Chapter Text
Fresh off a win sixty years in the making and three hours after the fact, the Greyhounds glow as bright as the buzzing neon signs that flash at every street corner. They’re rowdy. They’re tipsy. They’re louder than the stares they're receiving from every Everton fan they pass by. The ticking hand on Colin’s wristwatch makes its rounds and hits 12 AM, but his high won’t be wearing off anytime soon. Ms. Welton and others called it quits after Karaoke, leaving them with her statuesque friend whose name Colin has lost in all the shouting, hollering, screaming, and cheering. Shirley? Sally? Sarah?
“Sassy,” she replies when Thierry is brave enough for all of them to ask. “I hope you boys don’t mind me tagging along. I haven’t got much time to myself, so I thought I might as well take advantage of the night and spend it with someone who’s looking to do the same.” She winks and the boys hoot and whistle; some eye her up and down, perhaps hoping to be that someone for her. Getting laid would certainly be the icing on top of a sweet, sweet victory.
A heavy arm slinks around Colin’s shoulder and he doesn’t need to look to know it’s Isaac, smirking from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat. His other arm rests around Nate the kitman, who might just be better off a coach if today’s win is any indication.
“Oi, how’s that sound? You looking for some company tonight?” Isaac wiggles his brows at Colin.
Colin glances over to Sassy who walks ahead of them. “Don’t think she’s my type, boyo.”
“Aw, c’mon, bruv!” Isaac groans, throwing his head back. “I’ve been trying to figure out your type for ages! You’re impossible to wingman for, honestly.”
“What can I say? I’ve got high standards,” Colin says.
“What did you like about Judy then?” Isaac asks.
“Judi Dench?” Colin looks off, contemplating. “I don’t know. She’s got a nice voice, I suppose. Beautiful, even. I’m not big on Cats, though–”
“No, not Dench. I’m talking about your ex,” Isaac clarifies. “The brunette with the pierced nose and eyes that look like she had just seen a ghost.”
Colin pretends to think before snapping his fingers. “Right, yeah, Judy! She was cute.”
Isaac’s grin widens. “Cute, ay? What else?”
“And kind,” Colin provides.
“And?”
“And smart.”
“Annnd?” And nothing. It was a three-month relationship that ended with them breaking up through voice-to-text on iMessage.
It’s a pity, really. Not the breakup; Colin just hates making his friends upset. Isaac wants something deeper, something that will finally secure a win in his ongoing game of ‘Find the Future Mrs. Hughes’. A game Colin knows is impossible but can’t quite admit that out loud, so he thinks and thinks and thinks and gets distracted by his rumbling stomach in desperate need of anything that isn’t complementary unsalted peanuts. Hopefully, they serve actual food where they’re heading next because a burger with a side of chips sounds like an absolute treat right now. Maybe he’ll even get himself dessert? Colin hasn’t allowed himself sweets in months– he deserves it after this win. There must be an ice cream parlour around here somewhere, right? Then again, what ice cream parlour would be opened at this time of night? Maybe a slice of cake is more plausible, or biscuits, or candy, or— oh fuck him to hell and back, he has lost the plot entirely, hasn’t he?
Colin sneaks a glance over to Isaac and, Christ, Isaac is really anticipating an answer now. Like, a really well-thought-out answer that will bring him to tears.
“...She smelled nice, too,” answers Colin. “Like fresh flowers on a rainy day. Ya know, on account of her working at a funeral home and all.”
Issac frowns. “Is that all? You want a lady who is cute, kind, smart and smells like dead people flowers?”
Colin sucks his teeth and pats Isaac on his chest. “That’s a hard find, isn’t it? I don’t blame you for giving up. Nate, what’s your type?”
The sudden redirect startles the kit man. His eyes dart around, as if to make sure there aren’t any other Nates around. “Oh. Me? My type? I, uh, I don’t think— I’m not exactly— I– I’ve never thought about it, really—“
“Booooys, I think I know where we’re heading!” Sassy’s sing-song voice cuts through the chatter and everyone’s attention is on what’s up ahead. Vibrant green and blue lights beckon them to approach like moths to a porch lantern. The sight of the nightclub seems to distract Isaac and thank God for that. The more attempts to find ‘the one’, the more confirmation it is that Colin is going to end up alone forever, all sad and mopey and shit. Sam always talks about this spark. A spark you feel when you’re with someone you really fancy, and it’s so addictive that you just need to feel it again and again, but the only way to do that is to be with the person who ignites it.
