TW: mention alcohol consumption

Mar. 12

Dear Journal,

It’s late.

It’s so late that I have to hold a flashlight in my mouth in order to write this. I’m under my blankets, trying to be quiet, hoping no man is observant or precise enough in his rule-following to both notice and call me out on my writings here.

Bryce and I returned about 30 minutes ago. It goes without saying that this was one of, if not the single best night of my life. I hope to have many more just like this one, if only Bryce will have me. (If only he knew the way I wish to have him).

We talked all the way to the bar, primarily about small things. I was relatively quiet, nothing out of character for me. Bryce was fine with it, as he always is, and that was enough to put me in chipper spirits. Still, there was part of me that wanted to speak my innermost thoughts, and that part of me had always been stifled.

Thankfully, the walk was short.

Thankfully, the bar wasn’t too packed. The staff was nice.

Thankfully, alcohol truly is liquid courage.

After a beer or two, I was almost an open book. Almost. I knew how to pace myself, even if I didn’t drink much anymore. Bryce seemed just as charming, but I think it would take an act of God for his light to dull even the slightest.

I would be lying if I said Bryce had failed to shock me. We talk, we talk a lot about a lot of things…so many things, but almost never about…

“They’re pretty aren’t they?” he said, nodding at something behind me. I turned around, albeit very slowly, to see a group of giggling girls, around our age. They too were engrossed in a conversation of their own. I turned back around and focused on Bryce, not that my focus ever would or ever could leave him.

I don’t exactly remember what I said, but I imagine it was something along the lines of “Sure.”

“You don’t really think of girls much, do you Adrian?” He took a sip of what was in his glass, something brown. Maybe bourbon. He seemed like a bourbon kind of guy.

I blushed. I had to. I remember the feeling of my face getting hot. I remember the way Bryce’s smile quirked to one side. I was speechless, so all I could do was nod hesitantly.

Only the shortest of moments passed before I changed my mind, shaking my head back and forth hurriedly. Bryce’s smile widened, and mischief flickered more brightly in his eyes.

To be completely and wholly honest, I’m not sure if I think about women, at least not in the way Bryce meant. I mean they cross my mind all the time. What they wear, the way they carry themselves, style their hair, etc. I think about the way they either flourish or wither or bubble or falter under the gaze of a man. I think about how they must be feeling to react in such a way. I wonder how those men are feeling. I wonder if their smiles are just as true, just as poignant as they seem.

Is there supposed to be that kind of light in a man’s eyes when he looks at a woman? Is it even sincere, any of it—The pining, the courting, the dates, the flowers, the candy, holidays, meeting the parents, the smiles, the damned perfection of it all—How can any of it be real? How?

How can someone feel so many emotions for another person? Especially with such strength, such certainty. It drives me crazy. All the thinking. Sometimes it keeps me up at night. It was worse when I was younger, but I’ve learned to ignore it, all of it.

How could everyone else, every other man have thoughts about women but I couldn’t? Why was I different? Why?! Why am I different? Why can’t I just be like every other guy. Why can’t I be more like Bryce?

Bryce chuckled. I went with it, faking a bit of a smile. He took another sip and asked his next question between laughter, “So what’s your idea of a perfect woman, Adrian?” His voice was low and rumbly, and for some ungodly reason, my face flushed a bit more.

I swallowed thickly. The two of us were quiet, but the quiet was filled in easily by the rest of the conversations going on in the pub. 

“Uh…maybe someone optimistic, bright, not too shy—'cause I’m kinda quiet, y’know?” I shrugged in an attempt to be nonchalant, but I still couldn’t really get the words out the way I intended. “I suppose I like blonds, light eyes maybe…” I trailed off, not really sure about what else to say. Maybe I didn’t think about girls, not the way a man is supposed to.

“Huh,” Bryce laughed and he took another sip of his drink. His smile was as radiant as ever. It practically lit up the entire bar. “You know, Adrian. That sounds kinda like my little sister, maybe I’ll introduce the two of you. Seem good?”

I swallowed again, unsure if my voice would work right this time. “Yeah, sure…”

“Me, I’m not too picky,” Bryce seemed to debate a bit with himself before continuing. “But if I have to really pin something down, I suppose I’ve always been a sucker for bookworms, the smarter ones. I’ve gotta have someone to keep me in check since I’m so headstrong,” Somehow, he burst into an even bigger grin. “Although, I guess you’ve been doing a pretty good job at that, Adrian! At this rate, I’m not gonna need a wife.” He started laughing again. It was contagious enough to make me smile a little.

Then, I looked away. Maybe I could blame the redness in my cheeks on the alcohol. Thankfully, Bryce didn’t say anything, even if he noticed.

We talked. We just talked. Well, we drank too, and we ate, but we talked much more. We talked until we were buzzed and talked more until we were sober enough to walk home without stumbling. It was beautiful. It makes me want to do it over and over again, going out with Bryce. Everything is better as long as I’m with him.

-Adrian