Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So, what do we say to the destruction of the Metacat?"

I sigh. "Well, it's a pity she passed away. But: she had a remarkable exit."

You scrutinise me intently. "Yeah, but do you buy Simon saying it was all for show?"

"No. Not really."

The corners of your mouth twitch as if you're about to grin, a mischievous look in your eyes.

"Can I tell you something, Jonathan?"

Go ahead, anything that gets me closer to Malcolms killer is fine with me.

"Since you seemed so enamoured with that cat, I was toying with the idea of buying it for you."

Okay. I wasn't expecting that and honestly, you're embarrassing me. At the same time, I wonder what this gesture is about? If this gesture came from someone else, I would think it was a haughty attempt to show off their full wallet.

But you are already past that point... aren't you?

"Don't worry Jonathan, I realised myself that the gesture might have been a bit exaggerated, but well... for a moment I let myself get carried away."

In my mind's eye I see all the women I left behind: Candace, Beck, Love,... and what I was willing to do for them. How far I went.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean."

And at the same time I see you, I am trying to decipher you, Rhys.

Who are you?

"Relax. I just wanted to do something nice. No ulterior motives."

When you tell someone to relax, it's usually an alarm signal.

But I actually buy that you were just trying to do something nice.

But the question is: why?

Oh, you're getting close.

"On the other hand ... can you blame me for trying to get your attention? You are by far the most interesting person in this room."

You want ... attention? My attention?

Oh.
Okay.

„Figured that out last time already and was hoping to see you again. So, since the Metacat is no longer amongst us: what about dinner? In honor of the Metacat of course.“

„Well, if you look at it that way there are still some other versions of the Metacat, so she’s not really dead. Just some version of her has died.“

You have a slight smile on your face. „That’s a very philosophical approach to this piece of art. Can I still invite you to dinner?“

„Why?“

„Because I like you Jonathan and I’d appreciate your company. I think we have a lot to talk about.“

There it is. This connection I felt last time we met. What is it?

Am I just happy to finally meet someone who senses what I have been through or is there more to it?

I can’t grasp it.

„Okay. Let’s have dinner.“

I look forward to getting to know you better, Rhys.

Chapter Text

First the metacat died and now its creator with it. If it weren't so worrying, it would almost be a template for a romantic novella.

Unfortunately, however, it is difficult for me to enjoy this coincidence at the moment, as I am - once again - haunted by death. Only that the people around me - as many reasons as I might have for killing them - are not dying by my hand, but someone is trying to pin it on me.

And here, once again, the question arises: who are you? And why do you want others to think that I am responsible for the murders?

I like London, I really like it. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I've arrived. London is a city I identify with, old and full of history. I have a job I enjoy and I'm not living off the blood money of a family empire. Damn, for the first time in a long time I feel like I have my life together and now you want to ruin it?

Why?
Is your own life that miserable?
Are you jealous of me?
Believe me, there's no reason to be.

Another thought that comes to me as I enter our illustrious round and Phoebe falls sobbing into my arms:
Are you enjoying yourself?
Who but a complete sadist would enjoy putting a reformed man in such a position?

Not to mention, who would do such a thing to a group of friends?

Okay, you will have your reasons. But why are you blaming me?

Am I triggering you? Am I challenging you? It's not a competition, I would rather not have killed if I had the choice.

Phoebe's still clinging to me like a drowning woman to an anchor.

Bold theory, but I do NOT think you are the killer. Or are you that good an actress, Phoebe?

Rhys...

You're giving me a look.
I feel my heart race and an unknown nervousness rise up inside me that shouldn't be there, given this upsetting occasion.

Joy.

Yes, Rhys, I'm glad to see you. It's as if I too have found a friend among all the strangers, an anchor to hold on to.

You look good, elegantly and sophisticatedly dressed, but not too overdressed either.

Suddenly I become aware of my own appearance. What did Adam say again: flea market vibe?

Maybe I should try to make a little more of myself.

You give me a meaningful look and disappear onto the balcony.

I want to join you and talk to you.

After giving Phoebe a few more words of encouragement, I follow you.

I try to look casual. I don't think it's going to work.

"It's weird. Every time we meet somewhere I feel the need to follow you."

Not my smartest line, I know, but honest. I'm attracted to you in a confused way and I can't put my finger on exactly what kind of attraction it is.

I need reassurance. "Now was that creepy that I said that out loud?"

You smirk but your eyes are looking at me as if you’re trying to figure out what the fuck I’m talking about and honestly: I don’t know myself. Specifically, I don’t know why I am talking like this. At least I don't seem to be scaring you off. Only I don't know if I rather want to amuse you instead.

"It might be strange if I hadn't hoped you would follow me."

You lean against the railing and look out over the city.

"It's crazy. You spend a lifetime thinking about whether you even like a person and then they're dead."

