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Jake wakes up sore all over like he got hit by a truck. He’s got cotton mouth, a pounding headache, and nausea roiling in his body. He had to have gotten hammered last night. But black out? During the week? Un-fucking real.
He takes a couple of ibuprofen and heads to work but there’s something tugging in his gut— a nagging sense he can’t quite name to which he cedes without thought when he calls in sick and heads straight to the clinic on base. The corpsman on duty gives Jake a skeptical once-over but gives him the day off anyway. He thinks about crawling back into bed, kind of wants to— but he’s swapping out his uniform for joggers and sneakers before he changes his mind.
It’s mid February. Cold and gray. Valentine's Day. Another one spent alone. Jake walks to the beach for his warm-up, scrolling through instagram on the way. It’s been a couple of years since he’s posted. Fucking weird. But he shrugs that off and starts running.
Jake sets a punishing pace and focuses on breathing, focuses on listening to the waves— crashing in sync with his footfalls. With the drag from the sand, the wind whipping around his face and the grains he can feel getting into his shoes— it’s both miserable and clarifying.
It doesn’t seem like anyone else is out there until he spots some crazy fucker out on a jetty with his dog. In this fucking weather? Jake thinks as if he isn't out there, too.
He stops to catch his breath, glances at the guy who feels him looking but they never catch each other’s eyes. He starts to head back inland because it is cold and he’s not here to not make eyes with some guy but he hears barking and the dog bounds in his direction.
The guy follows after the dog—a smooth chocolate lab that immediately starts whining and licking every bit of Jake it can reach, tail wagging.
“Sorry!” he yells, she’s harmless. “Hey Maple, down,” he grabs her collar and she whines even more pitifully, but he just clips the lead back on.
“Sorry about that. She’s been in a real funk lately.”
Jake shrugs, “It’s fine.” He gives the guy a slow once over— he’s about Jake’s height, maybe an inch or two taller, brunette, clean-shaven with a strong jaw and sweet eyes. He seems bashful and hard somehow. Jake wants to eat him up.
“Hey,” Jake smirks, “come here often?”
The guy looks around the empty beach dumbfounded.
“You’re joking—”
Jake licks his lips and winks.
“Oh my god,” the guy laughs. “Yeah, okay. This is— let’s go, girl,” he stage whispers to Maple, “there are some crazy people out here.”
He starts pulling on Maple but she resists, busy trying to get some last licks of Jake's hand.
“Oh come on, I don’t think I’ll ever get this slobber out,” Jake shakes his hand out.
The guy rolls his eyes, “Well, between that and the sand I think you’ll manage.”
“I’m just saying. Make it up to me. Let me buy you a coffee. I’m cold and wet and Maple doesn’t want to leave me.”
He bites his lip and looks down at Maple who strains to get closer to Jake and vacillates before he’s sighing and saying, “fine,” quietly enough that Jake almost misses it.
“Fine?” Jake asks.
“Why are you surprised? You asked me out,” he says, with a smile teasing at his lips.
“I’m not,” Jake says, defensive. “I’m just checking, anyway,” Jake holds out his hand, “Jake Seresin.”
He reaches out his hand and Jake doesn’t pull him closer even though he wants to.
“Bradley Bradshaw,” he replies, “and yes, I’ve heard it, I know.”
“Know what?”
“My name?”
Jake waits.
Bradley sighs, “You know, I introduce myself and then you say Bradley Bradshaw! Your parents must have hated you to call you that.”
Jake shakes his head, “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Uh-huh,” Bradley says.
“You get that a lot?”
“Only every time. I figure it’s good to get it out of the way.”
“Well, I love alliteration,” Jake says.
Bradley looks at him head on and Jake feels like this is important, “and your parents must have loved you a lot.”
They sit outside of the coffee shop in silence for some god damn reason with Maple at their feet dead asleep.
“So how many coffees do I need to buy you before—”
“Is it possible for you to speak in anything other than innuendo?” Bradley asks flatly.
“Are you alway so pissy?” Jake asks.
“Sorry,” he huffs, “things have been…” he waves his hand around and doesn’t finish but somehow Jake gets it.
They sit there until their fingers feel frozen, finding their footing around each other. Bradley lets Jake buy him two more coffees before he says, “Thanks. This was… I gotta go feed this one.” He looks down at Maple who seems perfectly full to Jake.
“I have dog food at my place,” Jake blurts out.
