Chapter Text
As Viktor put on his denim jacket in front of the bathroom mirror, it occured to him that there were three things he was sure he would die before he witnessed:
- The invention of fully-automated human wings that could aid in flight.
- Definitive proof that Santa existed.
- His cousin dressed presentably in any way, shape or form.
Which is why, when Joseph Lisgoe himself came in wearing a smart buttoned down and his tie done in a failed attempt at neatness, he answered as appropriately as he saw possible.
“Joe, what the hell are you wearing?”
Lisgoe looked him up and down incredulously.
“Shirt and tie.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask-”
“Why are you dressed like you’re going to a job interview?”
“Mind your business.”
The snappy retort, though not entirely out of character, piqued Viktor’s curiosity even further.
He watched as Lisgoe dabbed cologne on his neck, then met his gaze.
“You got work then, Vik?”
“... Yes.”
He’d hesitated for too long. Damn it.
“Bullshit! Where are you off to?”
“You didn’t tell me, so why would I tell you?”
He reached for the cologne, but Lisgoe held it away from him.
“Joe-”
“Who is she?”
“What?”
“Only reason you’d get this defensive is if you’re getting off with someone.”
“I’m not getting off with her.”
“Aha!” Lisgoe put the cologne down “So it is a girl?”
Scowling, Viktor picked up the cologne and applied it.
Lisgoe leaned against the doorframe, hand on his hip and a shit-eating grin on his face
“What does she look like?”
“You’re not trying to steal her from me, are you?”
“Nah.” Lisgoe folded his arms proudly “I’ve got a date of my own!”
For a moment, Viktor wondered if his cousin was making fun of him. But he recognised that stupid look on his face.
“Yeah,” he continued “used to work at the Job Centre back in Royston Vasey.”
Viktor’s eyes widened in a mix of shock and pure shame.
“You’re going on a date with Pauline?”
“Fucking. No! No, it’s not Miss Piggy!” Even Lisgoe looked offended by that “No. That’s vile. I’m on about the auditor.”
That seemed to make Viktor glitch slightly, like he’d been slapped right across the face.
“Ross, the auditor? Ross Gaines. The very male auditor?”
“You got a problem?”
“Not with you liking men, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m not gonna gather the family and make an announcement, this isn’t a fucking Netflix show!” He shrugged “Just didn’t feel the need. Not that big of a deal.”
It made sense, in all honesty. There were worse things to be, like a hitman or a violent debt collector. Taking it up the backend was nowhere near the worst thing Lisgoe had done.
Viktor straightened out his jacket.
“Her name’s Rebecca, by the way.”
“Sounds posh.”
“Coming from the man going on a date with Ross Gaines: biggest Tory in Royston Vasey.”
“Fucking rich, you Pompey git!”
Laughing, Viktor went to hit him round the back of the head, stopped only by an equally playful Lisgoe swatting him away.
“So,” Viktor leaned against the sink “how did it happen?”
“Y’know that wedding? Pauline and that jobseeker?”
“You said you were going over to give Ross your jacket to wear because, to quote you, ‘he dresses like a History teacher’.”
“One look at him in that leather thing and I gave him a reason to be late to the wedding.” He chuckled a little “What about you and Rachel?”
“Rebecca. And we met at a group.”
This time, it was Lisgoe’s turn to give him a funny look.
“You a swinger, Vik?”
“... I’m going to hope that’s one of your jokes and that you didn’t actually ask if I was a swinger.”
“You said you met at a ‘group’! What else is that gonna mean?”
“Therapy, Joe.”
The air got slightly tense. Viktor’s attack was a topic which was rarely brought up, it was much easier to pretend the screwdriver incident never happened. After all, he was lucky he wasn’t permanently paralysed.
“Group therapy for people with PTSD.”
It felt weird saying it out loud. PTSD. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Viktor was used to it now, but still felt odd. There was always going to be a cloud of shame over him, it’s what was drilled into the Lisgoe men all of their lives.
“When did you start going to therapy?”
“About a month or so after I was diagnosed.”
Lisgoe was the only person that knew about the diagnosis. It was unavoidably common knowledge amongst the family that Viktor was sent to a psychiatrist after his period of hospitalisation, but his official diagnosis was kept under wraps. He never said it out loud, but it meant a lot that Lisgoe had kept his secret.
“It’s a bit depressing that our first conversation was about our issues, she has severe claustrophobia and I’m bad with sharp objects. It’s a strange way to start a conversation, but it ended well.”
“Yeah, that’s a bit fucking weird.”
That was followed by a firm pat on the upper arm from Lisgoe, who looked at him with a half-smile.
“Don’t fuck this up.” He said, in a tone that sounded more like ‘good luck’
“I should be telling you that, I doubt Mr. Ross Gaines gives many second chances.”
“I know,” Lisgoe laughed “I’m bricking it!”
“Would help if you could tie a tie.”
Viktor swiftly redid the tie, tying it neatly and smoothing it out.
“Thanks, mum.” Lisgoe teased.
“It’s not my fault you can’t dress yourself.”
“Not my fault <i>you</i> went to a secondary school with ties and blazers.”
“God, I hated that place.”
They left the bathroom and made their way downstairs. Neither spoke until they made it to the front door.
“Where are you two going then, Vik?”
“Swingers association.”
“... You said that way too casually.”
“We’re just going out to eat, there’s a nice sushi place nearby.”
Suddenly, Lisgoe’s face morphed into what looked strangely similar to a disappointed glare.
“What?”
“You can’t go to Steve’s .”
“Why not?
The penny dropped.
“You’re taking the piss. You’re joking, aren’t you, Joe?”
“Of all the fucking places you could’ve gone-”
“It’s one of the few decent restaurants with a vegetarian menu. And anyway, since when did you like sushi?”
“Fuck sake, you better not have booked anywhere near table 25.”
An awkward pause.
“... Vik.”
“Table 28.”
“Fuck sake-”
He was interrupted from his frustrated stupour by his phone going off, and he answered it.
“Ross? … Yeah, yeah I’m on my way. OK. Bye.” He hung up, pointing the phone at Viktor like a loaded gun “You stay at table 28. Glue your arse to it, if you have to.”
“As if I’d go anywhere near.”
“Wow,” Lisgoe teased, grabbing his keys from the hook “you homophobic?”
“No, you just put me off my dinner.”
Unable to contain a chuckle, Viktor took his own keys and unlocked the door. They both stepped out and went to their respective cars.
“Odds on me getting there before you.”
“I won’t be surprised, Joe. You drive like a maniac.”
Lisgoe just flipped him off as he got in his car.