Wash 23

Teddy stared at the menu, eyes scanning the elegant script

like it was an ancient artifact from a lost civilization.

He was in a fancy Italian restaurant with Cliff,

who sat across from him, confidently perusing the menu

definitely this is his world, he’s fluent in all things gourmet.

Including anything Italian.

Cliff smirked. "So, what do you fancy tonight?

I know who I fancy." Cliff winked.

His gaze trailed over Teddy,

admiring the crisp white long-sleeve shirt

and neatly pressed black pants.

Teddy noticed, he chuckled, leaning in slightly.

"Actually, this isn’t mine. It’s from one of my laundry customers.

I borrowed it. So after tonight, I have to wash it back."

Cliff let out a deep laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

"Adorable. You're just too cute for me tonight."

Before Teddy could respond, the waiter appeared at their table,

placing a basket of freshly baked Italian bread alongside

a small dish of olive oil.

He quickly scanned Teddy, in silence he smirked

He turned to Teddy and then to Cliff in his polite and fake smile,

but with a slightly judgmental arch of his brow.

"So, what are we having for starters?"

Cliff motioned for Teddy to order first,

but there was just one problem—Teddy couldn’t

read a single word on the menu.

His eyes darted across the page,

filled with words that sounded more like Italian operas than actual food.

Cliff quickly picked up on Teddy’s hesitation.

The waiter’s eyebrow inched higher.

"My boyfriend and I will have your tossed-up meatballs

in marinara cream, and two orders of your garden greens

with shaved asparagus in grilled Chicken Caprese,

and keep these bad boys coming" pointing to the bottle of wine

chilling on their table.

Cliff gave Teddy a reassuring smile,

Teddy nods.

"And as for the main course, we want you to surprise us."

Teddy heard it straight from Cliff’s lips: Boyfriend.

He did not react.

He can’t.

Right now, he’s not sure about his feelings for Cliff and—-Drew.

The waiter nodded, collected the menus,

and walked off with an air of quiet judgment: Boyfriend? That guy? But—really, why?

Teddy let out a breath and stared down at the table,

fiddling with the corner of the napkin.

Cliff reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Teddy, I don't care about stuff like that.

I love you, and that's all that matters."

And that’s when Teddy remembered.

He had a barbecue date with Drew

Teddy looked up, eyes wide.

He GASPED!

Cliff frowned. "What? What’s wrong Teddy?

Are you okay?"

Teddy clutched his stomach. "Something I ate...I think I need to go to…"

Cliff blinked. "Okay, do you want me to wait by the door?"

Cliff was about to get up from his seat

“No, I’m fine, please, really, I’m ok, I’ll be back soon.”

Cliff nods as Teddy shot up from his seat like a pregnant teen

who’s about to pop at any given moment.

Teddy grabbed his stomach dramatically, the table wobbled,

nearly knocking over a busboy carrying a tray of wine glasses

as he made his way towards the restroom.

Cliff watched him go, shaking his head with a chuckle.

But just as Cliff reached for his wine,

and seconds before the waiter replenish the new bottle,

his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number.

Fuck. Cliff almost blurted out over his clenched teeth.

And then, another phone started vibrating... from inside

Teddy’s borrowed laundry customer’s jacket pocket.

Cliff hesitated.

Should he check.

He sighed.

He reached for the phone, thinking it could be an emergency call,

Cliff narrowed his eyes.

What the hell?

Cliff stared at the number on Teddy's phone.

It was Drew, calling Teddy.

He scoffed. "Loser. Bloody calling Teddy for what?!”

What Cliff didn’t know was that Teddy had rushed outside,

sweating and in full panic.

He forgot his date with Drew.

He knew that Drew’s waiting by the barbecue place.

Thank God, the kiosk was right in front of the Italian restaurant where Cliff was.

Teddy, upon reaching the skewer stand,

quickly spotted Drew at a corner plastic wobbly table,

waiting, phone in hand. Probably calling him.

Shit.

“I forgot my phone.”

Did Cliff saw Drew’s call?

Double Shit.

No time to worry.

He quickly grabbed two skewers from a young boy

who was about to bite into them.

The boy’s eyes widened. "What the hell—"

Teddy shot him a wicked look.