“Bullshit,” Bradley raises an eyebrow.
“Once we pick some up on the way,” he manages.
Bradley grins, “You’re so fucking thirsty.”
“Oh, fuck you,”
“Yeah,” Bradley laughs, “yeah, you really want to.”
Jake can’t deny that but, “Stop bullshitting like you have better things to do.” He gives him a once over, thinks about unbuttoning Bradley’s jacket, lifting his shirt up, running his hands up and down Bradley’s chest.
Bradley’s looking at him hotly, teeth pulling at his lips. Jake knows he’s got this right.
They stop at a convenience store on the way to Jake’s and pick up dog food. They fit and they don’t—arguing over a basket, shoulders bumping. He can’t explain it.
At his house, he knows Bradley is snooping while he takes a shower. There isn't much to see—it’s pretty bare. But that’s how he’s always been.
They sit together on Jake’s sofa, beers in hand. Maple heads straight for Jake’s bedroom and hops up on the bed.
“Hey!” Bradley shouts.
“She’s fine,” Jake says.
“The horseshoe on your front door,” Bradley starts, “are you?”
“Family of ranchers,” Jake supplies.
“Today has been weird,” Bradley says, hesitant.
Jake leans forward.
“I don’t know…I don’t normally—-”
“Follow a stranger home?”
“Yeah…” Bradley says, “I feel…”
“Out of sorts?” Jake asks. Because he feels that, too.
“To say the least.”
Bradley takes a deep breath. “I’ve been dating this guy.”
Jake bites his lip.
“It’s….new. He says all the right things… I can’t stand him,” he looks down. “I don’t ….he gets me.”
“Jesus,” Jake says, “Is this like—”
“Do you care?” Bradley asks, “Because I feel like you don’t.”
“I don’t give a shit about him,” Jake insists.
“He does these things, these beautiful things. I know I should love. I want to but it’s so fucking strange.” He looks up at Jake.
“He took me to the beach,” Bradley laughs, nervous. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this but, he took me to the beach. We drove up at night. Parked. Sat on the hood. Fucking freezing. I don’t know why. He gave me this stupid fucking horseshoe necklace.”
He shakes his head.
“It’s not stupid, it’s gorgeous. I’ve just never—I’ve never been on a horse. I’m not, like, some horse guy. I know it’s like,” he waves gestures around, “lucky or whatever. It’s nice, I just—it’s just freaky and now I’m dodging his calls.”
Jake thinks of the ranch his family owns. His younger brother and uncle are both farriers. There are more stray horseshoes in his life than he knows what to do with. Strange.
“Fuck him,” Jake says.
Bradley pales. “Dude,” he says.
“No, fuck him. Fuck all of that,” Jake says harshly. “I fucking skipped worked today. I went to the beach. I don't know why, I wasn’t even going to say anything until,” he nods to his bedroom, “and now, Bradley Bradshaw, you’re in my home, drinking my beer on Valentine’s Day…”
Bradley laughs and stands up.
“I gotta go. Maple, here!” She bounds to Bradley’s side.
“No, you don’t,” Jake’s stomach drops and follows them to the door.
“No,” Bradley looks fond, “I have to do this right.”
Just like that, Jake is giddy, “But you are doing it?” he asks.
“Fuck,” Bradley says, “yes.”
He lets Jake back him up against the door. They stand nose to nose and quiet, still, perfect.
“Call me,” Jake says, “fuck. No. I’ll call you.”
Bradley smiles.
“I can call you tomorrow.”
Jake’s hands find their way around Bradley’s hips, pulling them that little bit closer.
“Jake,” Bradley warns.
Jake smiles.
“I’m not pushing,”
Bradley rolls his eyes.
“I’m just…”
“Happy?”
“Yeah.” Jake leans in and kisses him light and soft on the corner of his lips. I’m never ever letting him go, he thinks from somewhere deep down, touched in ways he can’t possibly quantify.
“Okay,” Bradley whispers into Jake's cheek, “tomorrow.”
“It feels shitty to still be in a fight right before Valentine's Day,” Jake says, head in his hands feeling wrung out. His jaw is clenched and he can feel the headache building at his temples and there’s an ache in his heart that only Bradley knows how to cause.
Javy nods.
“Like, okay, I happen to find this perfect fucking horseshoe necklace and it’s nice and fuck!” He is up and pacing.
Nat scrolls on her phone, wine glass in hand.
