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"You've got some real sexual hangups, Will," is the first thing Jim says to me as soon as we're wrapped for the day.
Hardly. "Just 'cause I don't want to be flirted with by you - or any other lad - all the time doesn't mean I have "sexual hangups"." I reply, though it's actually a little more complicated than that. "Unlike you I don't think about pegging all the time either."
"Shame." Jim says with an overly horny wink. He sobers quickly, though, jiggling his iced coffee in one hand and says, "I'll knock it off though. If you want. It's not fun if you don't think it's funny."
Well, that's a bit far. "No. It's- fine. You're fine. I swear, though, one more joke about me mam and I'll shove you out a window."
Jim snorts. "You wanna try? You really want to try?"
And - well. We tussle a bit. Some of the coffee goes too close to the tripods. I nearly break my finger. We both laugh about it. That's the thing, though. It's always been easy with Jim, despite how often he gets on my nerves.
The week rolls on, as it does. Mikey and I throw ideas around for our next travel video - it's going to be the best thing the channel's ever seen -, I really miss Basil for a long time on Saturday night, and wake up hungover on Sunday.
My phone's going off. It's 6am on a Sunday. Who on earth is calling me at 6am on a Sunday? I reach across my very empty bed and squint at the screen. Jim?
"You better have a good reason for calling." I croak, voice rough, instead of saying hello.
It's not Jim who answers. "Uh. Hi?" The voice is nervous. Anxious, perhaps. Definitely a guy. "Who's this?"
"Will?" I reply, immediately concerned. "Who's this?"
"Um. I- well - this guy came home with me last night in London and he's- uh- he's sort of freaking out about it this morning and I don't know what to do, he keeps on panicking- so I checked his phone and you were the last person he texted so- ...can you help? Who even are you?"
Fuck's sake, Jim. I'm already out of bed, head pounding, pulling on some joggers as I keep the phone clutched to my ear. London? Why the hell is Jim in London and didn't say? "Yeah, I'll come get him. Give him some tea. What's your address?"
The anxious guy rattles off an address that's actually not too far away.
"I'll be there in a few. Uhhh. Wrap a blanket around him or something. Thanks."
It might seem practised or overly easy for me to drag myself out of bed like this but... it's not exactly the first time. Jim might try to deny his "neurodivergence" but he's definitely got something going on top that's challenging, and it's not the first time I've had to bail him out of situations.
Well. Bail out is a bit harsh.
I suppose I should be happy that he trusts me enough to come find him, but also... I am so sleepy. I fight back a yawn and grab a couple of cans of coffee from the fridge on the way out. It's pretty rancid stuff but it'll do.
I hop an e-scooter and find my way to the address, which is maybe ten minutes away. The wind's actually doing good for my headache, but doesn't stop the nausea rolling in my gut. The coffee sort of takes the edge off, but I still wish I was in bed when I ring the buzzer for the guy's apartment.
Jimbo. Getting off with a guy. Well, I knew he wasn't exactly straight, but it's still strange to see a shirtless fella open the door when I get up to the apartment. He's handsome, I guess, if I was into that kind of thing. Which I'm not. Dark brown hair, light eyes, and he's built.
I mentally pat Jim on the back.
When I spot the hickies they're distracting for far too long. I just... can't drag my eyes away. It takes me a second. "Hi. My friend's freaking out on your couch?"
The guy nods. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't know who else to call."
"Most people wouldn't call at all. You're a good'un. Show me? And maybe put a shirt on?"
His name is Luke. His apartment's nice, and he's nice, too. When he leads me through to his living room, I find James, who's wrapped up in a blanket, curled up on the couch, looking like he's feeling sorry for himself. His eyes are red-rimmed.
"Hey Jim." I say, and sit down next to him. "How you feeling, fella?"
He shoots me a withering glance and doesn't say anything, but considering some of the states I've found him in, it's better than the alternative. I'm forever happy he stopped drinking. "Yeah, I know I'm not the pretty face you wanted to see this morning but you're freaking your man out. Want to come back to mine?"
"Yeah." He croaks, and wow, he sounds worse than I do. "Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for," I reply. There's enough time to rib him for all this when he's not looking like he's about to have a breakdown. It's then that I notice his bare shoulders. Fuck's sake, another hurdle. "Where's your stuff, Jim?"
"It's here." Luke says, as he returns with a shirt on, and drops a mass of clothes, a phone and a wallet down on the coffee table. "I'll leave you to it. My.. uh... number's in your phone if you want it, Jim. It was nice meeting you."
