Six: Are You Still In Love With Him? (2/2)

The question hit him like a ton of bricks. It was the one thing Josh had been trying not to think about for the past week, and not because he didn't already know the answer. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his face. "It doesn't matter either way."

Mark held his gaze without judgment. "It doesn't matter? Isn't that the only thing that matters?"

"No." One syllable answers wouldn't help his case, but he had the right to be childish.

"No you don't love him, or no it doesn't matter?"

He sighed. "No, it doesn't matter. I can't forgive him. I can want to help him, I can want to see him healthy and happy and well, but I can't forgive him. Doesn't matter how much I care."

"What is it with this guy, anyway?" If an exhale could sound annoyed, then Mark would be the one to pull it off. "Why couldn't you have been hung up on Brian?"

"Brian?" Now there was a surprising analogy. "I lived with Brian for four years; how much more hung up on him could I have been?"

"This may come as a shock to you, but people tend to be a bit more heartbroken when their relationships come to an end than you were."

"He had an incredible career opportunity in Australia. What do people do in that situation, chain their boyfriends to the foot of the bed?" Josh was going to throttle Mark sooner or later if he didn't wipe that patronizing look off his face.

"People discuss said career opportunities. They contemplate moving with their significant others, or trying to make it work long distance. If they figure none of that will work out they'll at least feel sad for a while. What they don't do is go 'oh, wow, that's excellent for you. When are you moving out?' I felt sorry for him, and for you it was all business as usual."

"It wasn't that I wanted him to go," Josh muttered.

"No," Mark agreed, "it was just that you didn't care one way or the other. And that's always been the case with you. Even supposedly serious relationships don't faze you. So what's so different about this guy that you still can't get him out of your head?"

"I..." He didn't know how to even begin explaining it. "I don't know. I guess... With Brian, I always knew we'd end up having a thing. He was exactly the kind of man I go for, I could tell it was mutual, I was ready for that. Emery isn't my type, and on top of that he was my boss. I never expected to feel anything for him. He just kind of snuck up on me."

Mark leaned back against the wall, giving Josh back his space. "And then he went and ruined it."

"Pretty much, yes. Even that... There's a tragic backstory behind it all. Emma told me the details, it's like a horrible B series movie plot, but he lived it. I just don't think one thing justifies the other."

"Not knowing the tragic backstory I can't speak to that, but what he said to you—"

"Was unforgivable. So whatever I may feel for him doesn't matter in the end. I'm sorry to disappoint, but you won't get to punch me in the face."

"I suppose I'll take it. Now, how about that lunch?

#

"This is why I bring food to your house," Mark said, settling on the sofa with a grin, "the luxury of napkins."

Josh snorted. "You have napkins at home."

"Yeah, but I never know where."

"In your third kitchen drawer, where they always are."

"Really?" Mark seemed to find the information fascinating. "Third from the top or the bottom?"

"You only have five drawers," Josh replied with an eye roll, "it's the third whichever way you look at it. How is it that you still don't know how many drawers your own kitchen has?"

"Why would I need you as a friend if I knew where things are in my kitchen?" Mark wiped his neatly trimmed beard on one of the so-called luxury items. "That's the entire foundation of our friendship."

A statement like that had to carry some sort of penalty. Josh stole the last piece of fried chicken right from underneath Mark's nose. "That's not why you need me at all."

"Oh? Why else would I keep you around?" He moved the fries away from Josh's grasp in retaliation.

"My dashing good looks, of course."

"Right, those, of course! Josh, I don't know how to confess this," Mark mocked in a stage whisper, "but all these years where I didn't try to get in your pants were because... Gasp! I don't want to!"

Josh stared. "Did you actually just use the word 'gasp' in a sentence instead of, I don't know, gasping? What's next, 'lol'?"

"Shut up," Mark replied around a mouthful of fries. "You're ruining my confession."

"Your confession is beside the point. I said you wanted me around for my devastating good looks, not to get in my pants."

"You said 'dashing', not 'devastating,' but I'll bite: why is it that I want you for your dashingly devastating good looks?"

Josh got up to put the boxes of takeout in the trash and get dessert from the freezer. In the open plan of his apartment, that didn't mean he needed to pause the conversation. "Look at it this way: I'm far more handsome than you. I'm also completely uninterested in women. When they see us together they approach because they want me, and, by the time they realize they can never have me, they're ready to settle for you on a rebound if only because you're right there. What more could you want in a friend?"

He was being deliberately unfair. Mark was a rather handsome man: tall, well-built, with soulful brown eyes, short tight curly hair, dark brown skin and an angular jawline sporting the silly beard that was Mark's pride and joy. Josh didn't know if he'd dare call the thing a beard — it was an extremely thin, styled, neatly trimmed... entity, that looked almost painted on. He didn't want to consider the amount of work involved in making it look that perfect every day, and he was a gay man. Being a successful doctor had never hurt Mark's chances with anyone, either.

