2-AT0: Imagined Lives

Gene figured imagined futures were time travel for normal people. For plebeians like him, the past was the past, the future was the future and the present was barely worth thinking about. None of it could be changed but how you remembered it was how it was. What did regrets matter?

As a creature immune to regret, he didn’t bother knocking on the door.

The night was cool. In DC summer didn’t give up easily. It would cling to the air past September, sometimes into October, until winter swept in and forced it out. An actual crisp autumn night was a rare thing. Like fall as a season was too subtle for the gauche and heavy-handed politics of the city.

When he got to Ethan’s for their standing appointment it just felt so normal to walk in like he owned the place. After all, Ethan knew when he was coming. No knock was required.

“Hey,” he called as he made his way down the immaculate hallway.

They had talked about it earlier that day to confirm that he was coming. The door was unlocked for him. Ethan definitely knew he was coming.

And still Ethan looked a bit startled once Gene appeared in his home. He had the most adorable look on his face as he stood in his kitchen. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, like he’d misplaced all the thoughts that made Gene’s image appearing before him make sense, like he’d just got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar. But it was Ethan’s home and his own cookies.

Then, all at once, he switched. Maybe he had remembered, but he seemed to decide the best defense was a good offense. 

“You’re late,” he said, stepping out of the kitchen with a frown. Gene couldn’t help but notice Ethan’s rolled-up sleeves, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he crossed his arms. He looked both formidable and homey, like an off-duty superhero.

“Oh no, did I miss the memo about synchronized watches? I thought we said eight-thirty,” Gene replied, tearing his gaze away.

“No,” the other man shook his head. “We said eight.”

“Are you sure?” You didn’t even remember I was supposed to come over tonight.

“Yes, There’s a new episode of Shark Tank on at nine.”

Gene snorted, he felt the smile forming before he could bite it back. “Suddenly I have this image of you wearing one of those sheet masks with your hair in curlers.”

“Don’t mock my self-care routine, Gene.”

It was delightful when Ethan played along. When Gene could drag him into these tit-for-tat games, these devilous little flirtations. Gene chuckled. “I live to mock. Now, grab your vampire kit so we can get this over with. Wouldn’t want to mess with your TV schedule,” he said, settling into his usual chair and rolling up his sleeve.

“Late and impatient,” Ethan sighed, turning to gather his supplies.

“I wasn’t late. I just had a creative interpretation of the time. I thought you would appreciate that. If it really bothered you, we both know you would have just rewound time until you found a timeline where I was not late.”

From the kitchen, Ethan hummed in response. “Now if only I could find the timeline where Gene Regan submitted his billable hours correctly.”

Although Gene could not see Ethan’s face, he felt like he could see Ethan’s smile as he closed his eyes.

“Pffffttt…” he replied, speaking to the phantom. “That Gene does not exist. Time and materials is an abomination.”

Ethan’s footfalls were soft on his hardwood floors. Gene kept his eyes closed, sketching out the space in his head and studying all the details that only appeared in his imagination. The break in Ethan’s slacks brushing against his bare heel. The two or three loose locks that had flipped over from the left side of Ethan’s center part to the right as if defecting. The way he tucked his kit under his arm, not quite in his armpit but close.

“Don’t worry, I’m practically a camel today. Hydrated to the max,” Gene said. His eyes stayed closed but his picture of the scene continued playing out in his mind.

Ethan tied the rubber tourniquet around his arm. His voice sounded so close and so soft.

“Do camels drink a lot of water?”

“Like 10 gallons a minute.”

A soft whistle reverberated across Gene’s imagined scene. Followed by a light “Is that so?” The words nearly cooing at him.

There was something about this place that Gene always found very calming. He nodded—it was so! Didn’t Ethan appreciate his science facts?—and felt himself swaying just slightly as Ethan’s hands moved over his arm, searching for a vein.

“I saw online that drinking water and staying hydrated can make getting your blood drawn easier,” Gene remarked.

Ethan grunted rather than respond and for the first time Gene cracked an eye open and  watched the older man push his thumbs against the skin as if he was wiping condensation off glass. A big purple line appeared on Gene’s arm, like a tree branch in shape.

“I appreciate the gesture,” Ethan said.

Then the tip of the needle pressed against his skin.

