THE CITY was unusually quiet, but Devon’s brain wasn’t. Three in the morning and he wandered the loft, pacing like a caged tiger and not knowing what to do. Normally he would paint, but the damned review hung in his head, and the thought of picking up a brush scared the shit out of him. So he left everything where it was and simply paced.
Devon closed his eyes and tried to bring up an image of something worthy, anything at all that might inspire anything. He stood in front of his windows, looking out over the street, but nothing came to him. It was like the well that had bubbled up with feeling from his soul had run dry. But Devon knew it was worse than that. His soul had starved itself and was dying. That was the only explanation.
Maybe he was done and the gift, as so many people called it, was gone. Maybe it really had come from a bottle. And if that was the case, then it was no more, and Devon would need to find his way without it.
A single bang sounded on his door, reverberating through the loft like a gong. Devon went over and unlocked it, then pulled the door open. “Don’t you ever fucking sleep?” Devon asked as he stepped back.
His friend Stephen waltzed into the loft, carrying a bag in one hand and a case of Coke in the other. “I saw the review and figured you would be up standing in front of those windows, wondering what you were going to do.” Stephen was a ray of sunshine, and right now that was what Devon needed. “I brought mint chip and Mississippi Mud ice cream, so sit your butt down and we can pig out until we lapse into a sugar coma and wake up in a whole new world.”
Devon plopped down on the sofa. “Have you been watching Sex and the City again?” He took the mint chip and pulled off the top.
Stephen went to his kitchen and returned with spoons, then popped open a couple cans of soda. “Don’t be bitchy. I’m here with libations and comfort, so don’t get your panties in a wad.” He grabbed the deep, dark, fudgy chocolate ice cream and sat next to him. “I got you caffeine-free soda. I figured after all this sugar, the caffeine would make our heads explode.”
Devon shook his head. “What does it matter? If the damned thing exploded, I wouldn’t have to read any more reviews about how uninspired I am.”
Stephen took a huge bite and then set the carton on the table. “You’ve been complaining for months that you feel empty, and yet you went on painting. Now when someone calls you on it, you mope and go all Debbie Downer on me.” He snatched up the carton as soon as Devon reached for it. After they each took another bite, they switched flavors. “So things are hard right now. So what? Find something that inspires you and go out and paint it. You’ve been successful and you have some money, so get the hell out of the city, change your scenery, and find something to replenish your soul.”
He made it sound so easy. Devon took a bite of the chocolate ice cream, humming at the intense fudginess and closing his eyes. “That’s easy for you to say.” He drank some of the soda. “You know, this is a lot like college. Remember?”
“Yeah, except I am not going to end up climbing into bed with you, and we are not going to wake up tomorrow with you all mopey and my backside sore as hell from that baton between your legs.” Stephen giggled. “Been there, done that… nearly ruined our friendship.”
Devon joined him. “I doubt my dick had anything to do with that. It was more like the fact that we thought we might be in love and actually tried to be boyfriends.” God, what a disaster that had been. Devon loved Stephen with his entire being, but they were not in any way meant to fall in love with each other.
“The harder we tried, the worse it got.”
“We weren’t that bad,” Devon said, feeling petulant and a little picked on.
“You snored loud enough to wake the dead,” Stephen complained.
“I had a deviated septum, which has been fixed, thank you very much. And don’t forget that you talk in your sleep.” Two could play this game. “And you never picked up anything. That dorm room was small enough without walking your dirty-drawers obstacle course.”
“And you were anal about where everything goes.” Stephen pushed out his lower lip in a pout that would have been cute… ten years ago.
“Only so I can find it without tearing everything apart,” Devon explained.
“And yet you still managed to lose your key at least three times a week.” Stephen broke into a grin. “Yeah, there was definitely a reason things didn’t work out between us. But as soon as we stopped the whole boyfriend thing… and I moved back in with my regular roommate… everything returned to normal.”
“Except your unnatural fascination with my dick,” Devon pressed with a grin.
Stephen rolled his eyes. “Okay. There was one thing that always worked. You and I were great in the sack.” They had done the friends-with-benefits thing a few times over the years, and it had worked out. No long-term stuff, no commitment, just a night with a friend that ended in mind-blowing sex. Yeah, that part of things they had down pat. The rest of it… no way in hell.
Devon took one more bite and yawned. “Come on, we should put this stuff away and get some sleep. Do you want to go home?” Fatigue was setting in.
Once Stephen shook his head, Devon put the ice cream in the freezer, and he and Stephen got into bed.
It felt nice not to be alone, and soon enough Stephen rolled over and was asleep, with Devon following after him.
HIS MOUTH felt like he had spent the entire night drinking. Devon smacked his lips and climbed out of the bed, leaving Stephen to sleep. He paused at the bedroom door, looking back and smiling. His friend was sound asleep, and Devon wondered for the millionth time why they just couldn’t seem to make it work.
Then Stephen rolled over, farting loudly, and Devon chuckled to himself, heading to the bathroom. He definitely had his answer.
Brushing his teeth made him feel more human, and he shaved and returned to the bedroom, where he dressed quietly before leaving the room, letting Stephen sleep for as long as he wanted.
In front of the huge windows, his work waited for him, a canvas on the easel. He looked at it and shook his head, taking it down. The piece was another just like the ones in the exhibition, and it needed to be set aside. He thought of painting Stephen, but even that idea came up short. There was nothing at all that he wanted to do; nothing lit a fire in his belly and made him feel anything.
“Just lie around and watch television for a few days,” Stephen said as he came out of the bedroom in his boxers, scratching his butt.
“You know, you could have a boyfriend or maybe a husband if you didn’t act so much like an old married straight guy.”
Stephen flipped him off and started a pot of coffee. “Ass.”
“Maybe, but I’m not the one scratching his like he’s got the damn clap.” Devon turned away from the window and blinked a few times. His phone began to ring, and he picked it up, recognizing the 907 area code from home, but the number wasn’t immediately familiar.
“Hello?” Devon answered skeptically, half expecting it to be a telemarketer masking their number with one he was familiar with.
“Devon?” the voice questioned, and he recognized it immediately.
“Mrs. Fitzgerald? Oh, it’s good to hear your voice.” He closed his eyes, and images of home—the one he’d left years ago out of emotional necessity—came flooding back.