Austin is in the middle of putting toothpaste on his toothbrush when it unceremoniously falls in the sink. It sits there, unmoving and lumpy, and he can’t help but feel a queer kinship with the lump. He stares at the bluish smudge, disappointed, and sighs through his nose. This is the universe telling me to stay home. He can hear his father’s voice in his head. Work hard or you’ll never be anything. Well, he does work hard. Maybe he goes out once a month and drinks, so what? It keeps him sane. Or as sane as going out and drinking can possibly make a man.

He already knows where he’s going—a crappy bar ten minutes away, usually populated by college students and recent graduates stuck in their ways. It’s a good place to drink alone since there are always some grad students trying to drown their stress at the bottom of a bottle. He changes and leaves his apartment in no time, keys in hand, not planning on getting drunk but needing a change of scenery. He’s not about to stay at home even if he is only having one drink.

The bar is just as crowded as he expected it to be. It’s a Sunday night, but everyone is trying to get away from their responsibilities—they’re one month into the semester and all under the impression that they have things under control. They never do, though, Austin thinks. He remembers he certainly didn’t. The faces in the bar are ones of mixed panic and excitement—as if someone took the theater masks and smashed them together with as little finesse as a drunk wrestler.

He gets bounced between two exuberant women as he walks in, nearly taking a nosedive after being caught off-balance. I’m not even drunk yet, and I’m almost falling, he thinks. Why get drunk when you can mosh at a college bar? He always feels a little uncomfortable at bars like this, there’s something performative about it, as if everyone is trying to get something, and he’s the only character with no backstory or plot. People seem to thread in and out of each other as if they have stage directions he hasn’t been given.

“It’s been a while,” the bartender says, her smile brief and distracted as she balances several bottles in her hand. She always has one eye on every group of fraternity boys, sharp to respond whenever there’s a drunk exclamation that’s just a little too loud.

“Work,” he explains, smiling. Not that he owes her an explanation; she probably won’t even remember his answer in ten minutes. Still, he likes the illusion of being a regular.

“Something new tonight?” she asks. It’s the same question it always is. He hasn’t yet figured out whether she really is trying to get him to try something new, or if she just can’t remember his order and doesn’t want to ask outright.

“Not tonight, thanks. Just whatever’s closest on tap,” he says, waving a hand in the general direction.

He doesn’t really have preferences when it comes to drinking or eating. Anything involving ordering, really. He usually tries to keep things simple because he’s never very confident in others’ ability to get an order right. Not that he’s an ass about it. People are busy. He just tries to fall into the ‘simple order’ category, to help both of them out.

A glass is slid over to him after another minute, the bartender practically sprinting back to the other side of the bar to stop some drunk girl from serving herself from a bottle within arm’s reach. Austin almost misses the sliding glass, nearly having a heart attack when it slides under his hand. He manages to grab it, even if some of the liquid sloshes over the side.

Do I miss going out? It’s a trick question. He never really did go out. As depressing as it may seem, he never hated the position he put himself in—he was always in as many school clubs as possible, splitting his time between classes and work while scheduling meetings and keeping track of volunteer events in a planner he always carried around. It was like he was perpetually distracting himself from life. Of course, he’d never really had a relationship. Time wouldn’t allow for it.  Well, other than...

He stops his train of thought immediately, leaning back in his seat and looking out over the crowd. He tries to hold onto the music like a lifeline, pulling himself further away from his body and the work he has to do. He’s starting to feel like the smear of toothpaste on his sink. All he wants is to get washed away in the crowd, dissolved into a sea of faces so he becomes anonymous and empty. At least, that’s his plan before someone interrupts him.

“I haven’t seen you before. You from the community college?”

The speaker is a man—probably a grad student, Austin thinks, because he’s more put together and clear-headed than most of the people in the bar. He could even be an assistant professor. If that’s the case, he thinks the class must have a hard time paying attention. He’s definitely cute.

“No. I’m a graduate—I come here out of habit,” Austin explains, smiling easily.

“Bad habit,” the man snorts, shaking his head as he looks around the place. Well, you’re here, Austin wants to say. He doesn’t.

It’s not like I’m looking to get laid, he tells himself. It just...happens. He honestly goes out to distract himself but somehow, he usually ends up going home with someone only to leave them as soon as politely possible. He doesn’t love doing it. And tomorrow is Monday, he tells himself. You have an interview. The little voice is muted, though, half of his glass contributing to the silence. Half a glass and the stranger’s soft brown eyes.

“What about you, then? Here to do a sociology observation?” He injects the question with just a little bit of mocking, testing to see how sharp he can be without turning the other man away.