He disappears back up the hallway, presumably into his room. I stare after him. Strange guy. Even stranger interaction. "C'mon Jim, we've gotta leave this lad to his- poetry readings, or whatever, knowing you. Time to move."
Jim just groans, but I nudge him a bit until he's upright. The blanket falls away, I get a foot of bare shoulders, love bites and more before I - turn away, unable to stop my blush. He’s still naked, fuck’s sake. “Put some pants on, mate. We’ve gotta get out of this place.”
Jim just grumbles, but after a while, he moves his arse, and dresses in silence. He's always a little weird when he gets like this. Like he's lost the ability to do anything more than easy tasks. I asked him, once, if he'd talked to a doctor about it.
"I've got a freaky brain." He'd replied, eyes gleaming. "Not much to be done about it. Sometimes I get too anxious."
He's not anxious now, just pliable and sleepy. I pour him out of the guy's flat and into an Uber, then back to mine. I've got a thousand questions, most of which I know won't be answered until we've both had a rest, so I persuade him onto the couch and dump a blanket over him, and then go back to bed myself.
When I wake up again at the much more normal time of 11.04, I can smell coffee in the kitchen. Good shite, too. Not just the stuff from the can.
Jim's not cooking when I get out there - fortunately, he'd probably burn the place down - but he does have Deliveroo bags and coffee steaming on the table, so it's not all bad. His hair is wet, all curled around his face, and he looks up at me sheepishly from the couch when I come in. "Sorry."
His voice is still all kinds of fucked up, but y'know, I don't know what he's been doing, and I'm not going to think too hard about it. "You better bloody be. I could have been killed. 6am on a Sunday? Your boyfriend's a heathen."
"Not my boyfriend." He replies, instinctively, immediately, and that's maybe the thing that stills him for a second. "It's... fine, though. Right? That you bailed me out of some guy's house?"
"The bailing out, no. The guy thing - man, I don't care who you get with. 's long as you leave their place after the fact and let me sleep in. What happened?"
He shrugs, and pushes one of the Deliveroo bags towards me. "Dunno. It was good."
"Yeah?" I'm not sure what the discomfort in my chest means, and I'm not going to think about that either. I swipe his coffee and take a sip. It's not quite how I like it, but it'll do. "And then?"
"That's so gross, dude." He replies, but takes the cup back anyway. "And then - I don't know. I woke up this morning and was freaking out. Couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe. I think I might have scared him."
"I don't know." He got me a breakfast sandwich! Nice of him. "He did give you his number."
We eat and we talk and it's... nice, really. He dug a towel out of my pile of towels closet instead of using my own when he showered, which was surprisingly decent of him, and he'd even bought me breakfast. What I really wanted to know was, "How come you're in the city?"
He looks even more sheepish, gaze tracking up and away from mine. "I wanted to get away. Just for a bit."
"Yeah?"
"In Brighton I'm recognised all the time. The place is so small. And it's great, I love it. It's wonderful getting to do all this but... I sort of miss the anonymity. What it used to be like to just fuck around with someone without worrying they were a fan." He wipes his hands through his hair, splattering water all across my sofa. "I don't know. It worked, maybe. That guy-"
"Luke-"
"Luke." He nods. It's really obvious by his glance that he definitely didn't know the guy's name. "He didn't recognise me. Didn't recognise you either, right?"
"Nah."
"Maybe that's how to do it then. Disappear into the crowd."
I don't know. Sure, James might have had a good night, but... as much as I like to make fun of him, I do worry a bit too. It's dumb. I shouldn't. He's an adult and he's... mostly capable. But I do. "Yeah, whatever you like, fella. Just don't freak out next time then."
He smiles. It's not very big, and still quite hesitant. "No promises."
The weeks roll on, and on and on. Mikey and I go to Switzerland. I nearly break my ankle doing skiing tricks. I eat a lot of cheese.
Soon it's summer, I'm wrist deep in content and the channel's banging. It's actually doing really well. Our numbers haven't been so good in years. It's mostly James, I think. I'll never admit it to him, but the audience loves him. They'd do anything for him, the git.
Jim and I take a coffee break after recording two videos back to back, and step out onto the street together. The walk to the coffee shop isn't bad, but as soon as we step inside, he blanches, freezes, and I nearly run into his back.
"What?" I hiss, but I peek over his shoulder and immediately can see what the problem is.
