Soured Milk, 10

Don had this friend. He's about Sven's age, maybe a little older, and he'd visit every other week. He'd come over on Friday afternoons, have lunch, hang out with Don for a while, and then leave. He didn't seem to like me all that much, and he always looked at me with such a strange expression; like a frown was lurking somewhere beneath the surface of his face and he had to repress it so much that it physically hurt.

He wasn't really all that handsome, this friend, definitely not as handsome as Sven (or, for that matter, Don in his heyday) but when he smiled, it would take over his entire face; melting into the brown of eyes like warm honey, and staining his cheeks and ears with a shade of red that I've only ever seen on giggling schoolgirls.

"What's the deal with you, anyway." he mumbled, almost to himself, the moment Don left the room to take a phone call. It was the first time he'd ever talked to me.

 "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he cleared his throat, not really whispering but it kind of felt like he was, "What are you doing with an old geezer like Don?"

I smiled, wondering why he seemed so distraught by the whole thing, "Oh, I don't know. He gives a mean fu—"

"You think you're fucking something, huh?" he barked, looking over his shoulders before continuing, "He's only using you, you know."

I shrugged, "What do I care? I'm using him, too."

"How?"

"I had this thing with his friend for a while, and then Don came in and decided he wanted me to himself, so Sven-"

"Sven?!" he stood up, almost leaping to the seat next to me, "You know Sven?"

"Yeah, like I said, we had a thing. Then Don took a liking to me and Sven gave me away. That's what I'm doing with an 'old geezer' like him, to piss off that asshole Sven. How do you know him anyway?"

"Oh, I don't. Not anymore, at least." he frowned, looking away from me, "How is he like?"

"Sven? He's an asshole."

"Listen," he started, turning to check if Don was still on his phone. This time he was definitely whispering, "We should get together sometime, yeah?"
 
"And do what?"

"Nothing special." he smiled in a sort of suggestive, filth-ridden way that made me feel like Sven himself was smiling at me, "What's your name, by the way?"

"Uh... Laurel?"

"Guess that would make me Apollo, then."