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“Explain to me again why we’re here,” Dev stands at my elbow, peering around the half empty pub.
“To adopt a cat. Why the bloody hell do you think?”
He gives me an unimpressed look, “We passed at least six other bars. Two of which were gay, so don’t try to sell me that as the reason.” He takes stock of the décor that’s a good twenty years past its prime. “I wouldn’t think you’d set foot in a place like this, Bazzy boo.”
“Don’t start.”
“Bazzy boo… Baz-a-la… Bazz-a-ma-tazz…”
With the last moniker he does a passable soft-shoe that ends with jazz hands in my face.
“For once, could you just not,” I hiss at him, looking around to make sure the reason we’re here hasn’t just witnessed his little performance.
“Certainly! Just as soon as you tell me why you absolutely, positively needed to have a drink at this particular establishment. Bazzington. Bazzerbits. Bazinga…Bah Bah Baz Sheep Have You Any Wool...”
“Alright,” I slap my hand over his mouth because he’s getting progressively louder with every word. “I’ll explain. Just sit down.”
I pointedly ignore the smug look on his face as we take two stools at the corner of the bar.
“About a month ago, Gareth wanted to talk about presenting a paper at that new conference, and he suggested this place. I think he lives around here.”
Dev holds up a hand, “Gareth has been trying to get into your trousers for two solid years. It wasn’t about the conference, darling.”
I roll my eyes at that, “Well, that’s never going to happen, but I do want to present at the conference, so I agreed to meet,” I scan the room, still not finding my quarry, “… and I liked the place.”
Dev looks around again, a sour expression on his face, “Uh huh.”
“It’s quiet! And unpretentious! And…”
“The words you’re looking for are ‘drab’ and ‘musty.’”
I turn to him to contest that uncharitable (if somewhat accurate) description when I see his face change.
Oh no.
I follow Dev’s wide-eyed stare, and yes, there he is, in all his sunny, milk-fed glory. The reason I’d dragged my cousin halfway across town for a drink.
Simon.
He’s just emerged from the kitchen, and is saying something to the other bartender who’d been finishing up with some customers at the far end of the bar while Dev and I settled in. He’s wearing a light blue t-shirt that I know must bring out his eyes (despite a fairly prominent stain), and jeans that haven’t been fashionable in a solid five years, and his hair could use a comb (or my fingers).
And he’s so beautiful he practically glows in the soft lighting of the pub.
It takes some effort to pull my eyes away, and when I do I find Dev grinning like the cat who caught the canary.
“Yes, we’re clearly here for the delightful ‘lack of pretension.’”
I can feel the air quotes around the last words. I choose a new tactic.
“You’re the one who’s constantly telling me I need to get laid.”
I didn’t think he could look more delighted, but somehow he manages it.
“Are we getting you laid tonight?? Is that on the docket? Oh my god, I have to call Niall.” He jumps off the stool, grabbing the phone out of his pocket.
I snatch it from him, “We are not calling Niall. Sit. Down.”
He attempts to steal the phone back but I hold it out of his reach (long arms for the win).
“But he can help! What’s better than one wing man? TWO wing men!” He momentarily ceases struggling to reclaim his phone and looks thoughtful. “Come to think of it, what’s a single wing going to do for you? You need two wings to fly. One wing and you’re just kind of flopping around like a sad, little sparrow amputee.” His face falls and he slumps back onto his stool, looking haunted, “What a sad image.”
I let out an undignified snort. Dev is an idiot, but I do love him.
“If I give you back your phone, do you promise to put it away, and not embarrass me tonight?”
He gives this a worrisome amount of consideration, “I promise to put the phone away, and I promise not to embarrass you on purpose, but I have no control over whether you feel embarrassed by me.”
I hand the phone back to him, “Fair.”
“But back to the fluffy little amputated sparrow…”
“Oh no, Baz, what happened??”
In the heat of our negotiation, neither Dev nor I have noticed Simon approaching us. I look up at him, and he has a sweetly alarmed expression on his face (and I was right about the t-shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes).
I swallow hard.
“Do you have a pet bird? Is he alright?”
I’ve never seen Simon worried before. It’s an adorable look on him, but not something I want to prolong.