It's Luke. The guy from the hook up. Working behind the counter. Judging by- James' posture, I'm pretty sure he didn't text him after the fact. "Bro, come on."
"I don't want to talk to him." He mutters, and he's completely tomato red.
Dammit. Absolute sap. Problem is, the next nearest coffee shop is way too far away, and I really want to get the last spot on my loyalty card stamped. "Get over it. He was nice, anyway. He probably doesn't even remember you."
"Will..." His puppy dog eyes don't work on me, and I remind him of that fact as I nudge him out of the way.
"Don't you dare try that on me. I'm not one of your Tiktok girls."
"I don't have any Tiktok girls. And don't call them girls, ugh." He dutifully follows me. Jim's always been a lot better with a firm hand, and a bit of guidance. I refuse to think about that too hard either.
I step up to the counter, and Luke recognises us immediately. I can tell by the look in his eyes. "Will. James!"
Jim immediately looks sheepish. He's been looking like that a lot lately. I shuffle him out of the way with my hip and say, "Hi Luke. You good, man?"
"Not so bad." His eyes twinkle at me in a way that's very endearing. "I see why he didn't call me back though."
"He's just shite at attachments, man, it's not you. Can I get-" I list off our orders while James very actively tries to hide behind me. Luke stamps my loyalty card. One free drink next time! "Thank you though. For the call. Most people wouldn't have tried that hard."
"It's not a problem." Luke says, and lays a hand on top of mine just as I'm about to pull my card away from the machine. "If you two ever want a third, though, I'm just a phone call away." He winks. I definitely absolutely do not blush.
"Oh, we're not-" James says, from behind me.
I interrupt him. I'm running on delirious video making fumes, and also feeling giddy for reasons I can't explain, so I wrap my arm around his, grin wildly at Luke and purr, in a way I don't think I ever have before, "Thanks Luke. We'll keep you in mind."
The spluttered gasp out of Jim next to me is almost enough to make up for all of the trouble, and I let him pull me away from the counter while the barista makes our coffees.
"I can't believe you sometimes." James says, once we're back leaning against the wall. "Honestly?"
"You weren't gonna call him, Jimbo. That ship's sailed."
"Well, yeah... but..."
"I think I've just helped you avoid a very dangerous situation, Jim. You should be thanking me."
All I get is an elbow to the ribs for my troubles.
Jim's a different beast clubbing these days. 'Spose I am too, tbh, but somehow despite being sober he's still got enough energy to absolutely destroy me on the dance floor. Not that I'm really dancing, but he's still got all the energy all the same. He really needs to be tested for ADHD.
So some of our mates join us and we party. It's great, actually. I've had a couple of shots, and I'm feeling good, really into the vibe and I've been eyed up by more than a couple of lasses so my ego's feelin' it too. I don't know what time it is when Jim checks his phone and swears.
"What?" I yell, over the thrum-thrum-thrum of the music in my head and the pounding of my heart.
He leans close, mouth right up against my ear. He's sweaty too, though I suppose we both are, but it's not rank, or anything. It's just a fact. His breath comes quickly, a puff of air that raises goosebumps up my neck. "Missed my train. Wanted to do things tomorrow. Shit!"
I grab him by the shoulders and haul him closer so he can hear me. The music in this gaff is so loud. Or maybe I'm just getting old. Regardless. "Kip at mine! Promise I won't annoy you in the night."
"Deal." He fist bumps me and leans away again, finding the rhythm, back into the music and the moment almost immediately. That's the thing about James though. He's very good at the music bits.
The cool air outside the club is enough to sober me up a bit, and I'm tired. James is too, probably. "Home time, I reckon."
"Yeah." He's a million miles away, maybe, staring out across the city, watching the lights turn into stars. "I was gonna do so many things tomorrow morning."
"And now you can do them tomorrow afternoon instead. It's not a moral failure to do something that's fun, man."
"I know." His voice is low, pitched just for me. "I've just been working on this for so long that it's hard to think about stopping."
"Mmmm." That's more than true. Jim's worked harder on making his music happen than anyone I've ever seen. It's incredibly impressive. It's one of the reasons I've gone to so many of his gigs. "But you've gotta let go sometime. Can't be all wrapped up in your anxiety all the time." The alcohol makes me bold, and I tap him on the wrist, so he turns to face me. "You are so good at it, Jim." I slur, just a little. "You gotta know that."
