Watershed : Chapter Two

The Tipping Point : Part Two

Chapter Two : Inclusion

Charlie:

He ran a hand through his dark hair as he turned toward me. He was tall now, broad-shouldered, rugged in a way that hadn’t been there before. When I met his stormy blue eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted into a nearly imperceptible smile. But I saw it. I always had. Wyatt’s smile had never been just a smile to me. It belonged to the beautiful boy who was my first love.

And now, 20 years later, he’d become a man, and he was here, beside me.

Wyatt? I said his name like it was a question. But I knew it was him.

Wyatt:

The last time I saw Charlie was the day he left school, and I let him go without saying goodbye.

I remember that day. Other boys leaving with their parents, the hallways thinning out, dormitories half-empty, the air changed by the knowledge that something had ended. I watched from where Charlie couldn’t see me. I didn’t trust what my face might give away if he found me.

Other bodies, years stacked on years, hadn’t erased the memory of Charlie’s hand on my shoulder the day they told me my mother had died, and the way he stayed with me. I remembered my first taste of whisky on his lips, the first time feeling another boy’s naked body, Charlie’s body, pressing against mine in a bed of rumpled sheets. The night I found him with another boy. Sounds I wasn’t meant to hear. Grief braided so tightly with desire I hadn’t known where one ended and the other began.

And now he was standing in front of me; older, changed, yet unmistakable. His hair still black as coal, his eyes that missed nothing, the faint scar on his chin, the way he filled the space between us. He had always been sure of himself. Once, I was sure of him, too.

I stopped hoping to ever see him again years ago. I never let myself think about what I’d say if he came back into my life.

Charlie’s smile looked tentative .“It’s good to see you, Wyatt.”

Charlie:

It’s good to see you, Wyatt? What the fuck is wrong with me? That was all I had. I wanted to do something, anything, but I stayed where I was.

Wyatt nodded. “Yeah. You too. I was actually just…,” he said, glancing past me, then back. “I’ve got somewhere I was supposed to be.”

It was obvious he didn’t.

“I should…” he said, already moving. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I told someone I’d only stay a minute.”

Wyatt:

Charlie nodded. “Right. Of course. I don’t want to keep you,” he said.

When I turned to go, Charlie reached out, his hand landing lightly on my arm. “Wait.”

I looked down at his hand. Then back at him.

“I just meant…” he said, immediately pulling his hand back. “I mean… I’ve thought about you.” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said. I gestured vaguely, somewhere over Charlie’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go.”

The space between us felt suddenly fragile, like it might collapse if either of us said the wrong next thing. I took a step away. Then another.

I was reaching for the door when I felt his hand on my shoulder.

“If you want to grab a coffee sometime,” he said, the words almost careful to a fault. He pulled a business card from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. Our fingers touched. He looked like he might say something else. Like he might finally get it right. Instead, he only said, “Take care of yourself, Wyatt.”

“You too,” I said.

And then I left.

Behind me, I could feel him standing there. I didn’t look back.

Charlie:

I disappeared into the noise of the party after Wyatt left. I found Malcolm and asked him for Wyatt’s number, quick and casual, like it didn’t matter. I lied, saying Wyatt had given me his number, but I misplaced it.

I stood in the kitchen with my phone in my hand, the party still going on behind me. I leaned against the counter, watched people laugh, watched glasses refill, watched the night keep moving without me.

I didn’t text him until the next morning.

Hey, it’s Charlie.

Deleted it.

I hope this isn’t weird. It’s Charlie.

Deleted that too.

I don’t know if you remember me.

Jesus. Deleted.

It was good to see you.

Then I hit send before I could talk myself out of it.

I waited.

Nothing.

I told myself he was busy. Maybe he had a boyfriend, or a husband, or a wife!. I didn’t ask. When he didn’t text back, I told myself it didn’t mean anything. I was convinced I’d misread everything. The way he looked at me. His hesitation. The way he hadn’t walked away right away. All of it could have been politeness. Nostalgia.

Nothing.

A week passed. By then, the idea of calling him felt ridiculous. I’d already reached out. He hadn’t answered. That was an answer. But still, I picked up my phone and called him.

Wyatt:

My phone rang while I was eating breakfast. I recognized the number from his texts. Charlie. My heart started to race in a way that felt ridiculous, adolescent.

“Hello?” I said.

There was a pause on the other end. “Charlie?”

“Wyatt? It’s Charlie.”

