For Anyone Who Just Wants Something to Read

Maybe you just come here for the stories?

Well here’s one, maybe it’s fiction or maybe not, all good memories become stories when they’re lost to the ocean of time.

It was summer. Last summer had been so warm his days were mostly spent shirtless. That was the summer before he met that one person who would change his life forever. But this isn’t like some soppy love story, instead of perfectly timed kisses and theatrical dialogue, it’s filled with awkward silences and fights. But they made it work. Until they didn’t.

He’d asked him to come and visit him while they weren’t living together. He’d checked with his parents and it was okay for him to drive over and spend the night. They’d had a rough year, there were periods where they’d gone days without talking, neither one man enough to admit they were being childish. A lot of lonely nights. A lot of wasted nights.

But they’d reconciled, at the very last minute. Truth is he hadn’t even planned to speak to him before he left, he was going to get up early and just leave. But he slept through his alarm and missed the last bus home. So he stayed one day more. Was going to hide out in his room. But there was a knock on his door. He threw the bed sheet over his head and pretended he was asleep. But still his friend came in and he sat down and said, “We need to talk.” And talk he did. And then they were hugging and pretending things were fine, and it didn’t take long for them to forget they were pretending.

So his friend drove over. And in his own perfect little way, he was late. He was sat on his doorstep when he finally pulled up, nearly an hour after he’d said. But he still grinned when he walked up to him. They didn’t embrace, they barely spoke as he put his friend’s bag in his room. They went to meet his friends that night. It was nice for the two world’s to mix. They got on like a house on fire. Soon he was forgotten by his friend as he told stories to the others about their life over the past year. He smiled to himself. He could get used to this.

They went out clubbing. A group of about a dozen guys. Just guys. Clubbing. On a Tuesday. Everywhere was dead. But it was nice, made it more intimate, easier for them all to talk. And his friend got progressively more and more drunk, so he stayed away from him, he tended to do hurtful things when he was drunk. “I’ll let him get it out of his system all on his own” he thought. But they gravitated together. Started chatting idly. Like it was any other time over the past year. And then his friend was slipping his arms around him and holding him. Everyone was looking at them with a funny look on their faces. One of them mouthed “Cute” at them. But they actually didn’t care.

And they moved, from bar to bar, club to club. Anywhere that had free entry and cheap drinks. They planned on going to one last bar and then they’d get a taxi home. Somehow time had drifted away and it was 3am. The two of them strode in first, the place was dead, and they assumed they’d all sit in the booths at the back. Only they didn’t. The rest of his friends sat at the tables at the front. But the two of them didn’t move. They sat opposite each other, pretending to read the drinks menu and occasionally glancing up, catching each others eye and laughing. And before they knew it their hands had moved so close, he reached out his finger and began rubbing the back of his friend’s hand. He could pass it off as drunk behaviour if it got weird, but it didn’t. His friend smiled at him and they held each others hand. And it was warm and safe. He lifted his friends hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it gently, like he always did. Like he’d always do.

They stared at each other, talking without saying a word. His friend pulled out his phone and started typing something, before turning the screen around to show him. “I had a really nice time tonight.” He began typing himself. “Me too. I’m really glad you came.” And this went on, talking to each other in messages that were lost forever when they had something else to say. His friend put his hands either side of his face and pulled his head towards him and kissed him softly on the forehead. He’d never done it before. He’d never do it again.

And then they kissed. And the music faded away. And everyone else faded away. And he was typing another message on his phone. A message that would be forgotten as soon as it was read until this very night. “I have feelings for you.” And he moved to sit next to his friend, and they were holding each other. And they kissed again. And again. And they laughed. Over and over. But the night was over. They walked back to the group. He smiled to himself and looked up at his friend, who was crying and before he could say anything he ran from the bar. He found his friend outside crying like a baby. He’d seen it before but normally he knew why. He was shooed away by another friend comforting him. He felt empty, like he’d caused it. Was he that bad a kisser? He’d never complained before. Another friend found him, didn’t try to ask him what was up, just offered him a cigarette. He only smoked when he was really stressed or really drunk. Now was one of those wonderful times where he was both. The two of them just stood next to each other smoking and watching the early morning traffic in the distance.

Eventually his friend came back, eyes red but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. He didn’t ask him about it, just told him it was time to go. He found out months later that he cried because he had one very specific feeling for him that he couldn’t ignore anymore. They smiled at each other and walked towards the taxis. His friend turned to him and said, “You’ve been smoking.” a knowing grin on his face. His friend gave up smoking last year and he always felt guilty when he did. They climbed into a taxi together, another friend separating them, but their hands met behind the back of the friend’s head.

They eventually got back to his house. It was late. Or was it early? The sun was just starting to rise. They went to the kitchen to get a glass of water before bed. It was strange seeing someone from his other life standing in his childhood kitchen like he’d always been there. Was this what it felt like when the jigsaw puzzle puts itself together. The kitchen was narrow so when they stood looking at each other, they were chest to chest. They smiled and shared the drink. His hands found their way to his friends hips, and they kissed again. Soft and meaningful. They decided to go to bed. Got undressed. Brushed their teeth. His friend had his bed and he’d volunteered to take the floor. He watched his friend drift off. He’d seen him sleep before, but never in his bed. He just lay their watching him sleep and smiled.

He could have watched him for the rest of his life.

I could have watched you for the rest of my life.

Some memories are better lost to time.