis this time. "And while I'd love to take this metaphor down the route where I basically say I'm stuck in your orbital that's not where I'm going with this."

      "Well where are you going with this?"

     I naw on my bottom lip, kinda wishing I could take back the whole night because this talking thing? It's no bueno. "I can't explain it."

     "Try."

     "Okay. Well. I like to know things."

     Dres nods. "Yeah, I know."

     "No, you see, I like to know things. And I know a lot of things about space. I know the names of the planets, and how they line up: Mercury, Venus, Earth—."

     Dres stops me, going, "I get it."

     "I can even point out some constellations."

     "Okay..."

     I look up in thought, trying to figure out how to put my words together. "But, no matter how much I learn, I'll never really know the solar system, you know?"

     Dres nods unsurely.

     "At least, not the way I'd like to," I say earnestly. "Because it's too far away." My voice pitches harshly. "And I can't reach it. Okay? And, and, that only makes me want...more."

     I pause, wondering if he's following anything that I'm saying. My voice drops as I say, "I can see you, Dres, and watch you, but I can't get close enough to touch you." I meet his gaze. "Does that make sense?"

     Dres steps back into my space, giving me so little to work with that my heart makes a frantic show of itself. He says, his voice deep but quiet, "You can touch me, Cas."

     I make a humming sound, unable to form a coherent sentence. We're still talking about the metaphorical touch right? He turns his head slightly, like he no, he really means it. I'm all too aware of my breathing, which is heavy and rushed, and then I'm aware of his breathing.

     Dres takes my hand, brings it up to his chest, and places it there. "You can touch me," he says again, even softer this time. He has his hand over mine, holding it in place. His eyes dart along my face like he's trying to decide if I'm listening. I'm listening, I'm just also simultaneously dying.

     He lets go of my hand but I leave it there, pressed flat against his sternum. I spread my fingers like a star, glance at where it rests and then up at Dres waiting for him to push me away. He doesn't.

     So I slide my hand upwards and feel him stiffen when my fingers brush the skin of his chest where the neckline of his shirt dips. I lick my lips, and struggle to swallow against the knot in my throat. Dres's breathing changes, gets harder so that I can feel it against my face. I drag my fingers to his shoulder. The fabric is soft under my palm but I'm looking for more skin. His shirt covers most of him, and I have to draw my hand up the slope of his neck.

     I don't know how we got here, silent and maybe not even breathing at this point, but the way Dres is looking at me makes my whole body ache.

     Even though he's not touching me, his arms are at his sides, my skin is on fire. I know I should stop touching Dres. Touching Dres is the exact opposite way to get over him. But his neck is hot, and I can press my fingers up against the crook of his jaw and feel his pulse, this heavy beat against my fingertips. And I like it. I like hooking my fingers against his lifeline like an anchor.

     I move my fingers to trace the lotus flower tattooed in the center of his neck. I feel his Adam's apple lift and fall as he swallows. I let my hand trail back down to the center of his chest, thumbing the fabric of his shirt. He clears his throat, so I chance a look upwards.

     When our gaze meets, he asks, voice just above a whisper, "Are you giving up on me?"

     I shake my head. "No, I was under the impression that was you."

     He says solemnly, "I'm not."

     I nod, not really understanding the extent of his words but not really caring. My brains doing all the work of keeping me sentient because I'm at risk for blacking out. My brain is too busy being a RAM drive capturing each frame of this moment so I'll have the most vivid recall of this memory that it won't even feel like a memory. It'll feel like time travel when I think of it. Yeah no, I can't overthink Dres's words because I'm too busy trying to stay alive.

     I return my gaze to my hand that is still pressed against Dres.

     Dres's chest is all muscle. He is firm beneath my hand, and as I trail lower, to his abdomen, I am able to trace the defined muscles through his shirt. I look up at him again and his eyes are drooping, his whole expression open, soft, dazed almost. I watch him as I move my hand lower, finding the hem of his shirt with my thumb, wondering how far he'll let me go.

     I hesitate before slipping underneath his shirt, settling my palm over his stomach and absorbing the heat. I do it fast, without thinking, and it elicits the smallest of sounds from Dres. He leans into me, dropping his head onto my shoulder. I remain there with my hand placed firmly against him.