Mark didn't laugh or come back with an irreverent quip. In fact, Mark didn't reply at all. When Josh looked at him he found him looking at his phone, his grin having turned silly. The bastard hadn't even heard him, making a perfectly good ribbing go to waste.

"I'd ask if there's an emergency, but if that's how you look when there's an emergency we all need better doctors."

"Hmm? Oh, right, yeah." His best friend was miles away.

"Earth to Mark. Earth to Mark, come in Mark. This is Mission Control to Mark, can you hear me? Ground control to Major Mark."

The man finally unglued his eyes from his phone, but the grin remained. "Sorry, I got a text from Michelle. What were you saying?"

"Michelle? The woman you nearly ran over last week? You guys are still in contact?" Josh sat back down with two tubs of ice-cream and a pair of spoons. "Always an interesting way to meet women, I suppose."

"It was two weeks ago and I didn't nearly run her over. She tripped and fell and I stopped the car." His phone pinged again and his smile grew as he fired off a rapid reply.

"Half an inch from her face. You go around nearly running people over and I'm the one who should get rid of his car? Right. Is she texting to ask if your insurance covers traffic-induced PTSD?"

"Very funny," Mark replied, a spoon of ice-cream in his hand, half-forgotten on the way to his mouth. "We've been texting, yes. It started with me asking if she was alright and then we just kept talking."

"Is she single?"

"Very single." Mark didn't pretend to misunderstand his meaning. There was a slight pink sheen to his dark cheeks that Josh suspected this Michelle might find endearing. "I just haven't been able to figure out if she's in the market or if she's single by design."

"Have you tried asking?"

The look he got in response to that was fit for a twelve-year-old. "Don't be ridiculous, I can't just ask her that!"

"No, of course, why settle for simple when you can go for needlessly complicated instead?" Mark's phone pinged again. "What's she saying now?"

"That she doesn't need an Uber."

"Oh?" Josh raised both eyebrows. He always tried to raise just one, but he never pulled it off. "Does she make a habit of sharing her transportation-related needs with you?"

"Ugh. You're channeling your boy toy."

Josh had a coughing fit as ice-cream went down the wrong pipe. "My what, now?"

Mark modulated his voice so it'd be closer to Emery's usual lower tone and parroted "Does she make a habit of sharing her transportation-related needs with you?"

The annoying thing was that, yes, that sounded a lot more like something Emery would say than Josh himself. Damn it. "Asshole," Josh muttered. "He's not my boy toy. He's not my anything at all."

"Then stop channeling him." Mark replaced the lid on his half-eaten ice-cream tub. "And no, Michelle doesn't usually tell me what kind of transport she needs. She was just saying it because I offered to pay for an Uber."

"Erm... Why?"

"Her friend canceled on her. She was going to go to an art exhibition on Thursday and now she doesn't have a way of getting there so she was saying she might not go at all."

Josh blinked. Could Mark really be that dense? "She said she didn't have a lift to go to an art exhibition and you offered to pay for her Uber?"

"What? It was a nice thing to offer, I think. Why are you looking at me like that?"

Josh threw his hands in the air. "How did you make it through med school? No, scratch that, how did you manage to lose your virginity?"

"Is this a feminist thing?" There was clueless, and then there was this. "You think she's offended I offered to pay? I know she can afford it, I was just trying to be nice."

"You idiot! You almost ran the woman over with your car. Your car! Is this ringing any bells yet?" Mark stared at him, face a blank canvas. How could he be so intelligent in so many aspects of his life and so utterly dumb in this one? "Let me try and put this in a way you can understand. Tarzan has car. Jane needs lift. Tarzan and his car should not offer to pay for Uber rides."

Mark had a particularly comical look when realization hit, eyes round as saucers. His mouth opened and closed a few times, then he went straight for his phone without uttering another word. Taking pity on him Josh cleared the remains of their lunch and moved to the other side of the counter, to give him the semblance of privacy. It took at least ten minutes for Mark to set down his phone and look for him. Josh couldn't suppress a grin. "All set for Thursday?"

"Yes. I'm going to have to cancel game night," he said, sounding not at all contrite.

"I can always host," Josh offered, then added, "and that way you have a backup plan. If the night turns out to be awful you can say we're expecting you."

"With your boy toy around still convalescing? Even I think you should cut him some slack — he's going to need some peace and quiet for a while. Unless," Mark paused, wiggling his eyebrows, "for some mysterious reason you've soundproofed his bedroom?"

Josh threw the dishrag at his head and plotted to withhold coffee.

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