If he gets into anything, he has to be sure there are no illusions. He has to be firm. He is not looking for a relationship; he hasn’t been looking for years. You can think about that after you get a regular job, he always tells himself. It’s been the same line for the last four years. He’s starting to sound like a broken record to himself.

“Not my area,” the man says, gaze curious. He taps a finger against his glass, thinking. “I’m more of a communications kind of guy.”

Austin nods. Bad idea? He wonders if being a communications major makes a difference in relationships. He doesn’t think it would. Or maybe it will help...after all, flings are about communication. About making it very, very clear that there will be nothing past one night.

“Hmm. Do you prefer direct communication, or do you find reading body language and hints to be more...fun?” It’s already pretty direct of Austin to ask this way, he knows, but he’s not interested in wasting time.

He’s tired from working, alone, and in need of something that will help him decompress. Throw the stress away. The man leans against the bar, contemplating, his eyes searching Austin. What is he looking for?

“There are benefits to both, I think.”

Oh, for the love of—

“I’m going to be direct, because in my experience, it works best. If you wouldn’t mind the intrusion, I wouldn’t mind taking up space in your...”

“Apartment,” the man finishes, a slow smile growing on his lips. He shakes his head, looking down at his glass. “And I wouldn’t mind.”

“Good, then,” Austin says, swirling his glass. It’s still one-third full. “I’m driving.”

“Then you can take me,” the man says, smirking. They start to walk towards the door, and then he hesitates, brow furrowed. “I...I’m Evan. I don’t think I—”

“You told me,” Austin says, the lie coming easily. In his experience, it’s a good idea to make people feel comfortable with the idea of bringing home a complete stranger. The less threatening he seems, the more likely both parties will actually have fun.

“Oh. And you’re—”

“Austin,” he replies, unlocking his car and sliding into the driver’s seat, “Austin Key.”

***

HE WAKES UP IN HIS dorm and his phone buzzes. For some reason, he can’t read it too well—everything is blurry—but he knows what it is. An answer. He rolls out of bed, leaving someone behind there, and walks quietly into the hallway. Call Dad, his mind tells him. He looks out the window to the stars blinking in the sky, groggy but elated. He lifts the phone to his ear.

“Listen, Dad, I got the job,” he says, trying to keep his tone even as he speaks over the phone. He doesn’t want to sound too excited. The silence on the other end extends a second too long and Austin’s heart drops.

“You better have. That was a lot of money just to apply.”

It’s not like he didn’t expect the answer. It’s just that he hoped for something else. He stares down at his hands, pushing at the skin around his nails until it’s red. A tiny dot of blood pools up in the corner of his pinkie.

“I’m starting next week.”

“Don’t screw this up, son.”

He wants to scream. Part of him says, It’s fine, he’s a single father, it’s hard for him. Another part recognizes those are just excuses for terrible behavior. He wants to tell his father I’m worth more than the money I make. He wants to repeat back every word of encouragement Leo told him.

Someone knocks at his door. He opens it, and his father is there. There and not three states away.

“Why is this place a mess? If you live in trash, you’ll only ever make trash when you work.”

“I haven’t had time—”

“But you had time to call me?”

Austin turns on his heel, at a loss for words. He feels the floor tilt beneath him, and he stumbles. His father ignores him, continuing to walk through the apartment. With sudden horror, Austin realizes someone is in his bedroom. I can’t let him in, he thinks, heart pounding. I can’t—

He jolts awake, heart racing, and looks around in confusion. His eyes land on his clock.

He’s late. Really, terribly late.

Did my alarm even go off? he wonders, running around his apartment. He manages to slam his shoulder on the doorway, veering onto one foot as he goes. One of his sneakers is half on and his jacket is askew. There’s a water bottle filled in the fridge, thankfully ready to grab and go. He considers the unhappy fruit in his bowl and decides against it, hoping he’ll have time for lunch in between interviews.

It takes him all of five minutes to get out the door and into his car, but it feels like five hours. All he can think is that he’s going to show up frazzled and sweaty to the biggest interview of his life. It’s his chance to land a real, stable job in the industry. All he can do is pray he makes it to the company with enough time to flatten his black curls and straighten his blue-gray suit jacket.

He mutters as he buckles himself in, running through rehearsed answers. Hello, my name is—no. Hello, I’m Austin. Pleasure to meet you. He keeps reminding himself it’s a video game company; he shouldn’t be stressing so much. Thankfully, the streets aren’t too congested, and he drives easily, on autopilot, as his focus drifts to the impending interview.

