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It had, in all honesty, been a bad idea. Tom would admit so himself within a heartbeat. (He did, actually, as he simultaneously inwardly cringed at the sight of yet another party guest leaning in to kiss Jeff briefly on the mouth. It hadn’t been half an hour since they had started the game and poor Jeff’s lips were already red and his flustered face even redder. Tom was so angry with himself.)
How had it come to all this again?
Oh, right.
“It’s your last week as unmarried man, what do ya wanna do?” Someone had asked the present groom-to-be after the first round of beer. The gathered mass – lots of familiar faces from the music industry and then some – had looked on eagerly, waiting for the man to reply.
“How ‘bout Spin the Bottle? Won’t kiss many more people after you’re married.”
It had been meant as a dumb joke. Really, Tom wasn’t sure what had ridden him to suggest such a childish game in the first place, but, with the party being a mixed crowd of mostly single guys and gals, his joke found quick agreement with the crowd, as well as the groom-to-be.
Ten minutes in and thankfully still unkissed (there was only one person he would have cared to kiss anyway but there was no way he’d dare to try other than, say, in the context of a dumb game such as Spin The Bottle), Tom was, like most of the people sitting in the round on the floor, drinking his second beer and contemplating why, just why, he’d had to suggest the game.
They had, after some protests about not being much into kissing strangers (“We ain’t no strangers, man, we’re all friends here!”) and his beard being too scratchy anyway, right?, also pulled Tom’s friend Jeff into the round, as well as some other doubtful singles. There were also married people sitting in the round, as well as married couples, but that wasn’t Tom’s main focus right then. He was already sorry enough for having started all this.
And then the bottle landed on Jeff the first time, right in the first round, and the groom, who had been allowed to start the game, laughed as he leaned forward and dramatically pressed his lips to Jeff’s. The crowd cheered and the bottle was handed to an embarrassed-looking Jeff. He spun it and it landed on no one other than George Harrison.
“Eh. Sorry, mate.” Jeff shrugged and George waved his hand. “It’s fine. Olivia won’t mind.” He laughed and gave his wife, who sat next to him, an adoring gaze that she returned with a smile and a ‘go on don’t wait on me’ gesture.
Tom wondered what he’d have to give for a relationship like theirs.
It was clear that Jeff felt awkward kissing and being kissed, but this kiss at least wasn’t as bad for him as kissing someone he was less familiar with. George was like a brother he’d known all of his life to him, so there was less awkwardness involved.
No ten minutes later (Tom was certain because he’d looked on the watch after the first time Jeff had been chosen by the bottle) a blonde woman leaned in to peck the brown-haired man on the lips for a second too long for Tom’s liking. Accurately, the kiss was as many seconds too long as it lasted. Jeff gave an awkward chuckle afterward, not any more comfortable with the situations the game kept putting him in as some others were, as well.
Somebody next to him elbowed him lightly: “Can’t have been that bad, eh?”
Jeff shook his head gently. “Ah. Just got my eyes on someone else already, it’s a wee bit weird kissing other people.”
“They here?”
Jeff paused for a second too long trying to consider if he should lie or not for the others who had listened to catch on.
A round of suggestive ooooooohs made Tom question if perchance he had ended up on a party full of teenagers after all. It – or rather Jeff’s confession that had let to the party crowd’s reaction – also shattered his heart on the ground with a heavy, silent crash. How silly was he to assume he’d ever get a chance with his best friend.
He had been infatuated with Jeff ever since a drunk as hell kiss behind a bar over a year ago, but he had figured out the last couple of months that he had genuinely loved him for much longer already. The incident that night had ended with giggly laughter from the both of them and them stumbling toward the taxi stand where they ways split. And when Jeff didn’t say anything the next day in the studio, in Tom’s book, that was probably that. Still. He hadn’t been able to let go of his hope for a follow-up to that evening at some point. And for more than that. He was in too deep, and he didn’t do casual flings. But Jeff had never brought up that night again.
George had been chosen by the bottle yet again, accepting the kiss with an amused chuckle and a raised finger toward Jeff, commenting jokingly “Don’t think you can steal all the kisses here, Jeffrey.” Jeff didn’t seem like he cared much about being kissed by more people than the other participants, but for George’s sake (because that was the effect George had on others and especially his friends) he cracked a small smile nevertheless.
Next up in the party game was, only a few pecks and more passionate smooches later, to Tom’s utter surprise, none other than Bob Dylan. And he looked about as miserable as Tom had been feeling ever since the game had started.
Tom hadn’t even seen Bob all evening, but knowing how good Bob had become at evading other people at parties he didn’t actually want to be at over the years, Tom couldn’t say he was surprised. He just wondered who had managed to trick or force the singer to sit down and join a game of Spin the Bottle of all things.
And now George was looking at Bob worriedly, but not because he minded kissing his close friend. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bob, trying to figure out if he was really okay with being kissed, but Bob just let out a sigh so weary of the world that it felt like it pressed down on the whole room for a moment. “Sure. Okay.”
And then Bob leaned forward, grabbed the back of George’s head as he pulled him in closer and... actually French kissed him.
Tom heard some gasps and some laughs around him and couldn’t help but stare at the sudden emotional outburst from Bob, who had his eyes still fixed on George as if he was searching for something as he kept kissing him and George’s eyelids actually fluttered close for a second.
“Woah,” George announced, after, one second to the other, Bob ended the kiss and immediately sat down on his place again, face all devoid of emotion once more, not allowing any of the snickering comments from the crowd to affect him, at least not superficially.
