Jeordie was drunker than he should have been. He told Dan he was going out to see a show. He hadn’t mentioned it was Manson’s since Dan didn’t particularly like him and had maybe noticed the way Jeordie and Manson looked at each other.
He wished he hadn’t had a drop, because now he was here digging his own grave. He was tastefully shoved up against a dirty back wall outside the bar the show had been at. The person pressing him against the bricks and invading his mouth with his tongue was none other than the frontman he had been watching on stage a few minutes ago.
Jeordie composed his foggy head for half a second to push Manson’s mouth away from his own.
“I… Have a boyfriend,” Jeordie slurred.
“Yeah, I know,” Manson laughed a little at this. He wasn’t nearly as drunk, but he still wasn't all there.
“Then why are you doing this?” Jeordie asked, keeping a hand on Manson’s shoulder to stop him from moving towards him.
“‘Cause he’s a dick,,” Manson sighed simply.
“No he’s not,” Jeordie felt like he was lying to himself. Living with Dan could be absolute torture sometimes, he was so selfish.
“You’re so full of shit,” Manson breathed a laugh, “I know you hate him.”
Jeordie was silent. He didn’t want to talk about this, even if it was true.
“See?” Manson prodded after a moment.
“No, I… Fuck, I don’t know,” Jeordie struggled.
“Then shut up,” Manson said, pushing himself closer against the force of Jeordie’s hand on his chest.
Jeordie gave up and semblance of control his blurry mind still had.
This is happening again, sorry.
Jeordie was mentally kicking himself in the ass as he tried to sneak back into his apartment early that morning. Apparently, this was one of the nights Dan couldn’t sleep. He was seated on the couch, playing his guitar. He turned to look at Jeordie and a bit of color drained from his face.
“Where the fuck were you? I waited all night,” Dan asked, turning back to his guitar, not extremely concerned.
“Went to a party after the show. Didn’t feel like walking back,” Jeordie shrugged, walking to the kitchen to make himself coffee. The clock read 6:06 AM.
“You work today?” Dan called from the couch over the sound of his instrument.
“Yeah. 9.” Jeordie answered. His back was killing him and he needed to take a shower.
He tried to act as naturally as possible when Dan walked in to join him in the kitchen and gave him a kiss. He drank the rest of his coffee as quickly as he could so he could escape this situation. Dan hadn't noticed apparently and went about his business.
Jeordie put his now empty cup into the sink and headed to the bathroom, being utterly ignored by his boyfriend.
Shutting the door behind him. he turned the shower on and started removing his shirt when he saw something in the mirror in the corner of his eye. His heart sunk in his chest. He pulled his shirt completely off and examined his back in the mirror over the sink. It was a canvas of long red lines, made by Manson’s fingernails that might as well have been a neon sign, reading “CHEATER”.
“Shit,” He whispered to himself. If Dan saw them, he was dead.
Jeordie had rushed home so quickly (and been so drunk that he barely remembered anything from the night before) that he hadn’t even thought about incriminating evidence. He knew the next place he had to check.
Pulling one side of his pants down a little bit, it was what he had feared: finger-shaped bruises on his hips.
He was fucked. He was so fucked. The only way this would be kept a secret was if Dan didn’t see the marks, and when you live with your boyfriend, it’s kind of hard to cover yourself up 100% of the time.
Jeordie exhaled in annoyance as he heard the little bell above the door into the record shop ding. It was 10 minutes until closing, why couldn’t people just fuck off for once?
Manson was the culprit, walking towards him in the punk section.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’d been ignoring me,” He said, leaning against the wall as Jeordie re-organized one of the stacks.
He had called twice for him at work today, but Jeordie didn’t want to talk to him and told them to take a message.
“Busy, sorry,” he lied.
“When’s your shift end?” Manson asked.
“10 minutes,” He answered, placing a Black Flag cassette on the shelf in front of him.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Manson asked, trying to catch his eye.
Jeordie dreaded this would happen.
“I can’t,” Jeordie answered shortly.
“And why not?” Manson pried.
“Look, I have a boyfriend, OK? You know that. I’m sorry about last night,” He said, fidgeting with his hair.
“He doesn’t give a shit about you, Jeordie. He doesn’t appreciate you at all,” Manson said, half-stepping a little closer.
“You don’t see him all the time,” He weakly tried to defend.
“I’m better for you,” Manson said lowly.
Jeordie closed his eyes, his head felt like it was spinning.
“ONE drink,” He agreed, after a moment.
He knew damn well what he was getting himself into.