Chapter 2
"Yeah," Bram said, shrugging his shoulders.
"It's ridiculous.
But aren't we all, when we're a little stupid and in love?
C'mon.
Show me the rings." He patted Soren's back, rubbing between his shoulders.
They plopped onto the end of the bed, side-by-side, as Soren pulled out his phone.
"So, I kind of liked this one, but it seems too... flashy?"
"Tolstoy's not flashy?"
Soren gave a good-natured roll of his eyes, nudging Bram's shoulder with his own.
"Shut up.
He is.
But...
I think for this, both of us want something... simple.
Everything's been so complicated.
I think we deserve simple."
"Do you know what metal he likes?
That's where I started with Nola's.
She, like,
hates
silver.
And white gold is kinda silver-y.
So I just went to the store and chose the biggest gold one I could afford."
"He likes gold.
His crucifix - his mother's, I guess, but it's his - is gold.
The chain he keeps it on is, too.
He..." Soren looked down, chuckling softly.
"This is stupid.
He got drunk and got his ear pierced, and did it with gold.
So... yeah.
Gold probably."
"Okay, so you're on the right track.
But less flashy.
Look for one without any stones, maybe?"
That'll help.
These all feel a little obnoxious." Soren toyed with the filters and began scrolling.
Silently, he hovered on and decided against a few before landing on one and lingering there for a while.
It was nice.
Simple, like Soren wanted.
A black band with a gold interior.
Loath as he may be to admit it, Bram could definitely see Tolstoy wearing it.
"That one?" He prompted, gently pulling Soren out of his silent reverie.
"I... yeah," Soren said, his voice cracking around the word.
"I think so.
I like it.
It's simple.
But it's got the gold on the inside.
Like... like the good part's just for us." And god dammit, Soren sounded so fucking
dreamy
that Bram couldn't help but appreciate that Tolstoy brought that side of him out.
This one." Scrolling through the rest of the pictures, Soren nodded resolutely.
Except - "Fuck.
I don't know his ring size."
Bram wanted to crack a joke about how nobody would know it better than Soren, but he was still kinda grossed out every time he thought about them having sex - which, like, wasn't
often
, okay?
It just happened sometimes.
On accident.
And it wasn't gross in a
homophobic
way.
Just, like, the fact that this huge fucking jerk of a guy was doing it with his perfect best friend.
But whatever.
That was beside the point.
Also, it just didn't seem like the time for a joke.
"Uh, mine's an 8.5, if that helps?" Holding his hand up, he let Soren stare at his finger appraisingly, watched as he hummed and selected an 11, which Bram tried not to take personally.
"I guess if it doesn't fit, we can order another one."
"Do you know what size you are?"
"I dunno, probably like a 9 or something?"
"You're not gonna order one in your size?"
"I... well, maybe not yet.
Not until - you never know.
I'll wait.
Just in case."
And Bram wanted to go on and on about how disgustingly obsessed with him Tolstoy was, but getting that message through to Soren would take a lifetime.
Instead, he just wrapped an arm around Soren.
"It's gonna go perfectly, Cald," he said, placing a playful, smacking kiss against the side of his head.
"And when it goes perfectly, you'd better text me.
And make sure you let Tolstoy know I helped choose the ring.
It'll drive him crazy."
Bram had never been accused of being the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't stupid.
And, yeah, Soren had changed a lot, and he'd always been conscious of the food he ate, so it
be harmless - it just... wasn't.
And Bram didn't know how he knew, he just knew.
And so, as he sat in the backyard of Soren's cottage, eating burgers that his best friend had cooked for them all, he watched Soren a little closer than usual.
He watched him take bites of his lettuce-wrapped chicken burger and subtly slide his fries onto Tolstoy's plate.
He watched Tolstoy eat the fries without making a big deal about it, even though it was a big fucking deal.
Soren wasn't eating.
Why didn't anyone seem to care that Soren wasn't fucking eating?
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Bram fought the urge to point out the behavior to everyone.
To yell and scream and demand the universe make Soren
He watched, dread filling his stomach just as much as the burgers as Soren slid the uneaten half of his patty onto Tolstoy's plate, the move seamless and well-practiced.
Just as he had with the fries, Tolstoy ate it quickly, easily.
If Bram hadn't caught the action, he never would've noticed that it had happened.
He felt sick.
Soren wasn't eating, and Tolstoy was, what?
Enabling it?
He knew the guy was bad news, and now it was too late, and they were engaged, and Soren wasn't eating, and how fucking long had this been going on?
How long had Bram been missing this?
He'd had enough.
He was going to do it, point it out, put Tolstoy on the spot, demand to know why he wasn't forcing Soren to get the help he so clearly needed.
He opened his mouth to do so when Soren spoke.
"So, we aren't really doing wedding parties," he said, sipping his sparkling water.
"But I was wondering if you'd be our witness?"
"We need a witness, somebody to sign our wedding certificate.
Obviously, if you aren't comfortable with it, my parents can do it.
I just... since you can't be my Best Man-"
"Of course I'll do it," Bram said, even though he was still planning out how to confront Soren's soon-to-be husband.
"That means a lot, Soren.
Thank you."
"That's
so
sweet!
Oh my god, can I take pictures?
I won't post them, obviously!
Just for us!"