Post by Nate Harris on Mar 18, 2018 3:27:24 GMT
Nate sat out on the small balcony they had on their apartment, sipping from the cup of coffee in his hands. It was early, earlier then he should have been up given when he had finally fallen asleep last night. He sat in the small chair with his feet resting on the cold iron as he watched the quarter wake up around them. He could see people milling about down on the streets, hear Mrs. Park on the second floor already getting into a screaming argument with her husband. Must be a Saturday.
They had been sharing this apartment since graduating high school. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them not to come home some nights but this…this was different. Nate could count on one hand the number of times it had happened without a text. There was a pattern to their life here. A pattern that seemed to imply he’d at least get a text back about if Nick was coming home.
Nate took another sip of his coffee as the Jazz band across the street started practicing. Understood that since quitting his job, his idea of fun Friday night was normally consisted of gym, sinner, watching Netflix. Nick had the whole college sports thing going on, so splitting the evening where Nick would head to a bar to catch the game made sense.
He could see the obvious uber pull up in front of the apartment building, Nate stood up and glanced down at the street. He could identify the form of his room-mate stumbling out of the back seat anywhere. He suppressed the urge to call him on his shit where all the neighbors could get a free ticket to the event.
Nate walked back into the apartment, closing the deck door and pouring himself a second cup of coffee and sitting himself down in the chair facing the door pretending to be interest in reading through twitter. Nate continued to pretend he didn’t hear the keys in the door and only looked up when the door closed.
“Morning, Nick.” Nate sipped his coffee. “Good night out?”
“…Nah, you look like your going to murder me.” Nick put his hands up. “What’s that glare for?”
“Check your fuckin phone, dick.”
“My…oh fuck.” Nick wacked his head. “I forgot to text before it died.”
“I thought you fucking died.” Nate set his phone down. “You coulda been dead and I would have to tell your mom I didn’t know.”
“My bad.” Nick slipped off his jacket.
“Bitch, this is not a ‘my bad’ situation. Serious anxiety on my part. What part of ‘just gonna catch the end of the game’ translates to fucking disappearing?”
“Hooker, relax. Calm your shit.” Nick walked to the kitchen walking back out with his own cup of coffee and sitting down next to Nate.
“Explain yourself.” Nate kept a steady glare.
“So you know that sports bar down from gym? Never hit it up before but figured fuck it right?” Nick smiled in that way that made it hard for Nate to be mad at him. “So there’s this girl. We’re sitting at the bar near one another. We have conversation. I mean good conversation. She doesn’t tell me to get lost. She’s fun and easy to talk to. And she laughs at my shit.”
“…Oh?” Nate asked.
“She’s amazing, dude. I mean, fucking amazing. My bracket is in the fucking trash, there’s money I’m never seeing again. She offers to pay for my drink. No girl ever did that. I said it’s only fair if I buy her dinner.”
“And she falls for that?”
“Fuck you. I’m smooth.”
“When you try. Guessing this girl gets both barrels of you smile, huh?”
“You know it.”
“So you buy her dinner?”
“I buy her dinner. And the conversation just keeps going. No awkward pauses. No saying some shit that makes me want to ask for the check. This girl? Fucking dream, dude.”
“Yeah?”
“She fucking invites me over to her place. Says because uber jacks the prices that time in the morning. She ain’t wrong, so I go over. And, god damn is that worth it.”
“Fun.”
“And want to know the best part? Fucking crepes this morning. Girl can cook. I mean, fucking cook. Best breakfast I ever had.”
“Cool.” Nate finished his coffee. “Okay, sounds like the kind of night you can get a pass for giving me a goddamned heart attack.”
“Thank you.” Nick grinned. “You’ll like her. I know you will.”
Nate almost drops his cup. “What?”
“She’s the dream dude. Like, I’m not saying I’m gonna go out and buy the wedding ring right now or nothing. But she’s a keeper.” Nick grinned. “You know she invited me to brunch? I don’t got to worry about how long to call her, she set up the date for tomorrow. How fucking amazing is that?”
Nate gets up and walk to the kitchen to pour another cup, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “She sounds perfect dude.”
“Right?”
Nate walked out of the kitchen with his best smile. “Can’t wait to meet her. She sounds great.”
“So here we are. Let’s do a blitz on this shit because I ain’t got the fucking time to dwell on these motherfuckers. Because, let’s be real? Ain’t nobody got the goddamned time.”