You look at me and apologise. "Not that Simon and I were very close, but I would have liked him to have changed and made wiser choices in his life. Now... it is what it is. But enough about me: why are you here?"

"Well, I ... had heard about the murder and thought it was the right thing to come."

You smile. "It's good to have you here."

„It’s good to be here.“ I shake my head. „Sorry, that sounds inappropriate given the circumstances.“

You lean closer. „You want to know what’s inappropriate? I just thought : what a coincidence: first the Metacat dies and now it’s creator. Now we have to cope with two losses within one week.“

That you share the same thoughts cannot be a coincidence.

Maybe that is our way through this tragedy. Humour. Humour has always brought everyone together and maybe this is how I can signal to my stalker that I don't care if he tries to frame me for murder, because I want to live my life.
I CAN live my life.
And I will.
I am not the person I used to be.
So I should celebrate.
I should be brave.

"Weren't we still going to mourn the death of the meta-cat? You had extended an invitation to dinner. Is it still standing?"

"Of course. What better occasion for a wake? Tonight?“

„Tonight.“

„Okay, Jonathan.“

You scribble down something on a piece of paper. An address.

„I’ll meet you there. Don’t be late.“

You wink at me.

Oh I’ll be on time.
I promise.

——————————————

I sensed that you were somehow different and interesting when I met you for the first time.

And now?

Now I'm on my way to a place I haven't been before, to a look that suits me, but I've been putting a lot of effort into it.

I don't want you to see me only as a flea market professor. Yes, I think the company of others is changing me. I don't think much of them and yet they make me want to be the best I can be. If there's one thing you can't blame them for, it's that they don't know anything about fashion.

So here I am, long black woollen coat, polished shoes, ...

I didn't want to overdo it and decided against gelling my hair. I don't want you to get the impression that I'm laying it on thick or being someone I'm not.

I just want to look good. An optimised Jonathan Moore.
I know you probably don't need this, but maybe I do.

What place are you taking me to, Rhys?

I'm curious.
I'm in Hyde Park - not the worst place for a rendez-vous.

There. There I go again, using vocabulary with you that I would normally only use with women.

God, London is killing me.

Or perhaps the influence of Love's oh-so-tolerant clique was a bit too much.

Or maybe it's just my nerves and my stalker is getting to me more than I thought.

Am I... nervous?

I think so.

Okay, I’m there.

HIDE RESTAURANT.

Do we actually hide?

Is this a metaphor? For hidden depths? Hidden feelings?

The door looks like a stable. And yet this is the only place where you can't see anything of the interior. Huge glass fronts everywhere. It is impersonally personal.

Like you Rhys? Are you also personal without really being?

I'm going in. The interior is appealing, lots of wood - a complement to the rather cool exterior.

The place looks expensive.
Of course, you can afford it.
Nevertheless, it is unobtrusive.
Just like you.

There you sit. At the bar.
Oh, you've dressed up.
You look good.

As you welcome me with open arms, I can't help but get the impression that everyone is staring at us.

Right, Rhys Montrose and a no-name? Who am I anyway?

"Jonathan, you made it."

As you pull me close I feel your warmth through your black shirt, the smell of your aftershave and ... pine? Eucalyptus?

It feels good to be near you.
Comforting.

As you accompany me down the wooden spiral staircase, I can't help but ask myself questions. The way you look at me, this restaurant...

Are you … wooing me?

And if so, why don't I mind?

Don't misunderstand, we live in the 21st century, experimentation is allowed.

It's just... that's not me.
I don't really do that.

A slight feeling of shame creeps up on me. It's not just that I wouldn't mind you courting me, no.
I like it.

Where are you taking us?
Ah, a lounge.
Away from the gaze of others.
I guess the name of the restaurant says it all, huh?

We're alone down here, the atmosphere is ... intimate.

There are books in this room, on the walls. I feel oddly comfortable.

"This is the reading room. It's supposed to be for 6-8 people, but tonight it's ours."

You've remembered I like to read. I like that. This private area exudes a warmth and cosiness I remember from my former New York flat.

"I thought it would be a bit quieter down here. Sit down."

„Are we allowed to just do that? I mean just sitting down here like that?“

You lean towards me after taking a seat opposite me. "As a mayoral candidate, you're allowed to do pretty much anything.“

You laugh up brightly. „No, nonsense. But this is my favourite restaurant, I'm a regular here, so to speak. When I have a meeting or a date here, they know this lounge has to be free. I insist on that."

Hm. Doesn't really fit the popular candidate.

"You're probably thinking to yourself that this doesn't suit me. Well, since I'm in public so much, I welcome a little privacy here and there."

"No, it's fine, I understand. I shouldn't be too quick to judge."

"All people judge, Jonathan, that's fine. I'm interested in your judgement. Besides, if I couldn't handle people judging me, I couldn't be in the public eye, let alone run for mayor. Wine? I had a small selection come to us. I hope you like white wine. Fits with the starter."