“I know,” I said and cleared my throat. “Yeah. Hi.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d pick up,” Charlie said. “I almost didn’t call.”

“I almost didn’t answer.”

“Fair,” he said.

Another pause. I could hear the faint noise of traffic, somewhere not here.

“I wondered,” Charlie continued, “if you wanted to get a coffee or something.”

We agreed we’d meet the next day.

“I’m glad I called,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

When we hung up, I stood there for a long moment with the phone still in my hand, staring at nothing in particular, wondering why, despite everything, I wanted to see him so badly.

When I arrived at the coffee shop, Charlie was already there. He was hunched over his coffee, forearms on the table, one of his hands cupped around his coffee, the other worrying the edge of a napkin he’d already torn in half. His hands were bigger than I remembered. He hadn’t seen me walk in, so I considered texting him to say I couldn’t make it before he saw me, but then he waved, and it was too late to run.

“Hey,” he said, standing halfway before sitting back down.

“Hey,” I said back.

“You look…” he started, then stopped himself. “Sorry. That sounded like it was going somewhere.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “We both look different.”

“Coffee?” he asked, gesturing between us, like it might explain everything.

“Coffee’s good,” I said, and sat down before I could talk myself out of it.

Charlie:

Our conversation was clumsy at first; worse than at Malcolm’s party. Wyatt cut me off when I began to apologize for hurting him when we were at school.

“Please don’t say you’re sorry it happened,” he said. “I was a lonely, angry boy before I knew you.” Wyatt’s hand gently brushed against mine. “You changed… everything.”

He wasn’t the fragile boy I knew in school. I saw him differently now. Whatever life had asked of him, he’d answered it with his whole body. His chest and shoulders were broad and strong, and his forearms were thick with muscle. I found myself imagining his hands on me and his arms holding me once. That was what undid me. I wanted to know him as he was now. What steadied him, what made him laugh, what still hurt. Whether he reached for someone in the dark.

Wyatt:

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like you saved me,” I said. “I just… You mattered.”

Charlie didn’t look away. He smiled at that. Not the careful one from the party. This felt like something.

We talked about our jobs. Charlie was an editor at British GQ. He moved to London a little over a year before I did and had a flat in Hoxton, not far from where I lived. We talked about where we’d been, and lived, and what we’d done since school. We talked until it felt like anything left to say should be said in private.

“I don’t want to pretend we didn’t happen, Charlie,” I said. “I’d like to get to know you again.”

Charlie:

“Are you seeing anyone?” Wyatt asked.

I didn’t answer right away. I could feel how easily this could tip.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I am.”

He nodded, eyes on his coffee. “How long?” he asked, then winced slightly. “Sorry. It’s none of my business,” he said gently.

“It’s okay. Almost a year. We met a few weeks after I moved to London.”

Wyatt looked up then. “I just wanted to know. I wasn’t trying to…” he said, then stopped.

“I know,” I said. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “I asked.”

“I don’t know what this is yet,” I said. “Between you and me.”

“I’d like to meet him sometime,” Wyatt said.

“I never told him about you.”

“Why would you. It was a long time ago, and we were just boys.”

Wyatt:

I hoped Charlie wouldn’t ask if I was seeing anyone. But of course he did. I’d asked him first.

“No,” I said. “I’m not.” It wasn’t enough to simply say no. I wanted him to know the whole truth of it. “I was married,” I said. “We’re divorced.”

I pulled my hand back when I saw Charlie sliding his hand across the table towards mine. I was past wanting pity from anyone, especially him.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s over. I asked to be transferred to London after I left him. Clean slate. New city. It seemed easier than staying.”

I hesitated before explaining how I knew Malcolm, but maybe Malcolm already had.

“I met Malcolm shortly after I moved here. We dated for a few months.”

“You and Malcolm dated?” Charlie huffed a quiet laugh. “You must’ve made an impression. I didn’t think he kept anyone around long enough to learn their last name.”

“Well, I’m glad he kept me around. He’s a good friend. And if I hadn’t gone to his party that night, you and I might not be sitting here together.”

Charlie:

We went quiet again after that, both of us sipping coffee we’d already forgotten about. Outside, people passed the window, living their lives. Inside, what hadn’t been said sat between us.

We left the coffee shop with promises of seeing each other again. Our hug goodbye felt like more than a promise. The strength of his arms around me, the scrape of his stubble against my cheek, the warm closeness of him. I kissed him, impulsively. Wyatt’s hand tightened slightly at my back, then he pulled away.