Colin has felt this spark with the wrong people.
There was Travis Erwood, a childhood friend of his. When he turned ten, Travis asked Lisa McDonald to be his girlfriend, which only made Colin want a girlfriend for himself. But then Travis broke up with her a few weeks later and Colin no longer pursued love of his own because having his best friend's full attention back was a lot more fun.
Then there was Joshua Williams who Colin knew from after-school football practice. He was a bit of an awkward fella who Colin and his friend teased and poked any chance they got. Yet, Josh was always so kind to his teammates and while his friends threw out the friendship bracelets Josh gave them, Colin secretly kept his.
Later, when Colin reached secondary school, he got acquainted with Sonjay Kohli, his tutor, who was three years older and ever girls Prince Charming. Along with maths, Colin studied the soothing way Sonjay spoke, his lavender-scented detergent, and his dark brown eyes that he would get lost in when Sonjay was explaining trigonometry. He was just someone he looked up to, Colin convinced himself, and the fluttering in his stomach meant nothing.
Yes, these boys had ignited a spark in Colin, but there lies the problem. They were boys.
A boy, just like the others, dances on the opposite side of the nightclub. He’s completely lost in the bass-boosted music that vibrates the floor beneath him, and his curly raven locks bounce with every movement. Colin should really stop staring, but hypnotizing are those bold pair of hazel eyes piercing through the crowd of tipsy dancers. There’s also a small patch of chest hair peeking out of the boy’s undone buttons that Colin just notices and… oh, ohohohoHOHOHO—
No. Nope. This is nothing. This is just envy. How dare God bestow the ability to grow chest hair on an already super hot guy?! Colin wants to feel it. Wants to run his fingers through it. Wants to drag his tongue against it and taste the sweat and—
SMACK! Coach Morris slaps him upside the head. It stings, making it certain that a mark is left. Though Colin hasn’t seen the man since primary school, Coach Morris’ stoic face remains fresh as he camps in the back of Colin’s mind, forbidding his imagination from further encroaching on forbidden territory. Colin copies his eight-year-old self and follows directions. He forces his line of vision back up, away from the source of his prohibited thoughts, only to find those hazel eyes stare directly at him.
Colin's face grows hot like a bad sunburn. The music speeds up the same time his pulse quickens. He’s about to get knocked out. That’s the only explanation for Hazel Eyes staring at him. It’d be rather annoying if the doctor ordered him to abstain from alcohol all because he got head-butted at a nightclub again, but the sacrifice is almost preferred over the unfamiliar glint in those hazel eyes that approach. They’re fueled with something completely different than rage like it had been with Roy, but perhaps just as passionate. It's lust.
Despite Coach Morris’ frantic orders getting louder and louder, Colin approaches Hazel Eyes like a magnet to metal.
Maybe he really is hypnotised? It’s the only explanation for why the club had suddenly gone quiet, why the blue flashing lights stilled like calm lake waters, and why everyone around him had gone in slow motion except for the outstretched hand beckoning Colin to come closer. For once, in a crowd of many, the only eyes he cares about are the ones that see right through him.
“Bruv–” is apparently the magic word to shatter the spell. Isaac swoops in front of him and says, “there’s a nice lady who wants to meet you. Cute, kind, smart, AND smells like rose petals. Total package, innit?”
Then comes the abrupt return of loudspeakers blowing out Colin’s ears, flashing lights that blind him, and sweaty dancers who throw their hands in the air as the beat drops.
Isaac pulls Colin further away from Hazel Eyes and towards the VIP section. Behind velvet rope, Dani and Richard lean back on leather sofas, basking in the lipstick stain kisses painted on their skin courtesy of the striking young women around their arms. One of Dani’s dates, a pretty blonde with sun-kissed skin, caresses Dani's abs which are on full display; a fashion choice generated by how he somehow lost his tropical shirt at Karaoke. Then there's Richard, the human embodiment of the red rose given on Valentine's Day. Whatever he’s whispering in his date’s ear has her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. Colin looks to himself in the mirror hung along the walls of the VIP section, making sure his shoulders are rolled back and his chest is puffed out.
A brunette lounges by herself on a separate sofa, twirling her silky hair around her fingers. Isaac guides Colin to sit beside her. Her shiny red lips curve into a smile as Isaac introduces, “Colin, the cutest guy on the team… right behind me, of course.”
“Woah, wait, are you hitting on me, boyo? Get back in line,” Colin jokes, queuing Isaac’s face to crumble and the brunette to giggle under her hand.
