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Kate laughs into the receiver, while Bert twists the cord around his finger. Making her laugh always made him feel like he was the king of the world.
“Anyway, I called because we need to talk about something serious,” Kate says. The change in tone leaves Bert breathless.
“About what?” The past year or so speeds through his mind, but any possible reason for her to “want to talk” ceases to exist as he combs through his memory.
“Well, the thing is, I met someone else. And I’ve tried-er-I mean I’ve been thinking about it and…I can’t do this anymore.” Kate sighs as though she is the one in pain and Bert’s anger rises to the top, above the good feelings and memories.
“Can’t or won’t?” Bert retorts, his fingers running the length of the landline cord at Quinn’s apartment - his current crash pad - before tugging so hard on the wires he was worried they’d pop out of the wall.
“Robby…I’ll always love you. But it’s not fair to either of us. You know this. So I’m doing the right thing here - letting you go.” Kate says. She must’ve meant it this time or she wouldn’t be talking to Bert with this oh-so-delicate tone. It wasn’t the first time she had broken it off with him, but before there was no “someone else” to worry about.
“That’s bullshit and you know it. So, Kate, I hope your new guy has a better dick than me! Fuck you!” And with that Bert slammed the phone down into the receiver, catching his hungover friend’s attention.
Quinn pads into the room, rubbing his tired eyes as the sun of mid-afternoon streams in through the open balcony.
“What the fuck, dude?” Quinn asks, using as few facial muscles as possible to pose the question. He’s stayed up way too late and drank way too much again.
“It was fucking Kate.” Bert gripes, he pulls a pack of gold-label cigarettes - Quinn’s - from the table near the phone and shoves the butt of one into his lips. “She left me, again.” He adds. There’s very little sorrow in his tone, so Quinn stands up straight, expecting the worst.
“I’m sorry, Bert,” Quinn says, he places one hand into the pockets of his sweatpants and sticks the other out for a cigarette, but Bert ignores his nonverbal request and stalks to the open balcony door, leaving the pack of cigarettes where he found them.
Quinn’s not sure how to approach this. Bert doesn’t seem like he wants any sympathy or comfort, but what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t at least try to comfort Bert in a time like this? So, with the pack of cigarettes swiped off of the table, Quinn heads over to the balcony door and watches Bert through the screen.
“Go away, Quinn.” Bert grumbles, he flicks the ashes of his cigarette over the railing and then turns once over his shoulder, giving Quinn the best ‘fuck off’ look he could muster.
“No,” Quinn replies, he chuckles at his statement, dimples forming deep into his babyface.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m serious.” Bert adds he throws himself down on a patio chair, not caring about Quinn’s “good friend” behavior.
But Quinn can’t see Bert anymore from his current angle, so, he slides open the door and steps outside. The sun pierces his headache, but it is better than being at a disadvantage.
“Quinn.” Bert snaps, he attempts to turn his patio chair away from Quinn’s side of the balcony but Quinn just laughs, softly. He wouldn’t leave until he had made Bert smile - even if it was short and sarcastic.
“What if I want to be on my own balcony, huh?” He says. He doesn’t step closer, knowing that would only end in a series of blows from one man or the other.
“You can be out here. Just leave me alone.” Bert concedes, he tosses the butt of the spent cigarette over the edge and it lands in the bushes dotting the apartment building below.
“This is my balcony. If I want to talk to the handsome man standing on it, I will!” Quinn jokes, he lights up a fresh cigarette for himself and Bert rolls his eyes.
“So how are you doing today, sexy? You want to go out for lunch?” Quinn says aloud, no longer looking at Bert but instead turning to his reflection in the glass door.
“You do? Wow, I’m so lucky. Where should we go eat?” Quinn adds, comically making hand gestures as he smiles to himself as though playing a role in a movie.
Bert glares in Quinn's direction, partially trying not to laugh, but mostly warning Quinn to stop trying to make him laugh. Couldn’t he have just a few minutes to stew over Kate and her bullshit without having to pretend like he felt okay?
“What the fuck are you doing?” Bert asks, but his voice is lighter than before, betraying his angry exterior.
“I’m talking to the handsome man on my balcony!” Quinn jokes, he nods toward his reflection. “Oh… You thought I meant you?”
Bert forces a sarcastic sort of laugh from his throat, then turns away again. The cat-and-mouse game they always played was working but Bert hated Quinn for making it work.
“Tacos? Man. That sounds good! You have great taste.” Quinn carries on, now leaning into the glass as though he would kiss his own reflection. And finally, it gets a rise out of Bert.
“You could just, like, ask me to lunch.” Bert sighs, glancing over Quinn’s hunched stance. He shakes his head. No, that wouldn’t be Quinn’s style.
“Do you want to go to lunch with us, Bert?” Quinn asks, now facing him. He points to his reflection with a big, comedic grin.
Bert wrinkles up his nose, contemplating if holding onto his anger was worth skipping lunch.
Finally, with a deliberate sigh of trust, Bert answers. “Yes.”