There was a sharp prick as the needle slid inside him. Ethan sat back on his heels and together they watched as rich red blood poured out of Gene’s body.

“The worst part is over,” Ethan said. “All that’s left to do now is wait.”

“I know.”

Then Ethan looked up and their eyes met. That was a mistake. 

There were lots of looks they shared. Gene would look amused and Ethan would keep his reaction empty and flat, as if afraid to encourage him. Or Gene would roll his eyes, and Ethan would perk up attentively. Sometimes their interactions felt a bit like being on a seesaw: whatever Ethan’s vibe was it was diametrically opposed to Gene’s.

But this look … Gene didn’t know what the look in those blue eyes meant and he didn’t know if what he was feeling was the opposite.

Gene held his breath in his throat, unable to breathe anything out.

The longer he looked, the more he felt trapped. He turned his head to force his eyes to move away. He started studying the bookcase to his left. His gaze drifted, latching onto anything else. It was strange how at home he felt in this place. He shouldn’t feel that way—he knew better—but he couldn’t help it. If anything, it was Ethan’s fault. What did he expect when he made it so easy, so comfortable?

It was hard not to think Ethan was making space for him in his life. What else could you call it when a guy started keeping cereal around for you? Sure, if he asked, Ethan would say it was for himself, that it was a coincidence. But Gene wasn’t stupid. Every time he came over, the box was untouched, the same amount left as the last time.

He was sure if he pushed, Ethan would brush it off. He would claim that he kept sugary cereal for all of his blood donors—plenty of people got lightheaded when they had blood drawn and it made sense to take some precautions. Gene was just the only one who took advantage of it, he would say.

Or maybe … maybe he’d be forthright and unashamed. Maybe he’d turn it back on Gene: yes, he had it in the house for Gene … what was so wrong with being considerate? Ethan’s stubborn confidence seemed to appear at the strangest times. He could argue the point forever. 

But … He’d left the door unlocked.

DC was not the safest city in the world. Had he left the door unlocked by accident? Or had he left the door unlocked and only pretended to be surprised when Gene showed up?

It was a riddle. His feelings. Their meaning. There were rational explanations on both sides. Maybe he left it unlocked so Ethan wouldn’t have to drag himself off the couch to let him in. Maybe he’d just forgot. Maybe Gene was taking one small thing and blowing it completely out of proportion…

But then … that look. That look was a thought still twisted around his heart.

Ethan wasn’t the type to leave his door unlocked by mistake.

Gene let the thought simmer, wondering when things had changed. They had been friends … kind of? But it had always been an awkward friendship. Could it keep growing, keep expanding into something that filled the empty spaces between them? Would there come a day when Ethan would move on from leaving the door unlocked to just giving him a key?

Once he thought of it he couldn’t stop until the image had revealed all its detail to his mind.—a small, silver key nestled in a velvet case, the kind used for expensive jewelry. Ethan wouldn’t want to be blase about it. He wasn’t the type to pass the gesture off as casually. He wouldn’t make up some lame excuse like in case he got locked out (Gene didn’t live that close by) or Gene needed the key to deliver work product (the one thing they did agree on was leaving work at the office as much as possible). And anyway, Ethan would see it as a big deal and want it to be a big deal.

He’d make a big production out of it, wouldn’t he? His confident streak always overcorrected for his insecurities. He’d probably take him out to dinner, maybe a late-night walk under the moonlight. They'd pause on a park bench, the night sky a blanket of stars above them. Ethan would pull out the small box, his eyes soft but serious. Gene would open it, squirming when he realized what it was. Ethan would notice and appreciate that Gene was suppressing his first instinct to turn the whole thing into a big joke. To deflect the feelings. To divorce himself from the inner part of him that would crow—Yes! Yes! Yes!—and fist pump the air.

But that didn’t feel like Ethan, did it? No, Ethan was too practical for grand gestures. Or at least cliche, rom-com, big production value grand gestures. More likely, he’d put the key on  Gene’s keyring when Gene was not paying attention and simply see how long it took Gene to figure it out. Gene hadn’t yet risen to the level of a janitor with his collection of keys, but there were enough—outer door dongle, outer door backup key, deadbolt, door knob lock, second deadbolt, a spare of the trailer, the key to his Masterlock—enough that a single newcomer could blend in for a hilariously long time.