“I go to the bar. I have this whole thing planned. I'm going to eat crow—whatever he wants, you know? And he’s there with some fucking guy. And he doesn’t even look at me and acts like he doesn’t know me. He says I’m cold? He’s a fucking robot.”
Javy and Nat share a glance.
“Maybe this is good—” Javy starts.
“Javy…”
“Hear me out: a clean break.”
Nat sighs.
“Nat stay out of this,” Javy says.
“Shut up,” she replies.
She puts down the glass and leans forward and looks at Jake straight in the eye. “Jake,” she pauses, “there’s something that you need to know about Bradley.”
Jake flips the card back and forth in his hand. It’s the size of a postcard, completely blank on one side. The other says in tasteful black font:
Dear Mr. Javy Machado & Mrs. Natasha Trace,
Bradley Bradshaw has had Jake Seresin erased from his memory. Please never mention their relationship to him again.
Thank You.
LACUNA INC.
Jake watches himself walk into the Lacuna Inc office. The phone rings off the hook, loud and abrasive though the all-white space has the bright otherworldly feel of a spa. The waiting room is filled with people holding boxes and bags like totems. Jake had been at home purging his apartment, gathering every physical trace of Bradley when he told his family. He’s ashamed at how light the box is. It made a sad kind of sense. Bradley erasing him was the ultimate confirmation that he really was the kind person only a mother could love. Fuck.
“Is it safe?” his mother had asked. He’s in his living room scrolling through instagram deleting every post, every story with Bradley in it.
“Yeah mom, they do it overnight. I’ll be asleep for the whole thing and then poof—new me without the ball and chain,” he says bitterly.
The gel is cool on his forehead where the technicians connect the electrodes.
“Jake, you won’t even remember last Thanksgiving when you brought him home,” she had worried.
“We’ll start mapping out your memories of the subject now,” the technician says, “just hold each object and then think about your association with them. We’ll finish the procedure later tonight as you sleep —”
He had shrugged on the end of the phone where she couldn’t see him.
“It’s for the best, mom.”
“Mr. Seresin, did you leave a key at the front desk?”
“Yes," he replies. He had swapped the key for a prescription sleep aid.
“Jake, your father thinks—” she starts before putting his dad on.
“Kid, don’t you think this is a little rash?”
He sighed.
He doesn't feel anything when they turn the machine on.
“You brought Bradley to my graduation you asshole,” his little brother says, put out, before following up with, “you want me to crop him out?”
Jake can see the monitor already spitting out lines of code and he thinks, Fuck, I really should have taken comp sci classes in school but it doesn’t matter. He can’t help but think that right there is Bradley Bradshaw.
“My name is Jake Seresin and I’m here to erase Bradley Bradshaw,” Jake says loud and clear into the recorder.
“Tell us about Bradley,” a technician asks.
There’s a groove on the wall of Jake’s bedroom that perfectly matches his door handle. Bradley had once excitedly rushed in and flung the door open with abandon.
“You brute,” Jake had said, astonished and amused.
Bradley had looked guilty at the wall, “You can just buff that out, right?” he said sheepishly before he flung himself onto Jake’s bed.
Jake looks at the assorted objects in front of him.
“Bradley Bradshaw is a fucking coward,” he says.
M ake sure you ch eck the volta ge lev els. The mappi ng is gettin g a little e rratic.
Bradley is throwing his laptop into his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder— his duffel already stowed in the car.
And the words force themselves out of Jake’s mouth like he’s said this before and he knows he has.
“So you’re just going to walk away. Run and hide, huh?”
Jake can see the clench in Bradleys jaw and the slight tremor in his hands as he struggles to remain stoic.
Then he makes an about-turn and, in a breath, is nose to nose with Jake, anger barely contained.
“Jake,” Bradley says like it makes him sick, “do you ever get tired of fucking with me?”
Jake crosses his arms.
“No, really,” Bradley continues, almost whispering, “I mean do you ever get bored to death of—”
“Spare me,” Jake says.
Bradley steps back, quiet, and Jake feels a sickening sense of victory having cut him to the quick. It hurts like it didn’t the first time. Jake didn’t know—he hadn’t known that it would be last time. They crossed over each other's lines so much he didn’t think there would ever be a stopping point.
“Fuck you,” Jake follows him out the door, “I’m erasing you! Do you know that?”
But Bradley only does what he did when this happened: checks his pockets for his phone and keys and heads to his car.