     My head is up against his neck, and he smells sweet, like cake batter but something he's wearing, cologne or deodorant, adds a sharp note to it, makes him smell earthy, too. I turn my head slightly, so my nose is against his skin, and breathe in, trying to commit the scent to memory.

     I shift my hand slightly and circle his belly button with my pointer finger just because I can. Dres is Venus, warm and somehow, despite the gravitational defiance, within my reach. I want to soak him up, bathe in his heat, fall asleep curled against him.

     "This is nice," I say, my voice caught in the crook of his neck.

     Dres is disconcertingly quiet. He hasn't moved, either. I should stop, remove my hand, and maybe try not to crumble to the ground. Instead, I sweep my fingers around his side, testing how far he'll let me go. I get to his back, and start to trace his spine. His body concedes, going slack against me. My fingers dance along his lumbar, pressing gently on the vertebrae.

     I turn my head just enough so my lips are pressed against his neck, open my mouth slightly and let my tongue lap at his skin not sure if I'm trying to kiss him or taste him. Maybe both.

     Dres shifts without warning, moving his head and slotting our mouths together.

     That's all it takes and we're kissing, hot and open. It is nothing like I expected and somehow everything I need it to be. I bring my other hand, the one not up his shirt, to his neck and hold him there, against my mouth so I can take his breath and swallow it.

     His lips are open against mine, tongue moving gently along my lips. Dres kisses with a fine-tuned skill, and I want lessons. I bring him closer, so his chest is pressed against mine and lift myself up onto the balls of my feet. Dres tilts his head, brushing our noses, as he pushes back and then his tongue is in my mouth drawing out my breath, taking whatever composure I managed to retain with it.

     I am nothing but the soft sounds I'm panting against his lips, and the hand clutching at his neck, fingers tracing the vein pulsing under in his jaw. I get a chill that makes my whole body shake and it's only then I realize that Dres is not touching me. Which is a problem.

     I slide my hand down his arm, cinching my fingers around his wrist and pulling it to me. I wait, thinking he'll understand my request, but his hand hovers in the space between us, close but not touching. I writhe, wanting always wanting.

     "Dres," I say testily against his lips.

     He ignores my discontent, kissing me, dragging his teeth along my lips, before his tongue laps at my mouth. I almost forget what I want but then I run my hand up his back to his shoulder blades and think about the touching

     "Dres, come on," I say into the side of his mouth, fidgeting and trying to coax him to touch me.

     Dres kisses me once more, before pulling away, reaching for my hand under his shirt and returning it back to my person. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

     "Am I? 'Cause I feel exactly in-line with myself."

     Dres laughs, and he's still close enough where I feel it against my face. "It's nine," he says as way of explanation.

     "Convenient how it was only eight and now its suddenly nine," I say with a grumble.

     "Yeah, funny how that works, huh."

     "Well I don't usually leave till ten, anyway, so." I move to take his mouth again but Dres tilts his head away at the last second.

     "You have an exam tomorrow."

     I frown, because it's true and I'm annoyed that he remembers me saying so. I hold both my hands up in surrender, saying, "Fine, fine. I'm going." Dres steps back some, giving me space to move if I want to. I don't want to but I guess I will. "You have an iPhone right?" I ask looking up at him.

     "Yes..." he answers unsurely.

     "Give me your number."

     "Why?" he asks suspiciously.

     "Because I want to send you dick pics," I respond with a roll of my eyes, noting for later enjoyment Dres's reaction. "Why do you think? It's what people do."

     He holds my gaze, uncertain at first, and then removes his phone from his front pocket, unlocking it and handing it to me. I put my number in, and then shoot a message to myself. "Alright." I hand him his phone back. "I'll see you tomorrow." I head for the door.

     "Hey," he calls suddenly, so I stop in the doorway, turning slightly to look at him. "You really thought I didn't like you?"

     I shrug and then nod. "Yeah, I guess I did."

     "You need to work on reading people," he says.

     I have to fight back my grin as I say, "I'm sure you can teach me. Among other things." I add a wink for effect and it's worth it to see Dres's reaction. I leave, calling a, "Night, boss" behind me.

     But then I linger in the hall just so I can hear Dres respond, "Night, Cas."