the candles before Alejandro needs him. He doesn’t really mind the idea. It’ll be less lonely that way. He won’t be able to sleep with anyone else while they’re doing this, but that’s okay too. The physical pleasure is great, but it’s always left him a little bit empty. He doesn’t think this’ll be more, but it’ll be different. Maybe it will be less lonely. Maybe, next time, Alejandro will talk to him a little bit.
There’s time for it all to change.
He just needs to be patient.
3
The Ache Of Time Passed
Alejandro: Quatre at six. I’m sending a car.
Avery doesn’t typically nap during the day, but it’s almost ironic that the one day he dozes off on the sofa is the one day he wakes up to a text from Alejandro himself. He more than expected the request for dinner. It’s their anniversary after all, though it’s not like Alejandro ever celebrates anything—something he’s come to learn over the last year they’ve been doing this.
They met just before the holidays, and Avery expected something more than what he got—which was total silence. Alejandro runs a major company, so he expected to be dragged to some holiday party or…whatever.
Only Alejandro completely ignored him and left Avery on his own with this new life, with no real blueprint or map as to what the man even wanted from him. Avery texted twice and was ignored entirely, so he spent the first Chanukah with an official sugar daddy hunkered down in his place gorging himself on take-out and jumping every single time his phone buzzed. The eight nights passed without a whisper. All of his friends were out of town, so he spent his Jewish Christmas in an empty movie theater with a smuggled box of teriyaki chicken and fried rice. And still, his phone didn’t ring.
Eventually Alejandro’s assistant did text him to meet for dinner—an entire month later. It was just after the new year, and Avery showed up at the same stupid restaurant and had the same stupid one-sided conversation with him. This time, instead of a car, he walked away with keys to a new apartment. A gift, he supposed, for the profound silence Alejandro gave him the entire night.
Of course, Avery knows what to expect now, after all this time. He expects a dinner where Alejandro doesn’t speak—where he throws some stupid expensive gift at him that his secretary probably picked out. Avery will then talk and talk until his throat’s dry, and Alejandro will drink and drink until he’s a little unsteady on his feet on the way out. They won’t touch—because Alejandro made absolutely good on that rule—they never touch. He won’t make eye contact, and at best, he might get a vague goodbye before getting out of the car.
Happy anniversary to him—it’s been one year and he’s not sure if his regret is enough to choke him yet.
He stares at the text a little longer then drags himself up from the sofa to get ready because that’s what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t take an extra-long shower though he wants to linger under the spray, and he stands in his massive closet that’s full of outfits he’d never wear to anywhere else except the places Alejandro orders him to show up.
When he’s done, he grabs the gift he picked up at the market last week and heads downstairs where a driver’s waiting for him. Avery just barely manages to refrain from rolling his eyes as he pockets his own keys and climbs inside. He likes the way all of Alejandro’s cars smell, but he likes the one without the driver best. The Bentley. It feels like a first between them, and he regrets he doesn’t get that tonight of all nights. But it’s hard to complain when the financial side of his life is more stable than it’s ever been. He’s been able to contribute to the Senior Trip to Crete pot more than anyone else, and they’re a few grand short but he knows he’ll just sneak it in somehow just before May rolls around.
He has time to make it look legit.
The drive isn’t as long as he wants it to be, and soon enough a concierge is opening his door and leading the way inside. Alejandro is already seated at their usual table, and Avery smiles in spite of himself, because no matter the fact that this man somehow makes being rich seem like the most miserable existence in the world, Avery kind of