Shrimp Syrup

A quiet conversation in the corner of an airport parking garage, before a man sends his lover off with a smile.

tags: bl, drama | word count: 1580

An old, black sedan rolled up onto the third level of the airport parking lot. It made a round before it stopped in a corner spot, unseen from the elevator. Its brake lights shown in the darkness, the sun not yet up to cast its warm glow into the cold, concrete building. Another car rumbled by and turned up the next ramp, resigning itself to the fourth floor when it could not find an open spot.

“You really didn’t have to park, Damien, you could have left me at the drop-off,” Pram said, unbuckling himself with a yawn. “It’s almost five in the morning, it wouldn’t have been that crowded.”

Damien tapped his finger on the steering wheel, finally placing the car in park and letting his foot off the brake. The third level was dark once again. He turned to look at Pram and he smiled, his eyes curving along with his mouth. It was what Pram liked best.

“This airport’s drop-off is a disorganized mess, you know how much I already hate driving.” Damien leaned towards Pram, tilting his chin to the side expectantly.

Pram laughed and gave Damien what he wanted—a kiss. Then, a peck on the cheek. Then another. When Damien scrunched his face and tried to pull away from the barrage, Pram grabbed his neck and gently pulled him closer. In between kisses he said, “Yes, of course, my dear boyfriend is so nice, he even does things he so terrible hates just for me.”

Damien began to laugh, too, pushing at Pram’s chest at the man leaned further and further into his space with every kiss. “You’re right, I so many terrible things just for your sake.” Their faces parted and Damien watched his lover’s face, drinking in every freckle and eyelash. “You should adore me for it.”

“You know I already do.”

Damien’s gaze grew further loving as he brushed a lock of waving, golden hair behind Pram’s ear. “No matter how much I hate it, it wouldn’t be a proper goodbye if I didn’t do this.” He put a hand on his lover’s cheek and gave him another peck. His voice became tearful. “I’m going to miss you.”

Pram put both hands on top of Damien’s head and rubbed, ruining both his hair and the solemn air that had taken over his boyfriend. “I’m only going to be gone a month, Dami! You know it’s for work and I can’t just say ‘no.’”

Damien pulled a regretful face as he pried Pram’s hands from his hair. “…I know.” He was quiet a moment, as he clasped Pram’s hands and squeezed. “I just wish ‘no’ was an option.”

Pram grinned, his smile so bright Damien could not help but feel his heart flutter. “Good. So try not to miss me so much. I’m here with you even when I’m not.” The sunrise peaked into the parking garage, then, and Pram’s hair shined like a halo. It was what Damien liked best. His smile fell.

Tears formed in Damien’s eyes, but he let go of Pram to wipe them before they could fall. He stopped himself from sniffing as he mumbled, “I know…” He leaned back in the driver’s seat and stared down. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel and clenched. The cracking leather pressed into his hands and steadied him.

Pram sighed, patting his boyfriend’s head softly. He tried to smooth over the mess he’d made of the man’s hair. He knew Damien would be angry to see it in such a nest later. Pram always did have a penchant for unrefined affection such as this.

Damien looked outside, towards the open air of the parking garage. “Do you have your ticket?” he asks. The sky was taking on a beautiful shade of pink and orange, blooming into a deep red he knew he would remember, always.

“Yes, right…” Pram patted his jacket several times before lifting his hips and digging into the back pockets of his jeans. He pulled a folded envelope out. The car shook slightly as he dropped back down into his seat. “Right here.”

Damien turned to Pram again and the man waved the crumpled paper in his face. Snatching it, Damien unfolded and opened it to check. A 6:30 flight for one Pram Candden. “Why do you always fold up and crumple important things like this.” It had been folded unevenly and multiple times. Damien tried to smooth it out on his thigh.

“Hey, it may look a mess, but at least I kept it on me!” Pram pouted. “I didn’t forget it this time.”

“That’s true.” A smile came back to Damien’s lips, though it was slighter, softer. Pram was always on to forget important things. Concert tickets, keys to a rental house, appropriate clothing for the weather—just this once, he’d made sure to remember. Damien tossed the ticket up onto the dash. His eyes wanders to the backseat where a bag sits, then back again to his lover.

“Ah, it’s about time I go inside,” Pram said, looking at his phone. He yawned again and scratched his head. “So damn early…I wish I could stay.”

Damien wished so, too.

Pram stretched in his seat. “Is my camera in the carry-on? You packed everything for me while I was asleep.”

“It is. I packed exactly what was needed, as always.”

“I have the most meticulous boyfriend,” Pram laughed. His hand reached for the door handle to leave. Damien’s pinched the arm of his jacket to stop him.

“Wait,” Damien said, “I have one last thing for you.” He unbuckled and leaned over the center console to root through the back in the backseat.

Pram beamed. “Oh, what could my love have for me that’s so special as to leave it until the last minute? It must be somethin…” Pram went silent, and the sunlight streaming into the car could not hide the dimming of his expression. Then, the dulling of his eyes.

His hair glowed, still, like a halo. The knife that slid out of his neck shined, too, like the reddened sunrise. Damien hated it most of all.

Pram’s mouth opened, but there was no sound. Damien had severed his vocal cords and jugular in one motion. Blood dribbled from his lips as he tried to wrap his hand around the wound. He knew, though, as his world pun, that this was already a point of no return. His vision blurred as he started at his bloodied hand, but as he looked back again at Damien, his lover’s face was in sharp focus.

The tears fell from Damien’s eyes, this time. “I’m sorry.” They rolled down his cheeks and stained his shirt. The hand holding the knife shook, and the weapon clattered against the center console and onto the backseat floor. “It’s the same f-for me. I couldn’t say no.” His hand went to Pram’s mouth to wipe some of the dripping blood away. A meaningless gesture for a dying man, who’s opened throat continued to pour blood onto his chest.

Pram wished he had the strength to wipe away his lover’s tears. That, at least, would be meaningful in the end. Damien’s hand flinched back when Pram smiled. Tears fell, catching in the blood smeared from his mouth, and he closed his eyes, settling into the seat. His shoulders sagged and his head grew heavy. The last thing Pram heard was another car rolling by. It covered Damien’s quiet sobs.

*

It was silent, as Damien wiped the knife of prints and his hand of blood. He gently laid Pram’s hands in his lap, and pushed back a lock of hair just one last time.

He stepped out of the care and popped th trunk to retrieve the luggage, pulling out a passport from the carry-on’s front pocket. The new passport flipped open stiffly in his hands. A name that was not his own was printed there, just like the last, and the one before that.

This time, however, the name pushed a needle into the back of his heart. He hoped to not go by it for long.

He headed toward the elevator with luggage in tow, but suddenly stopped. Damien patted at the pockets of his jacket and pants and the tears welled in his eyes again. He turned back towards his car and, wrapped in a racking sob, laughed.

He’d forgotten the plane ticket on the dash. Just this once.

*

Damien passed through check-in and security in a daze, his head muddled and dizzy from hearing Pram’s name in their mouths. He wished he was already on the next job, so he may never hear it again.

He stepped out of the restroom and onto the moving walkway, rubbing at the palm of his hand. It stung from his zealous scrubbing. He’d cleaned it off in the car, then again at the restroom sink. It was raw and burning, yet he could still feel the tack of Pram’s blood there. He wondered if he would ever be able to wash it away.

The moving walkway pulled him down the hall at a snail’s pace, but Damien could not muster up the strength to walk. He thought if he tried, he might fall and never get up again. As Damien stood, waiting, he looked into long mirror than ran beside him. His hair was still ruined, a nest from Pram’s rough affection.

He turned away.