Under the streetlights I can just see the light in his eyes. It's funny, this. Sort of intimate. I don't know why, and I don't know why I want to lean closer, feel his breath on my skin. His hands feel calloused under mine. Full of history, full of music. I don't know. Maybe if I was sober I'd be more scared.
"Will, I-" He says, eyes searching my face, but it doesn't really matter ‘cause a group of hens from a hens party step out from someone's property and nearly run right into us.
They apologise, and we apologise, but the moment's gone when they pass.
"Bedtime." I sigh, pushing the door to my apartment open. My feet hurt. I'm wiped. Not just the shots, though they helped.
Jim's just standing there.
"You a vampire? Come in."
"Yeah." He says, blinking. He blinks once, and twice, and then again in rapid succession, like he's trying to desperately keep himself awake. "Sorry."
"Stop apologising, man. You've done nothing wrong." I wrangle a blanket from a cupboard and throw it at him. My feet hurt more, so I kick off my shoes, and when I look back up, Jim's settled down on my sofa like he owns it.
At this point, he essentially does. I'm tired, but not tired, so I sink down on the sofa next to him, and steal some of the blanket. My thoughts are going a mile a minute, and I want to talk, and I don't want to talk, and also everything inside my head is too much and, "How'd you know you liked lads?"
James shoots me a withering glance.
"You want to have this conversation now? It's three am."
"Come on. I'm curious."
Jim settles back into the sofa with a sigh. "I don't know. I figured out it was a possibility years ago. Pushed it back and pushed it back and pretended I didn't know what I was thinking. It worked for a while, too."
"And then...?"
"The audience kept on talking, and they weren't throwing slurs around or anything. It was just easy for them. So... I tried it. And I liked it. And now we're here." He laughs. It's sour. "Wherever here is. I still haven't even come out as anything. I don't even really know what I'd come out as."
"A giant twat, maybe." He jabs an elbow into my ribs, and I curl away, wincing. "Hey!"
"Just cause you're drunk doesn't mean I feel sorry for you. Do you have any other insane questions while we're here? The meaning of life? The inner workings of my brain?"
The final question springs to my mind and I'm saying it without thinking. "Luke's place. Why did you have a panic attack?"
He stares at me for a long moment, warmth a long length against my side. It's like he's trying to figure out how to say something very complicated. "I... don't know, Will. Panic attacks aren't rational."
That's true. Doesn't mean he's not visibly lying to me right now. "Yeah, but you do sort of know, right? What was it?"
He's silent for a long time, so long I almost think he's dozed off. Then he says, "I woke up and didn't even know the guy's name, right? And it wasn't even like it was bad sex. It was great. I had a great time. I just didn't know who he was and I thought about how I couldn't do it anymore, and I just- spiralled, I guess."
"Couldn't do it anymore?" I ask, quietly.
“Man, if I’m still getting with randoms when I turn thirty, throw me into the Thames.”
And the thing is, I get it. I really get it. I still feel shit about what I’ve lost too. “No more casual stuff?”
He stares out the window for such a long time, but I don't feel like I can interrupt. We've settled into a strange kind of balance, an isolated system. It's fragile, and it's precious. To disrupt it would feel wrong. "No more casual stuff." He concludes. "Yeah. I'm done with it."
I don't really know what to think about that, so I just crack a joke. "Pretty rich of you to imply that thirty is at death's door, though. You're not far off."
"You're closer than me." He says, but he's not in a mood to scrap about it, I can tell, so I leave it.
We sit there in silence for even longer, but it's not like I feel the need to fill the air. Never really have to, when I'm feeling like that. My body's sort of comfortable, despite the fact that this sofa's really not it for two grown lads. Jim's comfy, though, and I'm not going to rob him of that.
"I want to sleep for... three years and wake up when it's all sorted itself out, you know?" Jim says, finally.
"How'd you mean?"
"I don't. It's not like dying. I don't want to die. I don't. Really." He says, and I sit up, cause this is new. It's worrying, and it's new, and all my good feelings disappear as soon as they arrived. "Yeah?"
"Seriously. Don't look like that, you look horrified. I just... want to sleep. I'm so tired, Will. All the time. That's why I get manic, I think. Cause I'm tired and I have coffee and that makes me loopy, and then I'm just half of myself up on Youtube and it's just so much. You get it?" He turns his gaze to me then, and he's... so clearly exhausted that it almost makes me want to cry. I don't do it much, but the look on his face -
It's just pure exhaustion, down to the bone. "I think you're working yourself too hard, Jimbo." I reply softly, and horrifyingly, my voice cracks halfway through the sentence. It's like a shot of cold water down my spine. I'm way over my head, and I don't even know how I got here.
