Chapter Text
Cullen woke to the impatient beeping of his alarm clock. He wiped his sleep-crusted eyes, rolled his shoulders a few times after pushing himself to sit up, and clicked the alarm off. He supposed he should feel relieved that it was Friday, but to him it still served only as another glaring reminder of that night. Already a month had passed. Cullen tried everything to stop keeping track of the days, but the memory raided his mind every night, every morning, every moment he was left alone with his thoughts. It wouldn’t go away, not that he could admit he wanted it to - it was a horrible, precious thing - but that it stayed only made it harder for him to wake up and keep lying to himself everyday.
His knees cracked as he stood out of bed. A peek through the blinds showed the sky just beginning to brighten with the sunrise. By the time he made it to the bathroom the haunting already began. He combed the mess of hair on his head with his fingers - didn’t imagine bronzed hands tangling in the curls and pulling him in for another kiss; brushed his teeth - didn’t imagine thick hot flesh sliding over his tongue as he scrubbed it; splashed cold water on his face - didn’t imagine the slide of overwhelmed tears streaming down his cheeks that now threatened to renew.
Back in the room he pulled on worn jeans, a plain tee shirt with old paint stains on it, and a denim jacket before settling on the couch to pull on his work boots. The plan for the day was simple; first his dad was sending him to consult with a client about a job, and then they’d meet at the current job site. A quick inspection of the layout and a few notes on the client’s changes - maybe draw up a rough sketch, and give an estimate for time and cost, then he’d get over to the job site with his dad and get lost in physical labor for a few hours. There would be plenty to keep him occupied.
The drive was uneventful and soon Cullen pulled up to a modest home of red brick and burgundy siding, belonging to a one Mr. Pavus. The front yard was nicely landscaped - fresh grass, a towering oak tree, and a pair of rose bushes on either side of the stairs leading to the porch; picturesque, like it was plucked straight out of one of his mom’s soap operas. The door was the same burgundy as the siding and Cullen knocked. He shifted on his feet, fiddled with the binder under his arm as a faint squeak signaled the door opening.
“Good morning, to what do I owe-” a voice like velvet floated out before the face came into view, but stopped abruptly as it was revealed.
Tanned skin. Grey eyes. Neatly curled mustache. Him.
Cullen inhaled sharply as his heart leapt into his throat and promptly stopped beating, and his stomach plummeted, spilling out somewhere near his feet. Their gazes locked and once again Cullen was assaulted by the memories of how those eyes gazed up at him before, nearly rolled back in pleasure as the man in front of him had swallowed his cock in a dim toilet stall. A fierce blush burned up Cullen’s neck and over his shoulders, followed by a dreadful panic that permeated his body, seeped out of his pores like tar, pooling and trying to drown him.
Cullen took an aborted step backwards, a creak in the board jolting him into movement, like a deer bolting from a twig snapping, and he fled. His boots thumped too loud and too heavy against the wood of the porch steps, then the pavement, and he wrenched the door to his truck open. Vaguely he heard the man calling out to him to wait, but the banging of steps had defibrillated his heart and it was now beating wild and painful against his ribcage, in his skull. Tires screeched harshly as he peeled away, barely noticing the figure standing where he’d just been parked and looking bewildered. Blind panic and consuming terror that the man would somehow appear in his passenger seat spurred him into simply getting as far away as possible.
Eventually he came back to a main road and put himself enroute to the other job site, knuckles white against the steering wheel, his body still pulsating with anxiety. He parked on the street in front of the house, stealing a few moments for himself when he noticed no one was outside, and gulped several shuddering breaths. Cullen could feel the finest threads of regret weaving into his thoughts. He hadn’t given the other man a chance to speak, hadn’t even considered giving either of them the opportunity to pretend they didn’t recognize the other. The man he’d spent the last month trying to convince himself to forget appeared in front of him as if by fate and Cullen bolted without a word like a spooked horse. Now embarrassment was entangling with the regret and creating a hopeless knot in his mind.
He forced his eyes back open and cut the engine; his dad was just stepping out onto the front porch, the homeowner followed gingerly behind him, an older woman with white hair and a walking stick.
“I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least, son,” his father said with a hint of concern. “Cold feet?”
“Uh, no just- he needed to reschedule,” Cullen said, hand scratching nervously at the back of his neck. He could have kicked himself for not thinking of a better excuse.
“Would’a been nice to know before I sent ya over there,” his dad gruffed out. “Well anyway, Miss Dotty,” he said as he turned to the old woman, “We’re ready to get started in that upstairs bathroom, is your ride almost here?”
