Zugzwang - 1. Zugzwang

Zugzwang

Zugzwang (German for "compulsion to move", pronounced [ˈtsuːktsvaŋ]) is a situation found in chess and other games, where one player is put at a disadvantage because he must make a move when he would prefer to pass and not move. The fact that the player is compelled to move means that his position will become significantly weaker. Zugzwang most often occurs in the endgame when the number of pieces, and so the number of possible moves, is reduced, and the exact move chosen is often critical. (Source: Wikipedia)

Paul sat in the back of the little café staring at a tiny crack in his coffee mug. A week ago, he'd had to watch Sam kissing Mark, and his plan to tell Sam what he felt for him had been overtaken by reality – a reality in which Sam still loved Mark, or so it had seemed at the time. Like the idiot he was, he'd run when he should have stayed, leaving behind a perfectly cooked three-course dinner for two. With candles. And wine.

He had smashed his phone, ranted to his sister, cried in her arms and then had worked day and night because Maya had accepted so many orders. Orders for weddings, for office parties, dinner parties. He had no brain capacity left other than thinking supply orders, recipes, time schedules.

But he wasn't ready to accept that Sam was lost to him. After all, he'd had a backup plan.

Mark's call two days ago had shot his plan. Again. After introducing himself – ‘I’m Mark; you probably know who I am; please don’t hang up’ – he’d hurried to assure him that, albeit what Paul thought he had witnessed, there was nothing left between him and Sam other than a friendship on the mend. Hearing the crack in Mark's voice, Paul had believed him. Then Mark had asked if he’d heard from Sam. Paul hadn't. When he’d said ‘no’, Mark had dropped the bombshell. Sam was about to accept a job offer which would take him to the other side of the country. He would be away at least for a year if he took the job.

‘He likes you, maybe even loves you, Paul. Don't doubt that. He just doesn't trust himself anymore to recognize a good thing even if it's right under his nose.’

Hearing about this, Maya had immediately bombarded him with ideas. What to wear, what to say, where to meet. At a restaurant, or better still, somewhere outside? Naw, too cold and still too rainy. A museum? A café? Invite him to their place. Go to his? Bring something? Flowers? Food? Meet him accidentally? How would they arrange that? Wait, she had a friend with a business who might need someone with Sam's skills, one who could be persuaded…

Paul knew his sister meant well, but she was driving him crazy. He had to get out of the house. He needed time to think.

Think!

Plan A, Plan B, contingency Plan C… That was all well and good when planning a dinner party, but it had never been Paul's style outside his job. When he'd wanted to get to know the man with the melodious, warm voice, he had bribed him with cookies. And although Sam had given out a loud and clear piss-off-or-else vibe, Paul did get a smile at the end. Direct approach was his default plan, and he wasn't going to change that now. Paul stood up from his chair.

This could easily backfire.

He sat back down. He might ruin everything by pushing Sam too fast, too hard. Then again, Mark had said there was not much time left. For all he knew, Sam could already be packing up his things, signing contracts, subletting the house.

Screw this!

This was not the time for strategic planning. He had to make the move and hope for the best. Paul grabbed his leather jacket and signaled the waitress.

On his way out, he considered calling Maya about what he was going to do, but then he refrained. She would only try to put him off – being ‘totally unprepared’ and all that – but he knew this was the right thing to do. He sprinted to his truck, ripped the door open and jumped in, feeling lighter now that he had come to a decision.

Then came the doubts. Why hadn't Sam called him after he'd found the food?

Because I smashed the fucking phone and have a new number!

Mark's betrayal had been hard on Sam. Still, he surely couldn’t think his next relationship would end the same way, could he? Maybe Sam's feelings for Paul weren't as strong as Paul hoped. As strong as his own. Maybe all Sam felt was friendship for him.

Wrong train of thoughts!

Paul had to concentrate on driving. The roads were still in terrible condition, getting worse the closer he came to the lakeside. No time to think unwanted thoughts.

