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“We can’t do this. This is stupid.”
Phil looks around the empty flat in dismay. It’s not the first or second or even third one they’ve looked at today. It’s slightly better than the others, a little bigger and perhaps just a little less dingy, but still it’s rather a mess and Phil’s more or less convinced at this point that they’re making a huge mistake.
“It’s not,” Jimmy says, sounding so sure that Phil might almost be convinced if not for the crack he can see in the wall by the entrance to the kitchen. “We can do it.”
“But… look at it. It’s horrible.”
“It’s not. It just needs some paint and some… TLC.”
“Pretty sure I saw a mouse in the corner.”
“You absolutely did not see a bloody mouse in the corner Phil, fuck off.” Jimmy turns away from Phil to half shout at the rather bored-looking landlord who’s still stood in the open doorway. “What’s the rent again?”
He tells them in a none too patient voice and the number makes Phil wince. He pulls at the sleeve of Jimmy’s jumper. “It’s too much,” he hisses under his breath.
“It’s not. We’ll both get jobs and it’ll be fine. It’ll be good. There’s tons of shops and things around. It’s a good location and… we can make it work, Philly. We can.”
Phil cracks a hint of a smile despite the tight ball of anxiety clenched in his gut. This is just one of the countless reasons he’d be lost without Jimmy. He needs this kind of positivity, this excitement and enthusiasm, this not always so gentle push just past the limits of his comfort zone.
“You know Kath and Nigel would probably help if we asked,” Jimmy adds gently.
Phil shakes his head vehemently. “I told you, I can’t do that anymore.”
“Ok. Ok, I know.”
Phil shifts so he’s turned away from the unkind face of the man who’s waiting for them to make a decision. He wishes he could have a moment or two alone with Jimmy, to talk it out without worrying that someone else is listening, but he’s too afraid to say anything.
“Why are we doing this again?” he whispers, folding his arms over his chest to stop his hand reaching out for the warmth of Jimmy’s. “Why don’t we go somewhere cheaper?”
“Because this is London, Phil. This is the dream.”
Phil presses his lips together. He’s still not sure about that. He’s not sure it’s his dream. London is loud and crowded and kind of… scary. He’s always thought so, ever since that trip his family had taken when he was a child.
It is Jimmy’s dream though, and Jimmy is Phil’s dream, so he forces a smile and nods and says, “If you think we can do it, then we can. Right?”
Jimmy beams. “We can do anything, babes.”
*
They move in a week later, with next to nothing to turn this apartment into a home. They’ve got one bed -- Jimmy’s from his family home -- and a few odds and ends of furniture and kitchenware, most of which had been donated by their well-meaning and slightly worried parents. They don’t even have a television.
Phil is convinced there are mice. He can hear things he thinks he shouldn’t hear and the floors are grungy enough that it’s hard to be conclusive about whether that brown stuff in the corner of the lounge is dirt or droppings.
Jimmy just rolls his eyes. “You’re being a drama queen, mate. It’s not that bad. It’s definitely no worse than some of the halls.”
“That’s… yeah. That’s true.” He puts the box of cutlery he’d been holding down on the kitchen counter.
Jimmy comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, sliding his hands into the pocket of Phil’s hoodie. “I know you’re scared,” he murmurs. “But I’m here.”
Phil nods, and squeezes his hands into the bright green fabric and lays them overtop of Jimmy’s.
“It’s a fresh start.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m scared too. But I’m also just really fucking excited.” He squeezes around Phil’s middle and buries his face between Phil’s shoulder blades. “We have a flat in London, Phil. Our own place. We can do whatever we bloody well please. The world is our oyster!”
Phil laughs. He can’t deny he likes the sound of that-- a place that’s just for the two of them.
Jimmy lets him go. “I’m starving.”
“We have literally nothing,” Phil says, turning around. “We should get some groceries or something. Or unpack. Or clean. Or--”
“Later. We’re going out, come on. I saw a Gregg’s on the way here.”
*
Phil’s not bothered that he doesn’t have a bed yet, in fact he doesn’t think he’ll be rushing out to get one anytime soon. Jimmy’s bed looks like it’ll fit them both just fine.
