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The knock on their front door came while Jimmy was shaving. He and Felix were crowded into the tiny bathroom of their third floor flat, Jimmy peering into the mirror and Felix draped over Jimmy’s back with his chin on his shoulder. Felix was freshly awake, humming the Wombles theme slightly off key into Jimmy’s ear and watching the slide of the razor blade across his cheek with laughing, drowsy eyes.
Jimmy had huffed out a complaint and wriggled his shoulders as if to dislodge him, but it was all show. He was coming off the back of a week of early shifts, and Felix had been studying late, so they had barely fallen asleep together or shared a meal in days. The stripe of bed-warmed skin along his back felt impossibly dear.
He could live without the Wombles theme though.
Jimmy opened his mouth to request that Felix sing literally anything else , but snapped it shut when they both jumped at the thump of the front door knocker.
Felix’s gaze flickered to Jimmy’s eyes in the mirror, and they sighed in unison.
“Ah, fuck. Again?” said Felix, slumping so that even more of his weight pressed into Jimmy’s back.
“It wasnae me,” Jimmy protested preemptively. “I’ve not been near the radio all morning. I’m tipping it’s your humming. I’d complain too.”
Felix scoffed. “I bet it’s not.”
The knocker sounded again, and they both held their breath as they listened.
Jimmy shrugged Felix off him, properly this time, gesturing vaguely towards their kitchen and the front door. “You gonna get that?” he asked.
“It’s not my turn,” Felix complained, rolling his eyes. “I let the old bat rattle on at me for half a bloody hour on Tuesday.”
Jimmy pointed at his face, still wet, half shaven, and dripping with soap. “Come on, Love,” he said.
Felix put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes theatrically. “All right,” he groused, and plodded into the kitchen, leaving the bathroom door swinging open on its hinge behind him, “but be it on your head next time.”
Jimmy could see himself smiling in the mirror.
“Sorry Mrs McDonnel,” Felix called with grim cheeriness. “I’m coming as fast as my little legs can carry me.”
Jimmy stepped away from the open bathroom door, and resumed shaving, half listening for the usual litany of complaints against their music, manners, and housekeeping. Instead, after the sound of Felix fumbling with the deadlock, there was a heavy pause.
“Oh,” said Felix’s soft voice. “Mr Perez?”
Jimmy stiffened, as he heard his father’s gentle rumble reply, “Aye, that’s me. Just James is fine though, lad. Is this Jimmy’s flat?”
“Aye,” replied Felix, and then slower, in a more carrying voice, “and I’m sure he’ll be out to see you very soon.”
Jimmy caught his own wide eyed look in the mirror, and then went back to shaving with considerably more haste than he’d started with. As he nicked his cheek, he could hear Felix’ infamous good manners slide into place to cover his surprise and concern. Introductions were being made, and small talk, and the kettle was running. Jimmy’s stomach sank - social pressure made the soft lilt in Felix’s voice come through stronger, and he shuddered to think what his father was making of him. He wished, not for the first time, that Felix would be more circumspect with the way he moved and spoke.
After patting his face dry, Jimmy went to grab at the doorhandle, and stopped at the sight of two unopened condom packets sitting innocuously next to the sink. He grabbed them and shoved them deep into his pockets as he stepped out into his kitchen.
James Perez was sitting on the faux leather barstool that Felix had nicked from his work, and Felix was hovering awkwardly near the hallway door pouring two cups of tea. They both looked up when Jimmy entered, and smiled at him.
James got to his feet immediately and stepped forward, gathering Jimmy into a tight hug. He held him close, curling one hand around to gently ruffle Jimmy’s hair.
Jimmy could see Felix over his father’s shoulder, frozen with the milk jug in his hand and a fondly dubious expression on his face. He raised his eyebrows at Jimmy, and wiggled them. Jimmy poked out his tongue.
“Ah, it’s good to see you, Jimmy,” James said, patting himon the back as they broke away from the hug. He held Jimmy at an arm's length for a moment, smiling at him and searching his face.