“Oh, yes, my daughter will be here any minute,” the woman replied. As if the words summoned it, a car pulled up into the driveway and a middle-aged woman came to help Miss Dotty into the passenger seat, and they headed off with little fanfare. Cullen trailed into the house after his dad, ready to let the work and the idle chatter take his mind away.
When evening rolled around, it was with a cool breeze rustling through drying leaves and a neon-smeared sunset of gold and orange and pink. Cullen was covered in sweat and dust as he hauled tools back down to his dad’s work truck. He clapped his hands against his jeans to dislodge any loose particles that might still be clinging and when he looked back up, his dad held him with a fixed stare.
“Your sister is comin’ over with the boys tonight. You should come for dinner,” he offered.
“Alright… Let me just stop at home so I can clean up and I’ll meet you at the house,” Cullen said, the words sticking in his throat.
He received a look from his father that appeared doubtful, a subtle crease in his brows that signaled disbelief. Cullen sighed.
“I’ll be there, I promise,” he tried to give a reassuring smile. “I doubt mom wants me coming over covered in grime and grout.”
The excuse was enough to get him a conceding nod and a pat on the shoulder, and he plodded back to his own truck. Endlessly the road dragged on as he drove home, trees and houses blurring together, melting into the edges of the asphalt. The rumble of the engine vibrating through his feet and hands, lulling him into blankness until he was back in his driveway. He carried himself to the house, unseeing. For a moment he stood motionless in the doorway; wood grain swirled and swayed, his eyes caught in their whirlpool trails, crickets chirping a hypnotizing rhythm, his thoughts far away from his body. Somewhere down the street a horn blared and startled Cullen out of his daze.
Stepping into his house was like walking through the curtains of a waterfall, a drenching of reality pouring over him, a sinking in his stomach like a boulder in a pond, its surface distorting from the ripples. He shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face. If his family was starting to notice his absence, there was nothing to do except force himself out of this self-inflicted isolation. This fear of exposure and confrontation was completely unwarranted. He knew that. In fact, he was only damning himself by acting so strangely. He knew that too.
The weight of this secret was becoming too heavy to ignore - muscles tearing and bones splintering under the weight - ready to crush him. To send him hurtling into uncertain death. A stranger he knew for mere hours had burrowed in the dark corners of his mind and by a sick twist of fate, that man had now found him in the light of day as well. It was a cruel joke; one that Cullen was sure was being played as consequence for leaving behind his faith.
Perhaps that was the way to fix it. To return, tail tucked and head bowed, and beg forgiveness from He who created him. Not that Cullen could truly believe such a thing could work, when He was the one to create a broken man in the first place. How could he keep begging forgiveness for something he hadn’t been able to change for more than half his life, all attempts be damned? Why ask when clearly no one was listening to him?
He pulled off his sweat soaked shirt and stared at the ceiling. The stretch and ache in his neck from holding the position slowly brought him back into his body from where he’d been floating aimlessly. In the bathroom, he stripped off his dusty jeans and started up the shower, not waiting for the water to warm before he stepped in. He soaped his hair and body quickly and didn’t spend any longer than necessary under the spray - certainly not long enough for any indecent images to conjure themselves up and awaken other parts of his body - and if he missed some suds he’d just get them with the towel.
Afterwards, he dressed in fresh clothes and as he passed back through the living room to pull his jacket on, he noticed a small flashing light next to his telephone; it was the answering machine his mother had gifted him when he bought his house. There was a new message.
Cullen ignored it and left the house. There was nothing more important than getting his life back to normal, starting with taking back control of his own head. He would not let himself be mentally tormented by an unlucky coincidence.
When he turned up at his parents’ house, Mia and her husband and their two boys were already inside. She greeted him with a warm hug, followed by one from each of her sons and firm hand shake from her husband. Ignoring the hollow pit in his stomach, he did his best to stay consciously present. Pleasant conversation was made easily enough with no one hounding him with questions about his recent behavior. A small mercy.
Their mom insisted that they share dessert before retiring, and afterward Mia gathered her little family to return home. As much as Cullen wanted to retreat lest his mercy run out, he stayed and helped with the tidying up. Luck did not turn against him, or maybe his parents just weren’t ready to confront him, and he was on his way home following their simple goodnights.
Navy had fully enveloped the sky by the time he got back home, as did exhaustion to his body. Inside, the little light on the answering machine still blinked curiously at him, but it was late and the day had drained him so thoroughly, the sender could wait until morning for his response. Boots thudded as he kicked them off by the door, the rest of his clothes landing haphazardly near the foot of his bed. The sheets soothed the stinging anxiety that still buzzed under his skin. His head hit the pillow, no energy left for ruminating, and he slipped into sleep in only minutes.