And threw some cash on him.

The boy quickly pocketed the cash,

"There you are! Quick, just got these out of the grill!"

Drew perked up. "Teddy! Thought you forgot…"

His gaze dropped to the skewers Teddy was handing him.

Grilled chicken intestines. On sticks.

Sounds weird.

But look seriously interesting.

Drew hesitated. Definitely a WTF moment.

"Don’t worry, they taste really good," Teddy assured him

before taking a bite, watching Drew hesitate.

Drew slowly took a bite.

Seconds passed.

Then his expression shifted. "Huh."

Teddy grinned. "Told you."

Drew took another bite, smiling. "Okay, yeah. Not bad…not bad at all."

Teddy remembered Cliff. There’s an appetizer coming to their table.

"Can you give me a minute or two, just gonna deal with something?" Teddy asked.

Drew nodded, chewing. "Sure, Teddy. I don’t mind. I’m not going

anywhere, I’m stuck with these addicting barbecues"

Teddy took a deep breath, turned around, and rushed across the street.

Again.

The waitress at the Italian restaurant door,

who had just witnessed his exit and return in under five minutes, raised an eyebrow.

As he sat by their table,

Cliff looked around the restaurant.

This was a nice romantic place, everything was going perfectly tonight.

Well, except for Teddy’s stomach rush.

Probably he ate something that upsets his stomach.

Cliff grin.

Tonight I’m going to make him eat something that won’t

be stomach upsetting.”

In a snap, a handsome guy sat in Teddy's chair.

What the hell?

He stares at Cliff.

Silence.

Cliff stares back. He did not show any expression,

nor move a single inch.

The handsome guy lifted his shirt to reveal his washboard abs.

“Dump him and you can do your laundry on

this washboard”

Cliff smirked. "Nope, Seen better. I don’t need your abs,

I have my own washer"

“Fine, suit yourself” The guy got up and gave Cliff the finger.

The waiter served their appetizers.

Teddy rushed back to his chair.

Cliff perks up, "You okay? Why are you all sweaty?"

He poured white wine into Teddy's glass, and Teddy downed it in one shot.

"Someone is thirsty," Cliff chuckled, pouring another. Teddy drank it again.

Teddy was like, "Cliff, I think I need to pee."

Cliff smiled. "Two glasses in less than a minute? Yeah, that calls for a bathroom break."

Teddy rushed outside toward Drew,

quickly snatching a couple of skewers from the grill.

The vendor didn't notice because she was busy with other

customers—the skewer place was packed that night.

As Teddy sat by Drew’s table, Drew noticed he’s sweating

“Teddy, why are you all sweat up? Is it too hot here?

We can go to the Italian restaurant. It's air-conditioned and literally right in front of us."

Teddy almost shouted, "No!" All eyes turned to him. His soul left his body.

Drew was like, "Sorry, I didn't know you hate pasta."

Teddy sighed. "Sorry, I'm just under stress right now.

I still haven't heard anything from my mom."

Drew was about to console Teddy when Teddy stopped him,

his finger pressing against Drew's lips.

Drew misunderstood—he slowly sucked on Teddy's finger.

Teddy froze.

What the fuck Drew.

Across the table, an older lady made the sign of the cross

and covered her husband's eyes.

Drew smiled. “Sorry, just got carried away.”

“Drew sometimes I feel like I’m not an active participant in life,

I’m just standing still. Watching. Waiting.

As life zooms by. Sorry…” A tear fell on Teddy’s cheeks.

Drew noticed.

“Sorry, can I get a moment….” Teddy stood up.

Drew reach out and squeeze his hand. “Of course, Teddy.”

Teddy left Drew’s table, quickly wiped his tears as

he rushed back to the Italian restaurant,

but in his flustered state, he went through the wrong door—straight into the kitchen.

To his shock, the restaurant manager

shoved a massive tray of pasta plates into his hands.

"Table 102, corner. Go."

Teddy blinked. "Oh no... I’m not working here."

The manager scoffed.

"That’s what they all say. They come here for quick cash,

and the moment they think they’ve hit it big

with someone out there with fake promises, off they go.