“It’s good to see you too, dad,” Jimmy replied, shifting awkwardly under his father’s gaze.
It was good to see him. Something about his father’s familiar patient warmth filled out a part of him he hadn’t known he was missing, and made him want to sink back into that embrace like a child. He found himself desperate to show James the parts of his life that he could - his favourite armchair they’d bought with his first Christmas bonus, the custard horns at their favourite bakery, the colourful blanket Felix’ childhood best friend had crocheted for them, the best of his friends from the nick.
He wished, bitterly, that he could also show his father the cosy booth at the drag bar Felix worked at on Saturday nights, and the love notes that were pinned up on the board in his bedroom.
Looking at his father’s lined, smiling face, Jimmy realised with a pang that this wasn’t entirely a social visit either. The last time he’d called Fair Isle he had gotten into another row with his mother, kicked off, as always, by the question of when he was coming home.
“I’m guessing you’re here on mum’s behalf,” Jimmy said, sliding the tea Felix had made across the kitchen bench to his dad.
James sat back down at the bar stool. “We were both concerned.”
Jimmy nodded stiffly. As he moved to retreat deeper into the kitchen, he spotted a post-it note peeking out from under a pile of magazines. Felix often left them for him - shopping lists and shift schedules - but on its curled edge he could see a lopsided love heart. He snatched it up, crushing it in his fist and shoving it deep into his pocket with the condoms as he backed himself up to lean on the pantry door.
Felix cleared his throat from where he was hovering next to the entrance to their small internal hallway.
“Er,” he said, wincing, “I was thinking I might mosey down to the library. See if I cannae get some study done today.”
Jimmy caught his eye and nodded, so Felix stepped past James to scoop his textbooks and some papers up from the coffee table. A few items that Jimmy knew had nothing to do with Felix’ studies ended up in the pile - a sketch of Jimmy asleep on the couch in his uniform, a pamphlet for Felix’ work, and god knows what else.
Whatever could pass for incriminating evidence, Jimmy supposed.
Eventually, Felix stopped in the middle of the living area and surveyed the place carefully, before vanishing out the front door with his books.
James and Jimmy watched him go.
“Your housemate is -” James started.
“Felix,” Jimmy supplied apprehensively.
“Okay,” James agreed. “Felix. He seems to be a studious lad.”
Jimmy nodded. “He’s studying engineering, " he explained, unable to keep the pride entirely from his voice.
James nodded as well. “And you’ve finished your training,” he observed carefully.
Jimmy pressed his back a little harder against the pantry door, and shrugged lightly. The handle was digging into his side.
“Your mam,” James continued, “was just wondering when you’ll be coming back to Shetland. Not Fair Isle, we ken you’re too young for our tiny island, but there’s plenty of need for policemen in Lerwick.”
“I’m not coming,” Jimmy replied.
James sighed, and scrubbed a palm through his hair. He rotated his cup with his thumb, frowning down past the rim as ripples appeared in his tea.
“I’m not,” Jimmy repeated, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His thumb brushed against the wrinkled post-it.
Without lifting his eyes from his teacup, his father replied, “We worry. Aberdeen is… it’s a big town, Jimmy. Dangerous. And so very far away.”
“It’s not happening, dad,” Jimmy said flatly.
James folded his arms across his chest, leant backwards on his stool, and raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”
Jimmy groaned and let his weight fall, half-boneless, against the pantry door. He pressed his palms hard into his eyes and breathed through his teeth. He was running out of ways to no, and they were all starting to sound more and more like, ‘fuck off and mind your own business.’
“Dad,” he started slowly.
“Shetland’s your home, Jimmy, really. Not this place,” James said, flicking a careless hand at the cramped brick walls of Felix and Jimmy’s beloved flat.
“Oh, aye, sure,” Jimmy snapped, straightening his shoulders and taking a step away from the wall. “And Felix and I can try our luck with a snog in the middle of Lerwick’s main road, shall we? I’ll just stick my tongue down his throat? Maybe go down on my knees for him while I’m there. See if Shetland is still my home when it’s seen -”
“Jimmy!” James replied, aghast.