Colin notices that her nails are done all fancy with miniature details that seem impossible if not without the help of a very, very tiny person. Owen Wilson’s character from The Night at The Museum comes to mind, who he imagines carries a nail filer half his size. Colin says this out loud once Isaac’s gone, and is met with the brunette’s raised brow.
Did the music get louder all of a sudden? Colin can’t quite hear the brunette’s voice even as her lips move. She mouths out a few words that look like ‘what’ and ‘I didn’t quite get that’, so Colin leans closer to her ear and recites the plot to Night of The Museum. He manages to reach the second act before her mouth begins to move again. ‘What are you’ something ‘about?’
“Ah, nothing. You can forget it,” Colin tells her, which she also doesn’t catch so he repeats himself two more times.
A blur of vibrant green flashing in the corner of his eye makes him perk up like a meerkat. He knows this to be a tray of shots topped with limes requested by Isaac because who else knows him so well? Despite the server being choked by his bow tie and a button-up shirt that makes him look like yogurt squeezed out of a tube, he serves Colin and his date with a pearly white smile. Colin regards the name tag displayed on his chest: “Denzel! Fast and the Furious just isn’t the same without you, matey!”
That pearly smile somehow strains even more as he forces out a laugh. Colin cringes at himself and notes to give the guy a hefty tip later.
He downs the shot. The burn travels smoothly down his throat and warmth pools in the pit of his stomach, but it’s uncertain if it’s the doing of the alcohol or those hazel eyes that he catches in the crowd once again. Those eyes are calling him like a siren song. They’re tempting him to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. They’re making him believe he has a chance of obtaining something so clearly out of reach.
A pedicured hand rests on his knee. He looks over to the brunette whose smirk grows now that she’s finally gotten his attention. Shouldn’t he be enticed by all this? Her lips move: ‘what’s distracting you, hun?’ And before he answers with something stupid like “men”, Denzel returns with another tray of shots for Colin to down.
Colin has to choke back a cough and the warmth that is supposed to settle in his stomach more closely resembles a fire envious of the sight of hazel eyes that are no longer fixed on him. They’re focused on a man much taller, much stronger, and much more confident than Colin could ever be. He watches Hazel Eyes rest his hands on the other man’s chest as they dance close to one another, lips nearly touching. At the same time, the brunette rests a hand on Colin’s chest, smoothing down the wrinkles of his shirt and says something like, ‘this fits you well, I wonder what it’s hiding?’ Colin downs his third shot.
For a drink that’s supposed to calm him down, Colin sure feels about ready to shatter his glass in his palms. He watches as Hazel Eyes leans in to land a kiss on the taller, stronger and more confident man, who responds with eager hands clutching at fabric. Colin receives a kiss of his own in the crook of his neck, where red lipstick is left. The kisses slowly travel up to his jaw, to his cheek, and before she reaches her final destination, Colin excuses himself to find the shitter.
The washroom mirror, graffitied with nonsensical quotes and phallic images drawn in permanent marker, reflects a nervous and sweaty wreck with damp pits. The wet paper towel feels rough against his neck, but does the job of removing the lip marks. He then spends a good amount of time ignoring the judging looks as he hogs the hand dryer to rid the stains of his underarms.
Exiting the washroom leads Colin into a dim hallways that offers two paths. On the left, a gradient of neon lights spill through like the end of a tunnel, guiding patrons back to the boisterous and tipsy party of a hundred. On the right, red letters spell EXIT above a metal door with a knob that looks like it needs to be twisted in a very specific way in order to escape a possible fire.
It was a push-then-turn situation.
Like an ocean wave on a hot summer day, the cool night air hits Colin and swipes the strands of hair falling on his forehead back in place. A rat scatters out of the dumpster and towards the empty streets of Liverpool. Muffled by brick walls, the DJ plays a remixed version of ‘Say So’, and Colin feels a little less bad for leaving his date with an absolute banger.
He relieves the tension in his shoulders and chest with every deep breath in and out. It’s not the most elegant smell, nor is it any match for the AFC locker room; week-old trash and cigarettes linger under his nose as a grey cloud obstructs his view. The cloud floats and dissolves in the sky where the quarter moon shines boldly.