“I won’t even know who you are tomorrow. Does that make you feel good, Bradshaw?” Jake sneers.
Bradley slams his car door shut and checks his mirrors, starts backing up out of Jake’s driveway.
“Go! I’m erasing you, Bradshaw!”
And he does go, driving carefully down the street.
The space of a dream feels infinite.
Bradley is sitting on the floor between Jake's legs, watching the draft like it’s more important than the few days Jake managed to take off.
“We only had three days together. I hated that you wanted to spend time doing this,” Jake says.
Bradley shrugs.
The tv blurs.
“This is going, you know.”
“Thank fuck,” Bradley replies, rapidly texting someone.
“All of this is bullshit,” Jake says. He heaves himself up to grab a beer, only the fridge is empty. There’s barely a kitchen here.
“Thank fuck!” Bradley yells from the living room, “can you grab me one?”
That familiar anger wells up in Jake's gut.
Good
They’re eating lunch in the mess hall which is annoying. Bradley shovels food down like he’s still in basic. They sit together like strangers— like coworkers who have run out of small talk.
We look miserable and bored. Fucking basic.
At dinner, Jake wants to reach out and hold Bradley’s hand but he’s irritated that Bradley has been asking about collocation.
“It’s something we’re going to need to figure out,” Bradley says between bites, eyes fixed on paperwork he brought home.
“Or not,” Jake continues, “since you have no idea what you want—”
“Can we have a nice dinner?” Bradley doesn’t look away from his food.
“Why push Bradley out of his lane when we can have a nice dinner,” Jake mocks.
Jake's hands are sweaty and shaking as he sits on Bradley’s bed. Bradley leans in the doorway with his hip cocked and arms crossed and grinning at Jake.
He’s lit some candles. There are rose petals strewn about— chocolates and a bottle of champagne on his dresser.
Jake is thinking of his duffel in the hallway.
“It’s Tuesday,” he says.
“Is it too much?” Bradley asks.
It cleaves Jake in two.
Who has ever loved you like this?
Jake is up and winding his arms around Bradley like he’s never going to let go. The words he’s never said to anyone tease at his lips. He runs his hands up and down Bradley’s back, tucks his face into his throat and breathes him in for a second—this should be the easy part, he thinks frantically.
Jake’s so acutely aware of Bradley’s ability to destroy him, it’s all he can do not to get on his knees and beg for mercy. His heart feels stuck in his throat, so fucking in love it aches.
Then the room starts to fade and Jake clings harder like he never did the first time.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he whispers, lips on Bradley’s throat, “I need this. Please, not this. Not this.”
“Lieutenant,” Jake says as he walks in.
Bradley is the only one in the locker room— finishing up just as Jake’s hop is about to start. Jake picks the locker next to him and Bradley gives him a friendly bump on the shoulder. He’s always the last one out, Jake thinks fondly.
Jake darts in quickly to kiss Bradley on the cheek.
Bradley’s eyes get big but his smile takes over his whole face even as he does a quick check of the room.
“What was that for?” he asks, giddy.
“I just…” Jake says, unpacking.
Bradley’s smile hasn’t faded when Jake looks back up.
“Because…I don’t know that I’ve ever been this happy,” Jake mostly says into his locker.
Bradley crowds Jake against said locker to kiss him again, light presses all over his face, tickling.
“And, I love you,” Jake says against Bradley’s lips. The face Bradley makes is so comical Jake has to kiss him again, soft and slow. Then people start to file in shouting, “In the locker room?”
Bradley shakes his head and yells, “You fucker!” at Jake with a grin splitting his face.
Jake, having done the hard thing, beats a strategic retreat shouting, “Pay up if you want more!” to everyone else, laughter echoing— reverberating into nothing.
“I know I should be used to it by now,” Bradley says, his fingers carding through Jake’s hair—hypnotically satisfying.
“Used to?”
“Everyone leaving,” he says.
Jake wants to turn around but Bradley won’t let him, keeps massaging his head.
“Hey—”
“—It’s not anyone’s fault. I get it.”
Jake sticks a blank polaroid on his wall
This time around Bradley is sitting in the driver’s seat of his Bronco singing to the radio. Jake hasn't seen Bradley in over a week. He wouldn’t even look at Jake the last time they saw each other. Jake reaches out to touch him, scenery blurry around them. They could be doing anything anywhere, but Jake knows this is when they’re driving to his family’s for thanksgiving.