They stared across the counter at each other. James’ eyes were wide and wary, and his empty hands hovered above his teacup. Jimmy’s heart was thundering in his neck, and he flattened his mouth to stop his lower lip from wobbling.
He was sick with nerves. Maybe sick with the use of Felix as a weapon, too.
“There’s less than a hundred people on Fair Isle,” Jimmy added softly, folding his arms and dropping his gaze to the milk jug, “and we - Felix and me - we need a degree of control over who knows what about us.”
There was a spot of drying milk on the bench under the milk jug. Jimmy grabbed a soggy washcloth and wiped at it without looking up at his father. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see James slowly lower his hands to the bench, sigh, and then rub tiredly at an eyebrow. Jimmy deliberately turned his back, bending over the sink to rinse out the cloth.
When James spoke, his tone was subdued. “Are you saying… Are you and that lad…?”
“Shacking up?” Jimmy said, gaze fixed on his scuffed beige tiles. “Shagging? Making the beast with two -”
“Alright,” James stopped him softly, and huffed out a deep sigh. “It’s still better to be in Shetland, Jimmy.”
“Did you not hear a single thing I said?” Jimmy snapped, dropping the cloth into the sink and rounding on his dad.
James snorted and pushed to his feet. “The city’s certainly not safe if you’re living such a dangerous lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle?” Jimmy demanded, glancing incredulously at his own cosy living area, where potted plants, stacks of books, and model boats competed for surface area. “Exactly what lifestyle are you imagining? Because Felix is studying twenty-four seven, and all I want to do when I’m home from work is get off my feet and have a kip.”
James huffed. “You could have fooled me, with your talk of being on your knees.”
“Do you not do that for my mother?” Jimmy bit back. “Cause it’s no wonder then, that -”
Jimmy cut himself off as James surged forward into the kitchen. For an instant, he thought his father would strike him. He braced himself, set his stance, and tried not to flinch.
Instead, James pivoted past him, and rested one large open palm on the bench.
“Christ, Jimmy,” he breathed, gaze fixed on the floor.
Jimmy swallowed and stepped backwards. A wet prickle was threatening in his throat and his eyes, and he rubbed at his face in an effort to master it.
The rumble of a truck from the street below passed by Jimmy’s open window, and filled in the space between them. As it faded, Jimmy watched his dad grasp their stolen bar stool, and sink down into it with his head in his hands.
“You cannae talk that way about your moth-” James started, but Jimmy cut over him.
“You cannae come to my flat uninvited and have a go about my life, when you know nothing about it,” he snapped back.
James raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, lad,” he said. “Okay.”
Jimmy took another step back, and found himself in the corner next to the hallway door. He folded himself into it, pressing his spine against the plasterboard. He realised he had his arms wrapped protectively around his middle, and found he was reluctant to unwind them.
In the fading light of the afternoon, his dad’s face looked ashen.
He wanted to go to him. Pat his back. Make him laugh. Anything but see him look crumbled and tired in this space Jimmy associated with comfort and joy. He dug his shaking fingertips into the wool of his jumper, and stayed firm against the wall. “You’ll get used to it,” he told his dad flatly.
James nodded. “I will,” he agreed. He picked at a button on his sleeve. “You thought I was going to hurt you,” he added, scowling down at his fingers.
“Yeah, well…” Jimmy replied with a shrug, “you will.”
James jerked his head up, and gawked at Jimmy, shaking his head. “No, Jimmy,” he said, “I know you’re a grown man now, but you’re still my little lad.”
Jimmy snorted. “Aye, and I suppose you still want me to rush home to Fair Isle, so I can introduce all the neighbours to Felix.”
James hesitated.
He must have seen the pang of hurt cross Jimmy’s face, because an instant later he winced and got to his feet.
“Yes,” he said firmly, stepping in towards Jimmy and grasping his shoulder gently. “Yes. Of course. Always. We always want you home, Jimmy.”
He pulled Jimmy in for a hug, and Jimmy let him.