He parked under an overgrown witch hazel and watched Sam's house. His truck stood in the driveway.

Good.

Then Paul saw the cardboard boxes in the truck bed.

Shit!

Mark had been right; Sam was already packing. Two more boxes sat beside the door on the front porch. A dog barked. Merlin must have already heard him. Paul had to hurry. He really didn't want Sam finding him watching his house like a stalker. One deep breath and Paul pulled the latch to open the door.

Now or never.

He headed for the front door with what he hoped were confident strides. As he got closer, he could read the printing on one of the boxes: the name of a moving company. His heart stood still, only to start beating again too fast. Somehow he’d managed to reach the front door. Paul wiped the sweaty palms of his hands on his jeans once, twice, before he knocked. Nothing happened, except the barking became louder. Where was Sam? Paul knocked harder.

"Yes, yes. Jeez!” Flinging the door open Sam breathed in sharply. "P-Paul."

"Hey."

Hey? What happened with sweeping him off his feet as soon as I see him?

Merlin would have nothing of their awkwardness. Squeezing himself through the gap between Sam's legs, he circled Paul several times, rubbing his big body against his thighs, wagging his tail and barking happily. Paul bent down to scratch his ears. "Hey, boy. Happy to see me?" Then he looked up. "And you? Happy to see me, too?" There was that tentative smile Paul had hoped for.

"Are you here for the dishes?"

The dishes?

"What–"

But Sam had already disappeared into the house, and Paul heard his muffled voice from somewhere further inside. "Wait there; I'll get them for you."

Oh no, you’re not brushing me off like that.

Paul pushed the door open wider and followed the sound of slamming cupboard doors and drawers. Just in time, he remembered how Sam hated it when people trudged dirt through the house and hurriedly pulled off his boots before continuing into the kitchen.

Sam looked up from carefully wrapping one of the crystal glasses with a tea towel. His gaze immediately fell on Paul's stocking feet. "I said I would get them for you."

"I wanted to talk to you.”

Sam ignored him. "Your pots and pans are in the box over there." He pointed at the back door, the glass in his hand. "I was planning on dropping them off at your office next time I’m in town.”

Three boxes, one labelled ‘Paul’ and two labelled 'kitchen'. Paul’s heart made an extra strong beat and then stopped completely, or so it felt. Sam must have accepted the job. He was packing up his kitchen. Paul was too late.

"When do you leave?"

"In three days." Sam frowned. "How do you–"

"Mark called me the other day and told me about it."

"Mark? Mark told you?"

"Yes. He told me you’re considering working on a research project.” He looked pointedly at the boxes. “I can see that you’re already past the considering phase.” Then, as if he just remembered Sam’s question, Paul said, “Yes. Mark. Your ex. We’ve started talking lately."

"You and Mark?" Sam looked at him, confusion clearly written all over his face. “Talked on the phone?”

Paul shrugged. “He doesn’t seem such a bad guy.” He knew it was a petty thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, he was furious. All the pent-up frustration wanted to get out: the hurt he’d felt at seeing Sam and Mark kissing and then later when Sam hadn’t called, although he knew Paul had seen them. He must have been in town after the storm at least once when he’d driven Mark back. If he’d really wanted, he could have got in touch with him then and cleared the misunderstanding. But he never did.

The more he thought about it, the more furious Paul became. He had been Sam’s friend because that was what Sam had needed back then – a friend not a lover. He had understood and given him space, but he also never hid the feeling that someday he wanted to be more than Sam’s friend, and Sam had nurtured this hope. There had been moments lately when he had been sure he wasn’t the only one who had feelings that were going beyond a simple friendship. But now?

Paul shook his head. He started pacing around the kitchen table. "So you just pack and go? Leave your dream house, a place you always wanted? What's with Merlin? Back to the shelter? What's with – ah fuck! Forget it!"

What’s with me?

