Fourteen: Apologies 

The flip phone is pressed hard against Philo’s ear for longer than he realizes. His grip is tight; knuckles pale and tense.  

“Sure.” He breathes at last.  

“I just wanted to say, I’m so sorry about last night. Rachel took my phone before I could talk it out with you, and I’m sure you had a good reason for why you needed a place to stay. I should’ve called you back.” 

“Yeah. I had a pretty good reason.” Philo whispers into the phone, trying his best not to recall the events of last night. The bad ones, anyways.  

“Rachel and I talked about it a lot this morning, and we’ve decided it’s fine if you need to stay here for a bit. You can take the spare room. We’ve cleaned it out and washed the sheets on the bed. It’s ready for you whenever you want it.” Eero’s voice sounds troubled over the line, like Rachel had put up a true fight against Philo being allowed to stay at Eero’s. Philo wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay at a place that he was unwelcome. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t stay at Rocket’s forever.  

“Okay. I just need to get my stuff from Rocket’s.” 

“...Rocket?” Philo feels his face flush with embarrassment. He had said way too much. “You stayed with Rocket?”  

“Yeah.” Philo makes a risky decision, pulling the car handle and kicking it open with his foot. He fishes for his cigarettes and pops one into his mouth. With shaky hands, he lights in and takes a deep, soothing breath.  

“Did anything happen between you two?” Eero presses. “I thought you said you weren’t into him.” 

Right as Eero’s voice taunts him over the line, Rocket reappears from the gas station, two breakfast sandwiches proudly in his hands, a bottle of Aspirin, and a mysterious box between his arms, held to his chest by his elbows. Philo tilts his head, and Rocket throws him a shrug.  

“No. Nothing happened.” He tells Eero, and Rocket makes a trip around the front of the car to put away one of the sandwiches, the painkiller, and the box. He then takes to filling up the tank. 

“So, you are into him?” 

Philo glances at Rocket over the roof of the car. He’s smiley, staring right back with playful caramel-colored eyes. He’s taken a huge bite out of the sandwich now, and his jaw moves up and down to chew it, flexing at the sides. Philo was definitely into him. He had been from the start, even when they met back in college. It was hard to not be into Rocket. 

“Sure, yeah. I am, but I don’t need you to make a big deal out of it.” Philo whispers so Rocket cannot hear. 

“Oh, my God! P! Are you serious, right now?”  

“I’ve got to go. I’ll be at your place in a bit, bye.” 

“Dude, come on--” 

Philo hung up, shoving his phone back into his pocket and snubbing his cigarette spark out with his boot. Rocket’s just getting done with the tank, so he slides over to put up the nozzle and finish up on the screen. Philo takes a seat in the passenger’s again, reaching for the breakfast sandwich and taking a big bite from it. It was good, for a gas station sandwich.  

“I thought you were hiding from my uncle.” Rocket says as he gets back into the car. He takes some of the Aspirin, washing it down with a swing from an old water bottle in his side door.  

“Needed a cigarette.” Philo says plainly, and Rocket scoffs. He hands over the Aspirin, and Philo could kiss him right then and there. Typically, when he was hungover, his headache the next day did not persist into the morning. It happened right when he awoke and then faded to something manageable within an hour. Today, however, his headache was persistent, throbbing, and violent against the side of his skull. 

“Something happen?” Rocket chews some more on the sandwich, nearly done. Done enough that he puts the car in drive and pulls away from the pump, sandwich still in one hand and right by his mouth.  

“Eero called.” Philo says. 

“What’s up with him?”  

“He actually... offered me a room at his place for a while.” When Philo says it, Rocket’s fingers twitch against the wheel.  

“Oh... okay. Do you need me to drop you off there?”  

“Yes. If you don’t mind.” Philo breathes, running a hand through his hair and instinctively clutching the cigarette box in his pocket that he can’t open. He wouldn’t, not in Rocket’s expensive car.  

“I don’t.” Rocket’s voice falls flat, like he doesn’t want to be a part of the conversation they were having anymore.

“And I was thinking...” Philo hums, trying to remediate. “Maybe I could bring Ian to the library this weekend?” 

This seems to work on Rocket, as he immediately brightens up to answer.