“Hello, Simon. There’s no injured bird. Dev is just being… Dev. No sparrows were harmed in the making of this… conversation...” What in fucking hell am I saying?
Dev chooses that moment to mercifully cut me off and offers his hand across the bar, “It’s true, I’m being me. Dev. His friend. Just his friend. Well, and also his cousin. And you’re Simon?”
Simon smiles and shakes his hand, “Yeah, nice to meet you. Relieved to hear the imaginary bird is doing well.”
“Aren’t we all,” I mumble under my breath and manage to give Dev a solid kick under the bar. He stifles a groan.
“The usual, Baz?” Simon asks, turning his smile back on me. I nod. It always takes me a moment to find my feet when Simon is in front of me. The sheer wattage of his sweetness disrupts my circuitry every time without fail.
“You have a usual??” Dev asks, his eyebrows nearly in his hairline.
Simon answers for me, turning his smile on Dev which gives me a moment to breathe. “Oh yeah, Baz is a regular. Comes in most nights – or at least I always see him when I have a shift so I assume he comes in most nights.”
Dev’s eyes dance, “Yes, that seems a reasonable assumption to make, that he comes in all the time, not just when you’re working.”
I aim another kick at his shin, but he must have predicted the attack because he moves his leg and I miss.
“Because otherwise, he’d have to figure out your schedule, and time his visits to your presence, and why in the world would he do that?”
This time my foot lands, and Dev clamps his mouth shut.
Simon’s forehead is creased in an adorably baffled expression, and I realize I need to get things back on track, “Dev will have an Old Fashioned as well, Simon. Thank you.”
His expression clears and he nods, walking away to make our drinks.
I turn on Dev who is surreptitiously rubbing his shin under the bar.
You promised I mouth soundlessly at him.
I’m sorry he mouths back. And then with greater feeling, but still silently HE’S CUTE.
“I know,” I mumble and let my head fall into my hands.
Keeping an eye on Simon’s back at the far end of the bar from us, Dev leans in and murmurs as sotto voce as he’s capable, “So, to recap. You come in with Gareth the nob. You meet Simon the beautiful barkeep. You somehow figure out Simon’s schedule…”
“Trial and error…” I mumble.
“Ever the empiricist,” he says fondly. “And then you haunt this stool and manage to, at the very least, exchange names and develop a usual. Am I missing any important details?”
I sigh wearily. Since the cat’s out of the bag I may as well put his seemingly preternatural skill at pulling to good use. He managed to somehow convince Niall to fall in love with him, after all.
“We… chat. When I come in. There’s never exactly a bustling crowd in here,” I look around the now near empty bar, “and he’s just a friendly person… so he talks to me. I think that’s the gist of it. He’s bored, and I’m here.”
Dev arches an eyebrow. They certainly are getting a workout tonight.
“You think he talks to you just because you’re here,” he gives me a not very subtle once over, “No other reason he might talk to you.”
“Firstly, you’re my cousin and that little up-down was disgusting.”
He snorts, “Trust me, Bazzifer, even if we didn’t share genes, you’re certainly not my type. But we both know you’re irritatingly fit. So what’s the secondly?”
“Secondly, I’ve dropped hints and he hasn’t responded to any of them, so I don’t think he’s interested.”
Dev looks unimpressed, “Hints. You’ve dropped hints.” He says ‘hints’ like it’s a word in a foreign language. “Pray, tell me of these hints.”
I count them off on my fingers quickly, because Simon is finishing our drinks (I like to order cocktails because he takes an inordinately long time to mix them and I like to watch him work).
“One, I made clear that Gareth and I were colleagues, not together. Two, I mentioned that I had to buy new sheets and wasn’t it nice that I lived alone and could choose exactly the color I liked.”
Dev barks out a laugh, which I ignore.
“THREE,” I intone threateningly, “I told him I had to find a date for a wedding this summer, and how I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.”
At this, Dev’s jaw drops, “You’re not looking forward to my wedding? Piss off!”
I slap my palm over his mouth yet again, “I’m looking forward to your wedding, you imbecile. I am not looking forward to either being the sad, bachelor cousin seated with the children; the sad, bachelor cousin seated with the other single sad-sacks; or, god forbid, the sad, bachelor cousin dragging some random guy to a family wedding to avoid the first two fates.”
