5' 8"-5' 9"
By the time Noah and Ethan left the bar, it had already been dark outside. You could only see some bright rust stain left from the sunset on the west. On the east, the sky turned pitch black, with some rare stars that could be visible in the city and some flashing red lights from the planes flying above.
The neon sign of 'I want you deadly' desperately needed repair. It was flickering, so if somebody looked at it for more than two seconds, their eyes would hurt.
Noah shifted his glance from the sign to Ethan, catching himself thinking that he had thought wrong about Thomson all along. Even taking into account the first time they met, when Ethan somehow got into a fight with a local drug dealer, and the second time, when he splashed coffee in some guy's face, Morgan still believed that Thomson was a good guy, who was aggressive only towards people who were the first to start the conflict. Tonight, Noah found out the opposite. Ethan didn't need others to talk back in order to start talking back himself. He was generously telling everyone all he had thought, extremely straightforwardly and ball-bustingly. That was how he was building the wall of disapproval and misunderstanding around him. He was doing it on purpose. The only person Ethan had treated, for some unknown reason, normally was Noah. It was only Noah and no one else. And Morgan would be a fool if he didn't like it. In Ethan's personal list, though, others, even Noah's closest friends, were written down in the 'Enemies' section. It turned out that Noah somehow counted the most combative person to be the most conflict-averse one. And why? Because Ethan didn't believe the rumors? Or because Ethan would rise to the defense courageously? Or maybe because…Ethan was apparently quite handsome, and that was already enough for Noah to lose his mind? Could there possibly be something else?
The question of why Ethan, considering his temper, still showed Noah mercy remained. What if... No, but really... Was it possible? What if he could possibly? .. Morgan understood that he wouldn't dare state his assumptions out loud, but he was more surprised that he couldn't dare to even think about them.
Ethan stepped a little bit aside from the bar and took his phone out to take a picture of Noah. He either didn't notice Noah staring at him or maybe simply ignored it.
"What are you doing?" Morgan was surprised. Ethan didn't give the impression of a person who would take pictures of everything and everywhere.
"I'm trying to remember everything."
"Remember what? The bar, where you managed to get into a fight with at least half of the visitors?" Noah smiled alcoholically. He would never ask this question sober. What if Ethan considered Morgan's question a complaint and got mad?
"Only with a half?" Ethan acted like he was surprised, "Let's go back in."
"Why?"
"I'll get into a fight with another half," Ethan said seriously.
"Why?"
"I don't like unfinished business."
"So will you get into a fight with me then, too?" Noah couldn't stop smiling. Ethan would probably think he was weird. Or an idiot.
"No."
"Why? I'm also the other half."
"No, you're not."
"Really?"
"Really."
"So does that mean I'm special?" Noah was drunk-astonished.
Ethan frowned.
"...Unique," he articulated so sharply that it felt like you could get a cut with this word. This feature should've been taken as a compliment. It was a compliment, actually. But it felt a little bit forced on the inside. If… If Ethan didn't want to admit this uniqueness. Just if he couldn't accept it.
"I'll keep it in mind."
"Whatever," Ethan shrugged shoulders and went to some open area in front of the bar.
Noah thought that Ethan wanted to warm up a bit before the bike ride, so he came up to the bike parking lot, where he found two of those 'iron horses'. Both of them, though, didn't have a luggage rack, which Noah could sit on.
"Well, which one is yours?" Noah asked and put his hands on his hips, thinking how they could both ride on the bike. They definitely couldn't fit in one seat. Ethan wouldn't place Noah on his lap, would he? Of course, he wouldn't. But even at the thought of it, Morgan suddenly broke out in sweat. Even if they looked awkward, Noah probably wouldn't be able to settle his racing heart for the whole ride.
"That one," Noah nodded further behind the bike parking lot, extended his hand, and pressed the button on the alarm key fob. The black matte Mercedes-Benz blinked its lights, greeting the owner. Noah stared at the car, then shifted his eyes to the bikes. Then he carefully looked back at the car.
'Oh, God! Is he really a rich guy?!'
Noah slightly frowned. Why did he have to go through the same stuff over and over again? Back in the day, Matthew was also a rich family's offspring. It was a nice surprise for Noah at the beginning of the relationship. He was handsome, intelligent, and also rich? What was it? Or maybe it was a tightly-plotted fairytale? Matthew was definitely making the money fly. Despite Morgan's will, he was showering him with gifts. Despite Noah's confusion and resistance, Matthew always treated him to something. They had also visited so many bars and clubs on account of Matt that Morgan lost count. Unfortunately, this fairytale didn't end with 'And they lived happily ever after.' After a not-so-nice breakup, Matthew demanded to return all of his presents, plus he billed Noah with the approximate amount of money he had spent on Morgan during their relationship. The money he had spent, even though Noah didn't ask for it and was even against it.
After that, Morgan promised to give up dealing with 'rich kids', since he understood that there was no chance he could become equal. Spending their money, even if they wished to, was not only unethical but also dangerous. Noah had been paying Matt the debt for almost half a year because he was too embarrassed to tell his parents that, apart from unpleasant rumors, their son had gotten burned. Of course, Morgan could let things take their course and not pay, but he had his principles.