“Hey, turn that frown upside down,” Bradley pokes at Jake’s cheeks.
“Why the fuck would you—”
“Oh, don’t start now,” Bradley groans.
“It's not like I can talk to you— the real you.”
Bradley pouts, “Do you have to ruin this trip? We had such a nice drive.”
“You can’t just shut down when I piss you off.”
“This shit again.”
“You erased me!” Jake can’t tamp down the wellspring of anger still simmering in him.
“You’re mad at me, but look at you doing the same fucking thing,” Bradley shakes his head, “Your hypocrisy is astounding.”
“I don’t want this!”
“I’m shocked you fucking care,” Bradley mutters.
“You know I care.”
“No,” Bradley snaps, “I fucking don’t. Didn’t.”
“Fuck,” Jake says, “how do I unfuck this?”
Bradley shrugs.
“Come on man.”
“Maybe it's not meant to be unfucked. If you pissed me off so much that I wanted to have never fucking met you—”
“I don’t fucking regret it. I can’t.”
“It’s done,” Bradley says.
“No way,” Jake says stubbornly, “there has to be something.”
“Wake up, then, and tell them to stop.”
“Fucking watch me.”
“Maybe I should drive toward the light,” Bradley snickers.
Jake can’t hide his irritation, “Is this a joke to you?”
“I mean, it’s nothing to me,” Bradley says. “I’m in your head and you’re no longer in mine.”
Nothing Jake feels here is real or can hurt him except that quiet fact might as well kill him.
Jake leans against the car window and focuses on waking up, imagining himself lying on his bed. He hopes he’s on his bed.
“How’s that going?” Bradley asks, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I can't focus if you’re talking.”
“Which exit is it again?” Bradley asks.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Jake drops his seat back all the way down and focuses on feeling awake.
I want to wake up.
Then Jake gets a brief flash, like the worst sleep paralysis, the fan above his head spinning lights on, shadows cast long against the walls.
I'm n ot wiping
as clea n as I woul d li ke here.
“Babe the exit,” Bradley taps on his thigh.
“Fuck!” Jake yells,
“Hey, come on.”
“What the fuck Bradley? Why would you—” he hits the dashboard.
Bradley looks straight ahead.
“You know me. You know how I am.”
“Bradley—“
He grins wryly, “I’m decisive, okay? I’m sorry— I’m a big guy, a man of big gestures.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Says you,” Bradley replies.
Jake grabs Bradley’s hand and kisses his palm because right now he can.
“I love that about you,” Jake says, honestly, “I love you.”
There are no signs on the highway and soon there won’t be a road.
Bradley and Jake are running together— covered in sweat, racing back to the house. They stop over a bridge.
“I loved this with you,” Jake says.
Bradley looks up, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They’re lying in bed panting and sweaty. Bradley laughs into Jake’s mouth. Jake refuses to stop kissing him,
“Hey, why don’t you hide me,” Bradley says, scooting down.
Jake pulls the sheet over them, “What?”
“Hide me somewhere in your memories where they can’t find me—somewhere I never was.”
Jake’s in his room watching his little brother utterly fail at Mario Kart.
“Sick! Is that a PS2?” Bradley asks, “you know my mom never let me play video games.”
“Explains a lot,” Jake says looking over his shoulder and winking, all of fourteen.
Joey throws the controller down in anger and storms out of the room screaming, “Mom!” and Jake shouts, “He’s just mad because he sucks!” before he’s slamming his door shut.
He sits with his legs crossed next to Bradley who’s looking around the room.
“Muscle cars?” he asks.
“Gotta start somewhere," Jake shrugs.
Bradley reaches out and pinches his cheek, “You’re cute like this.”
Jake bats his hand away and smooths his hair feeling a kind of nervous excitement he hasn't felt in two decades.
“Yeah, I mean…” he shrugs, mortified because he knows he's blushing.
He's disa ppeared
fro m the map. I can't fin d him anywhere
Uhh h. Try th e
Jake can feel himself being pulled under so he grabs Bradley’s hand and they run downstairs. His mom shouts, “No running inside!” but they’re barreling through a graduation and the time his grandma died and when he fell off a horse in the arena into his high school library where he’s sitting across from Matty Wheeler who he’d kissed for the first time not 10 minutes earlier.