Paul stepped right in front of Sam, took the glass out of his hands, reached past him and put it into the box sitting on the counter. He grabbed Sam's jaw, turning his face so that he had to look at Paul.

"Just to clarify some things: yes, it was meant to be a romantic birthday dinner. The single red rose lying on your plate was a dead giveaway. That evening, I wanted to show you what I felt for you, what you mean to me. I thought it was finally the right time." There. He'd said it.

Sam closed his eyes and took in deep, shaky breaths. His arms hung limply down by his sides. Seeing that, Paul let go of him, stepped back and ran his hand through his hair. "Obviously, I was wrong. Not that it's important anymore, you're leaving."

Suddenly he was tired. All the adrenalin that had flooded his system was gone; he only felt exhaustion.

Checkmate.

Paul grabbed the box labelled with his name. “Just put the other one on the porch, when you’re ready.”

He wrangled his feet into his boots, leaving them untied, kicked the door open and went to his truck. The pots rattled when he juggled the box on his thigh as he fumbled with the keys to open the rear hatch. His hands trembled. Maybe he should climb into the truck and drive home, but that would make him a coward. He could face Sam one more time. And then there was that tiny bit of hope that he didn’t seem to be able to push away. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but he was. He went back.

Maybe Sam had changed his mind now that he knew. Maybe… His gaze fell on the new box labelled ‘Paul’ sitting on the porch.

Yeah, right.

Paul grabbed it, stared for a moment at the closed door, and then turned around.

“Paul.”

Paul walked on. He couldn’t do this anymore. Sam was leaving. He was done.

“I’m not leaving.”

Paul made two more steps before Sam’s words registered. I’m not leaving. He stood still, his blunt fingernails digging holes into the cardboard; he didn’t turn. He waited.

“I…I mean, I am leaving but only for a few days. I’ll be signing the contract, getting to know the boss and some of the other people involved at headquarters. After that, if everything goes well, I’m working from home and at the institute in Pinehedge.”

Pinehedge is only a thirty minute drive from here.

“Ah.” Paul thought of the boxes he had seen. “What are you packing for, then?” He finally looked over his shoulder at his friend.

Sam ducked his head. “I bought the material but never had the time to install that bookshelf around the fire place. The last few days I felt the urge to work with my hands; it always calms my nerves, helps me to figure out things I have on my mind. Everything went well, faster than I thought, actually, so today I got the rest of my stuff from storage – mostly books and some kitchen stuff I forgot I still had.” He swallowed, his eyes locked with Paul’s. Then he pushed open the door behind him, silently inviting Paul to come back inside.

Paul’s feet didn’t move, couldn’t move.

“Please?”

The raw desperation in Sam’s voice did it. Paul turned around. Watching Sam push his hands in the back pockets of his light-grey jeans only to pull them out again, he took the few steps until he reached the porch where he set down the damn box. When he stood upright, Sam was directly in front of him, their chests almost touching. Paul stared into soft bronze eyes – dark caramel - a strand of brown hair – chocolate brown - fell into Sam’s forehead. Then Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing it, pulling him closer, the grip almost hurting on his tight muscles. For the first time, Paul noticed how tense he was. They breathed in each other’s breath and then warm, slightly chapped lips brushed over his. Paul didn’t push Sam back, but neither did he encourage him. This was Sam’s call. Paul had made clear where he stood. Now the ball was in Sam’s court. And Sam seemed to know it. Cupping Paul’s face with both hands, he touched Paul’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue, running it along its seam, begging him to let him in.

Paul gripped Sam’s waist.

Then Sam kissed him. His kiss was hard, sloppy, with a hint of urgency and desperation.

Paul slipped his hands under the hem of Sam's shirt, letting them slide up each side of Sam’s spine, kneading his muscles. Then he pulled Sam's body against his, and Sam moaned into their kiss.

Finally Sam lowered his head to press his face against Paul’s neck, mumbling, “I’ve wanted to do this since we first met at that reception and you said you liked my tie. I know I thought how perfectly some of its green matched the color of your eyes.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You took one of the cookies and just split!”