Kid, let me give you my two seconds:

the people out there—they’re not your friends,

they don’t care about you.

In their eyes, you’re nothing but a one night fuck.

I hate to bust your bubble—fact check tomorrow evening

you’ll be begging me to hire you back.

Now, chop chop! Table 102 and keep your heart intact,

lock your sorry ass tight."

He pushed Teddy forward.

That’s when Teddy realized he was wearing a waiter's uniform as two

waiters wearing a similar white shirt and pants past by him

carrying used plates.

But it was too late.

The manager shoved him again, and suddenly,

Teddy found himself balancing a huge tray of pasta in front of a big table.

He panicked.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

Everything felt like slow motion—the plates were sliding off the tray,

disaster was IMMINENT.

THE FUCKING PLATES.

WILL CRASH RIGHT.

ON EVERYONE’S.

FACES.

He braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut,

waiting for the inevitable crash...

But nothing happened.

The tray felt light.

SHIT.

THIS IS NOT A REGULAR SHIT.

THIS IS SHIT TO

THE MAXIMUM IMPACT.

When he opened his eyes,

there was Cliff, holding the tray firmly and effortlessly handing out

the plates like a seasoned pro.

Smiling at everyone’s contented excited faces.

He owned the table.

He took over the entire moment.

He winked at Teddy.

He then led him back to their table.

Cliff smiled. "Are you okay? You seem..."

"Sorry, Cliff. I don’t know what just happened. I swear, I don’t

know why I’m serving that tray. Things are just

randomly happening. It’s beyond my control.”

Cliff shrugged. "Teddy, as I said before, I don’t mind. I don’t care. You’re my boyfriend."

Cliff reached for Teddy’s hand,

but Teddy slightly pulled back. "About that..."

Cliff stopped. "About what? Am I ahead of myself?

Sorry... we are what we are now, right?

After all, we’re already past the shy phase.

Well beyond that..." He winked.

Teddy understood.

He was referring to the infamous conference table situation.

The deed.

The literal table-top moment.

"I’m not sure yet, because there are things that I think I should think on first."

Cliff’s expression tightened. "Things like what... Drew?"

Teddy interjected, "I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t care, it doesn’t matter."

Then Teddy gasped.

He had almost forgotten about Drew.

Cliff was like, "Bathroom break?"

Teddy: "Obviously. Sorry, I have to…"

The waiter arrived with additional plates and main courses at the same time,

realizing the mistake. Cliff was like, "No biggie, it’s fine."

Teddy rushed out and ran straight to Drew’s table.

Drew was already munching on the skewers.

"Sorry, hope you don’t mind—I ordered more.

Do you feel ok now?"

Then Drew noticed the plate of pasta in Teddy’s hands.

"Pasta? Did you order that pasta for us?"

Teddy realized his mistake.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

AM.

I.

HOLDING.

THIS.

PLATE.

FOR.

"Oh... yeah. I wanted to surprise you. Surprise! Pasta and Chicken Intestine!"

Drew perked up. "I love pasta! Teddy you never run out of surprises."

He took a bite.

Midway through chewing, he paused, watching as Teddy dug

into a grilled intestine skewer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Drew swallowed.

"Teddy, I wanted to talk to you about Clarisse.

She’s acting weird these days. I feel like she’s up to something.

If she does anything—anything at all—you need to let me know immediately.

She’s someone you can’t really trust."

As Drew looks back at Teddy, he’s gone.

Drew smiled.

“Oh Teddy, you’re totally unpredictable.”

Teddy hurriedly sat in front of Cliff and quickly dug in.

"Oh, this is delicious! This is really, really Italian perfect."

Cliff almost laughed.

Teddy, with his hair sticking out in every direction,

looked like he had just run a marathon.

It was obvious he was up to something.

Then Cliff started sniffing the air.

Teddy froze, fork halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Cliff narrowed his eyes.

"I don’t know... I smell something grilled. Like barbecue, or... something."

Teddy followed Cliff’s gaze downward and—oh,

sweet mother of disaster—he was still holding the chicken intestine skewer.

His eyes darted back to Cliff’s face.

Cliff's expression shifted into one of realization.

"Now I get it. Why didn’t you tell me, Teddy?