Like so, Noah, who had promised to give up relationships with people whose financial state was way higher than his, had a crush on one of them. Again. Like so, Noah, who had promised to give up guys with bad tempers, had a crush on a person who was probably the worst one. Again. Noah, who had promised never, in no way, in no case, would fall in love with... Jesus Christ! AGAIN!
"What's wrong? Go to the car," Ethan nodded forward and slightly touched Noah's back to showed him to the car. The touch seemed fleeting, really. It lasted no more than a second. "And don't forget to wash your shirt when you get home," he mistimed. Morgan scratched the beer stain. It was almost dry. Hopefully, Ethan didn't really consider him a dirty dog that needed a reminder to wash his clothes, did he?
"I… You know, it's probably better for me to walk home and sober up a bit," Noah mumbled and moved back from the car. Actually, he tried to move back, but he bumped into Ethan standing behind him. Like Thomson could feel that Morgan was about to run away.
"Nonsense. Walking around the city at night drunk—it's not the best idea," Ethan parried. That was indeed true, but...
"To be honest, I feel nauseous," Noah lied, "I'm afraid I can mess up your car."
"I have paper bags."
"I might need a lot of them!"
"Trust me, I've got enough paper bags," Ethan continued to push his point.
Noah got distracted from the situation for a moment and thought, 'Why would he have a lot of paper bags in his car?' Then, he decided that there were enough bold questions for him.
"Still, I wouldn't like to mess up your car," Noah was stubborn. He was doing it unwillingly and knowing perfectly well that he would get into the Mercedes. But still…
"That's not my car."
"It's even worse!"
"Trust me, my father has enough cars. Even if you vomit all around this car, he'll never find out about it," Ethan assured Morgan, opening the passenger door and welcoming Noah inside.
'But I'll be the one to remember it!' Morgan thought and sat down with a sigh. Ethan closed Noah's door, then got into the driver's seat and started the car. Morgan said his address, hoping that the ride wouldn't take much time so his agony could end soon, but Ethan didn't step on the gas for some reason.
"What's wrong?" He asked, drumming his fingers upon the steering wheel and looking not at Noah but in front of him.
"Everything's fine," he said, sounding scared, so Ethan switched his dark-gray eyes to Noah and stared at him unblinkingly until Morgan's embarrassment reached its maximum.
"Okay! I admit! I'm a bit confused…by…all of this!" Noah barely brought himself to speak and pointed at the car interior, "You're…rich!"
"No. My father—he's rich. I haven't earned a penny yet," Ethan answered almost in relief. Did he think that Noah had other reasons to be confused?
"You don't need to then!" Morgan snapped out and then immediately regretted it. Ethan clearly got mad because he stopped drumming on the steering wheel. Instead, he was holding on to it so tight that you could hear his fingerless gloves crack.
"Right," he exhaled coldly, "it's just a dream—you travel around the world and spend someone's money carelessly until you die. There's no point in ambitions and aspirations when you have the money, right? The most important thing is to meet your basic needs. There's a book called 'Eat, Pray, Love'. Have you heard of it? I suggest another more suitable version for rich jerks like me: 'Eat, Drink, Fuck.' Huh? Do you like it?"
Noah swallowed soundly. He had probably offended Ethan accidentally, and there was no sight of Thomson's 'mercy'.
"S…sorry, I didn't mean it," he mumbled.
"No, that's exactly what you meant."
"I'm sorry…" Noah repeated this and flattened himself against the car seat.
"Words are not enough," Ethan's voice seemed metallic, "If you're sorry, then make it up to me."
Morgan stared at Thomson like he was crazy. What did he mean? Money? Nonsense. Noah could think of anything else, but not that. Maybe… No, Ethan would never stoop so low.
"How?" Noah asked carefully.
"Somehow. Think. Be creative," Ethan shrugged his shoulders, finally breaking the ice.
"Nothing comes to my mind," Morgan exhaled, starting to worry.
"You don't have to do it right now. You've got plenty of time."
That comment confused Noah.
"So we won't talk until I come up with something, right?" he asked quietly to make sure.
"Why do you think so?"
"Well, you're… mad at me, aren't you? I think…"
"I'm not mad."
'Of course you are!'
"Then why do I need to make it up to you?"
"You're doing this for yourself, not for me," Ethan stated, completely confusing Noah.
"I feel screwed," he mumbled.
"It's better than feeling guilty," Thomson noticed and smiled, according to the tone of his voice. Noah couldn't understand what was the matter with his mood swings. But everything sounded nice and right. He just couldn't think of anything against it.
"Okay. I'll tell you once I think of something," Noah said thickly.
"Okay. I'll wait," Ethan nodded, finally letting off the steering wheel. After such an awkward conversation, it was quite logical to finally move the car and get concentrated on the road. But Thomson didn't rush. Noah was about to ask why they were still stuck in the parking lot, but the other question escaped his lips:
"Do you really carry a knife with you?"
"I really do."
"Even to the university?"