You uncork the white wine yourself, although surely a waiter could do that.

"To the meta-cat and her artist."

"To the meta-cat and its artist."

It's good to have a normal evening together after all the tragedies of the last few days. Just two people getting to know each other. United by a common fate.

"I have to ask you something, Jonathan. How the hell did you get into our group? I mean, it's obvious that nothing connects you to them."

Normally I would feel insulted, but not with you. Now the all-too-familiar Rhys Montrose effect kicks in.

I open up.

"Malcolm. He must have had a crush on me and thought I was lonely and needed to socialise."

"Can't blame him. After all, Phoebe's obsessed with you too."

Phoebe's naive too.

"Yeah, I think I'm probably a change of pace for them. Or an amusing pastime. Or something like a fairground attraction."

"Come on, Jonathan. Don't sell yourself short."

Understanding eyes look into mine.

"But I understand. That feeling of somehow not really belonging. Not only do you feel that way yourself, but others make you feel that way too. They almost gawk at you, like a new species. "What do you think he'll do next?"They like you and yet you don't act according to the same codes. That can make you quite lonely."

There it is again, that look. Two souls connected, two vulnerable men searching for support.

"Are you lonely, Jonathan?"

What? Why? Damn.
It's like a cold fist closes around my heart and squeezes mercilessly.

"Well, it's always an adjustment moving to a new city, of course. You leave things behind - people - and build yourself up completely from scratch. It can get a bit lonely sometimes."

You shake your head and look at me appraisingly. "That's not what I meant." Before I know it, you've put your hand on my chest.

"I mean in here."

Okay, what is this?
Rhys, what are you doing to me?
Your hand must feel how fast my heart is beating and no, it's not the wine, which by the way is an excellent reflection of your good taste, as is everything.

I don’t know what to say.
The truth?
That I am fucking lonely at times but that’s okay, because me bonding with someone generally means no good?

Thank God you withdrew your hand.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"No, it's all right, I ...“ I clear my throat and drink a bit of wine to give myself a bit of time to not sound that desperate.
Okay, truth now.

„Yes, of course I feel lonely at heart too. In the end, that's what we are too. Alone.“

Poetic and pathetic all the same.

"I couldn't have put it better myself." You smile, but it is not that smile that wins everybody over.
I don't know that smile yet.

It is thoughtful.

You twirl the stem of your wine glass, your eyes lowered as you continue to speak.

"When my ex left me, I thought it couldn't get any worse and I've never been lonelier. We'd been together since uni, been in the same debating society... the whole path seemed preordained. We were fine. We were the perfect couple, matched to each other down to the last detail. 12 years..."

You sigh and finally look at me again.

"If there's one thing I've learned about loneliness after my breakup, it's this: there's no greater loneliness than the one you feel when you're surrounded by people with whom you can't be who you really are."

I think about myself. About Beck and her friends. About Love and her impulsiveness. About the people surrounding me actually.
You have a point.
I have never really been able to be myself.

„It’s hard, isn’t it? Sometimes you have to adapt, you’ve got no choice. But on the other hand - it’s so fucking boring.“

I have to sigh. This conversation gets to me in more than just one way.

You lean back and laugh sympathetically.
God, your laughter should be bottled. It's engaging, it fills the whole room.
I could drown in it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to be like a funeral. After all we had enough of dramatic twists these past days."

"Don't be, Rhys. It's just ... unusual ... to speak so openly to someone who also shares your thoughts."

And there he is. That moment that books and films always talk about. That moment I've felt a few times before.

I realized you were attractive, Rhys.
Cultivated.
Real.

But right now as you sit opposed to me with that black shirt, your eyes trained on me, cheeks slightly reddened from the wine you’re just irresistible.

I feel embarrassed as I start to talk. "If I get to say something … We were talking about loneliness. I ... am glad that I met you. You make me feel a little less alone."

Are you blushing?

That deep look into my eyes. Penetrating, gentle.

"Thank you, Jonathan."

What the...? Are we flirting?
I'm currently having thoughts I shouldn't be having. Naughty thoughts.

And the way you're looking at me, you might be thinking the same thing.

There it is, that tension. Two people who know that maybe there's something more than just platonic sympathy between them.

I’m curious Rhys: have you ever been with a man?

I feel the urge to just drag you out of this restaurant, pin you to the wall and get to know you on a whole different level.

If I didn’t feel the urge to experiment before, I definitely feel it now.

„Your starters, Sir.“

I don’t know if I want to punch this waiter or to thank him.

I clear my throat and look at the plate with the starter.

"What are we eating here?" I ask with an husky voice.

„Roast Orkney scallop with warm nasturtium buttermilk, Sir. Enjoy your meal.“

At least you also look like you've just been snapped out of your trance.

Your voice trembles slightly as you look sheepishly at the plate in front of you and finally at me.