Phil climbs in and tries to make sure he stays on his own side. He feels a bit ridiculous, as they’ve always been more than a little touchy, especially Jimmy. They’ve almost always got some form of physical connection happening when it’s just the two of themt together, but lying in bed only half dressed feels— different.
He lies on his side, faces away from Jimmy. Sometimes it’s easier to ignore the twinge when he doesn’t have to look into those tropical blue eyes.
“Night,” he says quietly. It’s late and they’ve had a long day and they have a lot of work to do tomorrow to try to make this place liveable.
“Phil?” Jimmy’s voice sounds off, missing the usual warmth it reserves for Phil.
Phil turns, sliding a hand up between his cheek and the pillow. Jimmy’s dark waves are falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He hadn’t straightened it today and Phil thinks it looks rather adorable like this.
“What’s up?”
“This is what you want, right? I’ve not pushed you too hard, have I?”
“No,” he answers automatically. It’s a reflex at this point, saying what he thinks people want to hear, without even necessarily taking a moment to think if it’s the truth.
Jimmy knows him though. He knows Phil so well. “Phil.”
Phil sighs. Sometimes he actually likes hiding behind his half truths, but apparently Jimmy’s not going to let him get away with it tonight. “I mean… I’m scared. But I want to be here. With you.”
“It’s gonna be so good for you.”
“Yeah.” He wants to believe it’s true. He’d like it to be good.
“We can be happy here,” Jimmy murmurs. “We can be… us.”
Phil’s heart kicks against his ribs before he has a chance to rationalize. Jimmy doesn’t mean it like that. He knows Phil better than anyone ever has or ever will, but there are still depths Phil has yet to let him see.
Depths he’ll never let Jimmy see. Depths he’s trying desperately to make more shallow.
“What d’you mean?” Phil whispers.
“I mean…” Jimmy rolls over into his back and stares up at the ceiling. “I mean no more hiding, I think.”
“You think I’m hiding?”
“No that’s not— I guess I mean for me. I want London to be a fresh start. I want it to be the place I can be… you know.”
Phil nods. He understands, but his heart is racing. This shouldn’t make him feel anxious. He should be happy that Jimmy’s finally ready to be out.
And he is. He is happy. He only wants the best for Jimmy, he only wants to see him smile and hear him laugh and know he’s living his best life.
But at the same time not hiding means telling people he’s gay, or not straight, or whatever he wants to call it, which means… well it means the potential that he’ll find someone else to share his bed with skyrockets exponentially.
It’s dark and it’s quiet in this empty bedroom. Phil’s tired and his heart hurts a little and his nerves are more exposed and raw than they might otherwise be, so he lets himself be vulnerable, just for a minute.
“Don’t replace me, yeah?”
He can’t quite make out the expression on Jimmy’s face but he knows, he just knows it’s one of disbelief that Phil could say something so stupid.
“You idiot. C’mere.” He opens his arms and Phil melts into them without hesitation.
They wrap their arms around each other and Jimmy hooks his ankle around Phil’s so they’re all tangled up like a pretzel.
“You’re my guy Lester. You’re stuck with me.”
Phil knows it’s not the truth, or at least not forever. But he’s sure as hell going to enjoy it while it is.
*
Waking up next to Jimmy is definitely something he could get used to. It’s warm and cozy and just-- comforting. Jimmy’s leg is draped over his and he’s snoring just the tiniest bit. His hair is a right mess, sticking up and out in every direction, probably not unlike Phil’s is, actually.
Phil rather desperately needs a wee but there’s not a chance he’s getting up right now. He’s not going to risk waking Jimmy for anything, not when he has the freedom to just-- stare. He’s staring and he knows he shouldn’t, but Jimmy’s just so cute when he’s asleep.
He’s also cute when he’s awake, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now he’s asleep and Phil’s going to let his eyes linger on the dark spread of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the slope of his nose and the way his neck flows into his collarbones.
Just then a siren wails loudly, seemingly right outside their building and Jimmy’s eyes flutter. He stirs and Phil feels like he’s been caught out, though he knows logically he hadn’t really been doing anything wrong. He closes his eyes and turns onto his side away from Jimmy and forces his breaths in and out slowly.
Jimmy is moving beside him, not a lot but enough that Phil knows he’s waking up. Then he stops. It’s still in the bed and quiet in the room, or at least as quiet as it can be in London. There’s always noise in London.
