Wash 5
Teddy stumbled into the tiny alleyway beside the street vendor,
pressing his hands against the rough wall to steady himself.
His torn shirt barely hung on his shoulders, and he could still feel
the sting of the word “LOSER” that Roger had scrawled on his back.
He had scrubbed his skin raw, but the shame clung to him like a second skin.
He wanted to drown in something—beer, exhaustion,
anything that would make him forget.
The vendor, an older woman who had known Teddy for years,
silently placed a cold beer and four skewers of barbecued chicken intestines
in front of him. Teddy forced a smile, lifting the bottle in a mock toast
before taking a deep swig. The sharp burn felt good. Familiar.
An hour passed. The tiny plastic table in front of him was
littered with empty bottles, and Teddy had lost count of how much he drank.
His vision blurred at the edges, but the hollow ache inside him remained.
From a few tables away, Cliff watched.
He had been watching since Teddy arrived.
In fact, he’d been watching Teddy for quite some time now.
PROBABLY weeks, if not months.
There’s something about Teddy that he finds, well——-interesting.
No, Teddy’s not only interesting but it’s something, deeper.
Something that only he knew.
That night, everything became clear.
Fuck this. He muttered on his clenched teeth.
The shaky plastic table wobbled.
His fucking heart loves Teddy.
He wants TEDDY.
He was used to seeing Teddy move with quiet determination,
hauling heavy laundry bags like they were an extension of himself.
But tonight, Teddy looked different. Defeated. Broken.
His torn shirt, a bruise on his cheek,
the way he slurred his words to the vendor
who fucking did this to my TEDDY—Cliff clenched his fists under the table.
“Beer! Another beer!” Teddy slurred, waving a hand dramatically.
“Yes, you bitch! Give me another one!”
The vendor didn’t move. Instead, she glanced at Cliff,
silently asking if she should indulge him. Cliff shook his head.
“Beer….I need one more Beer….please.” cold stare at the vendor.
“If you won’t give me another beer,” Teddy muttered, struggling to stand, “I’m leaving.”
He spits in front of the vendor as he calls her “Bitch”
He wobbled, his laundry bag slung over his shoulder,
and staggered into the busy street. The city lights shimmered like stars
fallen to the ground, too bright, too sharp for his drunken state.
His knees threatened to buckle, but he kept moving.
Cliff sighed, dropping a handful of bills on the table.
He grabbed one last skewer of chicken intestine, biting into it quickly
before following Teddy.
From behind, his limousine crawled at a slow pace, keeping up with
them like a silent guardian. He followed Teddy who
wobbled his way around.
SUDDENLY Teddy stopped wobbling. He turned around, and
Teddy kept on walking briskly towards Cliff,
who at that moment started to back off,
afraid that Teddy would literally walk over him.
But just inches away, Teddy slipped.
Cliff instinctively caught him, their bodies colliding.
Teddy’s face landed close to Cliff’s—so close that their lips
were barely a breath apart. All it would take was a tiny movement.
Teddy opened his eyes, dazed. Cliff’s gaze locked onto his.
"You can’t talk right now, Teddy,"
he warned, his voice low, his lips still dangerously close.
"Why not?" Teddy murmured, his breath warm against Cliff’s mouth.
Cliff swallowed. "Because if you do… we’ll kiss."
A tense silence.
Cliff’s heart pounded in his chest, and for a split second,
he thought Teddy might actually do it.
But Teddy suddenly blinked as if rebooting,
then drunkenly stumbled backward, circling around Cliff,
pointing a shaky finger at him.
"You don’t think I don’t know you?" Teddy slurred.
Cliff exhaled, relieved but also strangely disappointed.
"You don’t know me, Teddy. Of course, you don’t."
Teddy smirked, his finger poking Cliff’s chest, teasing.
"Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t know you. But I know you."
Cliff’s breath hitched. Did Teddy notice?
Had he realized that, for weeks, he had been watching him at the skewer stall?