„What I like about this restaurant is that the meals are all organic. They know were the food comes from. You really should try it.“

You nod towards my plate.

Can you really just switch on and off like this? I can’t.

And now you what - want to watch me eat? Not that I’ve never done that before, but this time I might choke.

„Bon Appetit.“

You watch attentively as I dip the scallop into the sauce of buttermilk, whiskey and watercress and taste it.
Fuck, that’s good.

You start to eat yourself, inhaling quietly as you take the first bite, clearly enjoying it, not leaving me out of sight.

Neither do I.

Suddenly you laugh, you don't take your eyes off me.

"I don't know about you, but I think there's always something sensual about food, don't you think?"

No, please don't. Don't talk about sensuality or anything else that might tempt me to grab you by the collar, pull you over to me and...

„Jonathan?“ You look at me concerned.

Okay, I must have been somewhere else. Did this dialogue just take place? It doesn't look like it.

You look at me friendly, but also a little worried.

"Don't you like it?"

Say something that doesn't give the impression that you've just completely drifted off, Joe.

On the other hand, I can relax. You haven't cornered me, Rhys. I did it myself with my fantasy about you.

Turn that off, Joe, and you can have another lovely evening.

I smile. "It's delicious."

It really is.

You smile delightedly and your eyes sparkle.

"Then I've done everything right. I'm glad we're doing this.“

There it is again, that look.

"As they say, food is always better in company."

Okay, maybe you're not quite as turned on as I am right now, but at least it reassures me to know that everything else before this clam sensuality talk was real. So that means your nervousness is too.

I just nod, smile and drink another sip of wine.
If I continue do drink every time I don’t know what to say then I’d be dead drunk by the end of the evening.

Well, we’re in England, so probably it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe I should ask a question to be in charge for once. I know I am not, but pretending to myself that I am would feel slightly comforting right now.

I realize just right now, that I’m not born for smalltalk. I want to ask you all the deep, meaningful questions, but how can I do that without getting intrusive?

On the other hand you spilled information about you I didn’t even ask for and don’t seem actually bothered by it. So maybe that’s your kind of smalltalk.

But if all this talk about loneliness and your ex is smalltalk then I ask myself: what does your deep talk consist of?

„Jonathan.“

Your hand gently placed on my wrist.

„You seem tense. Relax.“

Just a quick - but nevertheless protecting and reassuring gesture.

„To be honest I just thought about questions to ask you and realized it would be stupid to just ask something to fill the silence.“

„I am an open book. Ask me something.“

"At the risk of being intrusive ... you had talked about being with people you couldn't be yourself with. And that it's boring not being able to be yourself ... what did you mean by that? Who are you, Rhys?"

Hearing the question that has been haunting my mind all this time spoken out loud is strange.

You seem to be studying me, considering what answer to give me. It doesn't seem like you're fighting, like me.

"Keep getting to know me and I'm sure you'll understand what I mean."

Well, thank you. On the other hand, I assume you want to keep meeting me, a thought that pleases me.

"Maybe that wasn't quite the answer you wanted, but to know who I am, you have to get to know me. All-encompassing. I could tell you many things, but it's better I show you. And that can only be done bit by bit. To really see who I am, you need time. Provided you want to spend that much time with me."

There it is again, that amused twinkle in your eyes.

You know I want to.
Just to find out everything about you that I don't already know.

And yes, it's true: it's hard to know your essence.

But if there's one thing I am, it's persistent.

„Sirs, your main course: Steamed turbot with lemon verbena & celery with sauce made from the bones and Roast fillet of Limousin veal with white truffle, baked pumpkin & wet polenta with butter sauce.“

Okay Rhys, now you’re DEFINITELY wooing me.

You smile like you know.

„Like what you see?“

Sure I do. It’s funny though.

„I do. I just always thought to be the type who likes simple food, but this is …“

„Also simple. Except that the cook and owner of this restaurant is a true artist. His main concern was to cherish the food and make something good out of it without each ingredient loosing its essence. Today we live in a society where the people more and more want to know where the food comes from that is served to them. I mean nowadays it’s not too much to ask for and it never should. I prefer to pay more for a piece of meat but it better be good then and from a fair background.“

Love would have loved it here. All her philosophy about food enrolled in this place.

It’s a shame that she was crazy.

„I hope you don’t mind I ordered meat for you. I’m more of a fish person, but the meat is to die for.“

A dominant gesture somehow. At the same time I like it.

„Well if I don’t like it, it’s all on you.“

„I take full responsibility.“

Of course the meat is good. The arrangement is down to earth, just like you. Yet thoughtful and elegant.

„Ever been truffle hunting?“

Do I look like that?

„Don’t laugh but I have actually a license. I’m obsessed with them.“

„Don’t you need a dog to do that?“

„Not necessarily. Although regulations say you need to have one. I’ve been searching them in France, it was a dream come true, spent the whole day in the woods, just nature and me.“

I like the way your eyes light up when you talk about truffle hunting.