“Yeah, I was shocked. I mean, Mark had just dumped me, and I wanted to kiss you. A guy I just met.” He ran a hand through his hair, laughing uneasily then gestured at the open door. “Let’s go inside and talk?”

Paul nodded, and Sam laced his fingers with Paul’s, leading him through the short hallway into the living room, all the while rubbing his thumb against the back of Paul's hand.

As if he’s afraid I won’t come.

Paul’s gaze fell on the new bookshelves and the open boxes sitting on the floor filled with books. Sam hesitated then walked over to the couch and sat down, patting the space beside him, but Paul didn't move."

“Do you know why Mark and I bought the couch?” Not waiting for an answer, Sam continued, “Because it was the right size to make out on without one of us falling off. Which happened with our old one.”

“What?”

Sam snorted. “Seems to be your favorite word today.”

Paul stared at Sam who promptly hid his eyes behind his hands. “Oh. God. I’m sorry; I’m sorry,” he cringed. “I’m nervous. I always say things that are not as funny as I’d like them to be when I’m nervous.”

Hiding half of his face behind his hands drew Paul’s gaze to Sam’s mouth. Paul wanted nothing more than to continue from where they had left off, but Paul had questions that needed to be answered. This time they had to do it right.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I tried, but all I got was your voice mail. Then the storm got worse; I had to secure the house, then a tree smashed Mark’s car, blocking the driveway and my truck.” Sam pointed to where Mark’s wrecked car still stood.

Paul picked up one of the books lying on the floor.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower?

Sam got up from the couch and took the book out of his hands. “Then I had no phone signal. Mark and I had to talk. I… Whatever.” Sam walked over to the window and looked outside. “The next day, when the weather had calmed some, we cut down the tree, cleared the driveway. Then I drove Mark back to his place.”

“You could have come by the office.”

“By then I’d had too much time to worry, to question myself, my feelings, your feelings – to find excuses. While I was in town, I got the email. I had forgotten all about it. I’d sent them my resume right after Mark had moved out. He was there when I got it. It felt like the perfect solution. Go away, leave the mess behind – an easy way out.” Sam huffed. “Of course Mark said I had to talk to you. I knew I had to if only to explain what you saw.” He turned around and faced Paul. “But... I don’t know... it became bigger and bigger. I should have talked to you right away; I should have come to you when I was in town I…It felt as if the wall I had to climb got higher and higher. I worried what you thought, what you assumed when I didn’t call, what you would say when I’d call you. I felt it was late, too late to explain everything – if you would believe me nothing had happened, how angry you would be with me for letting Mark kiss me, for not coming after you, for not telling you as soon as I could. It piled up, I panicked.” Sam took in another deep breath. “Damn.” He rubbed his right forearm with his left hand. “Every time I panic all I can think of is getting away as fast as I can. So I told Mark I would take the job, and I would work at their head office. That’s probably what he told you. When I was back here, I started to put up the bookshelves. That was a sure sign I didn’t want to leave. I mean, even I am not stupid enough to waste my time on bookshelves for the next owner. I sawed and polished and calmed down enough to see it like it is. I want to stay, I want to live here in this house, and I want you. I just had to get the nerve to tell you.” He grinned. “Which I just did.”

Paul went over to Sam. “And what would you have done if I hadn’t shown up today?”

Sam looked at the bookshelves. “I would have emptied all the boxes, tidied up the house – because that calms me, too – cooked a fancy dinner… and asked you to come over to test it.”

“And if I hadn’t come?” Paul was now standing directly in front of Sam.

Sam tilted his head and grinned. “I would have sicced Maya on you. She knows what’s best for you.”

Paul’s fingers reached out and traced the buttons of Sam’s gold-brown shirt that matched his eyes so perfectly. “And I suppose that’s you.”

“Exactly.”