"I don't think I can stop." He lapses into silence again, and all there is for so, so long are our breaths. In. Out. In out in out. "That's why - if I could just be in a coma for a few years until it's all sorted out, then I'd be happy."
"I don't know how much would get done if you weren't there to do it." I say, though I don't even know if it's right to say.
He laughs. It's bleak. Under the blanket, he's rubbing an unconscious line up and down the side of his thigh. "That's the problem, isn't it?"
I don't know what to do. I've never found myself in a conversation this intense before. He's not frenetic now, not unstable, just... lost at sea.
And I care way too much. I catch his hand, under the blanket, and hold it still, feeling faint hairs under my fingertips. His gaze settles on my own, and there's something in there. It's way more serious than anything I've ever seen. I don't even know what to say.
So I say nothing at all, and we sit, and we wait, and out the window, the sky opens, fat drops of rain splattering against the window. It gives me courage. It gives me something, maybe. "You're so good at what you do. You know that, right? I wouldn't travel halfway across the world to see you perform if you weren't."
He laughs. It's still deeply, horrifyingly bleak. "I know. That's sort of the problem. If I'm this good, why is it so hard?"
Don't I know it. I've asked myself the same thing time and time again. And I know it's not the same. I know that what I do isn't anywhere near the same as what he does, but it's always been... so much. I can't even imagine what it must be like for him. This whole conversation is so much. If I'd known where we've ended up I wouldn't have gone out with him tonight.
Then again, I think he's been sitting on this for a long while. "I can't help you with this, Jim. I can listen to you talk, but I can't give you ideas, cause I don't know." I also don't know why I grab his hand properly, interlacing our fingers, but it feels right, and I'm at such a loss that I can't do anything more than something simple. "But I'll listen to you talk about it forever if I have to. Just... don't disappear on me."
There's more words I could say. More fears. But I don't think I can shape them into anything worth listening to. I just listen to the rain, and listen to his breathing, and wonder, not for the first time, how I found myself being the one he talks to.
He just squeezes my hand back and doesn't say anything. When I look over later, I realise he's fallen asleep. I don't move from the sofa, and it takes me a long, long time to find sleep myself.
Autumn's on the horizon and a chill's fallen over the city. Video making continues. Jim and I do some ridiculous cooking challenges, and buy more things from Temu. Is it contributing to plastic waste in the world? Probably. But we do sell them onto people after the fact, so it's not... morally terrible, or anything.
I try to tell myself that.
I also try to tell myself that he's fine, but I'm having a hard time believing it. It worries me, more than I'd like, and I think the fans are noticing. Or maybe the comments that are sticking out are the ones talking about my appearance. I don't know.
It all comes to a head one day when the trains are out again. The trains have been out a lot lately. Drives Jim crazy, drives me crazy along with him. "I would rather die than get on a bus back home." He says, after our recording, "Can I borrow the couch again?"
"Might as well just steal it away permanently, mate. You spend enough time on it."
He just wrinkles his nose at me and occupies the couch for the rest of the afternoon, talking softly to someone on Zoom and dealing with business stuff. We don't chat, but we don't really need to. I've got a sponsorship deal I'm trying to wrangle into something cool, so I've got my own stuff to get on with. It's nice having him here, though. The place feels a whole lot more lived in with someone else in it.
I'm so stuck in script writing that I don't even realise how much time has passed, and I actively jump in my seat when he brushes his knuckles against my shoulder. "Will."
"Fuck's sake," I splutter, immediately off balance. I pull off my headphones, which are apparently far more noise cancelling than I realised. "When did you finish up?"
"I've been calling your name for at least a couple of minutes. It's like six, and I'm hungry. Scran?"
"Yeah good shout." Now that I'm free from the zone, I do also feel really hungry. "What do you want?"
"We could go out?"
That's true. We could. I stand up and stretch. Considering how much my tailbone is shouting at me, it'd probably be a good idea to move around a little. "Yeah. Let's do it?"
"Good stuff." He shoots me a nice little smile and goes to pull on his boots. It takes me a bit, but I change out of my inside track pants and into my more formal track pants - I have standards, okay - and find some shoes as well. It's chilly outside, so I get my coat too.
We walk off down the waterfront. A wind's picked up and the breeze whistles across the water. Feels like winter's coming. Massively not a fan of that. "It's cold."