You take your phone and show me a picture of one black truffle. „This buddy is small, but it actually costs about 250£. Found it myself, I’ve never been prouder. Here.“

The next picture shows you holding the truffle up, delighted like a small child .

Your apparent obsession with truffles: kind of quirky, but likeable. It suits you.

„How do you get a truffle license?“

„Oh don’t get me started on that, otherwise I’ll talk about it for ours. I got mine in Germany, don’t know if you actually needed one in France but I did mine there. In Germany you can actually also find truffles, but you need a license in order to have all the knowledge on where to look, at which time and also at the same time to respect nature. Well, you know the Germans: all rules and regulations. No, but it was fun, I enjoyed it.“ You scoot closer to me, totally into your topic. "You have to take an aptitude test and if you don't pass it, then you have to wait 12 months before you can retake it. The examiners are strict."

You better not be so close to me. I smell you and the more you talk about what makes you tick, the more attractive I find you. God have mercy on me.

"Something tells me you passed the exam the first time."

There it is again, your slightly childlike joy on your face. "Yes, I did."

You look at me with determination: "You know what? You should come with me."

"To look for truffles?"

I know my way around the forest.

"Well, you need patience and perseverance and I think you're just the man for the job."

Why, thank you.

"Well, I know a bit about nature."

Yes, especially how to make bodies disappear. It would be nice to make some new memories.

"There's nothing better than being out in nature. Well, if I can't make it to the woods, at least I can make it to Hyde Park. Walk after dinner?"

You want the evening to go on.

"Sure."

„Your dessert, Sirs. Liquorice, blackcurrant & burnt meringue ice lolly.“

Shit. Does this even fit in?

"The waiters are very eager here." You smirk knowingly. "So I thought one portion for both of us would be enough."

Okay, NOW it really is a date and I don't believe in coincidences anymore. Is it too much to ask if I’d like to know how you want this date to end?

No. No date. Just … dinner.

"I know with liquorice there's no neutrality, you either like it or you don't, but I thought I'd take a chance."

"I think that’s good. I like to try new things."

I don't really, but somehow it feels different with you. I want to know what you like and I'm glad you're sharing.

The liquorice in combination with the ice cream and the currants is exciting. Sweet meets sour meets cold.

"It's good, isn't it? An exciting dessert."

I nod. "It really is."

The way you look at me with a curious calm ... You like watching me eat and I enjoy being given so much attention.

Yes, Rhys, you are attentive, but at the same time you let me learn new things without breaking down closed doors.

I understand that people love you, just as I can understand why women fall in love with you.

The meal is over and basically one question remains: what exactly is this? Is it wrong that I want to know? I don't want to be pushy and misinterpret any signals. That happened to me too often and look where that got me.

You seem to think the same. "Well, Jonathan. We could order more food or we both acknowledge that our dinner is over."

"What? Already? I was expecting at least six courses. You disappoint me Rhys."

"Too bad. But you can't play all your trump cards in one evening."

A warmth spreads inside my body as I look at you. „I really enjoyed this. Thank you.“

And I mean it.
It was perfect.

„It was all my pleasure.“

Awkward, that silence.

You raise your eyebrows. „Hyde Park?“

„Hyde Park.“

The night is already cool as we leave the restaurant, walking in amicable silence to Hyde Park.

Should one of us say something now?

On the other hand, it is nice to be able to be silent.

You seem to be in thoughts.

Maybe Natalie was right. The best thing about a freshly encounter is the tension. When everything is possible.

You could be a friend, Rhys.
You probably already are. But I'm curious about you.
I'd like to be closer to you.

„Okay, now, without wanting to get cheesy, but we’re in the rosegarden. It’s pretty romantic.“

You say the word romantic in such an exaggerated way as if it has nothing to do with you. But I think it is just your way to mask that you - indeed - take this very seriously.

„What’s wrong with a bit of romance?“

„Nothing.“ You look at me knowingly. „Absolutely nothing. But … you know how that is … wooing someone … not knowing if they will reciprocate …“

I definitely know how that is.

„See, Jonathan, this is the fountain of Diana. I think it’s one of my favorite fountains.“

Ha. Good distraction.

Diana, the goddess of hunting. What does that say about you?

You suddenly laugh and look at me, the night surrounding us.

„Okay, this manoeuvre was not the most skilful, I admit it. But maybe it helps to say that indeed that’s one of my favorite fountains.“

„So you admit it was a manoeuvre, of some sorts.“

Suddenly you look at me seriously.

The big bad wolf.
And I don't mind him snapping.

I'm more like the prey that humbly sticks out its neck to him.

"Well, I'm like the goddess Diana.
I enjoy the hunt."

Chapter Text

In the course of my imprisonment at Moony's, I read and also learned to love many books.

The fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm were part of this collection. Whereby one can say that these fairy tales are almost more like parables, which are always meant to teach the readers a lesson.

For example, Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf.

A classic.

Actually questionable why fairy tales would often be read aloud to fall asleep, it's not like these are particularly exhilarating. But what do I know about the sleeping habits of German children anyway?

Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. Some say it is supposed to warn young girls not to trust strange men.

Very sensible, actually.

And yet impractical, since everyone knows that many women in this world nevertheless fall for the wrong men over and over again. I have witnessed it with my own eyes and wanted to protect them at all costs.

And now I stand opposite you Rhys.

And I wonder if you are one of those men.

I've had to learn to be realistic in my life. If something or someone is too good to be true, then it probably is.

I have trouble living in the here and now, instead my brain becomes entrenched in potential scenarios that unfortunately do happen, so my fear is well founded.

"Jonathan?"

I shake off my thoughts jerkily.

"Huh?"

Okay. Park. You and me. It's cold, but not too cold.

You look at me inquiringly. "You didn't seem like you were doing very well just now and ... to be honest, I feel the need to apologise to you. Sincerely."

I beg your pardon?

"I think something about this situation just triggered you. I didn't mean to be that trigger."

You look down at the ground and smirk slightly, your hands in your coat pockets. "Well, although I have to admit that I haven't triggered that reaction in anyone yet." You look at me curiously. "What was it with you? The well? The garden? Or did it start at dinner?"

That's the problem with having had the same past: you recognise the other as he is.

Yeah, Rhys, you're triggering me. You're playing with me. You -

"What was that tonight, could you please explain?!" Okay, I'm sweating profusely and it wasn't planned for my voice to sound so reproachful and so tired at the same time.

At least the question that's been haunting my head all evening has broken through out loud. I feel a little better.

"Sorry Rhys, I ... I don't think I'm feeling very well."

"Okay. I'll take you home."

No one says a word during our drive to my place. Getting a taxi together with you is not difficult. Who wouldn't want to drive Rhys Montrose around and talk to him about the upcoming election? The cabbie's obviously a fan of yours. And you? Answer most of his innocuous questions and gracefully shoot down the ones that offend you.

I imagine you're different with me than you are with the others.

You give me a friendly, but also slightly ... pitying look now and then? I find it difficult to distinguish between compassion and pity. I prefer to think that you feel the second for me.

What else did I expect?

At least the taxi is now parked, which means we can now politely get out of each other's way. Part of me doesn't want that and has enjoyed the evening very much. The other part wonders if it wouldn't be better to really find a therapist.

Oh. You're getting out.

"Thank you very much!" you say and give the taxi driver a generous tip. Because that's you. Generous, kind, and everyone gets a piece of you.

Now your eyes are on me and the big bad wolf has disappeared.

"I... don't think we should let what happened earlier define the evening. I can tell you're embarrassed and you shouldn't be, Jonathan. That you - no, that WE - sat together in that restaurant tonight is something that should make us proud. We have survived our trauma as kids and now cherished this incredible meal together. What’s not to enjoy?“

Fuck. There it is again. That feeling from earlier at dinner. The closeness. You're a master of words Rhys, but your words resonate with me. Okay, maybe that's not a big deal to you, but it is to me. I feel like I've been unable to feel anything my whole life. And then you came along.

"I... I don't know what to say, Rhys. I didn't mean to be so dramatic earlier. I'm sorry if that came across as wacky."

"Oh you know, Brits love drama and maybe I was laying it on a bit thick. The garden does crazy things to you."

I think the garden is the least of my problems here.

"Shall we call it a night?"

I nod. "Yes, I think that would be sensible."

"So..."

You come closer.

The kiss on my cheek is gentle, I smell the scent of eucalyptus and pine stronger than before. As you pull away, you look at me questioningly, maybe even a little unsure.

"I hope that was ok. I didn't want any questions left unanswered at the end of the evening. Good night, Jonathan."

This is the moment when I should react. Instead, my voice trails off, so that I have to clear my throat before a miserable croak emerges.

"Good night, Rhys."

What, that's all you have to say Joe?

How poetic of you.

To be fair, I'm not used to male advances.

Okay, there was Kerry, but Kerry was... was he even really bisexual or was that just for show?

I guess the biggest difference between Kerry and you is Kerry repulsed me, but you ...

With you I feel a connection and a desire to be close to you. How close, I don't know yet.

But that just felt familiar.

When I arrive at my flat, I am annoyed. I must have looked like a deer standing stock-still in front of a car driving towards it.

I hope you don't think I rejected your advances when you kissed me and I didn't respond.

Maybe I should make something clear.

Luckily, I have your number.

"So it was a date?"

Not exactly the wittiest sentence, but I want to make sure we're speaking the same language - whatever that ends up being.

Okay, maybe you were waiting for a sign from me, because not a minute later my phone is flashing.

