Don't Break The Rules

"Joe?" "Yes?" When Joe noticed that Connor was no longer following behind him, he turned around and realized that Connor had stopped walking. The worried eyes that stared back at him alerted Joe, who approached him. "What's wrong?" The warm sand engulfed their feet and the resonating waves splashing against the edge was soothing enough that Connor could inhale a sharp breath, even close his eyes before exhaling once again. And then he said it. It was all in one tune, sharp and blunt. "I want a divorce." That was how Joe's life came crashing down in a matter of three seconds with four simple but impactful words. The series of questions followed, wondering why, when did this thought begin, what had he done. He wondered if maybe his s****l desires had faltered, if he had been seeing someone else or if he hadn't been giving him enough attention. If had been true that they hadn't had any intimate moments in a long while, but Joe assumed it was because Connor had been stressed and tired whenever he returned home from work. But Connor's answer was short and dry. "I just don't love you anymore." Ever since then, Joe's life spiralled out of control. He spent endless nights belligerently drunk at bars, ranting to random customers about how his husband left him out of the blue. He had been an editor for a journal, but after missing countless days, they fired him. At first, they had been lenient due to this sudden life change, but eventually, they started counting his absence and no longer found him useful in their company. His money began to drain but Joe did not care; he was drowning in his sorrows and believed that was how his life needed to be. He even sold his car because he needed money, and when buyers were taking way too long, he sold it for mere hundreds on the corner of a random street. Connor was a CEO of a furniture company, Delirium, and had many interviews and was well-known across their territory. He had built his company on his own, from the ground up, and he even had press conferences about his new releases and media articles sharing his views and opinions on different matters. Even his divorce was blogged by journalists, and when he was asked about it in an interview, all he said was, "Meh, he just wasn't it for me." After seven years. Every time Joe heard his name, he was shrivel into a ball and cried until his eyes were dry. But after watching that interview, he was unable to leave his bedroom for two weeks, feeling numb and empty. His health was deteriorating on his own, and he moved into his grandmother's home. He was no longer able to sustain his himself, but that did not stop his drunken nights at bars until the morning. It was one of those nights; he found a few five dollar bills from his grandmother's purse and shoved them inside his pockets. Grabbing his large black coat, he placed the hood above his brown curls and left the home, grabbed his grandmother's car keys and drove along the road until he reached his favourite bar. He walked inside, greeting the regulars before heading for the counter and throwing one of the bills. "I want one Mountain Ice." "One coming right now sir." Joe was taken aback. The voice he heard had been elegant and soft and when he raised his eyes, he connected with the gaze of beautiful cerulean irises and his body fell into a heat trance. The new bartender turned around, his blond curls bouncing as he faced his glass cups and poured a Mountain Ice. Joe's eyes did not turn away from him once and when the server faced him again, the friendly grinned that pulled his lips with dimples, caused Joe's breath to fall short in his throat. He tilted his head. "Anything else you'd like?" When Joe slowly shook his head, the server turned away and greeted others, pouring a few more drinks and grabbing their bills. He did not pay attention to Joe until he asked for another drink, and when he did, he extended his fingers and grabbed the five dollar bill from Joe's hand. "Do you want your change?" Joe awkwardly shook his head, his lips becoming numb and the man smiled, turning away from him again. The moment Joe stepped away from the counter, one of his pals named Fred Lancers placed an arm around his shoulder. "The new server, hmm? I knew you'd like him when you saw him." Joe pushed him away, chucking coolly and taking a sip of his glass. "Not a chance. He looks young—" "He's actually around your age; he's twenty-eight. His name's Jamie." "That's four years younger than me, Jason." "Three," he patted his back, "and besides, a bit of fun has never hurt anyone." Joe furrowed his brows, glanced towards Jamie and when their gaze met, he embarrassingly turned elsewhere. "Come on," his drinking buddy insisted, "why don't you just try?" And Joe did; he tried alright. He waited until the bar had emptied and returned to the counter, throwing an extra five dollar bill on the counter and said, "That's a tip for you." "Thank you," Jamie smiled gratefully, placing the bill in his pocket and grabbing the empty glass from the counter. Joe was unsure what to say; truth was, he hadn't asked anybody out ever since Connor. Plus, Connor was the one that fell in love with him first and asked him. All the other guys he had been with beforehand were aggressive with their advances and he allowed them to take control. However, with Jamie, he was uncertain how he would react. "We're closing," Jamie had spoken and his sooth tone took a second for Joe to realize he had been talked to. Joe's ears perked, but when he faced Jamie, he realized his eyes weren't as friendly as they had been seconds earlier. They were sharp, almost droopy, as he stared at Joe with a raised eyebrow and a tightened lip. Even his voice had deepened as he said, "Get out." "I just wanted to ask—" "No," Jamie firmly hissed. "I don't want anything—not a number, not a date, nothing. I'm not interested, definitely not in old men."