Illuminated by the orange-tinted wall light, a smoker sits on a small milk crate beside the exit with his legs stretched out and back leaning against the brick wall. Colin recognizes Denzel who has replaced his tray with a pack of cigarettes. His features are clearer when there are no flashing lights and an impromptu date to be distracted by. He tucks a braid behind his ear while the rest of his bleached dreadlocks are tied in a ponytail. He looks youthful despite the bags under his tired eyes and 5 o’clock shadow. The uniform that is a size too small has been modified into a loose ribbon around his neck and an unbuttoned top revealing a sleeveless shirt underneath.
He extends his arm towards Colin, offering him a cigarette.
In being so used to yelling through a conversation, Colin practically screams into the quiet night, “NO THANKS, I DON’T SMOKE!” And his boisterous voice echoes off the walls, triggers more rats to scatter away, and causes Denzel to jolt out of his seat.
Colin hurriedly helps him get seated back onto the crate. “SHIT, I’M SORRY—“ He clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, mate. Are you all right? I’ve been shouting all night. It feels wrong to be able to even hear myself now.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Denzel waves him off, eyes manic as he slides the pack into his pocket. He takes a drag of his cigarette while his other hand grips the crate for dear life like he fears he’ll fall again.
Silence settles. They both stare forward. It’s the perfect time for Colin awkwardly skedaddle away but he remains stagnant in his spot like his shoes are glued to the ground. Another apology sits on the tip of his tongue and he’s cautious not to yell again.
“Sorry,” Colin whispers and it could easily be mistaken for wind with a Welsh accent.
Denzel, however, doesn’t make that mistake and gives Colin side eyes. “You can forget it,” he mumbles.
“I meant about earlier,” Colin clarifies. “When I made the Fast and Furious joke. I’m just a big fan of the movies. Sparked me interest in cars, you know?”
Denzel hums and nods. He takes another drag.
“….I have a Lamborghini,” Colin randomly mentions.
Denzel blinks. “Alright.”
“It’s green.”
“Where is it, then?”
“Home. In Richmond.”
“You’re not from around here?”
Colin shakes his head. “I’m here for a match that my team just won. Do you watch football at all?”
“It’s not really my thing, but I suppose I should be mad at you for beating my city's team. Congrats, anyway,” Denzel says with his first real smile of the night. It’s small but genuine. Colin feels a bit special getting to see it.
“You know,” Denzel says after another drag. He blows the smoke through the corner of his mouth on the opposite side of where Colin stands. “I was actually wondering why a group of eighteen men and a broad decided to buy out the V.I.P section. Figured you lot were a fraternity. Or a bachelor party. Or a church choir.”
“We’re actually all three,” Colin says.
“If I had known that, you would have been qualified for our fraternity slash bachelor party slash church choir discount. It comes with free champagne,” Denzel quips. Or at least, Colin thinks it’s a quip.
Just to make sure, he says rather hopefully, “you serious about that?”
To which Denzel chuckles, “no, that’d be silly.”
Colin sighs longingly. “Nothing silly about free boos. I love free boos.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Got any left on you now?”
“I think you’ll have better luck chatting up Kelly, one of the other servers,” Denzel mentions. “She has a weakness for ditzy but charming and handsome men. It’s actually become a bit of an issue for our inventory. She’s working the floor right now if you want to catch her.”
Colin becomes hyper-focused on exactly one thing: “I’m charming and handsome?”
As if not expecting to get caught, Denzel shrugs and ducks his head. “I mean, I also said ditzy,” he mumbles.
Keeley had once told Colin that he ought to stop caring so much about what strangers think of him, otherwise, he’ll go ‘koo koo bananas’ like she had earlier in her career. But how is Colin supposed to ignore a compliment from a stranger who’s dashing and strapping and has broad shoulders? It’s validation unmatched by anything else. It makes him unafraid to look in the mirror because, for once, he’ll be proud of what’s reflected back.
“Do you have a photo of it? Your car, I mean?” Denzel says in the midst of silence.
Colin gives him his phone displaying a photo of himself crouched in a prayer pose in front of his Lamborghini, and he feels yet another surge of pride when he hears Denzel let out a low whistle.
“That’s quite a lot to take in. I’d probably cause a collision if I saw this driving next to me,” says Denzel.
“Yeah, it’s a bit much for me to handle, too,” Colin admits.
Denzel raises a brow. “Then why did you get it?”
“As I said, I'm big on cars.”
“Sure, but wouldn’t you rather have something you can actually drive?”
Colin squints at him like Denzel’s the foolish one.
“Ah,” Denzel rolls his eyes without malice. “You’re more of a looks guy. You want the ladies to see how strong and capable you are.”