“Corporate getting involved in this match? Are these motherfuckers gonna make me beat the ass of the dudes who sign my check? I mean, their asses are in the Tag so I got to assume Cable and Roberto are gonna be here. I’m gonna be real, I don’t got a problem with beating y’all up. Sorry, I get paid either way. Not like your asses need another title run. Shit.”
“This shit open to all the men in this company, right? So that mean the Spencer family showing up? Where those Red Neck cultists anyway? Doing nothing? Fuck em.”
“Am I worried about any retired asshole coming in? Nah. That goes for any asshole who walked away, got lazy and want to make a comeback for the belt. Fuck you. No one need your ass anyway.”
“Philip Burns? Jim Grey? Ryan Shane? Those boys show up once and ain’t do shit since. Teddy and Todd? We all know not to expect dick or shit from those part timing asses.”
“James Gilmore? Little fucking murderer? Nah. Homie think his little twitter crying make up for all the Nazi ass shit he was selling all last year. You want to convince everyone you a good boy who just fell into a bad crowd? Bitch, they sell your ass that Barbeque racism shit and you stayed for the meeting. You’re a racist piece of trash and no one will mourn your ass when you die. Trust.”
“Thaddeus? I don’t fuck with crazy and that is a whole level of shit I don’t understand. I know imperialist values and fuck that shit. Fuck that shit straight to where ever the hell you came from.”
“Pax. Cousin, you in a complicated place. You angry and I want to watch you work. You and me? I aint got no beef homie. You do you and I’ll do me. We fight? Fuck yeah, best dude wins. Same agreement I got with Nick. I aint gonna fuck with you but if it happens? It happens. No hard feelings, bro. Best man win.”
“Ulf whatever the fuck. Beating up little dudes and acting like he’s hard shit. Not the first white boy I met with a hardon for Viking shit and attacking people he think is weaker than him. I’m not scared of that type. Come at me.”
“Bob Pooler? Homie has a belt but I assume he gonna try for the big time anyway. He got beef with God or something. I can take him. Fuck it.”
“Mike Lazlow? No one cared you beat God. No one cares. What you done lately? You won the Thaddeus invitational? Cool. You beat Derek Brookes? My sister beat him on the way to school. She’s eight. That ain’t an achievement.”
“I fucking said that Brookes. What your ass gonna do?”
“The Pack? Warren, Caleb and Dean? That is what happen when you fuck with white girls. Like, Dean, Cuz, I know your white passing ass is First Nation and they teach you to hate your self but…bro. No. Warren, I seen boys with Daddy issues, joining a cult don’t solve shit. Caleb. You don’t seem to buy the shit they selling so why you wasting your time?”
“Jason Sandman? Bro, what is with white boys and playing with spirits? That is such a fucking tragedy. But nah, I aint concerned about your ass either. Do something impressive and I might consider you a threat until then sit your ass down.”
“Devlin Raine put his motherfucking career on the line. Fucker is gonna be like a tourist during Mardi Gras, just fucking shit up like he stole it. This is the kinda shit that is gonna get out of hand. He is gonna fight like he don’t got shit to lose. Mostly cause he don’t. That’ll be fun to watch. Never ended a man’s career before. Be a shame but fuck it.”
“Jayson Matthews? Bananas and shit. Yeah, I know you had a run with the belt and been a little quiet since. Your ass disappeared, scared your girl and had a match with Spike Kane. Where you been? What are you planning to do? Gonna guess nothing.”
“El Grande… White boy putting on brown face and getting a laugh? Nah, fuck that asshole. I’m serious. That is the most disrespectful shit. I would put down good money your name is Chad. That’s what your name is now, Chad. Piece of shit who get taken advantage of by Chlamydia personified.”
“Yeah, hi Steve. What’s your ass done lately but whine about how everyone is trying to get rid of you. They haven’t fired Gilmore’s racist ass they aint firing you. Calm your tits already old man, jesus. No one cares anymore. Oh, what are you gonna do? Threaten to sleep with my mama and ruin my parent’s marriage? Bitch, I hope the fuck you do.”
“Real talk? Two that might actually put a good fight in I might have a problem with I aint said anything about? Nighthawk and Andrew. I aint scared of either. AJ had a record breaking belt time. Nighthawk teaches people who to do this shit for a living.”