“Uh, your drinks, gentlemen?”
Dev and I swivel our stools in tandem to find Simon standing with our drinks. He looks amused. As he sets our drinks down, I remove my hand from Dev’s mouth.
Simon gives Dev a cheeky wink, “You just being you again?”
Dev turns pink and looks momentarily flustered.
As it is extremely difficult to fluster my cousin, and he is also head over heels for Niall, this just goes to show how powerful one of Simon’s flirtatious winks can be.
Really, I never had a chance.
As Simon walks away to attend to a small group that has just come in, Dev turns to me, “God, you never had a chance.”
“I know!” I wail. Well, I quietly wail. We’ve already made ourselves look like a pair of lunatics this evening. No need to underline the point.
“But those ‘hints’ of yours are bollocks,” he takes a sip of his drink and makes a pleased sound. It takes Simon a year to make a cocktail, but he always does a good job. He sets the glass back on the bar, “Taking these in reverse order, knowing you, you probably made it sound like the last thing you wanted to do was take a date to the wedding, hence leaving no opening for him to volunteer as tribute.”
I consider that.
God, I hate weddings. And dragging some random date to one is always a disaster. I’d rather just sit with the children.
Alright, he may have a point.
“And the so-called hint about the sheets,” he looks like he’s ready to start laughing again and I give him a warning glare. “It’s like you’re an old timey soldier using flag semaphore.” He waves two imaginary flags in the air, and I pull his arms back down to his sides.
“And finally, anyone would want it made clear that they weren’t with Gareth, so he’s not going to read much into that. And frankly, he doesn’t strike me as someone who reads much into anything so I suggest you stop speaking in code.”
I do take offense at that, but not on my behalf, “He’s actually very intelligent. Ever since he found out I was a professor, he always asks me about what I’m currently teaching. And we’ve had some very engaging conversations about neuroscience.”
“Really,” he looks over at Simon who is beaming at an older woman who is pinching his cheek. Seriously, no one is immune.
“Well,” I concede, “perhaps not neuro, maybe closer to psychology… the intro lecture they make me teach. But still!”
“Fine,” Dev turns back to me and pats my hand, “I’m sorry I implied he was a sexy golden retriever. He’s clearly an intellectual, sexy golden retriever. A golden retriever in specs.”
“First it’s a bird with one wing in a sling, and now it’s a dog wearing glasses. You two are having the most fascinating conversation in the whole bar.”
Dev and I really need to work on our situational awareness, because Simon has once again appeared in front of us, as if from the ether.
“We’re brainstorming ideas for a children’s book,” Dev says smoothly, taking another sip of his drink. The Simon Effect seems to have worn off on him. I wonder idly what it would take for it to release its death grip on me.
“Brilliant! Are they friends, the bird and the dog? Do they have an adventure?”
“They do!” Dev exclaims, “They meet in the…um, animal pub, where all the animals go. And they become friends. And the little bird fancies the dog, but he doesn’t think the dog likes him like that…”
I may actually strangle him. I can see it so clearly in my mind’s eye.
“And the bird keep dropping hints to the dog, but the bird isn’t very good at hints…”
I can practically feel his throat under my hands. Niall would eventually forgive me.
“But then a very handsome and charming otter intervenes and convinces the bird to be honest with the dog about his feelings, and the dog and the bird live happily ever after. And the otter marries a very fit zebra who’s hung like a hor—”
“WE’RE STILL WORKSHOPPING THE IDEA,” I practically scream over Dev.
Simon scratches his cheek, “So it’s like an animal romcom for kids?”
“Yes, exactly,” I cough, “It’s Dev’s idea. I’m just helping with the… psychological underpinnings…”
Simon’s eyes light up, “Oh right, what’s my latest lesson, Prof? Teach me something good.”
I just barely hear Dev mumble, “Oh my god, Niall and I watched this exact porn last night…”
I elbow him as subtly as I can which isn’t very, and he not so subtly elbows me back.
“You two chat, I should go outside and call the old ball-and-chain before he falls asleep watching Frasier reruns. I’ll be back… at some point… keep each other company.” Dev gives us a bright smile as he slides off his stool. I watch his back as he makes for the front door.