"Yeah. Not keen. Do you get sad in winter?" James' got his hands shoved in his coat pockets, lips pinking in the cool air.
"I dunno. Maybe? I don't know if I've got enough space in my ol' noggin to think about it."
"There's this thing called Seasonal Affective Disorder. I get it. Fucks me right up, really. The dumbest thing of all is that you can basically cure it if you just sit under a salt lamp for a bit each day. Ridiculous condition."
That's funny. It gives me this excellent mental image. Jim, as a lizard, basking out in the sun. "I didn't know you were part reptile."
"Yeah, shove off. Just saying. Most people don't know they have it. They just get randomly sad, out of the blue."
It's a whole new world, this stuff. Talking about it, even thinking about it. I like it, though. It's better recognising that we're all a bit wrong. Reassuring, almost. "I'll keep that in mind."
So, we go to dinner. Some place on the Quay, where it's not too fancy and it's got a good mix of stuff. I don't drink, somewhat ‘cause of Jim but also ‘cause I don't really feel the need to. Maybe this is what maturing feels like, I don't know.
Dinner's nice. The food's good, and Jim is happy. Happier than I've seen in ages. Him being happy makes me happier too, and we bitch about things and snack for a couple of hours until we're both done.
About three-quarters of the way through I realise that the table we're at - and the candles -
Well, if someone was looking at us from the outside, they might think...
No. It doesn't matter. I try to ignore it, but it's a little hard to stop thinking about because... I'm enjoying myself. I really am. Maybe a year or so back I would have sat awkwardly, or panicked inside my head about what all this looks like, but I'm having a good time and I... don't really care, anymore.
It doesn't matter.
(It sort of does.)
It's raining again when we get back outside the restaurant, and I wish I'd brought a warmer coat. Definitely not the track pants. Bloody London, the place really knows how to spin up a gale. The wind's thrashing around the trees and across the water, and it's honestly a little bit perilous.
Jim's weirdly nice about it, though, and grabs my arm to stabilize me once or twice when the wind threatens us both. I... feel strangely good about it, after the fact.
Back at the apartment, I peel off my coat. It's completely soaked through, and I'm wet down to the skin. Jim's not fared much better, and he blinks at me through his rain-spattered glasses as I drop my wet shoes to the kitchen tile. "Borrow some clothes?"
"Yeah, 'course." He's done well, he has. These days we're almost the same size. I rummage through my stuff and find some things that'll work, and toss them in his direction.
He disappears into my bathroom and dries off without even waiting for any prompting, and it's funny that that is the moment I get it .
He feels natural here. I want him here. The place is much, much worse without him in it.
It's a strange realisation because I don't know what it leads to. I've felt the same way before, with girlfriends, with people like that, but... I've not ever had the self-consideration to think about something like this. It hits me, oddly, in the chest, and I dry off in silence, pulling a towel through my damp hair.
My clothes feel like they hang off my body, unnaturally, when I've changed. I step back out into the living room, and there I see Jim, perched on the sofa, wearing my clothes, and I realise .
It's not earth shattering, exactly, but it does stop me for a second. I steady myself on the kitchen island, cause it all finally makes sense. I want him in my life.
I want him in my life in exactly the same way that I've wanted girlfriends in my life. I want to see him here, in the morning, getting out of bed, and even in the middle of the night too. There's tension in my jaw for a second, and I realise I've bitten my tongue as blood floods my mouth. Oh my god. Oh my god. What does this even mean?
I don't realise I've sunk down into one of the seats at the kitchen island until James meets me there. I must have made a sound or something, cause otherwise he wouldn't have realised, but-
My whole world's falling away around me, into shreds of pointless memory. How hadn't I realised?
"Will?" James asks, far too softly. "You good?"
"Yeah." I reply, and then know that I don't have it in me to fake. I swallow heavily. "No. No I'm not."
"That's fine. That's cool. Can I help?"
That's so nice. That's the thing about him. He's such a shitposter, and a real pain in my arse, but when it matters... he's always there. I bite my tongue again, and want to turn away, but I don't. "Really don't think you can on this one, mate."
"Okay." He settles down on another stool, but his gaze doesn't leave my face. "'Cause you look like you've seen a ghost. Is there a ghost in this place I don't know about?"
"Only you." I reply, before I can even stop myself. It's rude. It's really rude. But maybe he gets it, cause he just laughs, reaching out, and brushing a bit of wet hair back from my forehead, and I only feel a tiny shiver down my spine. "Yeah, I basically am at this point. I'd move in, but you'd definitely get sick of me."