“But nah. I aint worried about shit. I said I was gonna win this. Imperial belt, Men’s World title. Don’t matter what you call it, I’m winning it.”
“Trust.”
They had been sharing this apartment since graduating high school. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them not to come home some nights but this…this was different. Nate could count on one hand the number of times it had happened without a text. There was a pattern to their life here. A pattern that seemed to imply he’d at least get a text back about if Nick was coming home.
Nate took another sip of his coffee as the Jazz band across the street started practicing. Understood that since quitting his job, his idea of fun Friday night was normally consisted of gym, sinner, watching Netflix. Nick had the whole college sports thing going on, so splitting the evening where Nick would head to a bar to catch the game made sense.
He could see the obvious uber pull up in front of the apartment building, Nate stood up and glanced down at the street. He could identify the form of his room-mate stumbling out of the back seat anywhere. He suppressed the urge to call him on his shit where all the neighbors could get a free ticket to the event.
Nate walked back into the apartment, closing the deck door and pouring himself a second cup of coffee and sitting himself down in the chair facing the door pretending to be interest in reading through twitter. Nate continued to pretend he didn’t hear the keys in the door and only looked up when the door closed.
“Morning, Nick.” Nate sipped his coffee. “Good night out?”
“…Nah, you look like your going to murder me.” Nick put his hands up. “What’s that glare for?”
“Check your fuckin phone, dick.”
“My…oh fuck.” Nick wacked his head. “I forgot to text before it died.”
“I thought you fucking died.” Nate set his phone down. “You coulda been dead and I would have to tell your mom I didn’t know.”
“My bad.” Nick slipped off his jacket.
“Bitch, this is not a ‘my bad’ situation. Serious anxiety on my part. What part of ‘just gonna catch the end of the game’ translates to fucking disappearing?”
“Hooker, relax. Calm your shit.” Nick walked to the kitchen walking back out with his own cup of coffee and sitting down next to Nate.
“Explain yourself.” Nate kept a steady glare.
“So you know that sports bar down from gym? Never hit it up before but figured fuck it right?” Nick smiled in that way that made it hard for Nate to be mad at him. “So there’s this girl. We’re sitting at the bar near one another. We have conversation. I mean good conversation. She doesn’t tell me to get lost. She’s fun and easy to talk to. And she laughs at my shit.”
“…Oh?” Nate asked.
“She’s amazing, dude. I mean, fucking amazing. My bracket is in the fucking trash, there’s money I’m never seeing again. She offers to pay for my drink. No girl ever did that. I said it’s only fair if I buy her dinner.”
“And she falls for that?”
“Fuck you. I’m smooth.”
“When you try. Guessing this girl gets both barrels of you smile, huh?”
“You know it.”
“So you buy her dinner?”
“I buy her dinner. And the conversation just keeps going. No awkward pauses. No saying some shit that makes me want to ask for the check. This girl? Fucking dream, dude.”
“Yeah?”
“She fucking invites me over to her place. Says because uber jacks the prices that time in the morning. She ain’t wrong, so I go over. And, god damn is that worth it.”
“Fun.”
“And want to know the best part? Fucking crepes this morning. Girl can cook. I mean, fucking cook. Best breakfast I ever had.”
“Cool.” Nate finished his coffee. “Okay, sounds like the kind of night you can get a pass for giving me a goddamned heart attack.”
“Thank you.” Nick grinned. “You’ll like her. I know you will.”
Nate almost drops his cup. “What?”
“She’s the dream dude. Like, I’m not saying I’m gonna go out and buy the wedding ring right now or nothing. But she’s a keeper.” Nick grinned. “You know she invited me to brunch? I don’t got to worry about how long to call her, she set up the date for tomorrow. How fucking amazing is that?”
Nate gets up and walk to the kitchen to pour another cup, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “She sounds perfect dude.”
“Right?”
Nate walked out of the kitchen with his best smile. “Can’t wait to meet her. She sounds great.”
“So here we are. Let’s do a blitz on this shit because I ain’t got the fucking time to dwell on these motherfuckers. Because, let’s be real? Ain’t nobody got the goddamned time.”
