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Richard wakes up, feels instinctively for a body next to him in the bed, and can’t quite remember where he is for a moment.
Froy isn’t there, but this isn’t his flat in London, and it’s not Atlanta…he turns over under the sheets and sees the framed photos of himself in school, various ages and weights and terrible theatrical costumes…ah yes, he’s in Scotland.
He picks up his phone and squints at the time, 5:30am and no Froy to be seen. The sharp morning light coming in through his bedroom window is already terrible and he realises they didn’t close the darkening blinds before they crawled into bed at his parents’ house — a rookie mistake at this time of year and a sure sign it’s been too long since they visited his homeland.
He grabs his t-shirt from last night from the dresser and heads out to have a look around. Froy has let himself out silently onto the screened in patio and is laying longway on Pat’s favourite lounger, scrolling idly on his phone.
“Ahh fuck, did you get any sleep?” Richard asks, leaning in close to him and reaching to rub at his shoulder comfortingly.
“I did, actually, probably not enough…sunrise at 4am? What are y’all playing at up here in the North?” Froy groans, takes his glasses off and tilts his face up for a morning kiss. Richard leans down and gently kisses his forehead, then his cheek, then his lips, smiling at the soft warmth of sleepy Froy finally back with him.
“S’my fault. We had wine with dinner and I totally forgot about the summer blinds,” Richard says, bleary, brushing Froy’s bangs back and rubbing the short sides of his hair with his hand.
Froy hums happily. “Wine was probably how I fell asleep at all. My body is so confused,” Froy says, leaning into Richard.
“Yeah, we’ll get you on rights today. Do some walking, see some old stuff. Should we try to get another hour in or just have our coffee?” Richard asks, rubbing Froy’s back now that he’s sitting up a little more upright.
Froy grumbles, kisses Richard’s stomach through his t-shirt where his face touches. “Think I’m awake, unfortunately. Coffee sounds great…and Pat said something about scones?”
—
They lounge around until Pat and Dick get up and join them for breakfast tea, then enjoy a leisurely breakfast with all of Richard’s favourites — oatcakes and raspberries, his mom’s homemade veggie sausage, grilled tomatoes from the garden and boiled eggs in the little antique cups he ate them from as a boy, with wholemeal toast and beans on the side.
“She’s put the full Christmas spread on for ye, Froy. We don’t eat like this every mornin’, I promise that,” Dick jokes, clearing away some of the plates for Pat.
“You’re welcome to wake up and cook it, my love!” Pat sings from the sink. Richard rolls his eyes at both of them and kicks Froy under the table.
“Oh let me help,” Froy startles suddenly, stacking a few dishes and picking up empty mugs.
“Ahhhh, dinna fash love, we’ve got this. You two can help with the supper, aye?” Pat says as Dick passes her the last of the cups and saucers.
“We can help by picking up the take-away of your dreams, sure thing Mum,” Richard says, grinning at Froy as they head to their room to plan their lazy sightseeing tour of Glasgow.
“I’ll text ye the name o’ the new Vietnamese place she loves,” Dick hollers after them as Richard picks up his keys, phone, wallet.
Froy smiles at Richard as they pull out some shoes to put on. “Vietnamese sounds amazing, Pat.”
—
“Got a blow job in that alley, right there between that pub and that frozen yoghurt shop,” Richard points casually, narrating with a cigarette between his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Wait, slow down so I can take a picture,” Froy laughs, shaking his head. “This tour is amazing.”
“Be sure to review me on TripAdvisor,” Richard says, rolling his window down a bit more at a roundabout. “And here is a pizza shop where I had a very good date with a gal called Morgaine, and a very bad date with a guy called Stuart,” Richard adds some more local colour as they wind their way up and down the streets of good old Glasgow. He spots a rare empty midday parking stall and slides his SUV into it.
“Bad as in you didn’t get laid or bad as in you got catfished?” Froy asks as they get out to take a bit of a walk around.
“Bad as in were foolin’ ‘round in his car and the coppers come up and knock on the window,” Richard answers with a wolfish grin and a laugh on his exhale of smoke.
“Shut up,” Froy says like he can’t believe it. “My little angelic choirboy image of you, ruined,” Froy giggles and shakes his head sadly.
“Didn’t even mess with us for that, just wanted to check for drugs, see we didn’t match anyone they were lookin’ for in some crime…except.” Richard stops dramatically to put his cigarette out, turns to look at Froy to finish his thought.
Froy lowers his sunglasses, blinks at him. “No.”