Every day that went by without Gene noticing would please Ethan more. He’d have an air of superiority about him. A smugness that felt too affectionate. Gene would catch him smiling at him. Then finally one day Gene would knock on Ethan’s front door and the other man would yell back, “Use your key!”

Or maybe … Yes, he could picture it now: Ethan sitting beside him on the worn-out sofa, the glow of a reality show Ethan loved and Gene pretended to hate playing in the background. Ethan’s fingers would tap nervously on the armrest before he’d finally, wordlessly, hand over the key. No fanfare, no big speeches—just a simple act loaded with meaning.

And Gene would know the truth. He’d know Ethan had spent days—weeks, maybe—agonizing over whether to take this step. His heart would be pounding as he rehearsed the moment in his head. He would use time travel, once or twice, to test out a few approaches until he had figured out how to downplay it without insulting Gene.

Gene wouldn’t need words to know what it meant. And when Marcella’s phone call interrupted their peace and quiet to yell at Ethan about fucking around with time for stupid reasons, Gene would realize how much this really meant to the older man. Their friendship. Their future.

Gene noticed things about Ethan no one else did. The look. The faintest tremble in Ethan’s fingertips as he handed over the key. The kind of nervous energy wrapped around him whenever he thought Gene was in trouble or starting trouble. Gene would smile, the teasing edge in his voice just enough to cut through the tension without being mean.

After a while, Ethan’s space would start to change. The key helped Gene’s clothes find their way into Ethan’s closet—a stray shirt draped over a chair here, a pair of socks tucked into a drawer there. Gene’s toothbrush would claim space beside Ethan’s in the bathroom sink, and Gene would develop a strange interest in colorful novelty mugs like an act of rebellion against Ethan’s pristine, chrome and marble kitchen.

Their dates would become more lavish. Ethan had a soft spot for spoiling his partner. He never talked about past relationships, but Gene was sure this must be true. That Gene would roll his eyes and complain would only make Ethan enjoy the dates more. It would give him an excuse if it seemed like he was doing these things just to get a rise out of Gene.

He was curled up against Ethan’s chest, half-watching some forgettable movie. He could feel Ethan’s breathing against his ear, the way his chest expanded and contracted before a long, contemplative sigh, disturbed the comfortable silence.

Gene sat up, blinking at him with concern. “What is it?” he’d ask, a crease forming between his brows. “Something wrong?”

Ethan shook his head. “The opposite, actually. I was just thinking—”

“That must be hard for you.”

Another way in which they were diametrically opposed: Gene craved touch, his greatest pleasure draping his body over lovers. For Ethan physical affection was more subtle, more rare. He wouldn’t stroke his hand through Gene’s hair. He wouldn’t grab Gene’s chin and trace the lines of Gene’s smirk with his thumb. He would roll his eyes. Maybe he would move away, pushing more space between them while his words contradicted.

“I was thinking… you spend a lot of time over here.”

“Yeah…” Gene hesitated. “Is it too much? Do you need some space?”

“No,” Ethan shook his head, his tone calm but firm. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

Gene tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Then what are you saying?”

The muscles in Ethan’s jaw tightened for just a second. “Forget it.”

“Oh no, we’re not playing that game. Tell me.”

Ethan exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself for something uncomfortable. “I was thinking… it’s not half bad having you here.”

“High praise coming from you.”

“And it seems like a waste for you to keep paying for a place you’re barely at anymore.”

“… Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Ethan’s gaze finally met his, steady and unreadable. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On your answer.”

A grin spread across Gene’s face, his heart doing a strange little flip. “Well, if you’re asking, then you should know the answer is yes.”

Ethan gave a curt nod, as if satisfied with the transaction. “Good. We can get your things moved this weekend.”

The laugh was sharp and short. A drop of spittle hit the back of Gene’s throat and he started choking. “That’s fast.” He croaked out before he cleared his throat.

“Is there a reason not to be fast?”

Gene shrugged, trying to hide his nerves with casualness. “I guess not.”

But as the reality of the situation sank in, Gene’s mind started to spin. He imagined Ethan stepping into his world—really stepping into it. Ethan in his apartment, packing up his things. Ethan in his favorite dive bars, with their sticky floors and loud music. Ethan among his eclectic group of friends, most of whom wore their politics and passions on their sleeves.