Jimmy’s voice is a whisper. “You awake?”
Phil doesn’t answer. He wants to know what Jimmy will do if he knows Phil is still asleep.
Probably he’ll do nothing. Probably he’ll get up and go use the toilet or something.
Phil’s heart is racing. He’s struggling to keep his breathing at a rhythm that would even remotely suggest unconsciousness.
The bed shifts and there’s warmth against Phil’s back. Jimmy’s knees press up into the backs of Phil’s and his arm drapes around Phil’s waist.
Phil’s heart beats even faster. He wonders if Jimmy can actually hear it, because it’s all he can hear. That and Jimmy’s breath right next to his ear.
“I know you’re awake, Phil.”
Phil huffs out a surprised laugh. “How?”
“Just do.”
Phil smiles. Jimmy’s accent is always so thick in the morning. “Damnit. Thought I was being clever.”
“Phil, don’t be daft. You can’t outsmart old Jimbo over ‘ere.” He squeezes his arm tighter around Phil’s middle. “Why are you pretending to be asleep anyway?”
Phil shrugs. “Maybe… maybe I didn’t wanna have to get up yet,” he says softly. “Maybe I wanted to stay like this awhile longer.”
The side of Jimmy’s face is practically lying on top of Phil’s now, his chin digging into the front of Phil’s shoulder. “This is our flat. No one can make us stop. We can do whatever we want now Philly, remember?”
“Something about oysters, yeah?” Phil asks.
“Exactly. So today our oyster is… morning cuddles?”
Phil laughs again, and it comes out breathy and somehow also deep and kind of rumbling. “Yes please.”
*
“Since when is food so bloody expensive?” Phil asks despairingly, staring at the price tag on a simple loaf of bread.
Jimmy plucks it from his hand and drops it into the trolley. “About since you stopped letting your mum pay for your groceries, I reckon.”
“Shut up,” Phil mumbles, though he knows Jimmy is right. “Are we going to have to like-- bloody hell are we going to have to start budgeting?” The notion is horrifying. He still thinks he’s far too young to even consider such things.
“There isn’t actually anything to budget, is there? We’re pretty skint after paying first and last.”
“Oh god,” Phil murmurs. “Oh, god.” Panic is rising in his chest. It’d been a bit of a joke before, how little money they had and how truly wild it was that they were moving to London with no jobs and no real prospects beyond their brand new degrees and Jimmy’s blind faith that it would all work out. Now it’s real and it’s fucking terrifying.
“What are we doing?” The anxiety is coiled tight around his insides, squeezing so his breath is hard to catch. “What are we going to do?”
Jimmy’s hand is on his shoulder then, squeezing hard, thumb digging into the clenched muscle. “Breathe,” he says, gentle but insistent.
Phil breathes, in and out and in and out. Jimmy is stood right there beside him, brow furrowed slightly, bright eyes looking right into Phil’s. A woman with a baby in her trolley walks by and Jimmy drops his hand.
“It’s going to be fine,” he says. “We’re going to be fine, ok? We’ve got this.”
Phil nods. It doesn’t solve anything, but he believes it. He believes that if Jimmy is here, things will work out. He doesn’t exactly know how, but Jimmy being here is enough. Everything else is just background noise.
Even if they have to live off of bread and a few tins of beans, it’ll be ok, as long as they’re eating those beans together.
*
“I hate cleaning,” Phil whinges. He’s on his hands and knees scrubbing dust and dirt off the molding between the bottom of the wall and the floor. “Aren’t they supposed to do this before the tenants actually move in?”
“Dunno,” Jimmy replies, sounding frustratingly unbothered. “I’ve not had a proper flat of my own before.”
Phil sits back on his heels and pushes his long fringe out of his eyes. It falls back down immediately and he feels a surge of genuine annoyance. Bloody hair not doing what he wants it to do, the fucking nerve. Maybe he should just cut it all off.
“I hate this,” he mutters. He looks down the room at all the dust left to scrub and is overwhelmed by the scope of work they’ll have to do to get this place liveable.
“It’s fun, I don’t know what you’re on about.” Jimmy’s stood on the other side of their empty lounge, sweeping the floor with the broom they’d splashed out for.
