The Guy With the Suitcase (Once Upon a Guy #1) (25 page)

He had fallen in love with the place. It had only been a studio, but it was on the fourth floor, had its own bathroom and kitchen, and, despite the mold on the ceiling, the old wooden cupboards in the kitchen, and the plumbing that needed changing, it was a great flat. It was a bit over their budget, at $1400 before the bills or the city tax, so convincing the agency they were able to afford it was a pain. They had to leave the viewing doubly disappointed than when they’d come in.

The taxi stopped in front of number 107, and when the driver announced their arrival, Rafe immediately looked around, searching for Pierce in the shadows. He quickly paid the large fare with half his tips and exited the car. He looked around some more, but Pierce was nowhere. He got on the curb and looked on the ground for a body, but as far as his eyes could see there weren’t any. The lights from building 107 were offering a generous amount of luminance, but Pierce was nowhere to be found.

“Rafe,” he heard his voice and turned to look at the building entrance.

He had seen a man standing there when he exited the cab, but he had assumed he was the doorman. The man was tall and well-built, in a black suit with skinny trousers and a red shirt, in his hands a small bouquet of white and red roses. As he approached the man and his vision cleared from the birght lights, he saw it was Pierce, and he was smiling. He had the audacity to smile. Rafe smacked him in the head.

“What the hell did you do again?”

Pierce laughed.

Then Rafe realized. “Wait. What are you wearing? Where did you get this?”

Pierce leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Shh.”
 

He gave him the bouquet, took Rafe’s hand, and walked him to the door. He put his free hand in the coat pocket, took a pair of keys out, and opened the door.

“Where are we going? Where did—”
 

Pierce shushed him again, resting his finger on Rafe’s lips.

When Rafe quietened, he gave him a kiss.

“I was ready to go and shoot some pictures today when I noticed my gramps’s suitcase had a tear. I found an envelope with a letter from him,” he said as he walked him to the elevator.

Rafe stared at Pierce and how well he cleaned up. Not that he didn’t know that already, but he’d never seen him in a suit before. He loved it and it made his crotch awaken. His frustration dissipating. Pierce pressed the elevator button, and when the door opened he let Rafe enter first before following and pressing number four.

“In it, he told me how proud he was of his coming out and accepting himself and how much he loved me. He also told me he had a feeling I was gay too, when I was growing up, and that he didn’t want history to repeat itself,” Pierce continued.

The elevator slowed down and Pierce propped the door open, again letting Rafe get out first. Rafe recognized the doors. He recognized the floor and now the building. It was the same building they had viewed the studio apartment. Pierce led him to the same door they’d walked through six days ago. 4D.

“So in the letter he told me he opened a bank account for me and included all the details in the letter. So I visited the bank and asked to access the account.” Pierce put a key in the door and opened it.

It was fully lit with fairy lights. Rafe’s fairy lights that he had put on the ceiling of his room. Pierce asked him to go in first. He did. He walked through the small hallway that led to the open space kitchen and living room of the apartment. There were no couches, only a table, and two chairs. There was Chinese takeaway and two glasses of wine next to a bottle of red laid out on the table, which was dressed with a white tablecloth. A few feet from the table, and against the wall, a pile of books. Pierce’s pile of books. And next to it Rafe’s own stack of sketchbooks.

Then he looked at the bed on the right. It was only a mattress, but it was wrapped with a beige comforter, rose petals lain in a heart shape on top of it. There were tea light candles lit everywhere. Rafe couldn’t understand what was happening. Why were their things here? Even his canvas wardrobe was there next to the bed, next to Pierce’s suitcase.

“What—what’s all this?” he stuttered.

Pierce gave him a kiss on the cheek and took hold of both his hands. “In the bank account there was a bit over fifty grand, Rafe. My grandpa saved money for me so that I could be independent of my parents and their hatred. We are fucking rich, baby,” he exclaimed.

Rafe had never seen him like that. Gone were his brusque facade and the cold eyes that only he could see through. He was like a child who had met Santa and actually got the present he’d asked for. And what a present it was. Fifty thousand wasn’t a small amount of money.

“And how did this happen?” It seemed stupid of Rafe to ask, but he couldn’t believe he had managed to move out in a day without Rafe knowing.

“When I saw the amount of money in it, well, I knew we were saved. We could finally get an apartment together and get out of Wang’s way. So I called the agency and asked them if they still had this studio. I know how much you liked it and it was so cheap, compared to the other places, anyway. So I paid them six months in advance and
voila
— a couple taxi rides later, we’re here, and
this
is all ours,” he explained.

Rafe smiled and hugged Pierce. “Can’t believe you did this in a day’s work. Are you feeling okay? You didn’t lift anything, did you?” he took Pierce’s face in his hands.

Pierce shook his head. “I called Damian and he helped me out. He even bought us a housewarming present,” he replied and let go of Rafe to show him a ‘Force Awakens’ clock, already pinned on the wall in the kitchen.

That bastard. He was in on the secret and he had played all innocent. No wonder he’d only come in the restaurant at 10 p.m. Rafe had thought that was weird. But what did it matter now? He was with Pierce, they were out of the craphole, and they were happy. Nothing else mattered. He kissed his boyfriend with a passion he hadn’t before, there in a barren house, waiting for them to fill it. They were finally free of the stress and the apartment hunts and worry and desperation. They were finally free to be happy. Fully happy. And he could feel it in the air.

When Pierce woke up the next morning, he was surprised by the sour smell of coffee beans and a full breakfast waiting for him at the table in the living room. Rafe had already woken up and was busy in the kitchen, but when he saw Pierce get out of bed, he rushed by his side to help him up.