"Don't think too much Jonathan."

I wait.

And wait.

And ... wait ... are you serious, Rhys?

I'm trying to think what to say to that.

Your message doesn't seem to anticipate anything coming back. It doesn't even seem to condone it.

But how much can I trust you at this point to let that pass? Especially after what you did?

Okay, Joe, calm down.
Just.
One.
Kiss.

On the cheek.

The French also kiss each other on the cheek without wanting to fuck each other senseless.

Damn!

Why do my thoughts turn in THIS direction?!

Am I that starved? Or on the contrary, so depraved? Insatiable?

Am I the big bad wolf?

You confuse me Rhys. Don't leave me alone with my thoughts for too long.

I don't know where they're taking me.

——————————

Another morning and I truly feel like throwing up.

Why?

Well, I barely slept because of you and instead spent the night googling age homosexuality (damn, I'm 34!).

And I fell back into old patterns. Ok, gotcha.

Yeah, I walked past your house. 3-4 times that night. I think that's still reasonable.

I'm disappointed, though. I walked by your house only to find there was nothing to see. No light was on.

Interestingly, though, the curtains weren't drawn either. So you weren't sleeping. You were obviously not in your flat at all.

And that raises the question: was our date so boring, so devoid of content, that you still had to find diversion elsewhere?

You don't really seem like someone who says one thing and does another. But you are also a politician.
That means you know how to play this game.

I know your routine a little bit, Rhys. What would a famous person like you be doing at three in the morning? You're usually in bed by 10 o'clock because you're a busy man, you've got a lot of appointments. Where would you find the time to meet someone else in the middle of the night?

On the other hand, we live in a throwaway society. Maybe you enjoyed the evening with me, now you're enjoying it with someone else.

Fucking Tinder.

But I didn't find you on Tinder that night, just one of my students.

But I can't find you on the other dating platforms either. That would probably be too trivial. No celebrity can open a Tinder or any other online dating account without being mistaken for a fake profile. Unless you sign up under a pseudonym.

Then I've strayed back to bisexuality. I've searched a few forums.

Bisexual men seem to go down well with women. Maybe a little TOO well...

Others wonder if it's fair to marry a woman as a bisexual man.

Nobody asks me, but why not?

Apparently this topic is not only so confusing for me.

And yes, according to the users, it seems to make a difference if you as a man just want sex with another man or if you feel emotionally close to him and it goes beyond sex.

What is certain is that the general public does not believe that there is such a thing as "bisexual overnight" and that it is genetically ingrained in you.

This point makes me want to go on field research in my life so far.

Had I ever been interested in men?

Most men were scary to me. Even as a child I didn't like men.

The people who were supposed to be protectors for my mother and me were not.

They were bullies, at best they wanted to possess my mother.
They were not interested in me.
And my mother obviously didn't care that they weren't interested in me.

She tried too hard to cling to her vision of a home sweet home, which - if we are all honest - rarely exists.

I tried to play out the scenario of "Our Perfect Little Family" with Love and we all know how that turned out.

Sometimes, instead of clinging to a fantasy, you should accept reality.

Like I did.

What was it like for me as a teenager?
What's it like now?

Of course I can appreciate a man's good looks, but I've always been more interested in what's on someone's mind. I like smart people.

And you, Rhys, are smart.

Unadulterated, even if I'm sure I haven't seen everything of you.

However, men have never held any particular fascination for me. I've never felt the need to be close to them or to experiment with them.

The thought makes me cringe.

But what happened earlier didn’t. It didn’t feel unnatural. It didn’t feel forced. And certainly not disgusting.

I felt flattered.
Desired.

Is this how women feel when they are courted?

I felt ... special.

And now I'm unrested and feel like I've been through a meat grinder. Rest in Peace Jasper.

Luckily I had already planned my seminar lesson for today so that this lesson went as smoothly as it can without enough sleep.

Nadia once again made some excellent contributions and thus made the lesson relatively entertaining.

"And Professor Moore? Had a long night?"

"Why, do I look like it?"

"You look like someone who pulled an all-nighter."

I did.

"Well, I like to read. It can get late sometimes."

"Do you really read or do you date more?"

Oh.
Fuck.

"I've seen you."

Finally, she shrugs.

"Don't look so horrified, you're not the first person I've found on Tinder. Maybe the first professor, but what do I care?"

„I’m really glad that my students are so tolerant“, I comment not without a little irony in my voice.

I really need to sleep.

And I need to delete that Tinder profile from yesterday.

Chapter Text

I feel terrible.
Yes, truly miserable and terrible.

Is there a reason for that?

Apart from my shitty night? - There is.

You didn't write.
I've been staring at this fucking phone for hours waiting for you to get back to me. You haven't.

Maybe you won't.
Maybe you've decided I don't fit into your world.