He’s definitely not coming back.
My phone pings and I look down at the text.
I’m not coming back. Just be honest with him. And clear.
I sigh, partly in relief and partly in annoyance that he hasn’t given me any actionable guidance about the one thing he’s good at. Well, none that I want to follow.
I look up at Simon. He moves closer as if to tell me a secret. I find myself leaning in as well as if drawn by a magnet.
“No offense, mate, but your cousin’s a bit odd.”
That makes me laugh, “You’re very kind to temper that description with ‘a bit.”
“Well, it’d be rude to say he seems a right nutter,” Simon grins.
“Rude, but accurate,” I smile back at him.
“I do strive for accuracy,” his grin dims for a moment and he pauses, looking oddly vulnerable all of a sudden. “It’s why it takes me a donkey’s to make a drink. I want the proportions to be just so. I’m not just faffin’ about or trying to remember the ingredients…”
“I didn’t think you were!” I assure him.
He looks up at me from under his lashes and my heart stops, “Good. I just… I didn’t want you to think that I couldn’t remember how to make a simple drink, what with you being so smart and all.”
“I think you’re smart, Simon,” I say softly, “Truly.”
His cheeks flush like I’ve just delivered the highest of compliments, and maybe to him, I have. So I begrudgingly decide to take what paltry advice Dev managed to impart and speak plainly.
“I like telling you about what I’m teaching, because you’re a naturally curious person, and you ask excellent questions that show you’re engaging with the ideas. That’s alarmingly rare, Simon.”
His cheeks are now nearly scarlet. I’m somewhat worried he might be having some kind of medical episode.
“I guess I just think you’re interesting,” he shrugs self-consciously. “I don’t know if I’d listen quite so well to any other professor telling me about their lessons.”
That brings me up short.
He likes listening to me?
I’m starting to feel a bit flushed myself, and I do some mental flailing as I try to come up with what to say in response.
“Uh, well, I can tell you about what I taught today. Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Basically it’s a way to visualize what we all need. Um, picture a pyramid.”
Simon’s face has returned to its natural golden hue, and he seems to have regained his footing.
Simon closes his eyes and says, “OK, a pyramid, got it.”
I bite back a smile, “You don’t have to actually close your eyes, Simon.”
He opens one eye and smiles at me – it makes him look like a very sunny pirate. “Where’s the fun in that, Prof?”
He closes his eyes again, and I clear my throat, feeling a bit lightheaded, “…uh….so, yes. It’s a pyramid. And at the bottom you’ve got your physiological needs. The things you need to survive. Food, shelter, heat…”
“Cake.”
“Cake?” I ask.
He cracks open one eye again, “I don’t want to live without cake. I couldn’t live without cake. Besides you said food was on the bottom of Bazlow’s pyramid.”
“Maslow’s not Bazlow’s.”
“Mmmm… I like Bazlow’s better,” he’s being cheeky with me, and I want to roll around in this feeling like it’s a pile of warm towels fresh from the dryer.
“Fine, have it your way, but you could live without cake.”
“That’s sounds like a life not worth living, Bazlow.”
“Oh please don't give me a new nickname. I can barely handle the dozen that Dev cycles through.”
That makes him open both eyes again, “What are they?” He bends down to lean on the bar and looks at me eagerly. It would be so, so easy to just lean in and kiss him. He’s right there, with his big blue eyes, and his gorgeous mouth, and those curls I can practically feel beneath my hand…
“Bazlow…? Earth to Bazlow… Come down from your pyramid…”
I shake myself out of that very inconveniently timed daydream, and clear my throat. My voice comes out a little deeper than normal, “I am very much not telling you that.”
Simon tilts his head, “Fair enough, I already got two for you – Prof and Bazlow – and I’m sure the next time Dev comes in he’ll be willing to trade notes.”
Simon and Dev as a united front. A horrifying thought.
Simon is still talking. “Is it one nickname a month since there’s twelve of ‘em? Like in January you’re Bazzle McTightJeans, and in February you’re Lord Bazzington GrayEyes?”
I can actually feel my eyes pop out of my skull, “Bazzle McTightjeans??”
