Chapter Text
2003
It seemed that North London was always busy, even when the sun had gone down. James watched the headlights rushing past his flat window. He felt that his mind was elsewhere, in the stars even. He forgot he was holding a plate of biscuits and staring out at nothing. He cleared his throat, facing Anthony Havers, who sat calmly on the sofa.
It had been a year since Anthony left him. Well, left for Afghanistan. They’d caught up a few times since Anthony’s return, but this was their first time in just an intimate setting, James’ own flat. Years changed both of them: Anthony was promoted to a Major before leaving the forces to become a teacher, while James left not even a year ago to study music, pursuing his long-held passion. Years had changed them in many ways, but their conversations remained frightfully familiar; reminding them of their old days of working side by side.
James returned to the sitting room, placing the biscuits on the coffee table with a reassuring smile. Silence was lingering between them, an unspoken reminder of… Almost everything. They had only served together for a few months, but they worked together so closely that it left a mark.
Anthony had struggled with his feelings, never quite able to shake off what he’d felt for James. he was sure of what he wanted. But James, James was terrified.
A moment later, Anthony reached for a biscuit, glancing at James for permission. “Go ahead,” James smiled, picking one up himself. The biscuits were just store-bought chocolate-chip, yet they provided a small comfort.
Anthony chuckled after taking a bite. “Do you have a favourite kind?”
James laughed softly. “I haven’t thought much about it. These are nice, though.”
“I’ve always had a soft spot for Anzac biscuits. My mum used to bake them all the time,” Anthony said, smiling at the memory. He needed to visit his family’s farm soon. As he spoke, he found himself studying James—the familiar line of his jaw, the way his eyes widened when he was uncertain. Time had hardly touched James’s appearance, but Anthony knew it had left its mark in other ways.
“Oh, the oat ones?” James asked, his fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the sofa. Anthony never judged him for his nervous habits.
“Yes, they’re very good.” Anthony crossed his legs, glancing out at the city beyond the window. The hum of passing cars filled the space between them, carrying an undertone of tension neither could ignore.
“So... how’s teaching?” James leaned back, brushing a crumb off his moustache. Being around Anthony felt effortless—too effortless—and that frightened him. How could one person make him feel both grounded and on edge?
Anthony’s smile was bittersweet. “It’s fulfilling, though I miss working in defence sometimes.” He hesitated, glancing at his hands. James had never asked why Anthony left, whether it was due to his facial injury or something else.
“Yeah…” James nodded, lapsing into silence once again. Anthony wanted to scream every time this happened, but he knew pushing James would only drive him further away.
Finally, Anthony’s voice broke the quiet. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, James.” He savoured the intimacy of saying his name, though he felt James tense at the sound. He Cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. “When we worked together… back then… there were things I never said. Feelings I never really knew how to express. We both couldn’t for personal reasons as well as work reasons and I-” Anthony was stammering.
“What do you mean?” James asked, his heart pounding. He hadn’t expected this.
Anthony lowered his gaze. “I think you know,” he murmured, tracing the rim of the plate with his finger.
James stood abruptly, making Anthony jump. He stormed toward the window, gripping the blinds, struggling with a wave of anger—not directed at Anthony, but at himself. He hated how his body betrayed him, reacting in ways he could barely control.
“I can’t, Anthony,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t do this.”
Anthony swallowed, feeling the sting of anticipated rejection. “I’m not asking you to feel the same.”
“You don’t understand,” James snapped, his voice strained. He turned to face Anthony, a mixture of frustration and fear in his expression. “You think this is easy for me?”
“I don’t,” Anthony replied softly, standing but keeping his distance. He understood James’s need for space, but it didn’t lessen the hurt. “I just don’t think I can pretend anymore.”
James held his gaze, his emotions battling inside him. “I think you should go, Anthony.”
The words landed like a blow. Anthony had expected this, but it still hurt. He wanted to argue, to stay, but knew that would only push James further. “Okay,” he said softly, moving to the coat rack. He fumbled for his keys, willing himself to hold it together.
James stood there, feeling the weight of his decision settle heavily on his chest. He wanted to chase after Anthony, to bring him back—but his feet stayed rooted in place. With a sigh, he pressed his palms against his eyes, wishing he could shut out the world around him.
✰
Anthony tucked his hands into his pockets, trudging through the cold, empty streets. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing. He was on edge, replaying the words he could have phrased differently—or perhaps not said at all. But would it have changed anything? He wasn’t sure.