It wasn’t just the difference in lifestyle; it was the difference in values, in beliefs, in everything that made Gene who he was. Ethan was everything he had learned to despise about the buttoned-up world of Washington, yet here he was … falling for the guy.

The thought would gnaw at him as they went through his things that weekend. They were in his bedroom, boxing up shirts, books, and other random artifacts of Gene’s life. Ethan moved with clinical efficiency, methodical in his approach, while Gene’s mind whirled with second thoughts.

Then it happened. Ethan picked up a ceramic figure—a silly, kitschy thing Gene had gotten at a flea market. It was a cartoonish dinosaur holding a cup of coffee, with the words “Dino-mite Morning” scrawled in bold letters across the base. It had holes in the top for toothbrushes.

Ethan’s brow furrowed as he turned it over in his hands, lips quirking in a way that made Gene’s chest tighten.

“I didn’t think you’d have something like this,” Ethan said, the words laced with dry amusement.

Gene bristled. Why? Why did the comment and smile bother him so much? “What makes you say that?”

The other man shrugged, too casually. “Just that I figured you were a little old for this kind of thing.”

It wasn’t a family heirloom. Why did that hurt so much? It wasn’t a treasured possession. Gene could smash it against the wall or toss it in the garbage and not waste another thought on it. But it was a reminder of how Ethan’s spaces were filled with sophisticated grownup things, not kid’s things. His space was a home, not a dirty and run-down hovel. His things were bought new, not picked up at flea markets and second-hand shops.

He might as well have asked Ethan to pack up his footie pajamas.

Gene’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not an old man like you.”

A hint of irritation rippled across Ethan’s calm exterior. “You’re being childish.”

“Don’t call me childish!”

“Then don’t act childishly.”

The words hung between them like a challenge. Gene felt his pulse quicken, the tension building as they glared at each other.

“I’m not!” Gene finally bit out. “Owning something stupid and fun isn’t a crime. What’s your problem?”

Ethan sighed, running a hand over his face, the weariness showing for just a moment. “It’s not a problem. I just thought—never mind. It’s not important.”

But it was important. Gene could see it in the way Ethan’s shoulders slumped, the way he tried to brush it off like it didn’t matter. Gene’s heart ached, the reality of their differences crashing down on him—

No…

No, he thought. It would not be like that. Ethan was fussy, but he wasn’t that fussy. Of course, they were going to get into fights about stupid things—whether there was one space or two after a period, whether a blazer over a T-shirt counted as “business casual”, whether Ethan should order the books on his bookcase by color … Gene calling Ethan “baby” (which he absolutely would and Ethan would absolutely hate). They had lots of stupid fights, more were definitely in their future.

None of them would break them up.

But then … how would it happen?

“You’re really going to take this?” Ethan’s voice would be tight, barely concealing the undercurrent of frustration.

Work … of course, it would be work that came between them. It was always work.

“It’s an incredible opportunity, E. You know I’ve been waiting for something like this.”

Ethan didn’t meet his stare. Instead, he stared at the letter as if it were a bomb waiting to go off. “It’s risky. There’s too much at stake—your reputation, your career… us.”

A flicker of anger sparked in Gene’s chest. “You think I haven’t thought about that? This isn’t just some whim, Ethan. This is my chance to do something that matters.”

And that look. He would see that look again. That look he did not know what to do with. That look that was filled with unspoken desires and all the arrogance that kept them unspoken.

“But at what cost, Gene? Have you really thought this through? The backlash could be brutal. You’ll be in the spotlight, and not in a good way. And what happens then?”

Gene’s jaw tightened. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“It’s not about handling it, it’s about being smart,” Ethan said, his voice rising. “This could ruin everything you’ve worked for. Everything we’ve worked for.”

“We?” Gene shot back, his temper flaring. “This isn’t about you, Ethan. I have a professional identity outside of being your little minion. Or did you forget?”

Exasperated, Ethan ran a hand through his hair. “Not us as in partner and associate. Us, us. Have you even thought about that? Long distance doesn’t work.”

It would hurt because it implied that Gene’s appeal was immediate accessibility. That he could be replaced by someone more convenient. And it wouldn’t even be other boys who were the real threat. His principal rivals were other versions of himself. Maybe Ethan would just go off through time to find an alternative Gene for whom those words—think about what this will do to us—were enough to make him fold, abandon all ambition and surrender to Ethan’s curation.