“Yeah, man! I work both Saturday and Sunday. Eight to three.”  

“Nice. I’ll ask him, then.” Philo says firmly, and Rocket hides a smile and focuses on the road.  Philo gets an inkling that maybe Rocket thought Philo wouldn’t want to see him again after all this. How incredibly, terribly wrong he was about that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

Rocket took Philo back to his house to gather his things. His parents were a little confused as to why he was leaving so soon, but they did not make a big fuss about it. Rocket’s mom seemed tired, so she went upstairs to take a nap. His dad walked them to the car, telling them to be safe and watch for cops parked on the side of the road.  

“They’ll get you with their speedometers!” He tells them, nearly sticking his head into the driver’s seat window. Rocket had to scoot the chair back, he was leaning so far in. “Once, I was riding my motorcycle, and a cop got me for only going ten over. I’m telling you, Rocky, they’ll get you.”  

“Alright, dad, thanks. We have to go now.” Rocket tells him gently. “Can you get your head out of the car, please?”  

His dad immediately retracts, crossing his arms over his chest.  

“My bad, son. You two be safe.” He waves them bye as they pull out of the driveway and onto the street.  

“Sorry about him, he’s a lot to handle.” Rocket apologizes, and Philo lets out a little chuckle.  

“No, he's fine.” Philo assures him. “I like them, your parents I mean.” 

“They’ve been overbearing ever since I was little. I know their behavior can come off as strange, but they mean well.” Rocket explains, making a left turn out of his neighborhood and onto a main street. Philo directs him from there. Eero’s apartment complex was not too far from Rocket’s neighborhood. Living in a big city had some perks, even if they paled in comparison to the downsides. Cramped living, crime, sickness, sewage pile-up, and traffic, the worst of them all.  

The men are quiet for most of the ride, as Philo had cranked up the song Rocket had thrown on from one of his many playlists. 

“Do you like this one?” Rocket asks, laughing as Philo moves his hands in awkward ways to replicate true dancing. Philo was a good dancer, especially when he had a few drinks in his system. Rocket knew it too, he had been to the same college parties as Philo, seen him dance in the middle of living rooms and muddy backyards under cheap disco lights.  

Philo also had learned a lot in the club, too. He had new, sexy ways of dancing up his sleeve. He wondered briefly, and arrogantly, if Rocket would like to see those one day.  If he’d be Philo’s guinea pig.

“Yeah, it’s good.” Philo tells him.  

They’re quiet again, after that, but it’s a calm quiet. Philo doesn’t feel the need to reach for his cigarette, doesn’t feel the need to count his breaths. It’s a we know so much about each other already, so let’s just enjoy it, type of quiet. 

Rocket makes it to Eero’s, pulling up to the very front of the complex. There are two big black doors that welcome them, and pretty potted red flowers on either side. It reminds Philo of Ms. Lang’s delicate garden but on a much larger scale. The parking lot is redone, fresh white lines dictate each parking space. The fence around the place is tall and secure, looking like it had just been put up not long ago. In short, the apartment complex looked nice, much nicer to Sara’s.

“Well, I’ll see you this weekend.” Philo says, grabbing his stuff from the backseat and pulling the door handle towards him so that the door swings open. He holds it open with his foot.  

Before he can leave, Rocket reaches over and takes hold of his wrist. It isn’t an aggressive hold, no, it’s grounding and tight but not painful. Philo glances at him over his shoulder, eyebrows quirked in interest. 

“Uhm.” Rocket stumbles. “I just wanted to ask.” he pauses, taking a deep breath “What were you going to tell me, earlier? At the gas station. Before my uncle interrupted you.”  

Philo sees that look in Rocket’s eyes. His pupils dilated and crazed, desperate. Philo gives him the same stare back, and he knows if he doesn’t break now, it would be soon.  

And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want it to be now. It wasn’t a good place, nor a good time, but Rocket was asking for him to confess, to get it out in the open. And Philo promised he wouldn’t lie to Rocket anymore. So, what could he do?  

“I, uhm...” Philo glances out the windows, and there is nobody around. His heart is begging him to try, to just say it. He looks right at Rocket now, full to the brim with nerves. If he didn’t do it now, he would regret it.

“I... Can I take you on a date, sometime?”