He’s driving when he gets a call. He doesn’t recognize the number flashing on his radio screen and he frowns, wondering. It could be the company. He decides to answer, hoping the sound of the road isn’t too obvious to the person on the other end.

“Hello, this is Austin Key speaking.”

“Austin?” he doesn’t recognize the voice. It sounds like a half-awake person. He wonders if it’s a wrong number dial.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Huh. Figures. You don’t remember? You left me in bed this morning.”

His mouth opens, but he doesn’t say anything, momentarily too shocked to respond. He’s not used to this. Most of the time his once-a-month adventures end amicably, a shared understanding keeping each person away from the other. He hadn’t even given a passing thought to his escapade last night; the interview had occupied his attention from the second he’d woken up.

Now that he thinks about it, his one-night stand is probably the reason he didn’t wake up in time. He wants to yell at his past self for making such a dumb choice the day before an interview. Going to the bar had only been meant to relax him, not end up in a couple of drinks and a man in his bed.

“I thought we both understood it was one time,” Austin says cautiously, hand twisting on the steering wheel. He hates being that guy. There’s no good way to say what he needs to.

He feels guilty, even knowing he was very clear about his motives when they met last night. He does remember being sober for the conversation, since it was early on. Still...it does nothing to soften the blow he feels he’s delivering.

“...I thought...there was something,” the man on the line says, frustration clear even through the phone, “We had a really great time. Did you not enjoy it?”

Austin rubs a hand over his face. Of course I did, he wants to say, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to risk it. The man had been great—great dinner company, a riot at the bar, an amazing dancer, an even better partner in bed...

But you still won’t do it, a tiny voice in his head reminds him. It’s rude and evil, gnawing at his frayed nerves. He wishes he could push it away but it isn’t wrong. He’s wrecked for relationships. Nothing can work for him, not long-term. He just can’t. There’s too much he has to invest, too much that could go wrong, too much at stake.

Relationships are calculated risks, and he’s terrible at math.

Besides, the last time he invested something in another person, he lost more than he put in to begin with. He’d been robbed of happiness, betrayed, and left alone during one of the most difficult moments in his life. There’s no way he’s getting within five hundred feet of a relationship, he tells himself.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, the lie coming easily, “you’re great but...I wasn’t looking for anything last night. You know?”

“Yeah. I know,” the man says shortly and then the line goes dead.

Austin groans, wanting to knot a hand in his hair, wondering why this morning had to start off so terribly. All he wanted was to wake up on time, in his bed, prepared to ace the interview of his life. Instead, he’s talking his sexual conquest out of a relationship that probably would have been great. Hell, maybe even perfect. Not that he’ll let himself find out.

No matter how much he tells himself he doesn’t want the pain, he still can’t help being drawn back to it. It’s been almost three years since college and his terrible relationship. He wants more. Except there’s always the fear at the back of his mind that he’ll end up broken again, his love thrown away like so much garbage.

“Sometimes I hate my life,” he mutters to no one in particular,  gulping down half of his water bottle at a red light. He resolves to clear his mind and focus on the interview he’s driving to.

His dream job. He’d fought tooth and nail to get the interview, even exaggerating his résumé by inches. Not that he isn’t confident—he knows he could do the work if given the chance. It’s just that a chance is all he can hope for. Everything is up to chance and luck. He hates it.

Give me something to prove myself, he thinks to himself, and I’ll do it. One shot and two clear outcomes. Win or lose. He hates all the tiny wins and losses, tally marks to add up at the end of the day. All he wants is one test to cement his place and show his skill.

He pulls into the parking lot ten minutes early. Not as early as he’d like but good enough. He takes a second to scrutinize himself in the mirror of his sun visor, sliding the cover back to see his unruly hair sticking up in every direction. There’s not much he can do about it so he focuses on everything else, making sure his jacket is lined up right and his pockets aren’t inside out.

He had opted for business casual. A blazer and pants that aren’t a matching set. Something that says professional but isn’t too nice, since he’d spend most of his time behind the scenes in this job anyway. There are doubts, of course—there are always doubts going in—but he pushes them away and concentrates on confidence.

“You can do this,” he tells his reflection, grabbing his leather portfolio and swinging out of the car.

The front of the building is tinted glass. The company logo is bright and crisp on one of the panes, reminding him of the gravity of what he’s doing. When he enters, he is greeted by the smell of coffee and tea. A young woman is sitting at the desk, her dark-purple hair knotted up with a pencil.

“Hi. I’m Austin Key, I have an interview at nine,” he says, smiling broadly and extending his hand.

She looks surprised for a second before shaking his hand, glancing behind her.

“Oh. Hi, I’m Katie. Why don’t you sit? I’ll go get Dean.”