His heart still pounded as he jammed his keys into the car door, quickly sliding in and slamming it shut. The familiar sting of tears threatened, burning his eyes. No, he told himself firmly, not now. The engine roared to life, and everything felt like it was happening on autopilot. He turned on the radio, letting the soft notes of late-night jazz fill the car’s interior. But James’s words echoed louder: “I can’t, Anthony.” He should have known James would react that way; his emotions were like Bambi on ice. As hard as Anthony tried to respect that, talking to James about anything real had become nearly impossible. Conversations were limited to work, and the weight of the tension between them was painfully obvious.
Nearly an hour passed before Anthony finally pulled into the driveway of the house he shared with his older sister, Henny. She knew him better than anyone, having taken him in after his injury and epilepsy diagnosis following his discharge. He knew she longed for her own space, but she remained, feeling the need to look after him as he adjusted to life with his disability.
Their house was like any other on the street: red brick, with moss creeping along the path. Anthony sat for a moment, looking at the lit window of the sitting room, envisioning Henny inside, either watching TV or reading with a glass of wine in hand. The thought of joining her for a drink was tempting, but he’d given it up for his health.
Finally, he opened the car door and stepped into the night, crossing his arms against the cold as he hurried to the front door. Just as he reached for the handle, Henny opened it, her gentle smile conveying that she already knew. She shared his features but had striking green eyes, her long blonde hair tied up in a bun.
“Hey,” Anthony said, managing a small smile.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She stepped aside, letting him in. It always amazed Anthony how easily she read him. The warmth of the fireplace welcomed him as he crossed to it, holding out his hands to warm them. The room, decorated with books and a floral white wallpaper, felt like home.
“Not yet,” he sighed as Henny took his coat and hung it up. She didn’t press him, merely nodding as he removed his shoes.
“Have you had dinner?” she asked, joining him by the fireplace. He glanced at the clock; it was just after eight.
“Yeah, fish and chips,” he mumbled, looking down at his red, chilled hands. He sighed again, and Henny chuckled.
“If you keep sighing, we willtalk about it. Do you want to?”
Anthony hesitated, then let out a groan, sinking onto the sofa. “I tried to tell him, you know? I was subtle, but he just asked me to leave. When it finally clicked, he looked terrified! He didn’t even give me a proper answer. He’s such an old man!”
“Wait, wait—you told him? What exactly did you say?” She joined him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
He groaned again, frustrated. “I just told him I had something I’d never been able to say because of work. He looked confused, so I said, ‘I think you know.’ Then he just got up, accused me of thinking this was easy, and asked me to leave.”
Henny listened without judgement, her expression soft as she took in his frustration. “Sounds like you touched a nerve,” she said gently. “He must be scared, Tony.”
Anthony ran a hand through his hair, loosening the gel. “I know he’s scared—I just wanted to get it out in the open.”
Henny nodded thoughtfully. “Well, it’s up to him now.”
“What if he never responds? What if… what if that was the last time I’ll ever talk to him?” The thought struck him hard, the hope he’d been holding onto suddenly wavering.
Henny gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “He’ll come around.”
Anthony wasn’t so sure. “I hope so,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire as they sat, lost in thought.
✰
James lay wide awake, swallowed by the darkness that filled not only his room but also gnawed at him from within. His mind churned relentlessly, replaying the evening’s events with Anthony. He knew sleep was out of the question. Should he call? Apologise? No… it’s not my fault, is it? he whispered to himself, though a knot twisted in his chest at the thought that he might have hurt Anthony.
He couldn’t shake the image of Anthony’s expression, those vulnerable, miserable eyes looking at him as if he’d stripped away something delicate. James wanted to erase that memory, yet it clung to him, intensifying the shame. Pushing Anthony away had felt like the only option, a reflex to protect himself. How could he ever love someone else when he hadn’t come to terms with loving himself?
James had long known he was... a homosexual, as he tried to put it—a label that had felt sharp and alien ever since he was young. He’d grown up around other boys, drawn to them but paralyzed by fear. He’d forced these feelings down, convinced they were wrong, preparing himself to marry a “nice young woman” after he joined the forces. But romance had eluded him entirely; he’d never found the courage to pursue a woman for appearances or the strength to embrace the man he longed for. Instead, he’d let life pass him by, his heart untouched, stifling any thought of love.
He rolled onto his side, burying his face in his pillow, memories of working alongside Anthony rushing back. How easily they’d once gotten along under the right circumstances. It terrified James to admit it, but Anthony’s smile had always made him feel… seen, like he wasn’t just a shadow or a bother.
With a groan, he sat up, swung his legs over the bed, and stood, pacing the room. The silence, the stillness—it all felt stifling. He picked up his phone, his finger hovering over the keypad, considering Anthony’s number. The thought of reaching out, of hearing Anthony’s voice, tugged at him. But still, his hand hesitated, the weight of his doubts holding him back.