While my eyes are trying to escape my head, Simon’s have gone very wide. His mouth is moving but he seems to be having trouble making a sound, which is quite unlike him.
“Uh… you just tend to wear your jeans… um, a bit snug? I mean, they look good. Not that I look. I… do you want another drink?”
I look down at my nearly full glass, and then up again, feeling dazed.
“No, I’m fine.”
“OK,” Simon scratches the back of his neck, still looking uncomfortable, “So, this pyramid. It’s in Egypt?”
“What pyramid? Oh, no, it’s an imaginary pyramid.”
Simon nods, “OK, an imaginary pyramid where the bottom is made of food. What’s the rest made of?”
I should not have chosen that moment to take a sip of my now lukewarm drink because I choke a little. Simon quickly hands me a napkin.
“I think we got a bit turned around,” I say trying to get my bearings, “The pyramid is just a way to think about what we need versus what we want, and how one has to satisfy certain basic needs before addressing other non-life sustaining ones. But the model has limitations and there’s been a critical reevaluation of it over the years…” I can feel myself slipping into my lecture voice and make a conscious decision to stop talking.
The lecture seems to have pulled Simon out of whatever state of discomfiture the tight jeans remark had put him in, and he is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. He’s also biting his lower lip, and I want to reach out and release it from his teeth, and then take it between my own. Instead I continue to nurse my drink.
“Where does sex fit in?”
Goddamnit, I haven’t yet managed to get a single sip down without coughing it up.
This time on Simon’s shirt.
Well, this whole night has been a shining success. How does Basilton Grimm Pitch pull lovely men who might, might, actually be keen to go home with him? Why he natters on about imaginary pyramids and spits his beverage on them. Why do you ask?
Simon is blotting at his damp shirt with a napkin, but looks rather pleased with himself.
God, just answer his question, Pitch.
“Well, reproduction would be in the same tier as food and shelter.”
Simon looks amused at this, “I didn’t ask about reproduction, Baz.”
“True, it would take a great leap in science for my sexual activity to result in reproduction.”
Of course I just said that. Of course I did. Perhaps I should spit more of my drink on him.
Simon stifles a laugh.
“Well,” I continue, choosing to just move on, “love and belonging and intimacy are in the middle of the pyramid, just above safety.”
Simon has that same indecipherable expression on his face again and nods slowly. And then it seems he’s decided something, because he squares his shoulders. They’re already rather broad and square, so it’s a very small adjustment.
“So, since I have food in my fridge, and my flat usually has heat, and I got clothes on my back, and I’ve got my personal safety squared away as much as one could, then I’m ready to have that…um… middle layer…the sex layer?”
“Yes,” I swallow, “the sex layer. I’m sure that’s what Maslow called it in his head.”
That makes Simon smile again. But this smile is shy.
“Or the date layer?” he asks.
I let out a rather impressively gusty breath I didn’t know I was holding, “Yes, that’s another good name for it.”
“Bazlow… would you like to maybe join me in my layer?” He stops and furrows his brow, “That just sounded like I’m a super villain asking you to join me in my lair.”
“I mean, either? Both? I’m good with both.”
Simon is grinning at me, and he’s so adorable I want to gouge my eyes out. And Dev was wrong, and isn’t that just the cherry on top of the imaginary pyramid. I didn’t have to be honest or clear, I just had to bat my eyelashes, and cough up half a cocktail, and probably badly mischaracterize a basic psychological theory, but somehow it worked!
“Oh and Baz,” Simon says, leaning in to get close to my ear, “tell Dev thanks for the intel next time you see him. Or I could tell him at the wedding, maybe?”
He pushes a napkin across the bar and smiles at me before walking away as he’s being emphatically hailed by the group who has not managed to get a drink out of him for the last twenty minutes. I look down and see Dev’s chicken scratch handwriting.
Hi Simon,
So, my cousin is VERY into you, and has no earthly idea how to tell you. I don't expect him to figure it out on his own. Do with this information what you will, but since I noticed you looking at him whenever he wasn’t looking at you, I figured it was safe to spill the tea. Hope to see you at my wedding! Do make sure to tell Baz you like his sheets.
xoxo,
Dev