“I can’t just live my life in fear of what might happen.” He felt like he wasn’t just talking about a letter, a move, a single decision, but making an appeal to change Ethan’s whole worldview. Let things go wrong. Let bad things happen. I want the life I live to be real. “I have to take risks, I have to push myself, or I’ll never get anywhere.”

Ethan shook his head, his expression hardening. “And if it doesn’t work out? You’re not seeing the full picture. This could destroy everything, and for what? Some idealistic notion of making a difference? It’s not worth it.”

But it was worth it! Why did Ethan still not understand this? Even the most awful things, the parts of his life he completely hated. It was all worth it!

It would be like that.

Maybe not one conversation. Maybe not one choice. But neither one of them was going to budge. Ethan would always want to set things right and Gene would always want to accept life as it played out. That would be the core difference that eventually would widdle them apart.

The needle stung as Ethan removed it from Gene’s arm. Gene flinched, not expecting the bite of reality to disturb his thoughts. He looked around the room.

“Are you all right?”

Ethan had the cutest look on his face. He was concerned. The insecurities running around his head were obvious from the way his eyes seemed watery with light and more open. His lips rubbed back and forth over one another like he was getting ready to speak but couldn’t think of what to say. His brows were turned at the ends as his surprise pulled them up.

He must be thinking What have I done wrong? What have I said? If he could identify the flaw he could make the edit.

Wanting everything to be perfect was also an expression of love.

With perhaps too much urgency Gene took both of Ethan’s hands in his. He squeezed them. “Nothing! I’m fine.”

Ethan frowned, glanced down at their clasped hands, then back up to Gene. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Gene said a bit too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His frown deepened. “I don’t know. You just seem off.”

“I probably just didn’t eat enough.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. If he disapproved that meant the lie worked. Gene felt flushed with relief as Ethan said, “I thought you’d know better than that by now.”

Wasn’t that the truth? Gene sighed, his gaze sliding away. “Yeah, me too.”

He should know better by now. Older man, helpless infatuation, a relationship with no actual future. He should know better.

“Go grab something to eat,” Ethan said, standing up with the vials of blood in hand. “There’s cereal in the kitchen. Or I’ll bring you a cookie—”

“I’m fine,” Gene waved his hand dismissively, but it was hard for him to tell if he was waving Ethan off or waving the words coming out of his own mouth away. He felt raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. He’d been caught wishing for something so hard it felt like a certitude, but it was just the same mistake he always made. That this time it involved vampires and time travel did not change its inevitable outcome

 “I think I just want to go home,” he said. The only correct option was to flee.

Ethan paused. His hands left suspended in air as he held the vials of blood—Gene’s blood. He frowned. “You sure?”

“I’m fine,” Gene repeated, more forcefully than he intended.

Drama queen… he thought. God, this really was the same mistake over and over. This was the futility of Ethan’s superpower: Gene didn’t need to rewind it, he would just recreate it again and again and again without any supernatural abilities.

He pushed himself to his feet, faster than was smart, and the room spun around him. He clenched his fists to steady himself, but he refused the slow down and the dizziness tipped him hard to the left.

“Whoa!” Ethan’s arm was around his shoulder, scooping Gene against his chest. It was about the only thing he could do to keep him steady what with the fist full of blood in both hands.

Gene’s breath caught in his throat and released with a shudder. It was like an embrace. A buffer of electric air between Ethan’s arms and his body, but the suggestion of touch, the position of Ethan’s body to cushion any fall, was enough to right Gene. The heat seeped through his shirt, grounding him in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge. He should know better by now.

“You sure you’re good?” Ethan asked, pulling Gene out of his thoughts. “You can stay for a bit if you need to.”

Gene forced a smile, though it felt like a fragile thing. “Careful, keep asking and I’ll start to think you want me to stay.”

Ethan didn’t move, didn’t pull back. Gene’s gaze flicked down to Ethan’s lips and back up. There was a flash of recognition in Ethan’s blue, blue eyes that made Gene’s heart beat faster. It would be so easy to close the distance between them.

It might be worth it. Even if just for a moment.

Ethan’s voice was breathy and low. “And we wouldn’t want you making that mistake,” he said.