“Corporate getting involved in this match? Are these motherfuckers gonna make me beat the ass of the dudes who sign my check? I mean, their asses are in the Tag so I got to assume Cable and Roberto are gonna be here. I’m gonna be real, I don’t got a problem with beating y’all up. Sorry, I get paid either way. Not like your asses need another title run. Shit.”
“This shit open to all the men in this company, right? So that mean the Spencer family showing up? Where those Red Neck cultists anyway? Doing nothing? Fuck em.”
“Am I worried about any retired asshole coming in? Nah. That goes for any asshole who walked away, got lazy and want to make a comeback for the belt. Fuck you. No one need your ass anyway.”
“Philip Burns? Jim Grey? Ryan Shane? Those boys show up once and ain’t do shit since. Teddy and Todd? We all know not to expect dick or shit from those part timing asses.”
“James Gilmore? Little fucking murderer? Nah. Homie think his little twitter crying make up for all the Nazi ass shit he was selling all last year. You want to convince everyone you a good boy who just fell into a bad crowd? Bitch, they sell your ass that Barbeque racism shit and you stayed for the meeting. You’re a racist piece of trash and no one will mourn your ass when you die. Trust.”
“Thaddeus? I don’t fuck with crazy and that is a whole level of shit I don’t understand. I know imperialist values and fuck that shit. Fuck that shit straight to where ever the hell you came from.”
“Pax. Cousin, you in a complicated place. You angry and I want to watch you work. You and me? I aint got no beef homie. You do you and I’ll do me. We fight? Fuck yeah, best dude wins. Same agreement I got with Nick. I aint gonna fuck with you but if it happens? It happens. No hard feelings, bro. Best man win.”
“Ulf whatever the fuck. Beating up little dudes and acting like he’s hard shit. Not the first white boy I met with a hardon for Viking shit and attacking people he think is weaker than him. I’m not scared of that type. Come at me.”
“Bob Pooler? Homie has a belt but I assume he gonna try for the big time anyway. He got beef with God or something. I can take him. Fuck it.”
“Mike Lazlow? No one cared you beat God. No one cares. What you done lately? You won the Thaddeus invitational? Cool. You beat Derek Brookes? My sister beat him on the way to school. She’s eight. That ain’t an achievement.”
“I fucking said that Brookes. What your ass gonna do?”
“The Pack? Warren, Caleb and Dean? That is what happen when you fuck with white girls. Like, Dean, Cuz, I know your white passing ass is First Nation and they teach you to hate your self but…bro. No. Warren, I seen boys with Daddy issues, joining a cult don’t solve shit. Caleb. You don’t seem to buy the shit they selling so why you wasting your time?”
“Jason Sandman? Bro, what is with white boys and playing with spirits? That is such a fucking tragedy. But nah, I aint concerned about your ass either. Do something impressive and I might consider you a threat until then sit your ass down.”
“Devlin Raine put his motherfucking career on the line. Fucker is gonna be like a tourist during Mardi Gras, just fucking shit up like he stole it. This is the kinda shit that is gonna get out of hand. He is gonna fight like he don’t got shit to lose. Mostly cause he don’t. That’ll be fun to watch. Never ended a man’s career before. Be a shame but fuck it.”
“Jayson Matthews? Bananas and shit. Yeah, I know you had a run with the belt and been a little quiet since. Your ass disappeared, scared your girl and had a match with Spike Kane. Where you been? What are you planning to do? Gonna guess nothing.”
“El Grande… White boy putting on brown face and getting a laugh? Nah, fuck that asshole. I’m serious. That is the most disrespectful shit. I would put down good money your name is Chad. That’s what your name is now, Chad. Piece of shit who get taken advantage of by Chlamydia personified.”
“Yeah, hi Steve. What’s your ass done lately but whine about how everyone is trying to get rid of you. They haven’t fired Gilmore’s racist ass they aint firing you. Calm your tits already old man, jesus. No one cares anymore. Oh, what are you gonna do? Threaten to sleep with my mama and ruin my parent’s marriage? Bitch, I hope the fuck you do.”
“Real talk? Two that might actually put a good fight in I might have a problem with I aint said anything about? Nighthawk and Andrew. I aint scared of either. AJ had a record breaking belt time. Nighthawk teaches people who to do this shit for a living.”
“But nah. I aint worried about shit. I said I was gonna win this. Imperial belt, Men’s World title. Don’t matter what you call it, I’m winning it.”
“Trust.”
Well howdy there pardner.