"Everywhere."
"What if you get caught?"
"I won't"-Thomson shook his head-"Actually, I did nothing to get caught. I'm allowed to take it anywhere with me," he explained, "Do you want to take a look at it?"
Noah knew that Ethan was talking about the knife. He definitely knew that it was about the knife. About the knife. However, Morgan turned scarlet red and turned his eyes away unintentionally.
"Eh…Ehm… Well…Sure…" he mumbled stutteringly. Ethan, ignoring Noah's red face, put his hand into his pocket, took the already familiar metallic pen, and handed it to Morgan.
"So was it a metaphoric knife, or something?"
"No"-Ethan shook his head-"Here, take it," carefully, trying not to touch Noah, he put the pen onto his palm, "Untwist it."
Noah did as he was told: he untwisted the top barrel and gasped. The top barrel was still a pen, while the opposite part ended with a thin, notched blade.
"Wow. Indeed, it's a knife," Noah said, turning the blade in front of him, "Though, I doubt that you can really take this knife anywhere. At the airport, for example, it can be found during the x-ray."
"Oh, it's not that simple," Ethan assured, "Have you ever heard about the AbelValter case?" [This case is completely made up by the author.]
Noah shook his head. He didn't know anything about any of the cases, besides those that were extremely popular and were broadcast by the media.
"AbelValter – is a company that makes these knives," Ethan explained. Noah looked closely at the pen's barrel and spotted golden letters of the company's name, "Back in the 80s, the guy named Harvey Patz killed his colleague with this pen," Ethan continued his story, "Of course, he was convicted. However, while he was in jail, he sued the AbelValter company. The main point of his complaint was that he apparently hadn't known that the pen was a blade weapon; that's why he didn't think that a person could be killed with this blade's stab."
"But that's such nonsense," Noah frowned.
"Nonsense. But there are tons of these cases, and they often win. Let's take the lady who decided to blowdry her cat in the microwave. The cat died, and the lady sued the company with a complaint, according to which they didn't inform her that she wasn't allowed to do that. As a result, she won."
"Did Harvey Patz also win?"
"He wanted to. Apparently, he planned to, at least, change his clause into 'involuntary manslaughter', which probably would commute his sentence. He didn't succeed, though. AbelValter's lawyers played smart. Instead of proving that the company's pens are considered to be concealed weapons in the first place, and that's why the owner couldn't be unaware of it, they decided to play the other way. They collected all the technical evidence and persuaded the judge that, in this precise model, the blade wasn't stipulated for. And this"-Ethan barely touched the knife-"this was some sort of engineering art. Like a tribute to the first pen models, where there was no sign of the blade."
"And did they believe them?" Noah asked in surprise.
"The lawyers worked closely together, and they collected so much documentation that, if they wanted, they could prove that AbelValter had never sold pen-knives before. But they only did it with one model. This one," Ethan took the pen from Noah's hand and started to juggle it in a skillful way, "So, that's why, in our state, this pen is considered to be only a stationary item, nothing more. It can't be confiscated even at the airport."
"What if it gets confiscated?"
"You can go ahead and take the case to court, which you'll win with a ninety-nine point, nine percent chance."
"What about the other states?" Noah asked carefully.
"It's better to leave it in your luggage in other states."
"So, basically, anyone could buy this pen and –"
"No," Ethan shook his head, "After they won the case, prices on this model flew up. Now, only collectors buy them. And my father. Do you want me to give it to you as a present?" Ethan suddenly suggested.
"What? Why?" Noah shuddered.
"So that you can feel safer. It's better to have some sort of weapon with you rather than be completely unarmed."
"No, thank you," actually, Noah would happily accept this present. He would love to have something that was originally Ethan's. But Matthew had taught him a lesson.
'Don't forget, Ethan isn't your boyfriend. And he probably would never become one,' an unpleasant thought appeared in his head, and Noah tried to shake it off.
"I'm sure you'll need it yourself," Morgan added quickly, worried that he could offend Ethan with his rejection.
"I've got seven of those," Thomson shrugged, "Father has given me one every birthday since I was fifteen."
"Interesting present. Why, since you were fifteen? If I had a child, I would start giving him knives since he is at least three years old!" Noah joked. But Ethan didn't seem to like it. It was even more difficult to read his face because of the mask.
"He just didn't understand before how dangerous his job is."
"Was he blackmailed?" Noah guessed, embarrassed, that he had said something awkward again.
"Yes. And, as a result, a month before my fifteenth birthday, I was kidnapped, put into a car, and taken away from the city by two men on the way home from school. I was held in the basement for three days."
Noah froze. He suddenly felt the air around them run high.
"That was how they wanted to put pressure on my father, so that he would drop the case he was working on at that time."
'Were you scared?'
'What were they doing to you those three days?'
'Is that why you can't bear any physical touch?'
There were so many questions, but Noah felt it was a crime to ask them.
"And... did he drop it?"
"No," Ethan exhaled, and it felt like he was smiling again, "He won it."
Noah didn't know what to say. Ethan was probably done with the conversation since he finally put the car in gear and put his foot on the gas.