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“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Scott blinked, still half-asleep, and rolled onto his side to face Impulse. Impulse was already out of bed and fumbling into his clothes, which Scott had carelessly tossed into a corner the night before.
The night before? Hours before? What time was it, even?
Scott suppressed the urge to roll onto his other side and look at the clock, instead eyeing Impulse.
“What d’you mean?” he mumbled.
Impulse didn’t turn around to face Scott.
“You know what I mean,” he said, “I’m done sleeping with you. I’m just… done.”
Scott stared.
Impulse’s voice was calm and level as he spoke, no hint of anger. No hint of sadness. Perhaps a hint of disappointment, but if Scott really cared to think about it, the disappointment had been there all along.
Scott didn’t care to think about it. This was absurd.
“Why? Did I do something wrong last night?” Scott asked, sitting up in bed. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4 AM. He’d barely slept for an hour. “Can we talk about this later?”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Scott. Not anymore,” Impulse snapped.
And there it was- that hint of anger. Impulse was still facing away from him, still shrouded in the dark, but Scott could hear him breathing, could picture how his hands might be trembling from emotion.
It wasn’t the first time they’d had a fight, and it wasn’t the first time Impulse had been angry at him.
The worst part was, Scott knew exactly why Impulse was angry at him.
He feigned ignorance.
“Can’t you just tell me off and then go brood for a while? And we can talk it out later?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Scott?!”
Oh, great. He’d made it worse.
Impulse didn’t say anything else, just huffed and stormed out of Scott’s trailer, slamming the thin metal door behind him. Scott flopped back onto his pillows and sighed. It was always like this, wasn’t it? They would get tipsy at a party, flirt a little in private, and then spend the night together in Scott’s bed.
They’d slept together so many times it was almost expected. Even Gem just let them be about it. But no matter how many times they slept together, it always ended with Impulse storming off, angry and hurt.
Scott’s phone vibrated and he picked it up, half-expecting it to be Impulse. Instead, it was Gem.
[ Gem ] [ 4:13 AM ] What did you do now?
Scott ignored her message, tossing his phone onto the floor. He didn’t want to talk to her right now. Not about this. He didn’t want to have to tell her why Impulse was angry at him.
He didn’t want to have to tell her it was all his fault.
Because Impulse was in love with him, and Scott was determined to pretend he’d never said so.
[ Gem ] [ 4:39 AM ] You know you’re gonna have to figure out your shit eventually. I will kill both of you if our band breaks up because you can’t just talk about your feelings like grown ups.
[ Scott ] [ 8:02 AM ] what did impulse say to you? He doesn’t want to talk to me
[ Gem ] [ 8:04 AM ] Impulse didn’t tell me shit. You do realize you leave your windows open and I can hear literally everything that goes on in there?[ Gem ] [ 8:04 AM ] Literally. Everything.
[ Scott ] [ 8:04 AM ] sorry
[ Gem ] [ 8:05 AM ] It’s okay, I know you’re not.[ Gem ] [ 8:06 AM ] Seriously though, you need to talk to him. And not “act like I’m clueless” talk to him. I know you do that. Actually TALK to him, and then maybe LISTEN when he answers.
[ Scott ] [ 8:10 AM ] he doesn’t want to talk to me gem
[ Gem ] [ 8:10 AM ] We both know that’s bullshit.
[ Gem ] [ 1:17 PM ] I do have the resources to tap your phone and if I find out you haven’t texted him yet I WILL break into your trailer and drag you out by your ear to make you talk to him.
[ Scott ] [ 1:24 PM ] Impulse, can we please just talk?
Impulse was avoiding him. Which was to be expected, really, but now it was starting to piss Scott off.
Their most recent show had gone off without a hitch. Gem & the Scotts had their show routine all but perfected by now, and Scott was forever grateful that his repeat falling-outs with Impulse never seemed to impact their ability to play together. If Impulse avoided all contact during the show, that was fine.
The show had gone perfectly. Gem had ever-so-subtly nudged Scott in Impulse’s direction, and Impulse had booked it in the other direction as soon as Scott made eye contact with him.
And it was fine. Impulse was avoiding him, and it was fine.
What wasn’t fine was the fact that Impulse was now drunk and curled up in the lap of some other guy.
It was common for large parties to be held after a show, especially if there were several bands gathered to play at a single venue, and Gem & the Scotts always made an appearance, even if they didn’t stay.
Tonight was no different, except while Scott had stayed sober and spent most of the night searching for Impulse in the crowd, Impulse had been drinking, and was now apparently flirting with strangers.
It was absurd. Impulse never acted like this. What the fuck was happening?
The guy whose arms were looped around Impulse’s waist whispered something in his ear, and Impulse laughed hard enough that Scott could see his dimples in the dim light.
Scott grabbed Impulse by the arm and practically dragged him off the guy.
Impulse nearly fell, grabbing onto Scott for balance. “What the fuck,”
He didn’t even sound angry, just confused. Rage began to boil in Scott’s stomach. Holding Impulse up with one arm, he half-led half-dragged him through the party and out towards their trailers. They were almost to the trailers when Impulse finally came to his senses and shoved Scott off him.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” he cried.
“What am I doing?! What were you doing, humping some stranger like that?!”
“It’s none of your business, is it?”
“It is if my friend and bandmate is putting himself in danger!” Scott snapped, voice rising.
“Putting myself in danger?! Are you kidding me?!”
“You’re drunk, Impulse.”
“Oh, and that’s somehow different from every time we got piss-drunk and fucked in your trailer?!”
Scott took a moment just to breathe. His jaw felt tight, fingernails digging into his palms. He thought he might start screaming at Impulse, if what they were doing didn’t already count.
Impulse was swaying on his feet, face flushed. He’d clearly drank a lot more than Scott had assumed, and he was starting to shake, from the alcohol or from emotion Scott didn’t know. Scott reached out a hand on instinct to steady him and Impulse swatted it away, but only half-heartedly.
When Scott caught a glimpse at his expression, Impulse looked as if he were about to cry.
“Since when do you even care what I do?” he asked.
Scott felt like his heart was being ripped in two.
“I’ve always cared,” Scott said, “You’re one of the most important friends I have."
Impulse’s face fell, and Scott knew that wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.
“That isn’t enough,” Impulse whispered.
Impulse started crying, and Scott managed to get him into his trailer before he started throwing up. He helped wipe the makeup from the show off Impulse’s face and held him steady as he changed out of his now puked-soaked clothes. Half an hour later, the puke was cleaned up off the floor and Impulse was curled in bed beneath his covers, weeping quietly onto his pillow.
The next morning, Scott awoke to find Impulse miraculously still in bed next to him, forehead resting against Scott’s shoulder. He was awake, and looked to have been awake for quite some time.
“How are you feeling?” Scott asked. Impulse hummed in vague answer.
A long moment of silence passed between them. Scott stared at the ceiling, mentally listing all the ways he could handle this conversation. In the end, it was Impulse who spoke first.
“I can’t keep pretending I’m not in love with you.”
Scott knew.
He’d known for months, had seen it in Impulse’s eyes and heard it in his voice. Impulse had told him, once, word for word, that he was in love with Scott and wanted to be something more.
And Scott had answered: “Maybe.”
Scott knew. He knew it was cruel. But he hadn’t wanted to face it.
He still didn’t.
So he pulled Impulse close to his chest, and said nothing at all.