“It’s not. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
Jimmy tuts, bending over to sweep a rather large pile of lint and rubbish into the dust pan. “You’re spoiled Phil. Did your mum never make you clean up after yourself as a child?”
“Oh shut up.” He pushes himself up to go rinse the filth out of his cloth. His legs are stiff and his knees are creaky and he can’t shake the feeling of petulant irritability that this is his life now.
“We can take a break, if you want?” Jimmy calls after him as he makes his way to the kitchen sink.
“And do what?” Phil grumbles. He can hear how petty he sounds but he can’t actually bring himself to stop.
“Tell you what,” Jimmy says, conciliatory though he hasn’t actually done anything wrong. He’s right there next to Phil, emptying the rubbish into the bin. “Let’s say if we finish the lounge I’ll buy you Starbucks or something.”
“Can’t afford it.”
“Fuck’s sake, Phil, who cares? Let’s live a little.”
He sounds cross now and Phil instantly feels guilty.
“This is supposed to like, the time of our lives, Phil. It’s romantic or summit. Starving artists and all that.”
Phil turns around to face Jimmy, leaning back against the sink. “We’re not artists though,” he says softly. He smiles so Jimmy knows he’s just teasing now and trying not to be such a moody buzzkill.
“We could be, though. We can be whatever we want.”
Phil’s heart is full to bursting in this moment, full of unbridled affection for this lovely man stood in front of him. He doesn’t stop to question himself and reaches out, grabbing a handful of Jimmy’s t-shirt and pulling him in close to his body. He wraps his arms tight around him and crushes him into a hug.
Jimmy hugs back just as hard, pushing his face into Phil’s neck.
“Sorry,” Phil whispers.
“S’fine.”
“I’d love to go to Starbucks with you.”
Jimmy chuckles against Phil’s skin. Phil hopes Jimmy doesn’t feel the shiver his warm breath elicits down Phil’s body.
“Can we bugger the cleaning and just go now?” Phil asks.
Jimmy laughs properly then and pulls away. “No, you lazy tyke. This is our home, we need to get it sorted.”
“Fine then you owe me a venti.”
*
Phil is exhausted and smells like sweat as he sips his enormous caramel macchiato. He sighs and lets his tired body melt into the plush armchair he’d managed to snag.
There’d only been one chair unoccupied, so rather boldly Jimmy had squeezed himself into it right alongside Phil. It’s a good job they’re both so slim, but Phil can still feel their hips pressing together. He wonders idly what thoughts are going through Jimmy’s mind right now, if this is a small step toward that thing he’d talked about earlier.
About London being a fresh start and wanting to be himself. About no more hiding.
Jimmy’s drinking a much more sensible drink, something that actually takes like coffee and not just a glorified melted down milkshake.
“Enjoy that,” he says, tapping a finger on Phil’s cup. “That’s a week’s worth of beans, that is.”
Phil just smiles. Something about Jimmy’s thigh rubbing up against his and the shocking crystal blue of his eyes so close to Phil’s stops him feeling anxious about their truly tragic financial situation. Maybe Jimmy was right, maybe it is kind of romantic that they’re flat broke and still living in the biggest most bustling city in all of England.
“Worth it.”
*
On their way out of the shop, Jimmy stops him, pointing to a sign in the window that says full and part time positions available.
“Oi.”
Phil frowns. “You want to work at Starbucks, really?”
“I don’t want to, but we need the money. Maybe we should both apply.”
Phil just continues frowning. He knows Jimmy’s right but baristaing hadn’t really been in even his most harshly realistic imaginings of making a life in London. He’s got a master’s degree for god’s sake and Jimmy is constantly telling anyone who’ll listen about his first class history degree. Phil needs to believe they’re destined for better things than steaming milk and blending frappuccinos.
“Maybe we’ll get hired together,” Jimmy says, smiling. “Could be fun.”
“Just until we find something better, right?” Phil asks. He shudders to think of his parents’ reaction to telling them he’s gotten a job at a bloody coffee shop.
“Course.”
So they turn back round and go inside and up to the counter again. There’s a pretty girl with dark skin and curly hair there to smile a wide smile at them and say, “Back so soon, boys?”
“Um, we saw the sign in the window,” Jimmy says. He’s always the one to speak first between the two of them and Phil is endlessly grateful. “Can we get a couple applications?”