“And gentlemen,” adds Colin, jokingly.
Denzel chuckles along but Colin doesn’t miss how his eyes flicker up and down his body. He might need a second opinion on this, maybe Isaac for his wicked observational skills, but Colin clocks Denzel’s once tired gaze turn into something like intrigue.
Their eyes meet briefly and Denzel quickly looks away. He nervously tugs at his earlobe and seems to be pretending to focus back on the photo.
“Honestly, I think you’d still be pretty fit even if you drove something like a Beetle or a Pontiac convertible,” he mumbles.
Charming, handsome, and pretty fit? It’s taking everything in Colin’s power not to giggle like a schoolgirl, so he pictures himself back in the locker room and thinks of what he would say.
“Pontiac convertible? That’s a bit of a lady's car, isn’t it?” He points outs.
“Is it?” Denzel says, scrunching his nose. “I didn’t think there was, like, gender associated with vehicles.”
“It’s kind of like clothes, I guess. Women wear dresses, men wear suits, usually,” says Colin.
Denzel hums and thinks to himself for a while.
“You all right?” Colin can’t help but ask.
Denzel blinks out of his thoughts. “Hm? Oh yeah. I just, I don’t know. It’s a bit boring, don’t you think?”
Colin tilts his head, uncertain.
“If there was just one set way to being a man then life would be quite grey,” Denzel says.
Colin stays quiet, not sure what to make of that.
As Denzel hands Colin his phone back, their fingers brush. Denzel looks up at him through his lashes and smiles shyly, leaving Colin feeling a bit fuzzy inside, like he’d just taken another shot from his tray. Only now is Colin brave enough to notice the faint freckles along the bridge of the other man’s nose, the sweat rolling down his long neck to his collarbone and the chest hair that peaks out of his sleeveless shirt and ohOHOHOH—
“I should go,” Colin blurts
“Oh,” says Denzel. “Alright.” He stands up and crushes his cigarette beneath his loafers before retrieving something from his back pocket. “You need an employee card to open the back door.”
Colin takes a few steps back as Denzel takes a few forwards. “I’m, uh, I’m heading back to my suite actually,” Colin tells him hastily. “Maybe order room service and have a few more drinks before I pass out completely.”
“Ah.” Denzel nods. “Sounds like a fun time.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah…”
The orange wall light shines a spotlight on the two men that stand at equal heights, with Denzel just an inch taller. They both look at each other seemingly unsure of what to say. The braid that was once tucked behind Denzel’s ears has fallen and now hangs by the side of his handsome face. Colin’s finger twitches. Someone oughta help the bloke out and push it back in place.
When it comes to football, Colin was never in the starter lineup on the field. When it comes to this very moment, he might be the one to make the first move…
“Okay, well, bye!” He chokes out instead.
With speed only reserved for when he desperately needs the shitter, he power walks his way toward the mouth of the alleyway. “Have a good night!” Denzel yells after him, and Colin’s about to make a left towards the hotel but suddenly finds himself unwilling.
Have a good night. Colin has had many of those. Whether it be after a win or just a night out with the boys or both, there remains one unchanging thing. It’s after the good night; the moment he says goodbye to his friends and heads out on a lift or drives away poorly in his Lamborghini. It’s when he makes it home and he has no one to welcome in nor anyone to greet him. He avoids his washroom mirror because it only serves as a horrifying reminder: he’s weak, incapable and only has himself to keep him company.
The mouth of the alleyway offers two paths: left brings him back to the hotel and right brings him to the main entrance of the nightclubs. No matter what he chooses, he’ll be walking alone. What he always refuses to acknowledge is the path he left behind. He’s left to wonder what could be, but the more he wonders, the more he yearns for Denzel’s faint touch again. He’s quite tired of yearning. Quite tired of losing his chances. Quite tired of waiting for daydreams to come true. Right there, right at arm's length, stands a man who can make good nights like these a little less lonely.
Colin clenches his clammy fists. He takes a deep breath in and out. He ignores Coach Morris’ demands to keep moving forward. For once in his confusing life he’s brave enough to turn back around.
“Name’s Colin by the way—“ he starts saying, but is met with the echoes of his own voice. The alleyway is deserted. The exit door CLICKS as it closes behind a blur of bleached blonde dreadlocks.
Tick, tick, tick, Colin’s wristwatch mocks him. It tells him that he waited too long. Now he stands alone at the end of a good night.