“Whoa. What was that?” he asked, looking confused.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make this harder.”

“You didn’t. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about this. And you’re with someone.”

“I know, and I should have remembered that you said I mattered to you.”

“You still do,” he said. “And I don’t know why. That’s the problem. Look, I’m glad we saw each other, Charlie. I really am. But I should go.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” I said again. “I don’t want to pretend that didn’t happen, and I don’t want it to be the thing that ends us before we even get to know each other again.”

As we stood there, someone down the block called my name, a friend I was supposed to be seeing that night.

“I’m glad we found each other again,” I said.

“So am I,” he said.

We stood there a moment longer, close but careful. “Text me when you get home,” I said.

We parted without another kiss. I watched him walk away, hoping this wasn’t over. I thought about how right it would feel to see him again, to see him with Leo, to see him in a room full of people who knew me now.

Wyatt:

Charlie’s kiss lingered on my lips. After all this time, it felt like my mouth still remembered his. I texted him to let him know I'd gotten home. He only responded with a thumbs-up emoji. The rest of the night passed in pieces. Streetlights, keys, the quiet of my flat, taking Bowie for a walk, everything familiar, everything different.

I woke up early the next morning and went to the gym. I usually keep to myself when I’m working out, earbuds in, eyes down, routine.

I don’t know who noticed who first, but he was there across the weight floor. Broad shoulders, dark hair pushed back from his face. He had the kind of body you pretend not to notice.

He was leaning against one of the machines between sets, a towel over his shoulder, looking straight at me. He wasn’t subtle. He didn’t look away when I met his eyes. He smiled.

The next time I looked for him, he was gone. I finished my workout, telling myself it was nothing. But I hadn’t reacted to anyone like that in a long time. Not since Malcolm.

I headed to the locker room, half-expecting to see him there, but I didn’t. I don’t usually use the sauna. That morning, I did.

When I opened the door, he looked up. The same half-smile.

I sat on the bench across from him. He leaned back, arms stretched along the wooden bench behind him, legs apart, taunting the thin towel around his waist to fall open. When it did, he reached down and wrapped his hand around his swelling cock.

I was too horny to care if we got caught, and my cock was so hard it hurt. So I opened my towel and did the same.

I watched the beads of sweat dripping off his face and running down his chest. He was uncircumcised, but his cock was about the same size as mine, and his balls hung over the edge of the bench. He was watching me like I was watching him. He slowly began stroking his cock, then wordlessly nodded at me to do the same.

I could tell he was getting close by the sound of his moans. I held back as long as I could because I wanted to come when he did. The first spurt of his cum hit my foot, sending me over the edge. I cupped my hand to catch as much of my cum as I could. As I was reaching for my towel, he walked over to me, brought my hand to his mouth, and licked it clean. Then he walked out of. I caught a glimpse of him in the locker room and waited for him to come out, but he’d disappeared.

It was another three weeks before I heard from Charlie. He called to invite me to dinner at his place on Saturday, with a few of his friends and Leo, who, Charlie said, was looking forward to meeting me.

Leo:

I’ve never minded the way men look at Charlie or the way he looks back. We haven’t been together that long, and we’re not exclusive, but I trust him, and I trust what we have. I knew he was meeting an old friend for coffee. He told me how they met in school and how adolescent “playing around” turned into something more. But when he came home talking about Wyatt and confessing they’d kissed, I felt something in me shift. Not because Charlie kissed him. The kiss wasn’t the part that unsettled me. It was the offhanded way he told me, making me feel like it was none of my business.

When Charlie suggested having Wyatt over for dinner, I understood what he was really asking. Not my permission. Inclusion. A chance to see whether the past could sleep in the same bed I shared with Charlie. I told myself what I was feeling was curiosity, not jealousy. I just wanted to see him for myself.

Charlie:

I phoned Malcolm and invited him and whoever was currently claiming the title of boyfriend to dinner.

“I’m inviting Wyatt. Do you know if he’s dating anyone?”

“No one that he invites to stay for breakfast. Why?”

“I was thinking about inviting Spencer.”

“What are you up to?” Malcolm said. “Planning to throw them at each other? I’m not saying don’t. Just… be careful.”

“I’m not throwing anyone at anyone,” I said. “It’s just dinner. Saturday.”

“Saturday,” he said.

When I ended the call, Leo was standing in the doorway, watching me.