Twenty-Three Ramin
twenty-three
Ramin
Ramin had grand plans for the weekend. He was going to explore Como. Take the funicular up to Brunate, this little town on the mountain overlooking Como. Check out the Grindr map.
Instead, he found himself canceling his second night at the hotel, buying a train ticket, and hurrying back to Milan.
This was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. Tiny angel Farzan flapped his tiny angel wings over his shoulder once more, chiding him for getting dicknotized, arguing with tiny devil Arya, spinning his tiny devil tail as he told Ramin to buy some lube on the way back to his apartment.
But fuck it.
It wasn’t just the dick (though if Ramin was being honest with himself, he did want to get a look at it and not just feel it). It was Noah.
Noah, who was bisexual.
How had Ramin missed that? Had Noah been flirting with him this whole trip, and Ramin just missed it? Had he been reading every signal completely wrong? Why was Noah interested in him, anyway?
He shoved that thought aside.
Noah kissed him. Noah wanted him. Maybe some part of him had always wanted Noah to want him.
So now Ramin was changing all his plans and rushing back to Milan. Back to Noah.
Just like the lovesick teenager he’d been all those years ago.
Fuckety-fuck. If this wasn’t Boring Old Ramin behavior, he didn’t know what was.
When the train reached the outskirts of Milan, Ramin’s phone began buzzing nonstop. It finally had signal again.
Noah
Made it back to Milan!
When do you get back?
Thanks for everything last night.
And this morning.
Ramin
I get back later today. Glad you made it. And I was happy to help.
Ramin bit his lip. He was happy to help them find a place to stay.
He was also very happy to give Noah a handjob, but he couldn’t just say that. What if Jake was borrowing Noah’s phone or something? He typed and deleted and finally settled on:
Ramin
With everything
There. That was subtle and had plausible deniability. Right?
He waited, fiddling with his studs, but Noah didn’t answer. Which was fine. Noah was busy. And Ramin had lost signal again.
He sighed, locked his phone, and watched the Lombardian countryside fly by.
Francesca caught him as he stepped off the elevator. She wore another power suit, maroon pinstripe this time. “Ciao, Ramin! You’re back! How was Lago di Como?”
“Good. Beautiful.”
“I hope the rain didn’t catch you.”
Ramin shrugged. His sodden clothes from yesterday were at the bottom of his backpack. Along with Noah’s white T-shirt. Which he had only sniffed a few times before jacking off in the shower.
“Francesca, dov’è la—Ah, Ramin!” Paola stepped out of their apartment in a slinky blue dress, a mascara wand clutched in one hand. “Your luggages came!”
“Really?”
“They said you didn’t answer your phone, so we just signed for them.” Paola disappeared for a moment, then came back with Ramin’s two purple suitcases. “Here. We got you this, too.”
Paola handed Ramin a black plastic card with a stylized blue A on it.
“What’s this?”
“An ARCO card. For the clubs!” Francesca said. “So you can go have fun tonight.”
Ramin slipped the card into his pocket. He wasn’t sure how much fun he’d be having at a club.
But Noah still hadn’t answered him. What if it was just a one-and-done thing?
What if Noah didn’t want him, just a warm hand, any hand.
Any hole in a storm , little devil Arya whispered into his ear.
Ramin waited for little angel Farzan to offer a rebuttal, but he just whispered, Get in, get off, get out—those are the rules .
Great. The cartoon versions of his friends that lived over his shoulder might’ve been cute, but sometimes, they gave absolutely useless advice.
Ramin was loading his dinner plates into the dishwasher when his phone buzzed. He sprang up, stubbed his toe on the kitchen table with a hissed fuck! , and hobble-ran to the living room.
Finally, finally , Noah was getting back to him.
Except it wasn’t Noah calling.
It was Todd .
On FaceTime.
Ramin slumped onto the heinous red couch and stared at the screen.
At some point someone (probably Arya) had changed Todd’s contact to Fucking Todd and his photo to the poop emoji.
Ramin was tempted to ignore the call, but on the off chance Todd had left something at the house, or had some other inane question about the logistics of breaking up, he answered.
“Hello?”
Todd’s face came into frame. He was growing out his beard, and it framed his cheeks and jaw nicely.
He must’ve colored it, too, since the brown was richer and deeper than Ramin remembered, auburn covering the gray whiskers that had started to pop up.
Ramin had liked Todd’s grays, liked his smile lines, too, though now Ramin got a good look, he seriously wondered if Todd had gotten some Botox, because his face was too smooth.
“Hey, Ramin. Uh. Hi.” Todd scratched the back of his head. “How are you?”
Desperate to be anywhere else. Even the dentist’s office. Without modern painkillers.
“I’m fine… uh, you?”
“I’m good.” Todd lowered his arm. “I’m good.”
“Good.” Actually, some of those painkillers sounded great right about now. “Did you need something?”
“Sorry, yeah, I couldn’t find two of my winter coats, and I wondered if you could check for them?”
“Ah. Sorry. I can’t.”
“Really?” Todd cocked his head, like he was really looking at Ramin for the first time, noticing the bright blue accent wall behind his head. “Where are you?”
“Milan.”
“Milan.” Todd blinked. “Like, Italy?”
Ramin nodded.
“For work?”
“No, I just needed a change.” Ramin tried to keep his voice light. Fun. And not like he’d drunkenly booked the trip after spending the night crying about their breakup.
Todd’s mouth dropped.
“Farzan and Arya have keys, though. They can let you in if you need to check.”
“They’re not the biggest fans of me right now,” Todd muttered.
Ramin tried not to snort. But that’s what ride-or-dies were for. Holding you up when your ex-boyfriend let you down.
He wanted to show Todd he was okay. He wanted Todd to know he was thriving.
“Well, I better let you go. It’s late, and I’ve got to get to the club.”
“The club?”
Ramin nodded.
“Yeah. Have a good day.”
“Oh. Okay.” Todd looked absolutely bewildered. Ramin wanted to laugh. “Bye.”
“Byeeeeeee,” Ramin said, drawing out the vowel. He ended the call and flopped back onto the couch. Why had he said that?
The truth was, he wasn’t the biggest fan of clubs.
At least going by himself. Todd had loved them—naturally—but Ramin had only really gone along to make him happy.
His first time at a club, back when he was only twenty-two, a drunk twunk had told him “Straight skinny is gay fat,” and he’d meant it, too.
So, yeah. Clubs weren’t exactly his scene. But fuck. It was nearly nine o’clock, and Noah still hadn’t gotten back to him.
Maybe he wasn’t going to. Maybe it really was just a random hookup.
Maybe Ramin hadn’t given him a good handjob. No, fuck, that was ridiculous, Ramin had turned in A+ work as usual. He might have a beautiful mosaic of hangups about his own body, but damn it, he knew his way around a dick.
So what was it? Why was Noah ghosting him, not twelve hours after they’d hooked up?
Well, whatever, he was Interesting New Ramin. He gave men handjobs in hotel beds. He navigated the Italian rail system on a whim.
He went to clubs, by himself, and danced with hot Italian strangers.
Boring Old Ramin might not have liked clubs, but Interesting New Ramin had different ideas.