Chapter Text
I was sitting at my desk, staring at the eastern horizon when my phone rang. I picked it up and studied the number. I refused to put a contact name on this one, but I had memorised this when I was four. Just for fun, just because I could. Also, because my father wanted me to know our home phone in case I ever got lost. It would be a shame to just lose an heir.
I sighed and picked up. 'Hello?' I refused to acknowledge that I knew it was him.
'Harry, it's me,' he replied.
'Yes,' I responded.
A girl was riding her bike down my street.
'I have an offer for you at my company. A place for you to start so you can start managing it when I retire.' He spoke about this like it was a fact. Without excitement. Without anticipation. Fact. Non-fiction. Almost like an order, a request.
'That sounds promising, I will take it,' I said. I would have to leave.
A breeze twisted through the trees, rippled the water in a bird bath across the road.
'Excellent. I would rather send you details via email than explain everything now. I will do that.' He paused. Or maybe I paused. Either way, the conversation lapsed.
'I haven't heard from you in a few months, what have you been entertaining yourself with?' He asked.
'Oh, just making friends,' I replied. I looked down at the wood pattern of my desk. I could see the bar. Hotspur's bedroom carpet as we conversed as drunks. Sharing cigarettes and kisses. Pillows and beds. Him in my favourite shirt, in my jeans, in my socks as he scrambled eggs and poured juice.
'You do have an impressive record for doing so and I think this position will cater to those skills,' my father said. A fact.
'Wonderful,' I said and then, 'I have to go, a friends birthday, thank you for the offer, I look forward to your email.'
'Goodbye, Hal', he finished and hung up.
I looked back up at the horizon. Hotspur was the ocean and I was surrounded by his depth, by the vast complexities that make him. I had gone further than I intended. My chest tightened. Like I reflex, I started swimming to shore.
+ + +
Hotspur rang three times in a week. My phone was on vibrate, so I answered everyone but him and when 'Hotspur' made an appearance on the screen, I watched my device vibrate its way around my desk. The last time he rang it vibrated itself onto the carpet where it buzzed once more and went silent.
I did not leave my apartment much. I had not realised how accustomed I had become to Hotspur's presence in my life. Some nights I would wait outside the bar when his shift finished and walk him home or he would turn up at my door, smelling like beer and spirits, wanting a distraction because he had a trying night. I could fill the daylight hours, but when the sun set I could not distinguish my surroundings without him.
My father emailed me about the position in his company. I started spending the dark hours filling out HR forms and sending them though to my father's secretary. I went to an interview where I discussed the position with a panel and was evaluated based on my current training. This included my father pulling CEO strings, bringing me closer to his dreams.
It was a singular week in my life, but I grew despondent in the face of it. I pushed that aside. The only way to create my dreams was to follow as my father did.
+ + +
One midnight I was still up, scrolling through my Facebook feed with the aim of distracting myself and just having something going on in front of my eyes. Something to do just because I was conscious.
Someone knocked on my door. A familiar tone of knock. I stared at it and took a few breaths. He knocked again. I got up.
I opened the door. Hotspur stood in the hall, his countenance was an amalgamation of despondency and anger. 'So you're alive,' was all he said.
I nodded, unable to quite talk. He was correct in his anger. I stepped to the side and he came in. I shut the door and watched him turn to me.
'What happened? You just fell off the grid, I know what it means when people say they'll call and don't. I know what it means when someone doesn't answer three calls and you see them waiting for a cab a few hours later. What happened, Hal?'
'You weren't meant to happen, you're not part of my plan,' I said, trying to stay calm, though my breaths were leaving me for dead. And I realised that was not very tactful and he was going to explode in three, two, one-
'Your "plan"?' Hotspur asked, throwing his hands up with the air quotes.
'Yes! We were supposed to fool around for a week or two, say 'wasn't that nice' and then move on, catch each other's eye at the bar on occasion. I never intended to fall in love with you.' My voice remained calm, even. My head knew how to level this out and my mouth was happy to co-operate.
We stared each other down.
'Well you did and likewise and now look at it.' He gestured between us.
I shook my head. He took a step closer. I said, 'You can walk away, I know it's too much, it's too much for me.'
'What would you do?'
'Listen to Taylor Swift on repeat until I feel cocky enough to leave the house.' I laughed to change the mood, to take away the sensation of my intestines tying themselves together.
He smiled, 'Hal-'
We met with open mouths. It was disgusting and desperate and I refused to feel apologetic when I mashed my face against Hotspur's, trying to bite his tongue and settling for licking his teeth like a gross, clueless thirteen-year-old.
Hotspur pulled away, swiping away my saliva with his sleeve. 'God, you're a minx.'
'And you're lean like a lynx,' I sang in his face, tightening my fingers in his shirt.
'What?' Hotspur's face scrunched up, incredulous.
'From Cats.' I replied, mirroring his stupid face.
'You really are gay.'
'So are you,' I scoffed.
'This isn’t the point.'
'No.' I relinquished his shirt. 'That is that though.'
+ + +
'Stop worrying and come to bed,' murmured Hotspur.
Hotspur, already under the blankets, turned and watched me watching him. He sighed and pulled up the covers. I joined him with a little hesitance, annoyed to give myself away so easy, but comforted that he would know why tomorrow morning. He pulled me in and I slung an arm around his waist, guiding his head onto my arm. I kissed him on the forehead.
I had two distinct thoughts: I could get used to this and I am used to this.
'Are you trashed again?' Hotspur whispered, wondering why I was being so fussy tonight.
'No. Just go to sleep,' I replied. I pressed my lips to Hotspur's forehead again, but this time, I left them there, pulling him in closer, breathing in his skin.
I counted the minutes on the clock until Hotspur feel asleep, his breathing lessened and his grip on me loosened. I worked my arm out from underneath his head, sliding myself out of the blankets and tucking him back in, praying with every breath that the other wouldn’t wake. I was sure he wouldn't, Hotspur was a heavy sleeper, all the short-temperedness tired him out. I watched him for a few seconds as he shifted in his sleep and settled again.
I pulled on my shirt and jeans, located all of my things - everything I'd brought today and everything I'd left in his drawers for months - and filled my backpack in a haphazard manner. I checked on Hotspur every few seconds to make sure he was asleep; he kept twitching and shifting.
I zipped my backpack and paused for moment. I told myself this was the last time. I looked at him an stored the memory of this last moment. I itched for a stay. Just for a second. But the need to leave, to fulfil the plans I had laid so carefully was more powerful than to stay with a distraction.
Even though I so loved being distracted.
We're looking up at the same night sky
And keep pretending the sun will not rise
Be together for one more night
Somewhere, somehow.