It happened after a semester of a too-close friendship. When he hadn’t figured out why he couldn’t stop looking and wanting. The kiss itself had sent Jake’s heart soaring. A notably bright moment immediately dimmed by the shock of fear that had quickly followed and the way he had promptly moved to protect his soft center, not even having known it was there.
Across the table, Matty looks like he’s struggling not to cry. Jake pretends like he can’t see the way he’s biting his cheek.
“Jake…” Bradley says, cautiously.
Jake scribbles away at what must have been homework and says quietly to Bradley, “I told him I was just kidding right after.” His shame hollows him out.
“I hate myself so much,” Jake says viciously.
Bradley throws an arm around him and a hand on Matty’s across the table.
“You were just kids,” he says softly.
Jake shakes his head, angry, but Bradley’s kiss on his forehead is sure all the same.
“I wish I had been there for you—with you,” he says.
The first time Jake meets Bradley Bradshaw is at Nat and Javy’s engagement party. It’s his first time meeting Nat, too, but he can’t really focus on giving her the shovel talk because Bradley is keeping his attention. He’s got a puppy cradled in his arms and a big grin speeding across his face. Jake thinks it's stupid that Javy has been hiding this guy.
“I wasn’t hiding shit,” Javy says, like a liar.
“Semantics,” Jake replies.
“You’re the one that refuses to stop and smell the roses. You could have met him a year ago when we started dating.”
I could have met him a year ago, Jake thinks, awestruck but thrilled all the same.
Bradley keeps throwing him these looks that hover between offended and shy.
“You remember this?” Bradley asks, curious.
“I remember you were shining and I had never wanted anything more. You came up to me and—”
“So you’re the best friend,” Bradley says.
Jake grins, “That I am. So where have you been all of my life, darling?”
Bradley sighs and hangs his head back, long suffering even though they only just met.
“What?” Jake asks.
“They weren't kidding about you were they?”
And for this he gives Bradley a once over.
“No, they were not,” Jake smirks.
“Jesus,” Bradley laughs.
Jake moves closer but doesn't make it far before Javy is pulling him away by the collar because he’s, “supposed to be getting to know Nat, damnit.”
Javy crooks a thick arm around Jake and says, “Listen, idiot, if things work out between me and Nat, you’ll see Bradley all the time. If you can bother to come around.”
They don’t talk until later when Jake finds Bradley sitting on the steps of Javy’s front porch. The music is faint and the air is cooler. The porch is decorated with colored string lights and silver balloons—blues, greens, reds, yellows bouncing everywhere.
Jake sits down next to Bradley.
“I wanted to talk to you all night. I felt like such a shithead to Javy,”
Bradley says, “I wanted you to.”
“They’re disgusting aren’t they,” Jake says.
“Oh, the worst.”
“Who would ever want to be in love like that?” he asks, sly.
Bradley grins, “Not me.”
Jake wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here so he only has one beer which he presents to Bradley with a flourish.
“For you,” he says with his hand on his heart.
“What a gentleman.”
Jake pretends to tip his hat.
The voltage looks fine.
The n che ck the con nections.
Did th at work?
Yea h, that look s bet ter. T hank you.
Then the lights on the porch flicker and they lose some balloons.
Bradley and Jake pass the bottle back and forth until it’s done, their knees knock and fingers brush every time they take a turn.
Jake is deep into a story about his latest mission which is half exaggerated, not even near true but Bradley’s eyes are crinkling at the corners and Jake’s mouth hurts from smiling and Bradley’s laughing even as he says, “Bullshit. I know an admiral and you’re so full of shit.”
They’re turned into each other like they’re sharing secrets.
Then Bradley’s phone rings like it did the first time. He frowns at it but doesn’t pick up. Again.
“I should get going," Bradley says as he backs away and Jake can’t stand the space between them.
“Come on, stay.”
“I can't,” Bradley says, “I can’t.”
The first time this happens Jake sticks his foot in it and Bradley, unimpressed walks away and it’s another three months before they see each other again.
Now, Jake clutches Bradley's forearm not letting go.
“You wanted to stay, why didn’t you?” Jake asks.
“I didn't plan on it—on meeting you,” Bradley says, “on feeling like I was falling in love. I was—I had a plan. A guy.” He shakes his head, “I couldn't, Jake.”
Jake leans in and kisses his cheek.
“Bradley, this is all I have. It’s all gone after this. Stay,” Jake whispers, “this time. Please.”
Bradley hesitates.
“Let me say goodbye to you,” Jake pleads.