"I wouldn't." I croak, cause it's... true. I definitely would, but not in the way where it matters, not in the way where I'd ever kick him out. Fuck. Fuck! I'm two seconds away from having a meltdown, and I'm normally on a pretty even keel so this is really not something I'm used to.
He sighs. It seems to take a moment, like he’s thinking through a million things. When he finally seems to settle, his gaze is conflicted. “What are we doing here, Will?”
Funny, cause I want to ask him the same question. “I don’t know .”
Again, more conflict. Deep and dark uncertainty in his eyes. He seems to have made a decision. “Stand up.”
“Why?”
“Fuck's sake, man. Just do it.”
And so… I do. I can't not, really. All of this is so confusing. Too confusing. I've not been so conflicted in years.
He looks nervous, too. That's our Jim. Not usually one to initiate. But I just don't know-
He kisses me.
He kisses me and I have absolutely no idea what to do.
It's good, he's good, but it's also so weird and I don't know what to do and holy shit I'm panicking now. How come I'm panicking now? I can't breathe.
Jim lets me go, and I stumble back against the kitchen island, absolutely losing my shit. It's not him, really. It's the fact that it was good and I've been trying to avoid something for so long and it's-
His face twists oddly and he says, “Well, that's an answer to that then.”
“Jim, I-”
Without another word, he grabs his coat and his bag and leaves.
I don't even know what to say.
It's been the longest I've not talked to him in years. Since before the pandemic, I reckon.
It makes me feel sick, cause I don't even know how to talk about it. I'm pretty chatty usually but this is something completely outside of what I'm used to.
The loss hangs in the pit of my throat for a week. Maybe two. It sucks, and it especially sucks that we've pre filmed enough so videos are still going up. I still see his face on the feed every day.
But I'm not sleeping.
And he clearly isn't either. He looks exhausted in his Insta stories.
I don't… even know how to begin. Ask him how long he's wanted to do that? Ask him what he thinks would have happened?
The worst thing of all is that I know. I know I liked it. My life felt far better with him in it. I just don't know what that means for me.
So many years of making fun of people for things like this, and I'm going through it myself.
Fuck me.
It's after nearly twenty hours without sleep that I realise. I fucked this up. I need to fix it.
I bite the bullet and buy a train ticket to Brighton.
Can't seem to keep myself still in the train. My knees won't stop jiggling. It's all a bit rom-com, this, and it shouldn't be. I just want him back - and I really want to sleep through the night.
One of Jim's flatties opens the door when I knock. I don't remember this one's name, but she's a wee bit younger than me, I reckon. "He doesn't want to see you." She says, "He's real pissed at you."
"Yeah. Figured. Can I come in, anyway?"
She looks me up and down for a second in a way that seems actually really rude, and then decides to let me in. "I'm here to apologise. Seriously. I was a dick."
"Yeah. You were." She replies. "I mean, I don't know what you did but I'm pretty sure it wasn't great. The vibes in this place have been rancid for days."
Christ. I don't need twenty year olds trying to dictate my life. "What's your name?"
"Emily."
"Thanks Emily. Can I go and make up for my mistakes now?"
She's a bit like a guard dog, I think, but she lets me past eventually and I head down the hallway, terribly anxious. I've got one chance to get this right. One chance to not fuck this up. It's not for the channel at all. I just want him back.
I knock on the door. There's a second, some stomping footsteps and, "Em, I told you that I would-" He pulls the door open, and there's a tiny, horrifying moment where we just stare at each other. He looks about as shitty as I feel. Then he tries to close the door again.
I jam my foot into the gap and get my toes completely smashed for my troubles. "Jim, what the fuck!!" I grunt, as pain arcs through my foot. "Fuck me, brother. I'm trying to apologise to you."
He'd pulled the door away again in my shock and I can see him thinking it over. I rub at my foot. It hurts. If it's broken, I swear...
"Suppose you should come in then." He says, finally deciding, and lets me through, his mouth set in a thin line.
"Yeah."
I drop down onto his bed heavily and rub at my foot, which doesn't feel great. If I wasn't doing this for important reasons I'd be out the door already.
"Sorry." He says, after a second. He takes a careful seat in his computer chair. "For your foot. I didn't mean-"
"Fuck's sake, Jim. Don't apologise. I should be doing that." Maaan, my toes really hurt. "How pissed are you?"
"Yeah, pretty pissed. But mostly at myself."
