[Reserved for Billiam]
There were several bars within a ten minute walk of the Watson University of the Arts, but the only one with a true “college bar” feel was Aesthete. While they didn’t bill themselves as a queer bar, the bulk of the art students and their admirers who could be found there most nights were decidedly non-heteronormative.
The drinks were cheap and effective. There was plenty of seating, mostly in the forms of upholstered benches and chairs scattered around low tables. The bar was built into one corner of the main room, with a stage and small dance floor occupying the opposite corner. Performers, almost all students from the school, tended to provide live music in the early evening hours in an eclectic range of styles. After ten p.m. and on weekends, though, a DJ took over, and the dance floor ended up crowded enough to start spilling into the rest of the bar.
It was about midnight on a Thursday and Zeph was one of a few dozen moving to the beat of several house tracks. “Thirsty Thursday” always drew a crowd (the drink special all night was half-price well drinks), and the DJ was solid- a grad student who was already touring the local EDM scene.
Zeph, eyes closed, was in the repetitive embrace of the music. The friends he had come with had drifted off to other plans as the evening unwound, leaving him alone. He didn’t have a class until noon the next day (he was pretty sure), so he’d elected to stay out and indulge in a much more casual form of dance than he usually got to practice. He found the frenetic beat almost relaxing. It’s simplicity didn’t require much in the way of choreography and there was no real element of performance involved. He bobbed along, his arms swinging at his sides, performing an occasional shuffle or step while he waited for the beat to drop.
The nymph was clad in a pair of black dance pants, sneakers, and a pale blue oversized tank top so large it was comparable to a dress. Hanging to the middle of his powerful thighs, the shirt had arm holes so large that most of his torso was exposed any time he twisted his hips and changed angles. More than a few of his fellow dancers or onlookers from the bar seemed to have noticed the expanse of pale, surprisingly chiseled flesh he was showing off. Though his frame was thin and balletic, his muscle tone was evidence of the many hours he spent each day honing his body and craft alike.
His sky blue eyes flashed open when the shift in tempo finally came. More and more layers of music blended together into a true frenzy, and Zeph let himself go. The result was almost syncopated and almost convulsive, as if his body were continuously caving in on itself and then expanding and then contracting over and over again. His movements sped up with the tempo. Sweat began to bead on his brow and a huge grin spread across his features. It was lazy and slow, but by the time the song finally ended, his expression was nearly euphoric.
He broke away from the crowd and toward the bar. He needed water, and probably to head home soon. His apartment was close enough that he was debating staying for a few more songs. He swayed slightly as the next song started while he waited in line for service.
“What are you having?” Zeph had been lost in thought (specifically, he was trying to decide what show to fall asleep to once he got home; he’d been busy for the past few weeks and his list was starting to get long), so the voice to his right took him by surprise. He found himself looking at a total stranger at least a decade older than him. He had a pretty nice body, Zeph had to admit, but his preppy vibe was giving the younger man pause. He was clad in chinos and a black and gray polo, with an $80 haircut and $600 shoes. Zeph had been coming to Aesthete long enough to recognize the type. They usually had a taste for younger men and tried to capitalize on the place’s reputation for starving artists.
“I just need some water!” Zeph shouted. The music was blaring now.
“Well that’s too bad,” the man replied at a similar volume. “Because I wanted to buy you a drink.”
The line moved forward slightly. Zeph gave the guy another once over and then shook his head. “I have class in the morning.” He wasn’t a great liar, but it was close enough to the truth that he didn’t even feel guilty. “Gonna head out soon.” Zeph’s tastes were pretty broad, and for the most part, older and bigger than him was a good way to get his attention. Something about this guy was really throwing him off though. Their energy just wasn’t meshing.
“You should come to my place then. I’m Casey.” Zeph willed the line to move forward. He was sort of trapped with this guy if he planned to get water. Did he really need water? Casey was looking at him expectantly, as if he was expecting something. Zeph’s brow furrowed as he wondered what that could possibly be.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh I’m, um, Zeph.”
“Zack?” They were still shouting at each other, and Casey used the opportunity to learn in a little closer.
“Zeph!” he practically screamed.
“So how about it, Zach? You want to come over? I’ve got a great view of downtown.”
Zeph shook his head. “No man, it’s like I said, I’ve got class. Like, thanks, but no thanks, you know?”
Casey’s eyes narrowed and his features grew a little cold. “So, what, you were leading me on?”
The line advanced, mercifully, and Zeph tried to step forward in a way that would leave Casey behind him. The man shouldered his way up though, oblivious to the alarmed looks he received. Zeph wasn’t really an expert when it came to negative emotions, but the guy looked pissed.
“What are you even talking about?” Zeph tried to make eye contact with the bartender, Eddie. As something of a regular, he knew most of the staff pretty well, and he had a feeling Eddie would be able to figure out he needed some help. He was alone at the bar and totally slammed though.
“On the dance floor before. When you danced with me. What was that supposed to mean?” He reached out to grab Zeph’s wrist and pull him to face him, but Zeph darted sideways and backwards, out of reach.
“It’s a dance floor, man. People dance.” He definitely didn’t remember dancing with Casey. While his memory wasn’t the greatest, he felt like he would have probably been just as thrown off by the guy’s style and mood then as he had now. It must have happened while his eyes were closed. “Nobody owes you anything, you know?” This was starting to really suck. He could just water up at home. Thankfully he’d already closed his tab, so he was free to just head out. He gracefully maneuvered through the crowd that was deepening around the bar toward where he’d thrown his jacket earlier and then bee-lined for the door.
He shivered slightly as he pulled on the zip-up Watson hoodie- his favorite, stolen from an upperclassman he’d seen for a few weeks when he first got to the city. They still got together every once in a while, but things just hadn’t really gelled for them as anything more than friends who fucked.
He pulled his vape pen from his pants pocket and hit it hard. Casey had really soured his mood, and now all he wanted to do was get home. The sweat on his body cooled rapidly in the night air as he made his way down the sidewalk, his pace languid. The sounds of the bar faded behind him, but he could still almost feel the music pounding in his ears like some kind of aftershock.
Fortunately, Zeph didn’t tend to linger on things for very long. By the time he’d travailed a block, his mind had already wandered to food. He was craving his favorite brand of frozen veggie pizza and he wasn’t sure if he had any at home or not. That led to a conundrum: should he stop and pick one up, or take the risk that he didn’t have any and have to settle for some lesser snack from his freezer? Cooking was an art that he had never had any affinity for, but his microwave game was on point.
His pace slowed as his thoughts wandered. He tugged the hood up as he ambled along, tugging his airpods out and pushing them into his ears. Out came his phone, and he quickly pulled up some Taylor Swift. “Shake it Off” was exactly what he needed right now, and his walking became just a little more dancey as he turned onto Montcrest Street. He’d decided to roll the dice on Past Zeph having been wise enough to stock up on the good stuff, so he was heading directly home.