She’s already walking away by the time he makes an affirmative noise. Well. He nervously paces a little, trying to decide where to sit. He can’t remember if it’s good to sit or not. Does it show initiative to stand? Is it considered rude? Would sitting show laziness, or willingness to follow directions? He’s still considering his options when Katie returns, another man in tow.

He’s attractive, Austin thinks. Definitely off-limits but objectively handsome. If they were in a bar, he gets the feeling they’d probably end up in bed for a night. Dean extends his hand, smiling, teeth a perfect row of white rectangles.

“Hi, Austin. I’m Dean. We spoke via email earlier this week.”

“Yes, si—Dean,” he corrects, panicking a little. They’re obviously informal here. Video games, remember. “Good to meet you.”

“Let’s step into my office,” Dean offers, seemingly ignoring the small misstep.

It’s a beautiful room. The windows aren’t tinted, shades pulled up to let the sunlight in. The desk looks comfortable, a wrist guard softening the edges. It is the desk of a man who works exclusively at his computer. Which makes sense, given the fact that the company exclusively produces video games. There’s really no need to step away from the computer, other than to down coffee and blink tiredly at the air.

Austin settles into his seat, one leg crossed in an effort to seem at ease.

He reminds himself to take his time. Breathe between answers. Lean in to show interest. All the tiny rules fly through his mind as he sits, waiting. When Dean finally speaks, Austin thinks he has his nerves under control.

“So, Austin. Your portfolio was pretty impressive. Nothing big yet, though. Any reason you haven’t picked up work in other gaming companies?”

“I’ve never been keen to commit to something I’m not passionate about,” he answers, the rehearsed answer flowing forth easily, “I’d rather develop my work and wait for the better opportunity.”

It’s a risk. His explanation runs the risk of alienating employers who may think he believes he’s too good for certain types of work. On the other hand...well, it’s not like he’s been unemployed.

“Hmm,” Dean murmurs, the noise a simple acknowledgment. “I see you’ve also done freelance. Why not continue that work? It offers a lot of flexibility you may not get here.”

“Flexibility is great, but ultimately, I’m looking for a long-term position,” Austin explains. “I like stability in a job and dedicating my time to long-term projects seems more...impactful.”

Dean nods, smiling a little. Austin knows the questions are designed to open him up, revealing his driving factors and desires. He’s not nervous to make his goals known—it’s the best way to make sure he gets the job he wants. Still, it’s a little scary, putting yourself at the mercy of someone else so completely. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t really want the job.

He really does want stability. It would be nice to have a regular job, some schedule to adhere to and other people to work around. He doesn’t hate managing himself; he’s had to do it most of his life. He’d just like the chance to prove himself to other people. It would look great on his résumé, too.

“Well, it seems like your goals align with what we’re looking for. In the end, your animation work is really what made you stand out,” Dean smiles, “given that we work on video games. If you’re willing, we can get you set up and started in two days.”

Oh my god. I did it. He can’t believe it was so easy. So straightforward. It feels unreal to finally be accepted, somehow fitting the position he wanted in the first place. It’s as if all the stars aligned. Half of him doesn’t believe it’s true. Half of him is already dreading what comes next—the inevitable awkwardness and the trial period of being the new guy.

He remembers the multitude of hoops he had to jump through just to get his internship in college. Competing against kids whose parents were industry mainstays had put him at a constant disadvantage. In his experience, who you know can sometimes be more important than what you know. He almost lost his chances in college because the other candidate was a guy whose father worked for a major production company. Maybe he’s been setting himself up for disappointment, but it’s not pessimism if every experience he’s had tells him he’s right.

But it’s his dream job. It’s what he wants and he’s not about to stop now. If he doesn’t try, he’ll never know whether he could have been the best. If he could have paved a new path for himself. It’s about time I took a chance, he thinks.

“I’d love that,” he smiles, enthusiasm leaking into his words. “I’m ready to get started.”

***

HE CELEBRATES THE ONLY way he really knows how: sushi; takeout from a nearby restaurant. He thinks about swearing off one-night stands for a while, thinking maybe his method isn’t quite as flawless as he thought. He’s not willing to risk it anyway; now, he has a new job and a better sense of stability.

He considers for a moment. What about dating? Could I do that, again? He’s not sure. It’s been such a long time, and he didn’t exactly have the best experience the last time he did. Sure, he’s had short flings since then, but nothing has been quite as...bright. It makes him resentful.

“Quit it,” he says out loud, convincing himself to stop. He knows he thinks too much, especially about the wrong things. He decides he’s going to stop.

After all, it’s time for new beginnings.