Goddammit. I'm so shit at being genuine. I just want this to be over so we can get back to making fun of each other and trying bad snacks. "I want to say sorry. I am sorry. Seriously, mate."
"I kissed you. You didn't like it. You don't need to apologise."
Still sounds like he's blaming himself. This is... so hard. I have no idea what I'm doing. The truth - it's really hard to talk about sometimes. I take a deep breath, and ball my hands into my fists in my lap. The truth. I hate it. "I wasn't losing my shit cause you kissed me, Jim. I was... panicking 'cause I liked it."
"Okay." He's taking it better than I expected. He leans forward, clasping his hands together. "So you've become bi in the last two weeks?"
Fuck's sake. I don't know. I don't know about any of this. I'm barely holding it together as it is. "Don't be an arse." I spit, head pounding. "I don't care about what I am, what letter I need to be part of, what any of this is, I just want you back!"
That, finally, seems to actually get into his head. He sits back in his gaming chair again, and all is quiet for a few long moments. I can't really tell what he's thinking. There's too much at stake to even try.
"You just going to neck on with blokes now?" He says, quietly, carefully. "Or am I just lucky?"
This is going worse than I'd hoped. I hadn't even really thought about what I was going to say, or what was going to happen... but I had hoped it would be a little less bitter than this. "I can't tell you. 'Cause I don't know, Jim. I don't know what this makes me. The flat is just... so silent without you there."
That's all I can think about. I truly don't care about having some kind of big gay crisis. I'm not into that, I don't need that, it's not me. All I need is something more than I have.
He looks like he's thinking over a bunch of things at once. Going through a bunch of different emotions. I'm not great with silence, or pausing, I'd usually just get my phone out and play with it, but-
"Fine then. You're good with this? You're not going to fuck me over? Prove it."
Prove it? I don't even know what I need to prove. Prove that I want him back? Prove that I have... feelings that are more than just mate ones for him? What?
But then he stands up and joins me on the bed, the plush covers sinking beneath his weight, and then I realise exactly what he's wanting. Fuck. I'm... terrified.
And the worst thing of all is that I also want whatever he's planning on throwing at me.
I didn’t used to be this anxious. He’s rubbing off on me. I wish he was rub- I interrupt that thought immediately to focus on the man itself. My foot hurts. Goddamn, we’re both such a mess. “Well?” I ask.
“Well.” He replies, and the silence is so awkward that I surprise myself by kissing him.
It’s weird. It’s still weird. I’m not used to this, and it’s still… different in a way that’s kind of challenging to deal with, but then he cups a hand around the back of my skull, fingers parting my hair, pulls me in closer, and I- get it.
I suddenly, really get it.
He’s not all that dominant, our Jim, but it doesn’t matter, cause he knows what he’s doing and that’s enough for me. The feel of the hair along his back is… different, but not bad, and I realise that I’m actually enjoying myself when his hands settle on my hips.
Who knew that James Marriott of all people could be incredibly good at this?
It ends, at some point. I don’t really know how long we’ve been going, too wrapped up in the warmth, and the feelings and his fingertips pressing into my hips, but I could go forever, I think. Sure, it’s been a while, but I don’t really remember sex being like this. I’m almost dizzy.
He looks at me, and I look back at him, deeply conflicted, and still wanting more, and he just… pulls me into a hug. It’s been a while since I’ve been hugged, too, especially by him, and it feels unbelievably good too.
“What the fuck, Jim.” I murmur, after a while. Over his shoulder, I can see the warm Brighton light glinting off his windows, leaving patterns across his desk. “What the fuck.”
“Good?” He asks.
“Fuck off, brother. You know it was good.”
He laughs, and it rumbles through me. “You’re not weirded out?”
“‘Course I’m weirded out. Didn’t think I’d neck on with a lad in 2024, but I’m not… upset about it.” As soon as I say the words I know that it’s true. I can panic later, if I even need to. Jim’s never put a label on it.
I don’t see why I need to do so either.
Jim mmms, rubbing a thumb along my spine. “Sometimes it happens like that. You sure you want me to come back?”
“I meant it when I said it.” Probably the truest thing I’d said all day. “The city sucks without you.”
He just holds me tighter.
So, none of it has changed, but all of it has. We still get into scraps on camera. Jim’s still insufferable and absolutely undiagnosed nearly all of the time. I still spend way too much on plastic crap.
But it’s really nice to have someone there at the end of the day.
And it’s a huge bonus that it’s him.