“Yeah, he did. They took him in for questioning. Asked me to see to driving his car ‘round his flat. I didn’t even know where he lived!” Richard laughs and points the way up another little side street. “Winds up I drive this bloke’s car home. Park on his street. Knock his door for his flatmates, toss the keys when they answer and get the fuck out of there. Deleted all the dating apps for a year after that, I did.”
“I would too, jesus. That’s rough,” Froy laughs, following him into a small cafe.
“Aye, the rough and tumble life of a theatre major. Let’s get a pint shall we?”
—
They have a nice pint and talk, watch a bit of tennis on telly over the bar, not because they’re particularly invested in the match, but they know Froylan is there so they might as well keep up. Richard frowns at a news ticker crawling along the bottom of the screen at one point.
“Shit. It’s your uh, fourth of July or whatever,” he says, weakly raises his glass to Froy.
Froy lifts his disinterestedly as well. “Happy get me the fuck out of America day, thank you very much,” he says bleakly, takes a sip of his lager.
“Any time, my love. You know what?” Richard says, draining the rest of his Scotch Ale. “Come on. Wanna show you something.”
They leave the pub and walk down a steep hill they know they’ll have to walk back up, but it’s ok. Good for them.
A few blocks through some shopping areas and a couple of old churches Richard knows an odd historical fact or two about, they come to Richard’s old stomping grounds.
“Your school is faaaaancy,” Froy teases him as they walk up the sidewalk to the Royal Conservatoire. Richard ducks his head and takes hold of Froy’s hand as they walk up the front steps.
“It’s not, really…just a fancy name like everything else in Britain. We’re not royal here, we put on bawdy Shakespeare and sleep with each other in truly mind-boggling combinations. That said…” Richard pauses and looks up at the building, memories, good and bad, pulling at his mind. “They gave me an honorary doctorate, you know. Three years ago today. I had the little…robe and stolls and all that,” Richard muses, squeezing Froy’s hand.
Froy nods, squeezes back. “I might have peeked at a photo or two from that day.”
“Mmm, aye,” Richard nods. “It wasn’t…it was weird. I didn’t feel like…like it was real? It felt so…putting on airs or whatever you wanna call it. And I was, uh, with someone else…I mean you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Froy says, swallowing. Richard is so bad at this and Froy actually handles talking about it way better than he ever does. Richard clears his throat.
“Anyway, so eh, he was here. And it felt weird all day, all these, you know, other students really working their arses off, and me here all pomp and toff, come from Los Angeles to get a fake degree, what even is that? And I’ve got him…my boyfriend, with me. A relationship I’m already tryin’ to push past the expiration date. Mum’s being the go-between and keeping it all nice, but it wasn’t the best day.” Richard finishes his thought and looks at Froy, wrinkles his nose up a bit in distaste at sharing so much junk that maybe Froy didn’t need.
Froy steps close to him, puts an arm around him and kisses him quickly on the lips, right there on the stairs. “I’m sorry it’s a painful memory for you. I wish it was better, because you deserved that fake degree,” Froy says, gently, lovingly mocking. Richard loves him. “We can’t change the past. You always tell me that,” Froy says with a shrug, rubs his hand a couple of times on the small of Richard’s back.
Richard tilts his chin up at Froy, looks from him back to the front doors of his school again, and nods. “No,” he says, kissing Froy again. “But I can make a new memory now with you.”
Froy groans, bites a bit at his bottom lip. “You’re so cheesy. I love you. Want me to take a new picture of you here, looking all…horny and happy?”
“Yes! Yes actually, I do. Take one with me, take one with me,” Richard says excitedly, putting their arms around each other and figuring out the best selfie angle on the steps of his school with his boyfriend, who completely and totally gets him. They take a couple of respectable ones for his parents, and a couple of kissing ones for themselves.
“You know they offered me a guest lecture thing. Like I ever want to come an’ teach a seminar or something,” Richard says as they stroll around the wide front portico of the school.
“Oh, Doctor Professor Madden. I like that,” Froy says, his tongue in his cheek. “I’d take your class,” he adds with a smirk.
“Aye? I’ll let you know if there’s any opening for you,” he says with a wink. “So, what else do you want to see in Glasgow? We have all day,” Richard asks, feeling lighter, happier with this person than he ever could’ve imagined being, all those fumbling years ago here, trying to find himself.
Froy grabs his hand again, drops one more kiss to Richard’s jaw, and heads up the street, pulling Richard with him. “You know any more good alleys around here? Let’s make another new memory.”