But then why the kiss? What was that about? What was it for? To mislead me?

When I fell asleep in my armchair at home, I dreamt the wildest things, including about you.

I dreamt about all of them. Beck, Love, Candace, Marienne... All of them. And all of them that I somehow dragged down with me.
Delilah.
Natalie.
Theo.

Even if my insane wife hadn't killed him then, his life will never be the same again.

I dreamt I held your hand, Rhys. You told me not to be afraid, we'd walk through the dark together. That I was a good man who did the wrong things for the right reasons. Just like you.

But then you left and I was alone. Instead I was surrounded by wolves. The wolves wanted to eat me, they wanted to tear me apart, suddenly a whistle - the wolves retreated. And suddenly there you were. The wolves listened to you.

Because you are one too? Basically worse than all the others? More dangerous?
The fact is, you had them under control.

All I know is that after that dream, I woke up in a cold sweat and I took tranquillisers.

Judge me all you want. Life as a reformed man and lecturer is hard and you have to get something out of meeting rich idiots. In this case: psychotropic drugs as far as the eye can see. Without the actual receipt of course.

However, it can't help but make me feel pathetic and wonder if you, Rhys, are my just punishment.

And if I have ever felt so miserable.

Okay, okay, I'm sounding a little melodramatic, because the list of more miserable moments than this one banishes you from the top 10, anyway. You probably won't make the top 15, either. But you will - if I don't panic - get a notable mention in my memoirs. Every professor writes a memoir sometime, so maybe I'll be next.

I don't want to come across as NEEDY.
I wanted to go to England to deal with books. If Nadia hadn't put your book in my hands, I probably would have gone on with my ignorant , if somewhat boring , life. A never-ending whirlpool of lectures, books, food, sleep and the same thing the next day. I was ready for it.

Instead, here you are.

Not to mention the fucking asshole who's trying to frame me for Malcolm and Simon's murder.

Okay, the pills are working.
Good.
I feel calmer.
It's not your fault you came into my life. Although I'm very flattered to know the author of such a seminal biography.
I wanted to focus on books and teaching.
I guess I'm not so bad at that. So that's what I should continue to do.
Without distractions.
Without ... you.

When I wake up 3 hours later, I realise it's a stupid plan to cancel you.

All my worst stories started like this. I'm not good at abstinence. When I met Love, I didn't even want to talk to her at first. And what happened? She approached me. Even though I think back fondly on that first encounter, it was the beginning of much chaos and destruction. And piles of bodies to bury and to get rid off.

And my son in the middle of it.
I hope he is well.
The only good thing about the whole debacle was that in Dante and Lansing he found two people who could really offer him what money can't buy : a functioning, HEALTHY family.

If only we were all so lucky.

The ghost that kept watching.
The siblings were waiting.
I could never understand.
Love is fake. I'll kill I swear.

Here I am listening to Violent Soho like a lovesick teenager. It’s no moonjuice but it fits well with the pills. It’s official, that I’ve lost it.

Truth be told I think I’d lost it already a few years ago.

My diagnosis?

T Fucking G.

Too Far Gone.

People don’t like to hurt -

Don’t they? Really?
I try not to be too sarcastic about that.

Okay, new low. Now I’m interacting with my CD Player.

Truth be told: I can’t take my distance off off you. At least not in the drastic way I intended to. It would just make a mess out of me and things so much worse …

Idiots in my mind.
Idiots talk at night.

Sometimes I tend to think that the only true idiot in my mind is me. But that’s just the impact of feelings, isn’t it?

I know it will be okay, I know it will be okay.

I’ve never been more happier to have my phone disrupting this pitiful scenario.

Phoebe.

Of course it’s not you.

„Phoebe, hi.“

„Jonathan!“

You don’t sound sad anymore.

Yeah, my bad. I forgot that the average grieving time in your circles is about 10 minutes.

"What is it Phoebe?"

"I was hoping you'd ask!"

I can't just hang up so that’s why.

"It's Rhys, Jonathan! He's going to give a talk at your university, I'll come of course!"

Fuck. My. Life.

"Your students will be thrilled, I mean : Rhys Montrose!"

As Phoebe's torrent of words come crashing down on me, I can't help but wonder what I've done to deserve this and what fate is trying to tell me.

"I can already imagine, Jonathan, it's supposed to be a fancy event, but not too over the top either. I mean you know Rhys, it wouldn't suit him ..."

No, it wouldn't.

"But what a coincidence it is that he chose your university of all places!"

Wait, you've... chosen this university?

That's interesting.

"I think Rhys and you are a really good match. You're a perfect match!"

I'm sorry?

"I'm just so glad, Jonathan, that you've managed to find a friend! That makes me so happy."

Wait, are you crying?

"I'm sorry Jonathan, but after all the tragedies of the last few days, I'm so glad you came into our lives!"

YOU are.
The asshole who wants to ruin me doesn't.