A Perfect Match
It had beenan anticlimactic six months, all things considered. Roland had felthappywith Donny being around. They learned about each other, and the relationship Roland had started out fighting had developed into something bountiful. He looked forward to the nights they spent together, when he could wake up with Donny’s skin pressed against his, or Donny’s cum dried on the backs of his thighs— oftentimes, both.
Roland was still seeing his therapist every week, and after his most recent visit, she’d tried to delve into his unresolved feelings about the end of his relationship with Cody, but he was having none of it. The last time he’d thought about Cody had been before Donny came back to him, and he refused to even risk the mental backslide.
He’d long maintained he didn’tneeda therapist. The medication historically was enough to keep him in a good place most of the time, but she’d helped when she shared coping mechanisms and showed him how to identify his triggers. His interest in therapy had never centered around rehashing past hurts.
When he arrived home, he felt on edge. He’d counted, and he’d tapped, but was struggling to squash the feelings his therapist had unintentionally churned. Donny was already there, sitting on the couch playing with Pete and Elliot. The cats, as it turned out, got along splendidly. He looked over his shoulder when Roland walked in and smiled. Roland tried to force the appropriate smile back, but could tell he’d failed when Donny faltered.
“What’s wrong?”
Roland gritted his teeth. “Nothing’s wrong.” He stomped into the studio and started squirting paint onto a clean palette, hoping to make some progress on his current piece.
Donny rapped his knuckles softly on the open door. Roland looked up and narrowed his eyes.
“Come on,” Donny coaxed. “Talk to me.”
Roland dropped the tubes of paint and threw his hands up. “What do you want to talk about?”
Donny angled his head backward and raised his eyebrows. “I want to talk about what’s got you so fucking salty today, to start with.”
“Salty?” Roland scoffed.
“Salty.” Donny leaned against the open door and crossed his legs at the ankle. He looked amused, and that infuriated Roland.
“You think it’s funny?”
“I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know what’s bothering you.” Donny took a step into the room. “I assume therapy didnotgo well today.” Donny kept walking and pushed Roland’s art supplies around, making a clear space on the large work table, then hopped up and sat down.
“I’m not going to go see her anymore,” Roland declared.
“That seems rash.”
“It’s not your decision!” He bellowed, and Donny crossed his arms over his chest. The level of casualness he was exuding right now was making Roland angrier with every passing moment. He knew he didn’t even have a reason to be angry. Donny hadn’tdoneanything wrong at all. He’d just asked how Roland’s day was.
He didn’t do anything wrong.
No one had done anything wrong.
Roland wasn’t sure he could stop his mind from retreating into itself, but he needed to try. He closed his eyes and counted back from ten. When he reached zero, he opened his eyes and found Donny sitting on the table with the exact same look he’d had on his face before Roland started counting.
“So, you’re not going to see her anymore?” Donny asked, and Roland squeezed his eyes closed in response and counted back from ten again. When he reached zero, he answered.
“I don’t need to go back through every failure I’ve ever had. I don’t need to pay someone for that. I can do it quite well on my own.”
“How’s the counting working?”
Roland glared at him. “How do you know I’m counting?”
“The ten second silences?” Donny smirked.
“You’re not fucking helping meat all, Adonis.” Roland growled, his voice louder than speaking volume, but lower still than his earlier yell.
Donny slid off the table and walked over to Roland, wrapping his arms around his waist. Roland’s arms hung at his sides.
“Now you,” Donny encouraged, wiggling his hips from side to side so they bumped Roland’s hands. He sighed and dug his fingers into Donny’s hips. “See? Isn’t that nice?”
Roland closed his eyes, and counted back one last time, and dug the tips of his fingers into the fabric of Donny’s shirt. Donny just held him while he counted and breathed a slow and steady rhythm against his chest.
