Chapter Text
There's a place on the corner of Cherry Street
We would walk on the beach in our bare feet
We were both eighteen and it felt so right
Sleeping all day, staying up all night.
I thought Elizabeth Court was a rather mundane name for an apartment block near the beach, but there was a promising bar down the road and the pale beige brickwork reminded me of a simpler time, before minimalist concrete high-rises became popular in big cities. I needed somewhere to stay for my first year doing piss-all with my life and my father had been more than willing to supply me with one of the nicer apartments, nothing close to what most people my age could afford. But I wanted something cheap, something dingy and old where people my own age would live. Not people like my father, big company CEO's willing to toss all the money they had just because they could.
The place was small, the bedroom area with only enough room for a bed, desk, and some extra floor space in between, while the kitchen was crammed into the corner by the door, next to the bathroom. The walls were painted baby-boy blue with dark wooden skirting boards that didn't work at all. My father had grunted approval when he saw the newspaper ad. Not approval as in, 'what a wonderful place to live', but approval as in, 'if it gets you out of my house'.
Dear Henry had offered to help me move in, but I was eighteen and didn't want my vapid father tyring to coddle me anymore. I jogged up the stairs and unlocked the off-white door with the golden key the landlord handed over last week. I opened the window, watching the moving van pull up on the curb outside, they would be here in a few minutes with the furnishings I needed and then I could decorate as I pleased. I had plans for some band posters and obscure art, and I would be hitting up the Blue Dog tomorrow to make the baby-blue bearable.
After a long time of resisting my father's pressure to do something 'useful' with my life, having my own place and my own moving van people with the promise of a bar tonight and the poster shop tomorrow, felt like a deep breath.
+ + +
The sun had buried itself in the waves long ago and I was preparing to traverse the bar scene alone. I thought I would be okay, I was comfortable around people, they were only other beings with other brains, easy to manipulate and charm. This alone, would get me someone to spend the night with.
The bar down the street from Elizabeth Court was an obvious gay bar. A rainbow pride flag hung in the front window while Hayley Kiyoko and Troye Sivan played through the speakers. The veranda out front held tables circled with strangers laughing and kissing. I made a beeline for the bar. I needed to fill my system with some alcohol, take the jagged edge off the less charismatic version of myself.
'Two shots of Vodka, please,' I asked, the bartender nodded in response but I forgot him as I noticed his co-worker walk the length of the bar, serving two cocktails to a couple of women. The stranger had a sure smile and a cocky edge to his gait; I wanted to vault the bar and run a hand through his hair or down his arm or anywhere he would let me.
The distraction of two Vodka shots ensured I forgot him, I downed them both and within seconds was ordering two more. Praying for the alcohol to take me and make me someone else for a little while. My father could be disappointed, all I craved was a distraction from myself: bitter, broken me. I did have a plan. One could not walk through life without carefully curating each step and I knew that if I carried on this way enough press would be generated to make me more famous than my old man. Unless I died of liver failure or 'fell' off an overpass. A tragic, drunken accident.
I must have started looking like a real sad sod, because Gorgeous Bartender was in my face with his sure smile. 'Look like you could do with a little more,' he said. 'Can I get you anything?'
'A tequila sunrise?'
From afar, he was just tall, dark, and handsome, but up close he was beautiful - his hair fell down either side of his face to his cheekbones, an even square frame for this grey eyes. His lips, pale pink, said, 'Of course.'
'When do you get off, maybe I can help you?' I fired, taking my chance because how could I walk away from a man like this?
The bartender smirked. 'Sure, midnight good?'
'Of course,’ I responded, 'you look like you have a nice name too.'
'Harry, I get called Hotspur, it's a nickname of sorts.'
'I am Harry too', I replied, 'but most call me Hal.'
He winked. 'Stick around till midnight.'
I flirted with everyone who approached me, eyeing Hotspur with meaning when my subjects were not paying attention. Between flirting, I watched Hotspur work the bar. He walked back and forth, mixing drinks, offering smiles and polite conversation. He'd drift back over, ask me if I wanted something else, slide me another Cruiser and ask me about myself.
'Where'd you grow up? What do you do with yourself? What brings you here? Sure that's not too many drinks?'
'Dover Heights. Fuck all. To get trashed before bed. No.'
+ + +
A midnight, Hotspur went out the back to sign off and say goodbye to everyone. I waited outside on the footpath, a lit cigarette dangling from my lips, an attempt to make the high better. Hotspur wished the security guard good night on his way out and took out his own pack of cigarettes.
'Ohh, but you're so pretty,' I whined, waving mine at him and shaking my head.
'You can, but I can't?' He asked, eyebrows wrinkling together as he lit his cigarette and took a drag.
'You are prettier than I am. You're not suited for lung cancer.'
