Vadim #2
And then there's EBB. This group was his idea. His name is actually Calvin Souza, but we came up with those initials because even though he's a few years younger than the rest of us, in his early twenties, he's a wise old soul and basically Everyone's Big Brother.
His father owns one of the largest private defense companies in the United States, but he couldn't care less about taking over his family empire. Instead, he's a total pacifist and a serious amateur cyclist, constantly subjecting himself to grueling long-distance rides all over the world.
For the life of me, I can't understand what he gets out of it, but I'm not about to yuck his yum. Last time I logged on, he was in Colombia, doing a two-hundred-mile circuit through the Eje Cafetero.
I go by VIP because it's my full name, Vadim Iziaslav Piotrowski.
And also…it looks cool as fuck.
Every group chat has a quiet one, and in news that will surprise no one, in this group, that's me. I rarely chime in, and when I do, it's usually with nothing more than a reaction emoji.
Don't think I've ever initiated a conversation either.
Until today.
brO-LIGARCHY GROUP CHAT
VIP: There's a guy in my bed.
Not surprisingly, EBB is the first to respond. If he's not on his bike, he's online.
EBB: Dead or alive?
Before I can tap out a response…
TT: I was literally just about to ask that same question.
DP: Uh, hello. You guys are missing the bigger picture. Am I the only one noticing VIP is a) alive and b) INITIATING a convo? I get that we're living in crazy times, but let's take a minute to appreciate how truly crazy this is
Two laughing emojis pop up beneath DP's comment. Now I remember why I keep my involvement to a minimum.
VIP: You guys are hilarious. He's very much alive.
TT: So…you kidnapped him?
VIP: He is very much here of his own free will, too.
EBB: So what's the problem then? I assume there's a problem only because you're bringing it up, and as DP noted, that's rarer than seeing a Gen Z without their phone.
DP: 100% It's gotta be something big if you're turning to the bro-ligarchy for help.
The guys will keep giving me shit all morning unless I cut straight to the chase. So that's what I do.
VIP: I think I like him.
TT:
DP: But liking someone is an emotion, and ··checks notes·· from what I can see here on your psych intake eval, you're not capable of those.
I find a meme of a guy in a black suit and dark shades staring straight down the barrel of the camera, giving the middle finger, and press send.
EBB immediately hearts it. The other two don't.
EBB: You said you "think" you like him. Do you think…or know?
My eyes land on the disaster Preston has made of his side of the couch.
The cashmere blanket twisted and half on the floor, his Kindle face down on the cushion, an empty glass on its side, the throw pillow he'd been using propped at an odd angle, his phone charger snaking across the coffee table with no phone attached to it.
The guest room where he's staying is in an even worse state. It's like a bomb went off in there. There's plenty of wardrobe space, so I don't know how or why all of his stuff ends up on the floor.
I shake my head, grinning as I answer EBB's question.
VIP: Know.
TT: Who is he?
VIP: No one you'd know. He's not…like us.
DP: You mean fucked in the head?
VIP: Bingo.
TT: Wow, people like that exist?
VIP: They do.
VIP: He's just a regular guy from a regular family.
VIP: He works. He studies. Rents a house with his best friend.
EBB: How did you meet him?
A smile forms on my lips as I think back to the first night we met.
VIP: It's a long story.
VIP: Look, I don't have a lot of time. He'll be awake soon.
TT: Because the poison will wear off?
VIP: I'm ignoring that.
DP: Is he cute?
VIP: Ignoring that, too.
DP: Is he good in bed?
VIP: And that!
EBB: How big is his ?
I set the phone down and stare up at the ceiling for a moment. Then…
VIP: I expect nothing but bottom-of-the-barrel, gutter-trash humor from the others, but not you, EBB. You're better than that.
EBB is usually the rational one. The only rational one.
EBB: Sorry. Couldn't help it. I was feeling left out.
EBB: Let's get back on track, shall we? What do you need from us, VIP?