*
“Are you sure you won’t come?”
“Nah. I’m… tired,” Phil lies, wiping his forearm against the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. The windows are open and sunlight streams in, bouncing off the now freshly painted brilliant white of Jimmy’s bedroom wall.
“It’s gonna be fun, Phil. You know these people.”
Phil sighs, but he's sure to keep it quiet enough that Jimmy can’t hear from where he’s stood on the opposite end of the room on tiptoes, rolling the paint all the way up to the line of tape that separates the ceiling from the wall.
Jimmy just doesn’t get it. This is the one thing he just can’t seem to fully wrap his head around, that Phil genuinely doesn’t like spending time in large groups of people. Drunk people it’s likely to be tonight at that, an unofficial reunion of a bunch of friends from York.
Friends is a loose descriptor, Phil thinks, but that’s what Jimmy calls them. He’s better at all this stuff than Phil is— a lot better. He genuinely wants to go, so Phil’s not going to say anything to deter him, but the thought of having to go himself makes his chest tight.
Aspects of uni were fun for Phil. The parties were not. The parties were loud and crowded and the bedrooms were dark and the people were sloshed and the decisions Phil allowed himself to make over and over were devastating.
He doesn’t want to see those people again. He doesn’t want to remember those decisions, to relive those moments in those bedrooms, to risk seeing any faces he’s seen in more intimate situations than he ever should have gotten himself into.
“I know,” Phil says, and he’s given himself away with his tone before he’s even gotten the words out.
Jimmy turns to look at Phil with concern etched in every feature. He’s got a swipe of paint across his cheek and some in his fringe.
“Fuck. I’m sorry Phil. I wasn’t thinking.”
“S’fine,” Phil says. He wishes he wasn’t like this.
“I don’t have to go.”
“No, you should. You’ll have fun.”
Jimmy bites his lip. Phil knows he really wants to go, and now he’s made it weird and he’s made Jimmy feel guilty and he needs to learn how to be a better liar.
“I’ll be just fine,” Phil promises, a little more convincingly this time. “We have internet now, after all.”
Jimmy seems to remain unsure. “I’ll come home early.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Stay out. Have fun. Don’t want you getting sick of me.”
Jimmy turns back to his painting then. “Sure,” he snorts. “That’ll happen.” He says it quietly under his breath, and Phil’s not even sure if he was actually meant to hear it or not.
*
He doesn’t come home early.
Phil tries to tell himself he’s not waiting up, that he wants to be lying alone in Jimmy’s bed trolling the internet mindlessly while the fumes from the wet paint burn in his nostrils.
He uses the time to prepare for his interview next week, reading all he can find about Howard Schultz and Seattle and the whole goddamn history of espresso. If he doesn’t get this job it’s not going to be because he didn’t do his research.
It’s half two when he finally hears Jimmy’s footsteps in the hall. He quickly turns off his phone and snuggles down into the duvet, shutting his eyes and hoping he’ll be able to do a more convincing job of faking sleep than last time.
Jimmy stumbles in a few minutes later and Phil can tell without even opening his eyes to look that he’s drunk.
“You asleep Lester?” His voice is probably not as quiet as he thinks it is.
Phil wills himself not to laugh. Maybe Jimmy’s powers of deduction are not as sharp when he’s pissed.
Then Jimmy’s hand is on Phil’s forehead, rather roughly pushing his fringe up.
“Phil,” he practically shouts. His breath smells vaguely of vodka.
There’s no way Phil can pretend to be asleep now. That would’ve woken the dead.
He cracks one eye open, “What?”
Jimmy knelt down so he’s level with Phil, his face right up close in the darkness. “Are you sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Oh ok, sorry.” He stands up clumsily, looking a little unsure of what he’s supposed to do next.
“Are you coming to bed?” Phil asks.
“Oh. Yeah. Sounds good.” He walks over to Phil’s side of the bed and lifts his leg like he’s going to climb right on top of him.
“James.”
“What?”
“You’re still wearing jeans.”
Jimmy looks down at his own legs. “Right. Guess I should take those off.”