He shook his head. 'You're a bit trashed, how 'bout I take you home instead?'
'"A bit",' I said with air quotes, 'oh that's cute. I'm majorly trashed, does that mean we can go back to yours?' I winked.
'I'm not taking advantage, Hal.'
'Humour me with a date at least,' I supplied. I couldn't let him go. I wanted him to stay, there were promises in his words and his eyes were examining me like I was a puzzle he didn't know how to put back together. We looked at each other.
'Come on,' he murmured, gesturing down the street with his head.
I followed him to the foreshore across the road. We didn't speak for a while, just breathed out smoke to fill the space between us as we walked the path overlooking the rocks and the ocean. The bricks opened into a lookout and he stopped to stub out his cigarette on the railing and drop it onto the terracotta patterm. I put mine out and let it fall to his.
'Come on', he said again and continued to the steps nearby. As he walked down, he put his right hand out behind him. I brushed my fingers against his. It wasn't permanent and strong like holding hands, but it was human contact I hadn't considered would ever be so refreshing. Perhaps I had been touch starved for too long.
We slipped off our shoes when we hit the sand. I'd been to my choice of beaches and some I'd visited at night, but there'd always been a bonfire somewhere. This was a tad more magical. The water had transformed to black with the sky and stretched into an endless abyss where ocean nor sky were distinguishable. There was no moon and the sand glowed in the lights from the street. Hotspur was a shadow beside me. An outline I could not make sense of from here, but when I reached out and found his arm, I mapped his arm with my fingers and linked them with his.
''And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne, if you like making out at midnight, in the dunces of the cape,'' Hotspur sang, spilling smoky breath into my ear.
'It is 'making love at midnight', you idiot,' I said, shouldering him.
He laughed, 'Aw, want me to sing the music too? I can't even pull out my best moves? I thought you wanted a date!'
'Not with Rupert Holmes.' I smiled at him. I hoped he could sense it in the dark, in my tone.
He relinquished my hand to chase the waves and kicked a spray of water in my direction. I turned away with a shocked gasp and grabbed for his arm again, pretending to push him into the water and pulling him to me before gravity took him. He slung an arm around my shoulder to steady himself.
‘Feisty.’
‘Wait until I get you alone later,’ I grinned and leaned in, bringing our foreheads together. He leaned in a little bit, his lips close, not touching. I leant forward a little more.
He pulled away and I could her the smile when he grabbed my hand and said, ‘If that's the best you got, we to get you sobered up.’
+ + +
My head started to clear in increments after my second bottle of water and more of the greasy Maccas burger Hotspur had put before me.
'You do this every night?' Hotspur questioned.
'What else would I do with my time? Enjoy existence without the tang of intoxication?' I said in lieu of response.
'Whatever, eat your burger,’ Hotspur ordered.
I made my way through the triple cheese burger, admiring Hotspur's profile as he looked out the window. He had a bump on the bridge of his nose. I wanted to run my finger along it. Or my tongue. I was not fussed about which one.
When the burger was no more, Hotspur looked me up and down before standing, fondness lurked behind his irises and his lips moved in appreciation.
When we left the restaurant, I pulled out a cigarette, dangled it between my lips and handed one to Hotspur before lighting my own.
'How about you light mine too, you drunk idiot,’ he fired.
'Only babies cry,' I retorted, but I took out my lighter and moved closer to light his cigarette.
'You stink of alcohol,’ Hotspur moaned, but he grabbed my wrist, took a drag of his cigarette and leant closer.
'You work in a bar. And I might be trashed, but I am thinking straight enough for you kiss me without remorse,’ I breathed smoke into his face.
Hotspur's face screwed up in disgust and he threw my wrist to the side. 'Forget it,’ he spat.
'You didn't laugh at my pun,’ I groaned, 'it's not true, but it’s still funny.'
'What? That you're not straight? It's in terrible context.' Hotspur started to turn away, but I wasn't done with him yet. I grasped his shoulder. 'Hotspur-'
'What?'
I leant up and kissed him. I worried for half a second, but Hotspur responded, pressing his tongue against mine, muscles tensed when they fought for dominance, tasting like beer and burgers and cigarette smoke. He wrapped his left hand around the back of my neck, his other arm slung over my shoulder, still cradling the cigarette between two fingers. I placed a hand on Hotspur's waist and pushed him away so we could breathe without each other for a moment.
If he was enough to get me intoxicated, I would kiss him for hours every night instead of a bottle.
'You really aren't thinking straight,’ Hotspur said with a tantalising wink and smirk. 'Let's get you home.'
He walked me home. Some people didn’t do that, they put you in a cab and slapped it twice. He even took my phone, typed his number in and told me to text. Kissed me on the corner of my mouth.