“What is all this?” he asked when he saw the glorious meal waiting for him on the table. On one plate were two brioche buns with spinach, tomato, avocado, and melted vegan cheese on top, a pita bread with hummus, and tofu frittata. There was strawberry juice, orange juice, and in a plate in the middle pancakes with strawberries, coconut ice cream, and maple syrup. The mixture of the smells made him salivate, and he couldn’t wait to get started on them, but first he wanted to get started on Rafe himself.

“I woke up early and decided to fill up the fridge and make you some breakfast. Although, I only take credit for the pancakes and the brioche. The pita bread I bought ready-made,” Rafe said and returned to the kitchen, getting busy with the frying pan over the stove.

Pierce followed him and put his hands on Rafe’s hips and his head on his shoulder. “What you cooking? Aren’t you going to sit down with me?”

Rafe turned his head and kissed Pierce. Pierce turned him around and deepened the kiss. This guy; he was his everything.

“I’m just finishing up on the mushrooms,” Rafe replied when he resurfaced from the intimacy. “I know how much you love your mushrooms in the morning.”
 

Pierce hummed and hugged his boyfriend tight. “I love you. Have I told you that?”

“Last night, if I remember right,” Rafe chuckled. “But by all means, don’t stop saying it. Now go eat, before it gets cold.”

Pierce sat down on the table and started on the brioche buns. When he finished his first one, Rafe emptied the mushrooms in both their plates and sat down with him.

“I thought I’d wake up and find out it was all a bad dream,” Rafe told him.

“Me too. But it’s not. I
do
have you,” Pierce said and reached out for Rafe’s hands.

“What are you gonna do today? I gotta go to work at five.”

Pierce gazed out of the window that was right in front of the table. The sky was gray, but the glass was blurred by the fall of snowflakes. It was snowing. And he found, for the first time, that he wasn’t half as mad about it as he would have been once. He still felt bad for all the people that couldn’t have the kind of shelter he had. He hadn’t forgotten about them in the least. He had just learnt to accept his own happiness without guilt. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to help. And he still wanted to. He just hadn’t found the right way to do so.

“I’m gonna stay in. I thought I might go out and buy a laptop so I don’t have to go out to upload my photos,” he answered to Rafe.

Rafe clapped his hands together like a 6-year-old. He was adorable. “How exciting. That sounds fun. Can I come with?”

Pierce laughed. He didn’t believe he even had to ask. Any moment away from Rafe was torture. He wasn’t gonna deny his boyfriend, and his heart, the joy of togetherness. Even though they had a whole bunch of lifetime ahead together, he didn’t want to be apart from him unless absolutely necessary.

When they’d finished their breakfast they got ready and left their house for the nearest market. The snow didn’t look as it was gonna settle, it was only a tender, but sharp reminder of the closing season giving its finale. It was only a month before spring and Pierce couldn’t wait for it. But before that, it was Valentine’s, and now that he could afford it he was gonna give Rafe a great present. Frankly, all he wanted to spend his newly acquired money on was on his boyfriend. He didn’t much care about himself. He’d rented the house Rafe had loved and did it for Rafe, so that he wouldn’t stress and worry about anything, anymore.

Pierce returned to the flat on his own since Rafe had to leave for work. Pierce had a full evening of exploring his new laptop and when he finally logged it on the internet, with the help of mobile Wi-Fi the store-person had sold him, he grabbed his camera and decided to upload some of the pictures he had taken.

When he accessed his Facebook homepage he was struck by the red number on the top of his page. He checked the name on the profile to make sure he hadn’t somehow accidentally logged into another man’s account, but naturally that wasn’t the case. He had 2,409 notifications, 45 messages, and 367 friend requests. He was scared to open any of them. But he eventually clicked on the notification button and was taken back by the content.

Most of it was to notify him of the number of likes on his page, ‘Dreamless in New York’, and to let him know of the targets he had reached. He’d had a little over 10,000 likes. He wasn’t even able to take the number in. It had been over a week since his last login and update, yet all his posts and pictures had thousands of comments, likes, and shares. He spent an enormous chunk of time reading all the comments and clearing the rest of his notifications.

Then he got into the messages. So many of them to go through. The messages were more personal, even if he didn’t know the people in question. Most of them told him how much they admired his pictures and how much his stories had touched them. Some said they wanted to help the people on the photos and others were asking how they could so. He found a few messages were from old friends who had heard about him and had been worried when he had deleted his Facebook page, telling him how glad they were to hear from him again and asked him about his wellbeing and his health.

And then out of all the messages, there was the one that made him rub his eyes and question his sanity.

***

“
Hello Mr. Pierce Callahan,

My name is Dolores Ortega and I’m sending you this personal message to make an enquiry. I saw your photographic work on your page ‘Dreamless in New York’ and I have to say I’m in awe of the talent and raw emotion that your pictures emanate. I have been going through them over and over again, balling my eyes out with these stories. I’m a New Yorker myself and I can’t believe these brave people live in my city and I haven’t even given them a second of my time before. First of all, I wanted to ask if you have set up a fundraising account where we can deposit funds to help those poor souls. If you haven’t, make sure you do. I saw the interaction on your page and I believe there are others like me who want to do something about the homelessness that is tearing this city apart. Secondly, I wanted to make you, the artist, an offer. I own an art gallery in Manhattan and I wanted to ask you if you’d be willing to exhibit your work in my gallery. I have lots of friends in the industry and I’m sure a talent like yours will be well sought after. Looking forward to hearing from you.
 

Kind regards,

Dolores x.”