James’ jumper was rough under Jimmy’s cheek, and smelt like real wool and his mother’s favourite laundry powder. The wave of warmth and safety that washed over him brought a wet lump of feeling, and he screwed up his face ineffectually against it before the first sob broke loose from his throat.
A broad palm appeared between Jimmy’s shoulder blades. Stayed resting there while Jimmy rode out a few hiccuping breaths, digging his fingertips into his father’s clothing and feeling his eyelashes grow damp. It stayed there until he got control of his airways and pushed himself away, ducking past James’ shoulder and stepping into his living area.
He stood with his back to his father, and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.
His face felt puffy and his mouth dry. He swallowed deliberately and set his shoulders before shuffling around to find his dad dabbing at his own face with a handkerchief.
“I’m glad you told me,” James said, his voice a little rough as he pocketed his handkerchief.
Jimmy shrugged.
“I’m in Aberdeen for two days yet,” James continued. “I’d like to meet this lad properly before I head home - we’ll go out for fish and chips tomorrow night?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I’m working.”
“The next day then,” James decided. “Three o’clock, so I cannae miss my ferry.”
Jimmy shrugged again.
“You’re not working then, too?”
“No, I’m not,” he said, sighing.
James frowned at him thoughtfully. “You’re not working all sorts of hours so this Felix can study in comfort, I hope?”
“He has a scholarship,” Jimmy replied through his teeth, shoving his hands into his pockets and closing his fingers tightly on the first thing he touched, “and he works weekends.”
“Aye? That’s good to hear,” James said, clapping Jimmy on the shoulder. “He didnae seem to be much of a man’s man, but a bright lad like that will always have a place in the world.”
Jimmy sighed. “He’s my man,” he replied firmly.
James tilted his head thoughtfully, and then nodded. “I suppose he is,” he murmured, stepping towards Jimmy’s front door and shrugging on his coat. He hesitated in the doorway. “Look, Jimmy. How about we save the chat that’s due with your mam for when she’s feeling a little less fragile?”
Jimmy drew his arms over his chest, and shrugged.
“And you talk to your Felix about going to the chippy,” James continued. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, nodding to himself, a satisfied smile beginning to curl at the edges of his mouth, before vanishing down the long narrow hall of their apartment block.
The stillness he left behind him was shocking.
Jimmy lingered by the door, hands still curled under his armpits. When he opened his mouth to sigh, the sound that came out of him was more of a sob.
He grasped for the handset of the phone with one hand, and punched in a string of numbers with the other. When it began to ring, he let his back fall against the front door.
“Broomhill Library, Eilene speaking,” said a voice on the other end of the line.
Jimmy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Uh. I’m looking for Felix. Felix Crawford. He’s -”
“Of course dear. I know Felix,” Eilene replied. “I’ll get him on the line right away.”
Jimmy slid down the door until he was sitting on the carpet with his chin nearly on his knees.
As he listened to the staticky phone line, and tried to swallow down the sharp edged lump in his throat, Jimmy realised that he was clenching his fist so hard that whatever he had clutched in his left hand was biting into his skin. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly released his fingers.
There was yellow paper balled up in his palm. A ruined post-it note.
Jimmy picked at the edges of the mess until he could make it uncurl. He could barely read it for all the wrinkles and rips, but because he knew Felix’ hand writing nearly as well as his own, he could parse it. Need more shaving cream. You keep using all of mine, you knob, it said. And then, Love you , with a large lopsided heart drawn at the end.
The phone clicked. “Jimmy,” said Felix, “you alright?”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy roughly, picking at his jeans to prevent his fingers from clenching around the note again. “I just… Can you come home?”
“Of course I will,” Felix replied firmly. “I’ll be right there. Always.” He hung up the phone with a click.
Jimmy let the handset tumble out of his hands to dangle from its cord. He laid the post-it flat on his pant-leg and rubbed at it gently, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in the heart with his thumb. The paper was soft under his fingers. Too soft. The spot he was rubbing at tore without any resistance.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Jimmy squashed the note back into a shapeless ball and let it fall through his fingertips onto the carpet below.