ASHTON
Tuesdays were a nothing-kind of day. Monday was the start of the week. Wednesday was the middle; Friday was the start of the weekend. But those two other days were just in-fill.
Mentally, I was in a bit of a slump. It wasn’t unusual for me to feel deflated after the high of my weekly livestream.
I spent the entire day lounging in my apartment in baggy sweats, indulging in comfort food, and steering clear of Gavin.
Not needing his particular brand of smartass until at least Thursday.
I was halfway through microwaving leftover pasta when my phone buzzed.
More focussed on my rumbling belly, I ignored it at first. Assuming it was another client asking if I’d do a custom video with whipped cream and a feather boa. Again.
But something made me check.
It wasn’t a booking. Or even a cute cat meme.
It was a message sent through my website.
“Hi, I found your site through...unusual means. I think you might have known someone close to me.”
A shiver ran down my spine; a sudden moment of awareness sparked to life.
“I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I keep coming back here. You seem...real. And I guess I needed to say that.”
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t transactional. It wasn’t even clear what the sender wanted.
But it was honest.
And it hit me in the chest like a soft punch.
Lingering.
My fingers were flying over the screen before my brain caught up, clicking the sender’s name: R.Wilson95
The name resonated in a way that I’d not expected it to. It had been years; nothing, not a word.
Not until the livestream. That was why I was feeling so out of sorts.
But it couldn’t be, could it?
Robbie?
My stomach flipped.
It just might be...?
His quiet admission was echoing in my head. “I keep on coming back here.”
In my line of work, most of my clients only gave their first names.
Rick had been a little different. A little ‘old skool’ wanting images on a flash drive.
I’d written the envelope myself. ‘Mr R. Willson’.
The age matched the son he’d mentioned. The vibe matched, too.
And something about the message — the way it was written — felt familiar. Like grief wrapped in curiosity.
I didn’t reply right away. My thoughts were too scattered for me to find the right words.
Instead, I sat down on the couch, pasta forgotten, and stared at the screen.
“Who are you?” I whispered to the screen.
And why did it feel like this message mattered more than any tip or compliment I’d ever received?
I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there staring at the now blank screen like it held all the answers to the universe.
I barely noticed Gav walk in. To be honest, I sometimes turned a blind eye to whatever the chaos goblin was up to.
But this time, he burst through the door like a hurricane in skinny jeans.
“Mate, I swear to God, if I have to sit through one more team-building Zoom call where Karen from HR wants us to ‘share our spirit animals,’ I’m going to fake my own death.”
My brain slowly came back online, and I blinked up at him, phone still in hand.
“Mine would be a sloth,” he says absently.
Gav flopped onto the armchair. “Yours would be a panther with a trust fund. What’s got you all dreamy-eyed? Did someone send you a dick pic shaped like a swan?”
“No. Just...a message.”
Gav raised an eyebrow. “From a fan?”
“Sort of. It’s...different.”
I hesitated, not sure how much to share, my thumb hovering over the screen.
Gav leaned forward. “Ooh, is it a stalker? Please say it’s a stalker. I’ve always wanted to help someone file a restraining order.”
I knew he was only joking, but...his words struck a nerve.
“It’s not a stalker. It’s...someone who knew Rick.”
Gav’s face softened. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to reply?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like he asked anything specific. Just said I seemed real.”
Gav snorted. “Well, you are real. Real hot. Real moody. Real overdue for a haircut.”
Deflection, Gav’s go-to when he knew I was brooding, still-his words warranted a reaction. Which is why I threw a cushion at him.
Gav caught it, grinning. “So, what’s his name?”
I hesitated, not quite ready to voice my thoughts.
“Just... RWilson95.”
Gav’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds familiar.”
I shrugged, playing it cool. “Probably just a coincidence.”
But my heart was racing.
Because deep down, I didn’t think it was a coincidence at all.
Gav nodded, then stood. “I’ll leave you to it. But if you start writing poetry, I’m staging an intervention.”
I waited until Gav disappeared into the kitchen.
Then I unlocked my phone.
Typed slowly.
I stared at the words. Second-guessing whether I should delete Rick’s name. It was a gamble, and I wasn’t much of a gambling man. I was acting on a hunch. Before I could talk myself out of it.
I hit send.
Just as Gav called out, “Oi! Did you eat all the biscuits, or are you hiding them like a greedy little goblin?”
A faint smile tugs at my lips; Gavin can always be relied on to lighten my mood, or at least distract me. Tucking my phone away, I call back to Gav.
“Check the second shelf, you drama queen.”