Phil watches, perhaps more intently than he should, as Jimmy takes a few steps back and starts stripping off his clothes. He yanks his jumper up and gets it caught on his head for a while before finally pulling it over and dropping in onto the floor. He pulls of his t-shirt almost as haphazardly before moving on to unbuckle his belt.
It takes him forever to get them off as they’re really very tight, but eventually he manages it stepping on them to pull his ankles out and kicking them off into corner of the mostly empty room.
Phil expects him to go over to the closet and put on some pjs but instead he heads straight for the bed. Again he goes to Phil’s side and climbs up and over him to finally flop down onto the empty space on the mattress.
He turns on his his side to face Phil. “You alright?”
Phil can’t help laughing. “Yeah, course. You? Have a good night, did you?”
“Yeah it was brilliant Phil. Everyone was there.”
Phil nods and tries to smile. He can feel the beginning twinges of jealousy but he’s really trying hard not to give in to that. Jimmy is allowed to have other friends. He has other friends, lots of them. He’s just that kind of person. He makes friends easily and he’s good at keeping them.
He’s just good. And maybe somewhere deep down Phil loves that he’s the one who gets to be Jimmy’s best friend. Maybe sometimes he gets scared he’ll lose that, that Jimmy will one day wake up and realize that Phil’s not that fun or interesting and he could find a flatmate who’s a little more like him.
“Do you remember Chels?”
Phil nods. He remembers. He remembers always being slightly relieved to leave whatever room she happened to be in. Nice girl, just a bit… much. A bit too brash, a bit too ‘speak first, think later’ sort of thing.
“She moved here too!” Jimmy exclaims excitedly.
“Oh yeah?”
“Phil I have to tell you something and you can’t be cross with me, yeah?”
“Ok…” He really doesn’t like the sound of that.
“So she’s seeing some guy who works at some big radio station. I can’t… fuck I can’t remember what it’s called. What’s it called again?”
“I don’t know, Jim.”
“Fuck. I’ll have to text her tomorrow. Wait, fuck, do I have her number? Phil, do I have Chels’ number?”
“Yeah, I think you do. You definitely have her on facebook anyway.”
“Oh, right,” he says relieved. Then he yawns, and seems to have forgotten that he had a story he wanted to tell.
“So what about the radio station?” Phil prompts.
“Oh yeah, she thinks he might be able to get me like, an internship.”
“At a radio station?”
“Mhm.” Jimmy’s eyes are closed now and he seems more than ready to fall asleep.
“Would you… do you even want that?” He doesn’t mean to sound like an ass, but it’s certainly not something he’d imagined Jimmy doing with his history degree.
“Yeah, I think it’d be fun.”
“Well that’s great then. Why would I be cross?”
Jimmy shuffles forward then, snuggling himself up against Phil’s chest. “What?” he mumbles, tucking his head under Phil’s chin and flinging his arm over Phil’s.
Phil smiles. Jimmy is such a happy, messy drunk. “Nothing. Not important. I’m happy for you. I hope you get the job.”
He thinks that’ll be the end of it for tonight. He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted now he’s got Jimmy to keep him warm. It’s late and he’s got everything he needs. Everything he wants. He wraps his arm around Jimmy and pulls him in a little closer.
“Hey Phil?”
“What’s up?”
“I missed you tonight. I was thinking about you like the whole time I was gone.”
Phil’s heart feels like it literally flips over in his chest. “Did you really?”
“Yeah. I had fun but I wished you were there. Or that I was just back here with you.”
“I missed you too,” Phil says softly. Jimmy must be well and truly drunk to be saying stuff like this with no qualifications, which means he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning. “I wasn’t actually asleep when you got in. I was waiting up for you.”
“Really?” Jimmy asks.
Phil nods. “Feels weird when you’re gone.”
Jimmy squeezes his arm tighter around Phil’s body. “We should…” He clears his throat. “Do you think you might wanna… go out sometime?”
Phil snorts. “We can’t even afford proper groceries, don’t think we have enough to go out right now.”
“Oh… yeah. Guess we can’t-- can’t afford… it.” He sounds off, maybe even a little… sad?
“We should sleep,” Phil whispers.
Jimmy lets go of Phil, pulls his head out from under Phil’s chin and rolls over to face away. “Yeah. Night.” He sounds notably less drunk all of a sudden and Phil feels a little shiver run down his arms.