And then Olivia exchanged a glance with her husband so quickly that Tom only caught it because he had still been looking at George, wondering, and she leaned forward without a word of warning, pulling Bob up from his place and into a sweet, tender kiss that the man certainly hadn’t been expecting any more than any of the other participants.
She looked him in the eyes searchingly for a moment, just as he had done with George, after breaking the kiss and then smiled at him warmly. “Spouses share, you know?” And then she gracefully sat back down next to George and there were glances going on between the three of them, back and forth, that made Tom sure that this topic was going to be talked about later, privately.
He hadn’t seen this coming but then, as it happened with his close friends, he couldn’t say that he was all that baffled.
Someone awkwardly took the bottle after Bob made no motions of spinning it himself, and the game continued.
Jeff was chosen by the bottle two more times, and Tom’s hands started to clench into annoyed fists as he watched on. Thankfully, he thought, none of the kissing and kissed people seemed to cause any emotional reaction other than awkwardness from Jeff. Tom wasn’t sure if he’d been able to handle finding out who Jeff had feelings for.
The game ended at around 11.40pm, most participants either too drunk or too tired to continue by then, many giggling or yawning as they made their way to the kitchen for a late dinner or outside to the next taxi stand.
Tom had, over the course of the evening, sobered up again and was about to search for George to avoid having to talk to anyone else (anyone else included, especially, a certain Jeff Lynne right then), when he saw him with Olivia and Bob, arms linked with the two of them. Bob looked unbelieving but there was a blush on his cheeks that clearly wasn’t caused by alcohol, and George and Olivia kept looking at him and each other giddily and adoringly all the while they made their way out of the house.
So that was that.
Tom turned around to go grab his coat from the wardrobe, as well, not wanting to linger and be an unnecessary burden to their host any longer (and wanting to avoid Jeff), when he crashed into another body.
A soft and warm body, as well as a raised hand. A hand that had been holding a semi-empty beer bottle. A beer bottle of which the content now found itself all spread over Tom’s shirt, soaking the front thoroughly.
“Ah, shit.” Jeff looked at him in shock, his hand that, until seconds ago, had been holding the beer bottle still up in the air.
He got all flustered and told Tom to just wait a moment and rushed off toward the kitchen after having picked up the bottle from the ground. Tom, in the meantime, asked himself why he just hadn’t been able to smoothly leave the party without having to see Jeff again that evening.
He briefly contemplated simply leaving, despite the beer dripping down his front and now starting to stain his pants, as well, but then Jeff was already back, holding out a bunch of paper towels to Tom. He kept some paper towels himself, moving as if to wipe at Tom’s shirt himself for a moment but then deciding against it before crouching down to press them to the wet patch of carpet on the ground instead.
Tom, meanwhile, started to pat at his shirt, but it was no use. His shirt wasn’t going to dry any time soon and it wasn’t worth asking their host for a spare shirt. He’d have to deal with the wet shirt till he got home. So he just sighed, opened his shirt a few buttons, and pushed some dry paper towels into it, hoping it’d prevent the shirt from sticking to his skin at least a little.
He didn’t notice Jeff standing in front of him again until he looked up from buttoning up his shirt. He had his arms crossed nervously in front of his chest and an apologetic expression on his face.
“Sorry, Tom, I didn’t see you coming, and-“
“It’s fine, really. Just gonna go home now and change out of this as quick as I can.”
He nodded, wanting this to be their goodbye for the night and not spend any more time with Jeff. Jeff who was always kind to him, Jeff who cared. And Jeff who offered: “I’ll pay the cab fare for you. ‘s only fair, seeing how I messed up yer shirt.”
Tom took one glance at his face and knew that there was no arguing with him about the matter.
“Alright.”
The taxi stand was quite a distance away from party location and so, they spent the next ten or so minutes walking there mostly in silence.
At one point, Jeff’s hand touched Tom’s, but he put his hands into his pockets, pretending not to see the hurt look on Jeff’s face out of the corner of his eye.
A few hundred meters of walking in silence later, Jeff stopped dead in his tracks, halting Tom with a gentle yet firm grip on his arm, as well.
“Alright, mate, what’s the matter? It’s not just the beer I spilled on yer shirt, is it?”
Tom remained silent. At some point this evening, the anger of seeing Jeff being kissed by so many people (who weren’t him) and kissing so many people (who weren’t him either), on top of the whole beer incident, had piled up and left him all bothered and unhappy.
“It’s all what it is and I don’t feel like talkin’ about it.” He crossed his arms like a rebellious child, trying to stare his friend down.
“Is it, though?” Jeff asked quietly, and then he stepped forward and gently kissed Tom.
“I feel like yer gonna hate me if I got this wrong, but... I saw you lookin’. All evening. Made me all nervous inside because I didn’t want to hope.”
Jeff looked even more vulnerable than he sounded and Tom realized with a start that he hadn’t been wearing his sunglasses since they had left the party, Jeff’s blue eyes clearly visible and his emotions readable like an open book under the yellow light of the street lamps.
“Jesus, Jeff.”
It took an embarrassingly long moment for Tom to collect himself after the puzzle pieces inside his mind finally had fallen into place, but thereafter, he wasted no further second and pulled Jeff closer again and into a desperate kiss that he’d been craving for all year.
A taxi cab pulled by, on the inside carrying a man and a woman who held hands with a second man in their middle, trading smiles with him and each other. The cab quietly passed the two people still standing embraced on the sidewalk, kissing each other with relief and happiness and not a single care in the world.
And when Tom woke up the next morning to the already risen morning sun and found Jeff still sleeping, wearing Tom’s biggest pair of pajamas as though he had done so countless of times before, he had a feeling that all was going to be alright.