That each night, from a distance, he had been learning more about him?
Cliff swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.
"Teddy… you know… me?"
Teddy touched Cliff’s cheek, his face so close again.
"Of course, I’m not stupid. I may be drunk as fuck right now,
but I’m not stupid. I know you.
I know what you do.
I can spot a whore when I see one.
No judgment here.
I’m just stating a fact that you’re one hot fucking whore,
and I want you. NOW”
Before Cliff could respond, Teddy’s hands glided down his chest,
slowly feeling every inch, mapping out the contours of his abs.
Cliff’s breath stilled. Teddy’s touch was slow, almost reverent, and it made Cliff’s
entire body tighten in anticipation. His hand stopped just above the waistband of Cliff’s pants,
where the designer underwear brand peeked out.
Then Teddy reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of cash. "Here."
He shoved the money into Cliff’s hands and, before Cliff could react, fumbled for his belt.
With surprising dexterity for someone so drunk, he unbuckled it,
unbuttoned Cliff’s pants, and—just as his hand greedily reached for the
zipper—Cliff grabbed his wrist.
"What the fuck, Teddy?! What are you doing?!"
Teddy staggered backward, looking at Cliff as if he were going to vomit.
His back arched, his face contorted. Cliff panicked. "Are you okay?! Teddy—"
"It’s just that… it’s not enough, right?" Teddy whispered. It started to RAIN.
his voice barely audible over the rain. His posture shifted,
his drunken bravado crumbling as he dug into his pockets,
pulling out more bills. His hands trembled. His voice cracked.
"How much do you need? How much do I have to pay… for a KISS?
How much is a fucking kiss?"
Cliff froze. His heart clenched so violently that he could barely breathe.
Teddy didn’t understand. He didn’t know. Cliff looked up to the evening sky.
It’s still raining. They’re both soaked now.
Cliff wanted to tell him. He was wrong on him.
He’s not a whore. He wanted to say that it wasn’t about money at all.
It’s about the heart.
It’s about his heart. It’s about his feelings.
And the hope that he too has feelings for him.
He’s a man, in love with another man. BUT he’s afraid.
To admit. To tell the truth. FUCK, why not?
He can’t say it. He’s afraid.
He’s just afraid- what if Teddy rejected him. He’s not even sure if
Teddy is interested in men. What if he’s not.
Of course he’s interested in men, or he would have seen him
with another girl.
Teddy’s glassy, alcohol-laced eyes were pleading.
Cliff’s fingers curled around the crumpled money.
He wanted to tell Teddy everything—who he was, why he had been there every night,
why he cared so much.
But Teddy was swaying again. Cliff stepped closer,
his face mere inches from Teddy’s. His lips parted slightly, words on the verge of spilling out.
His own desires clawed at him. The fact that Teddy thought he was a whore
only made everything more twisted, more tempting.
Then Teddy gagged. The rain stopped.
A horrible retching sound filled the night as Teddy bent over and vomited onto
the cold, rain-soaked street. Cliff jumped back, barely avoiding the splash.
"Shit," Teddy muttered, swaying on his feet.
"Did I ruin the mood?"
Cliff let out a short, breathless laugh.
"Jesus Christ, Teddy. You are really something."
Teddy wobbled, his face pale. His lips parted slightly
as if he wanted to say something else,
but before he could, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
Cliff reached out, his thumb brushing away the tear.
"No, Teddy, you didn’t. How can you… when—"
Teddy didn’t hear him. His body slumped forward,
pressing against Cliff’s chest, his weight heavy and warm.
His breaths slowed, his body going slack.
Cliff exhaled, catching him. He looked down at the man in his arms,
so vulnerable, so unaware of how deeply he had already
carved his way into his heart.
With a sigh, Cliff angled Teddy against his shoulder and
carried him toward the waiting limousine. The driver pulled up and opened the door.
Cliff nodded in thanks before turning back to the unconscious man in his arms.
"Come on, let’s get you home, Laundry Teddy."