VIP: Thank you. At least one of you assholes understands what 'I don't have a lot of time' means.
TT: Hey, I was only asking because I'm a visual learner. I can offer much better advice if I know what he looks like.
DP: And I'm a sexual person. As Robbie would very much attest to.
Brushing that unwanted image out of my head and checking to make sure Preston hasn't padded into the kitchen, I type my central concern.
VIP: What do I do?
EBB: That depends. Does he like you back?
VIP: I think so.
EBB: Think or know?
I'm almost certain Preston feels something toward me, too, but is it the same thing I feel for him? The same level of intensity? That's where the uncertainty lies.
For all I know, he could simply be being polite and expressing gratitude for me inviting him to stay here, whereas I'm misconstruing him cooking meals and agreeing to sleep in my bed as a sign of something more, something that might not even really be there.
Then again, I'm pretty sure getting me to jerk off in front of him falls outside the bounds of being a good houseguest.
My ability to read people serves me well for dealing with shady characters. I can spot a backstabber, liar, cheat, sycophant, or social climber from a mile away. I won't say my instincts have never let me down, but it's a very rare occurrence for me to be wrong about someone.
But when it comes to interacting with a regular person like Preston, I'm flying blind. He's not dazzled by me, he doesn't want anything from me, he doesn't see me as a means to an end.
I think… I think he just sees me for, well, me. And how the fuck am I supposed to deal with that?
Despite not being completely sure, I text…
VIP: Know.
VIP: But there's a problem. He's in danger because of me. I don't want to get into the details, but he's already been hurt once.
EBB: Are you handling that?
VIP: 100000%
My molars grind together. Farkas is going to wish he was never born.
VIP: I'm not sure what to do. Apart from keeping him safe. That I'm clear on. It's my number one objective.
There's a short gap as they each consider their responses. Takeshi's comes through first.
TT: My advice? Focus on his safety. That's of paramount importance. Put your feelings to the side, at least for a while, to help you focus and achieve your primary objective.
DP hearts that comment almost immediately. Something twists in my gut, and a frown pinches my forehead as I tap out…
VIP: EBB? Your thoughts?
It's not that I don't appreciate TT's input, I just don't like it. And if I have to do something that's right but that I don't like, I'd at least like EBB to confirm that it's the best course of action.
EBB: I have to say I agree with TT. Mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea. Your feelings could get in the way of you doing your job properly. And you don't want that, do you?
VIP: Of course not.
I also don't want to pull away from Preston.
I take a sip of my now-cold coffee, grimacing as I consider their advice. Just because I don't like what they're telling me doesn't mean I should outright dismiss it. I respect them, and I trust that their advice is sound and coming from a good place.
So maybe I should accept what they're saying and follow their recommendations? As much as I don't want to, if it ensures Preston's safety, maybe me pulling back a little and focusing solely on the task at hand until the threat is neutralized is simply the price I have to pay?
I hear my bedroom door close.
VIP: Have to go. He's awake. Thanks, guys.
TT: No problem. Anytime.
DP: We're always here, mate. It was nice to hear from you.
EBB: Keep us updated, and reach out if you ever want to talk again.
VIP: Will do.
"Morning."
Preston shuffles into the living room. Seeing him first thing in the morning has quickly become one of my favorite things. His hair's all mussed up, he's rubbing one eye, and there's a tiny sliver of skin exposed between the bottom hem of his shirt and the top of his sleep shorts.
"Good morning," I say, logging out of the app and walking over to him.
When I reach him, he steps in for a hug.
I stiffen as his arms wrap around me, caught between my feelings for him and the growing weight of knowing that keeping him safe rests entirely on me.
"Would you like some breakfast?" I ask.
"Sure." He pulls away and smiles at me. The bruising around his eyes has faded to a light mustard-yellow, and the cut on his lip is barely visible.
I slide my finger softly down his cheek. "Come on, then. Let me make you some food."