He wants to reach out and pull Jimmy in close again. Even a few centimeters of distance is too much.
“Jim.”
“What?”
“I love you, you do know that, don’t you?”
“Sure, Phil. I know.”
*
Jimmy is hungover in the morning. He sits bolt upright in bed at around half ten, startling Phil awake.
“What?” Phil asks, panicked.
“Gonna be sick,” Jimmy mumbles and then-- he is. All over the duvet.
Phil fights his own gut instinct to be sick himself. He hops out of bed and runs to the kitchen to fetch their one one pot and brings it back to the bedroom. He hands it to Jimmy who clutches it for dear life as Phil leads him to the toilet.
He leaves Jimmy sat on the floor with his head in the bowl and goes to the kitchen to brew a strong cup of tea. He can hear Jimmy retching as he fills up the kettle.
He’s just got the mug in his hand and is turning to bring it to the loo when he hears a croaking noise behind him.
“Bloody fucking hell,” Jimmy groans. “I didn’t think I got that pissed up.”
“Are you going to be sick again?” Phil asks warily, holding the tea out for Jimmy to take.
“Not now anyway,” Jimmy replies, accepting the mug. He’s stood there looking pale and shivering in the middle of their new kitchen. He’s still wearing nothing but his pants, his fringe greasy and falling into his eyes.
“Let’s go get you some clothes then, yeah?” Phil says gently.
Jimmy sits on the bed and sips his tea gingerly as Phil pulls him out some sweatpants and the first hoodie he can find.
“I can smell my own sick,” Jimmy says, face scrunched up in disgust.
“Do you think you can shower?” Phil asks.
Jimmy nods. “Probably.”
“You go get clean and I’ll put the sheets in the wash.” Suddenly he’s so glad they’re paying a little extra rent for the luxury of their own washer and dryer in the flat.
Jimmy takes another sip of tea. “We don’t have detergent.”
“Goddamnit,” Phil curses under his breath.
“It’s not on the sheets I don’t think. I think it only really got on the blanket.”
Phil walks over to Jimmy and takes the mug gently from his hands. “Go have a shower. I’ll figure something out.”
*
Jimmy’s hair tickles Phil’s nose and it smells like coconut. He’s got Jimmy’s head on his chest and his laptop balanced on his thighs. Jimmy’s body is curled up against his side and he’s hugging Phil’s waist. He’s clinging really, and Phil can’t say he’s not enjoying it immensely.
They’re watching Phil’s uni videos, at Jimmy’s request. Just the same videos over and over, each time Jimmy murmuring a new praise for how good they are.
Some of them are good, Phil thinks. Pretty good, anyway. It’s good to watch these every once in a while. It’s good for him to be reminded of what he’s capable of, of what makes him happy. Maybe he’ll get this job at Starbucks and it will pay their bills for a while, but it doesn’t have to be forever.
Nothing is forever.
The thought makes him frown, but he doesn’t have time to wallow. He hears Jimmy snoring lightly on his shoulder and that means he has work to do. He manages to get the computer off his lap and Jimmy’s head laid against the pillow without waking him.
He climbs off the bed slowly and deliberately, wincing every time the box spring creaks. When his feet are planted firmly on the floor, he allows himself a quiet moment to just look.
He seems to be doing a lot of that lately, just watching Jimmy and marvelling at his beauty as he sleeps.
He keeps wondering when it will stop, this tugging at his heart, this twinge he’s never really felt before and has no idea what to do with. He keeps expecting to wake up and stop being bowled over by the sheer love he has for this man.
It hasn’t happened yet. He’s starting to think it never will. Maybe he’s just destined -- or doomed -- to feel this way forever.
But forever isn’t really real, is it? He doesn’t know. All he knows for sure is what he has now, and that’s a person he loves who loves him back, someone he’d die for, someone he’d kill for. Someone he trusts with his life.
Someone who’s been sick all over their only blanket and is sleeping off a wicked hangover on a stripped down mattress.
Phil takes a risk then, leaning down and pressing his lips to Jimmy’s forehead. He stands up and turns away and walks out the bedroom door. Forever may not exist for them, but right now does, and right now they’ve got dirty sheets and Phil’s going to go to the store and use the last money he’s got to buy some laundry detergent.