You're too polite! You're not into pasta,

so you had to sneak out to grab those chicken skewers."

Before Teddy could protest, Cliff threw cash on the table,

grabbed Teddy’s wrist, and hauled him outside.

In a moment of pure desperation,

Teddy swiped a bottle of wine from a nearby table

and chugged it like a dying man in the desert.

When Teddy opened his eyes again,

he was standing smack in the middle of the skewer stand.

To his left was Cliff. To his right was Drew.

What.

The.

Absolute.

Mess.

"I can explain. Please." Teddy's voice was an octave higher than usual.

Cliff crossed his arms. "Teddy, step aside. We’re beyond that.

Let me deal with Drew."

Drew scoffed. "This is not Teddy’s fault. That’s the problem with you, Cliff.

If things get messed up, you blame Teddy."

Cliff shoved Drew. "Nobody’s blaming Teddy. It’s you, fucker.

Why do you always have to butt in?"

Drew was about to swing, but Teddy jumped in between them.

"Please, Cliff, Drew, let’s take things down a notch—"

And then his body gave up.

Between the wine, the stress, and running

between two dates, Teddy’s legs wobbled and he collapsed.

Cliff lunged forward, catching him in his arms.

But before he could even steady himself, Drew grabbed Teddy back.

"Oh, so this is how you want to play?" Cliff growled, snatching Teddy back again.

Drew yanked Teddy out of Cliff’s grip like a football, his face smug.

"Yeah, this is exactly how I want to play."

Cliff clenched his jaw and swung a punch.

Drew dodged and countered with one of his own.

Fists flew.

The skewer vendor gasped, covering her grill with her apron

like it was a holy relic.

Bystanders gathered, bets were placed,

and someone in the crowd yelled, "FIGHT FOR HIS LOVE!"

And then, like a cinematic miracle, Teddy slipped right out of their grasp.

Time slowed. The world held its breath.

And into the arms of destiny, Teddy fell—

—right into the Taco Guy’s waiting embrace.

The Taco Guy caught him effortlessly,

barely shifting under the weight.

He looked down at the unconscious, sweat-drenched Teddy and scoffed. "Losers."

Ignoring the chaos behind him,

he threw Teddy over his back to piggyback carry him,

they strode away from the skewer stand.

As he walked, the dim glow of streetlights flickered over them,

and he couldn't help but smile.

It had been a long time since he’d felt... alive.

Something about Teddy—his stubbornness, his ridiculousness,

his absolute mess of a life—sparked something in him.

And then, he felt it.

A wet, warm sensation on his ear.

Teddy, still half-asleep, had curled his lips

around his earlobe and was sucking on it.

Taco Guy’s entire body went rigid.

A shiver ran down his spine. What. Was. That. Teddy?

They reached Teddy’s apartment building.

Neighbors peeking out from their windows saw the

scene and gasped.

An old lady on her balcony whispered, "Dios mío..." and crossed herself.

Her husband, fascinated, took a slow sip of his beer.

Taco Guy sighed, adjusting Teddy’s weight as he climbed the steep

stairs to Teddy’s apartment.

He passed a group of kids playing cards in the hallway,

their heads turning as they saw Teddy latched onto his ear like a koala.

They all laughed.

"Mind your business," Taco Guy muttered.

At last, he reached Teddy’s apartment.

Weird—his door was unlocked.

Kicking it open with ease, he strode inside and placed Teddy down on the bed.

But just as he was about to pull away—

Teddy grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going?" Teddy murmured, eyes glassy.

"I paid full price for you, so kiss me, whore."

Taco Guy blinked. "...What?"

Teddy’s grip tightened. "Now, whore."

Before Taco Guy could process whatever the hell was happening,

Teddy gave one firm yank. Their lips were just an inch apart.

Taco Guy froze. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes—

Nothing happened.

He opened his eyes.

Teddy was snoring.

Taco Guy exhaled, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the hot mess of a man in front of him.

Meanwhile, back at the skewer stand,

Cliff and Drew had finally stopped punching each other.

Bloodied and out of breath, they looked around.

That’s when it hit them.

Teddy was gone.

Both men whipped their heads around in unison.

"What. The. Fuck."