What If It Wasn't Pretend?

Published on Mar 19, 2024

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What If It Wasn't Pretend?

“I don’t know, David,” Marc said. He was hesitant,

but the other man made a great point, “Even if they buy into it, Ez is gonna see right through it.”

“That’s what’s so great! It was Ezra’s idea! Really,he’s way smarter than everyone gives him credit for. He gets to feel like he’s doing good, and we get the girls off our backs about finding ‘the one.’”

Marc shifted uneasily in his seat. David was one of

his best friends, and though they were never romantic,he was afraid that even this charade had the potential to ruin their friendship.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, David chuckled,

“Imagine the looks on their faces, eh? They mean well,but Sarah is a relentless matchmaker. If we don’t do something, it’ll never end.”

Damn it, David was right. As much as Marc hated to

admit it, he could see the point. Not that he thought it was good. They’d both repeatedly asked Sarah not to intervene in their love lives, and when he thought hard about it, Marc wasn’t sure why he continued to entertain her.

“Why are we going through the trouble, though?” Marc questioned. “She’s already on thin ice with me

after that last guy she set you up with.”

“He wasn’t that bad; he was eccentric,” David

Defended.

“‘Eccentric’ is a nice way of saying ‘couldn’t hold

a conversation to save his life .’ He actually tried to convince me that birds were government spies.”

Marc had always considered himself happily single,

never needing to find another man to “complete” him. He could come and go as he pleased; he didn’t have anyone to answer to. It was an excellent life, and with the closeness of the friend group, he didn’t get lonely…well, not that kind of lonely, anyway. Apps handled the rest just fine.

“So what? We just pretend to be dating and go on

with our lives. You do see how this is unhinged,

Right?”

“That’s it. That’s the plan. If it’s a little

unhinged, that’s fine,” David replied, “I’m a little unhinged. And you love it.”

Marc suppressed a smile. He did love it. Where Marc

was method, David was madness. David had a carefree

outlook on life that Marc could be enthralled with if he allowed himself to be.

Marc was, however, the kind of guy who color-coded

his sock drawer and scheduled fifteen-minute

“relaxation breaks.” Of course, a night at the club unwinding was fun, but Marc could hardly bring himself to do it monthly, let alone every Friday night.

Still, whenever David asked (which was fortunately

only about monthly), Marc went along willingly. They would dance, drink, and forget the outside world while their friends found other ways to entertain themselves with the bar’s patrons.

When the night was over, David

would walk Marc to his door, ensuring he got in safely — never mentioning Marc’s horrible dance moves.

Then there was the time David convinced him to come

along on a whirlwind trip to Barcelona. They’d toured Sagrada Familia in the morning and, by noon, had found themselves at Baldomero sipping wine, overeating, and being raucous, idiotic Americans.

In fact, some of Marc’s favorite memories involve

David-induced shenanigans. The other man did know how to let loose and let it all out, and Marc could see whythat lifestyle was attractive. He could never bring himself to undo the buttons, though. A holdover from his strict upbringing.

He could let all of that go with David. He didn’t

have to present as the perfect son, student, or

anything. Marc was free to be Marc, and he couldn’t

always process the sensations such freedom brought.

With the weight of life lifted from him, Marc felt like he would float away. Why had he never felt that with anyone?

“I’d never let you float away, mister,” David had

said to him.

When Marc remembered them, the words sent him over

the moon. He couldn’t suppress a smile. He wondered

what it would feel like to just float away. To just…fall.

Both thrilled and startled, Marc asked, “What if it

wasn’t pretend?”

“Indeed, what if?” David stroked Marc’s cheek. He

would have to thank Ezra profusely.

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