Chapter 4 - EthanBlue
Chapter 4
Ethan
It’s the first time I’ve seen the man with the bright turquoise hair in the coffee shop even though I’ve been here every morning since I arrived in town nine days ago, not that I expect to see the same people every day. Most people aren’t as regimented as I am. That’s a kind word; perhaps compulsive might be a bit more accurate. Once I find a routine or café or restaurant or band or basically anything else I like, I don’t deviate much, and both the coffee and atmosphere of this small shop have been perfect from day one. The blue-haired man clearly knows the beautiful barista whose name I’ve learned is Gabriel. There are only a few people in line when he walks through the door, but he doesn’t fall into place behind them. Instead, he walks straight over to the café table nearest the gap in the counter that employees use to move between the front and back of the house .
Five minutes later, Gabriel slips into the chair across from him and settles two mugs on the table. Gabriel’s is a tall, pale, frothy-looking thing, while he places a single espresso cup in front of the blue-haired stranger. They fall into conversation easily and without hesitation, and it’s obvious they have an intimate relationship of some sort. Are they husbands? Boyfriends? Brothers? They laugh and snicker, and Gabriel reaches out to touch the stranger from time to time. Are they in love? What would it be like to have someone like that? Someone whose company is so easy and comfortable. What would it feel like to find someone I can be myself with like that, someone who doesn’t reject the scared, anxious, neurotic parts of me that I try to hide from even myself? What would it feel like to be accepted? To be loved. The way they interact is everything I long for during sleepless nights when I’m unable to successfully distract myself with work. It’s why I keep going on dates, even though I know they’re going to end horribly. It’s why I tell myself that I feel some sense of attraction for the men who find themselves sitting across from me even when I don’t.
I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to feel that way. What it’s like to share secrets and whispers, laughter and inside jokes. How it feels to reach out and let the warmth of someone else’s skin sink into mine. I’ve forgotten how to speak without censoring myself, without replaying every conversation in my head again and again after it’s over to see where I may have gone wrong. I barely remember the joy of the company of friends or what it means to have family. I’ve forgotten who I am without work and silence and emptiness. I’ve lost what it means to be whole. I’ve lost myself.
The man with the blue hair is stunning. He’s likely a bit taller than I am, as he appears to be about the same height as Gabriel, who is probably around six feet. He’s neither thin nor bulky, and he has the strong shoulders and lean, narrow torso of a biker or rower. His body is attractive, sure, his face is, too, but that’s not what draws my attention.
I don’t usually think of anyone as attractive in a conventional way. I can objectively notice when someone is handsome or beautiful, but attraction just doesn’t seem to happen for me. No matter what someone looks like; I never find myself wondering if they smell good or if they find my looks appealing. I can’t imagine myself kissing them, and there is no rush of adrenaline that surges through my veins when they’re close, no desperate need to touch or be touched. I’m not drawn to this man because of his electric teal hair, kept long enough that it falls just below his cheekbones when he runs his fingers through it, pulling it back briefly and then letting it tumble like water back into place against his face, which he does often. It’s not the ribbons of black ink that cover his forearms that are so pleasantly on display in his simple white T-shirt or the hint of the same dark patterns that peek out of his collar to caress the base of his throat. It’s not even the handful of piercings that grace his ears or the one in his lower lip that he worries with his teeth from time to time. I’m drawn to him because of the way he talks and smiles and laughs and moves and even sits like the world doesn’t affect him. He doesn’t seem to worry that others might judge his appearance. He doesn’t seem to care if his laugh is too forceful or his language too vulgar, or that once or twice he’s snorted in amusement loudly enough that I’ve been able to hear it from across the small café. He’s bright and colorful and filled with confidence. Everything about him says that he’s completely comfortable with himself, and I can’t help but wonder what it must feel like to live that way. To live with laughter and love and openness.
Both men are sitting at a slight angle rather than directly across from one another, but Gabriel has his back to me, so I can see the blue-haired stranger’s face over his shoulder if I glance their way. He smiles a lot as they talk. A lot, a lot. He should smile always. The brilliant flash of his white teeth and the tiny wrinkles that appear beside his eyes hold my attention in a way few things ever have, and I can’t stop stealing glances. His movements as he gestures are smooth and elegant, and the black lines of his tattoos and flashes of silver piercings stand out against his light-tan skin like little works of art. Watching him is like watching a well-choreographed dance.
Even though I haven’t really felt sexually attracted to anyone in more than a decade, I can recognize high cheekbones and strong muscles as easily as the next guy, and Gabriel and the blue-haired stranger are both beautiful men. While I don’t think of either of them as sexy, and I’m not sitting here imagining what it would be like to touch them or kiss them or take them home the way I know most people do when they look at someone that attractive, a tiny spark of…something…stirs in my belly as I watch the stranger grin and talk and laugh. It’s confusing, and I wonder if the flush I feel vibrating across my skin for the briefest of moments is the start of a cold or the flu, but I don’t think it is. I think I just like watching him smile, all soft and loving and joyful. When his eyes catch mine over Gabriel’s shoulder, the whole world stops spinning, and the entirety of the universe is reduced to one singular point of focus. His eyes are blue - not a striking, bright sky blue - but the gentle pale, greenish blue-grey of waves caressed by sunlight after a storm. The tiny crinkles beside them deepen as his smile widens, and he winks. One of his breathtaking blue-grey eyes vanishes under a lid framed by long black lashes and then returns for a fraction of a second before he turns his head away, and his attention shifts back to his conversation with Gabriel.
I don’t suddenly experience a sexual rush at the gesture. It doesn’t make me want to ask him to fuck or if I can kiss him. I don’t even want to do something crazy and spontaneous like ask him to dinner as that would inevitably end the way all of my pathetic attempts to date do. But there is something about the kindness in his eyes and the delight in his smile and the way he didn’t quickly turn away when he noticed me watching him that makes the odd sensation in my belly swirl once more. He’s beautiful and fascinating, and yet, for some strange reason, his brief attention hasn’t left me feeling awkward or panicked or like I need to crawl under the table and hide or rush out the door. Something about him feels just the tiniest bit…comfortable.