Bradley nods as Jake wraps an arm around him, one hand on his cheek pulled in tight, kissing him sweet.
“I love you,” Jake says roughly, voice cracking, “I love you. I love you. I love—”
The string lights are long-faded, the noise from the party completely silenced and not even the porch steps they sat on—not even darkness remains, only nothing at all.
Jake wakes up sore all over like he got hit by a truck.
Jake’s hand is under Bradley’s shirt. He has barely made it inside Jake's door— takeout hastily placed on the table. Jake kisses him deeply, like he was born to, and Bradley kisses back and they’re scrambling to get into each other when both their phones start buzzing
“Leave it,” Jake says, nipping at Bradley’s chin.
“Just one second,” Bradley says, laughing and pulling away, “let me check—”
“Ugh,” Jake says, wrapping his arms around Bradley from behind, chin over his shoulder. The way Bradley’s body tenses in Jake’s arms is alarming.
“What,” he asks.
“Uh, I don’t—”
“Just spit it out,” Jake says.
Bradley takes a deep breath before reading, “Dear Bradley. We've met but you don't remember me. I worked for a company you hired to have part of your memory erased. You've erased your two year relationship with Jake Seresin from your memory.”
Jake steps away because that is fucking insane.
“What the fuck?” he asks.
“I don’t know!”
“What are you—”
“That’s what it fucking says!” Bradley yells, handing Jake his phone.
He reads the same thing that Bradley read aloud, scrolls past the images of stuff— it means nothing to him and hits play on the audio file.
Bradley’s voice comes through with the clarity of a bell:
“My name is Bradley Bradshaw and I'm here to erase Jake Seresin.”
“Tell me all about your relationship,” someone asks.
“Well, he's a giant asshole. Is that enough?”
“No, I'm afraid we really do need to—”
Jake’s putting the phone down like it’s poison and Bradley picks it back up.
“What the fuck?” Jake backs away, and Bradley looks up at him aghast as his voice continues, “He doesn’t know how to love. He just wants to own you and display you like you’re another fucking medal—”
Jake’s stomach drops.
“Bradley!”
“I don’t know!”
“I’ve never met anyone so naturally incapable of love.”
“I don’t think that. You know I don’t think that,” Bradley pleads, “I don’t know why I would say that; it doesn't make sense!”
But Jake doesn’t know Bradley at all. Not technically. He feels sick.
He misses his own phone ringing but picks up after to read the same message, “Jake Seresin has erased…” and when he plays the audio, “I’m Jake Seresin…” he hears himself say, Jake knows what he sounds like when he’s angry. He’s scrubbing through the file and, “Bradley has the most hideous fucking mustache, dresses like a pastiche of his dead father. Like, tell me …”
Bradley looks at him, stricken.
“I don't,” he says, sliding down to sit on the floor.
“I know you don’t,” Jake says quickly, kneeling in front of him. Not understanding why he would ever be so cruel. He didn't even know Bradley’s dad was dead.
“I—I like it. I liked him and—”
“I know.”
Bradley shakes his head.
They sit there on the floor for what seems like ages, letting the files play in full, listening to the the words they don’t remember saying for the people they once were until even the silence reverberates between them.
All Jake knows is that he loved Bradley once. That he wants to love Bradley again. That they can’t stop—couldn’t. Won't.
“I think I should go,” Bradley says to his knees.
It’s a beat before Jake follows him out, not knowing what to say other than, “Bradley, hey.”
“Stay,” Jake says.
“You hate me.”
“I don’t—”
Bradley laughs thickly.
“I love everything about you,” Jake says, “I wish I had seen your mustache.”
“No–”
“You could maybe try a beard,” he teases.
“We’re just—we’ve tried this before Jake. It didn’t take.”
Jake shrugs.
“So?”
“So? So, Jake, in two years you’ll hate me,” he says, miserable.
“And, you’ll think I'm incapable of love,” Jake counters, moving into Bradley’s space.
“And, you’ll think I'm boring,” Bradley rolls his eyes but his hands settle on Jake’s waist when he’s within reach.
“And, you’ll think there are bits of metal on this earth I care about more than you,” Jake smiles,
“I’ll grow a mustache that you’ll hate,” Bradley says softly, shyly.
“That I’ll love,” Jake insists, nose to nose with Bradley—his field of vision is the sweet honey-gold that glitters in Bradley’s deep brown eyes. “I’ll love you,” Jake insists because he knows this will be true.