Sound proof, p.7
Sound Proof, page 7
"I'm not going. It's not worth messing things up here."
Chris pushed hard on Thomas's foot, sending his chair rolling back into a rack of thick sweaters. "Don't be an idiot. We'll make it work. Maybe it'll be a good thing for us."
"Don't give me that bullshit. Long distance relationships are a death knell and you know it."
There was an answer, of course, the less sensible-more snap decision elephant in the room. "You could ask me to go with you." Chris's voice rose slightly, just enough that he could backpedal out of it if he had to.
"Stop. You know I wouldn't ask you to do that."
"Why not? It's not like I'm really leaving behind much."
"Oh, just your career, friends, apartment... pretty much everything." Thomas sighed louder. "You know, except your boyfriend of all of a month."
"My best friend of five years too. That's worth a hell of a lot more than my barely-existent acting career and a shitty bar job." Chris let out a slightly startled sound when Drizz jumped up into his lap, nuzzling against his belly where his t-shirt had ridden up. "I can tend bar anywhere. And, I mean, the cost of living there is a hell of a lot better than LA."
"You're not a bartender, Chris. I'm not going to put you in that position." Thomas waited for a response, staring him down, but Chris didn't have one that wasn't going in the same damn circle. After a long moment, Thomas lowered his eyes and said, "I know a guy that's renting out a small house. Two-bedroom, one bath, street parking, custom built recording booth. We could make it with just my income. Probably. I mean, no vacations or premium cable channels, but we'd be okay even if you didn't work much."
"See? I could even put on twenty pounds and be the fat house husband you always wanted." Chris smiled, and then muttered an apology when Thomas glared back at him. "I could audition there too... And I mean, voice work is more my thing anyway, and there's a good amount of it out there."
"I know it's not LA, and you don't really know the people—I don't really know the people—but it'd just be for a couple years, and who knows, maybe when we come back we'll both have a better resume? Get casting agents over the whole model thing and everything.".
"We could make it work, if that's what you want." Chris scooted closer again, the dining chair legs catching on the tight pile carpeting, sending both cats sprinting out of the closet. "Don't use me as an excuse to let yourself not do something good for you. We had this argument for like a month, remember? When we couldn't figure out if we were dating or not when we totally were? You kept giving me this shitty-ass, 'you're not ready' excuse. And you were wrong."
"I was."
"You so were. So why not do this?" Thomas's head dropped again, his eyes closed as he leaned forward in the chair, closing the distance between them. Chris took his hands, clasping them together between his own. He said, "It's like you need some kind of proof that everything will be okay, but you know that usually things are fine. Things work out. We worked out. What's to say this amazing job won't work out for you?"
As if energized by Chris's tender touch, Thomas looked up again and let out a small laugh. His eyes opened in surprise when Chris leaned in to kiss him, softening the tension in a heartbeat. "It's not a book, Chris. There might not be a happy ending."
The words weren't lost on Chris, but at the same time, they brought up a strong frustration in him. "Says who? Even if we don't work out—if—we're still amazing together. And I trust you. We could make it work. All of it."
Thomas sighed, and then nodded slowly. "Are you sure you would want to do this? I mean, it's a pretty big decision to make in a few minutes."
"I've made worse decisions over longer periods of time." Chris shrugged. "If this is what you want, I'm in, man. Like... in. All in."
A slow smile spread across Thomas's cheeks and he nodded again. "I think I do."
"That's good enough for me."
DALLAS, 5PM TUESDAY
The move came together in less than two weeks. They rented a house in a respectable gayborhood. A few days on the road pulling a U-Haul behind Thomas's aging Toyota, and it was done.
"Our place." Thomas laughed, flopping down on the couch that had once taken up too much space in Chris's apartment but somehow looked too small for their living room. "It's official: last box is in. You can't run now."
"You caught me." Chris chuckled, setting down a heavy box that he hoped only contained books and not one of the many unexpected curios that had somehow been littered around Thomas's place. "Guess now you're stuck with me."
"Christ. I suppose you'll do... house husband." Thomas turned his face up to him, flashing a tired grin in the lingering afternoon light that filtered through the mini blinds the last tenant had left behind.
"Fuck you." Chris grinned even wider, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. He moved closer as they watched Lemmy and Drizz inspecting the new cat tree they'd purchased out of the back of a pickup truck in Arizona on the way. Eventually he leaned into Thomas's shoulder comfortably and found the warmth of a heavy arm around his shoulders, holding him close. "I can't believe we moved in together two states away a month after we started dating."
"Sara already tweeted that we're secretly lesbians." Thomas quipped back, holding up his phone where he'd been idly scrolling as Chris made the last leg of the drive. "In fairness, we do have the cats..."
"And you wear clogs non-ironically."
"They're comfortable and I work from home a lot." Thomas playfully smacked his shoulder.
Chris's grin only spread. "And I do have a conspicuous amount of flannel for someone who barely remembers the early nineties."
"Enough horrible stereotypes. I'm basking. Bask with me."
"Fine, fine..." Chris muttered, turning his head to brush a kiss on Thomas's cheek. "I'm basking."
Drizz, apparently satisfied with their new furniture to destroy and happy to be out of the cat carrier and not in a cramped motel room, sauntered across the room to join them on the sofa, stretching across the unoccupied half to knead his paws on Chris's thigh.
"This is good," Thomas said after a long moment of serenity. "I'm glad we're doing this."
"I'm glad you're not scared of taking the risk."
"Oh, I'm scared shitless." Thomas snorted, squeezing him a little tighter. "But we've got this."
"Yeah." Chris echoed, "We've got this."
FIN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C.A. Blocke is a thirty-something writer who’s been captivated by the magic of how people relate to each other for as long as she can remember. Far more than overarching drawn out plots, she prefers to focus heavily on relationships in various situations that feel like real life – even when at its most surreal. Real Life, she feels, is messy and complicated and that shines through in her fiction where the road to a happy ending frequently isn’t just a straight line. A long-time reader and writer of fluffy character driven pieces, her style tends to highlight small slices of life that come together to form a whole picture of the plot.
She is a gender non-conforming, demisexual identified female who feels most comfortable writing unconventional relationships involving non-heterosexual couplings. Sexual identity often colors her works and features heavily in finding the comfortable place where identities can collide with minimal friction. She enjoys exploring different takes on ‘acceptable’ sexuality and blurring the lines between what is expected and what really happens.
A small-town Arizona native, the southwest and its rural communities fascinate her – particularly the rigid identity politics and the ramifications of breaking the social norm. Of course, that’s not to say that she doesn’t also enjoy writing about urban life and the various challenges present in the big city. While most at home writing contemporary romance with a warm little erotica twist, she’s very prone to following her muse down the dark alleys and open valleys it drags her through – making it nearly impossible to know just what genre will take her interest next.
C.A. Blocke, Sound Proof
