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Grian had just celebrated his 18th birthday. It was half fun and half wildly awkward since he’d been pretending to be eighteen for at least two years by that point. His coworkers and, more importantly, his boss had taken it as well as he could’ve hoped, having known him for long enough to understand why Grian so desperately needed a job. They’d always thought he looked young, despite how Grian saw himself, so it wasn’t the major surprise Grian thought it would be. Which was good, he supposed.
The fun part came a few weeks later when Scott and Martyn had asked him to come and celebrate with a night out. It was the first Saturday they’d all had off in a while, and Grian’s birthday was the best excuse any of them could come up with.
They’d all met in Martyn’s apartment to get ready, and Scott had spent the better half of an hour trying to convince Grian that harnesses were not exclusively a sex thing. The younger man had still refused to put one on, instead going for a simple top that only just covered his stomach, but wouldn’t if he lifted his arms, and grey jeans he thought fit him pretty well. Clothes were strewn everywhere by the time they made any attempt to leave, and various makeup laid scattered across the small desk in the corner of Martyn’s room. Grian had relented to that experiment as Scott was determined to try it on him so, as they caught the bus into the city, Grian’s eyes were perfectly lined, and he had the smallest amount of lip gloss he could convince Scott to use.
They’d stopped a few streets away from their first bar since Martyn was hungry and unwilling to face the drinking on an empty stomach.
“G, do you want anything? I’m paying.” Martyn asked, having already relented to Scott’s request for an extra side of fries.
“I’m good.” Grian said absentmindedly, instead opting to stare out of the window into the night ahead of them.
Martyn looked unsure for a second but shrugged and turned back to pay for his order, leaving Grian to whatever he was seeing out on the empty street.
It didn’t take long for them to wolf down the pregame meal, and the trio were off into the night before long, stopping by a smaller, calmer bar before their planned destination of the club. In the dim lighting, Grian struggled to read the cocktail menu Scott had shoved in front of his face, and he practically shrivelled at how helpless he must’ve looked to the attractive bartender. He’d been a waiter himself for so long, but as soon as he was this side of the bar, all his knowledge seemingly vanished.
“How about I make your choice a bit easier?” The man behind the bar said, putting three shot glasses in front of him and pouring out different brightly coloured drinks into them, “These are on the house, for the birthday boy.”
Grian, despite the lack of lighting, could see perfectly well the gawk on Martyn and Scott’s faces, and they happily took the shots over to the table they’d commandeered. Martyn also ordered three simpler mixers for them to sit with, though his eyes narrowed conspiratorially when he noticed the man had only charged him for two.
“What?” Grian asked, laughing at Scott’s still wide-open mouth, “It’s probably just a birthday thing, I bet they don’t even have much alcohol in them.”
“Are you kidding G?” Scott squawked, “There is no way! That was top shelf shit, they would’ve cost us a week’s wages each.”
“Yeah, and that was not a birthday kinda thing, I came here on my last birthday, and I barely got a congrats.” Martyn informed, a little sulkily.
Grian shrugged awkwardly, not too sure how he was meant to react to that information and sipped on the shot that had been put in front of him.
“We’re gonna have to be on patrol all night Martyn, fending off men with a big stick from this one.” Scott joked, “He’s gonna get eaten alive at The Hermit.”
The Hermit was the club Scott had insisted they go to, and Grian was quietly confident that it was a gay bar. From how excited Scott was by it, he could only assume it was the only gay bar that didn’t have a significant cross-over with clients from Secret Life, the place they all worked at.
The trio sat with their drinks for a short while, mentally preparing themselves for the club, and by the time they wandered out of the bar, Grian was feeling pretty buzzed already. He idly wondered if he should’ve taken up Martyn’s offer of some food before he went straight for shots, but it was too late now. He was so buzzed in fact that once they had made it past the security line and into The Hermit, Grian made a beeline for the dance floor.
They danced in a small circle, laughing at how bad their own singing was over the deafening thump of the base. Grian barely looked around the room, only catching small glimpses of other people as they passed by to get to the bar. Somewhere in the back of his brain, Grian realised he would have to begrudgingly admit that Scott was right about the harness thing.
Grian felt himself bump into the back of someone standing behind him, and quickly turned around to apologise. The man smiled, and Grian thought he could vaguely make out his lips making the shape of the words “it’s okay” underneath his neatly trimmed moustache, though he couldn’t be sure. The small interaction brought the man into their little circle, and he joined in with their strange mating-ritual-like dances for a short while before slipping a piece of paper into Grian’s hand.
Grian opened it up and saw a few numbers scrawled on it, and it took him far longer than he would ever admit to realise it was the man’s phone number. Grian gave a happy, if surprised, thumbs up, and pocketed the note. Before he could do much else, Martyn swooped in and took him by the arm, having apparated a glass of water from thin air, and sat Grian down at a table somewhere in the corner of the room.
“He’s lucky I don’t have a big stick on me.” Martyn joked.
It was only then, when looking at his phone he’d ignored all night, that Grian realised it had been hours since they’d arrived. He saw Scott manoeuvring his way through the crowd with his and Martyn’s bags and realised that it was probably time for them to leave.
As they got back on the late bus to return to Martyn’s apartment, Grian realised something. He hadn’t hallucinated once since he’d taken a sip of that first drink. To assure himself of that fact, Grian reached into his back pocket and pulled out the crumpled up note with the numbers written across it. And he felt so normal for the first time in years.
+++
“How much?” Grian asked, ready to pull out his phone to pay. It had been a few days since his birthday celebration with Scott and Martyn, and Grian was feeling particularly brave that day. He’d decided to venture out into the city on his own and try to reclaim that sense of normalcy he’d felt while drunk.
“Your money don’t mean anything in here baby, you can have as many of ‘em as you like as long as I get to sit here and watch you drink ‘em.” The bartender said, and Grian smiled with bleary eyes as he downed a second shot. He felt proud of himself that he’d managed to do his own makeup this time around, with the cheapest drugstore makeup he could find. It was clearly good enough, as far as the bartender from the other night was concerned.
He only got three shots in before leaving to go back to The Hermit, unaware of the bartender he’d left pouting behind him. Grian practically bounced into the club, and he saw the recognition on the bouncer’s face as he let him in. He headed for the dance floor again, only leaving it to get another drink every now and then. Just enough to keep him in that happy place where he was definitely drunk, but didn’t want to actively be sick.
Grian was able to float there for a few hours, only mildly taking in the eyes on him as he twirled his way around the room. His joy dissipated slightly when a familiar sensation hit him suddenly in the back of the head.
Somewhere deep in the crowd he saw his own face, shining like a torch from where his glittery eyes reflected the disco ball above. The face stared back at him, smiling, and although for a second Grian thought it should have been creepy, the smile was an inviting one. He didn’t see his own face look happy very often. Maybe it was captured in a few photos his friends had taken without him knowing, but that was it.
Soon, another body stumbled in front of him and the other Grian was gone, replaced instead by a young boy he knew also wasn’t there. For once though, Grian couldn’t find it in himself to care. His visions were normally so horrible, he deserved to get a few nice ones while drunk.
The young boy ran around, ducking between the hordes of people dancing, and giggling as though he were playing with a bunch of other children. Grian recognised that it was his younger self, and knew for sure there was no evidence that this kid had ever smiled, never mind laughed, like this.
Grian was so enthralled watching the boy’s game that when his brain finally returned to his body, he was startled to learn that he was kissing someone.
It was the man who had given Grian his number. Had he called him? Grian couldn’t remember, but that didn’t mean too much. Either way, Grian had to admit he wasn’t completely against the kiss, even if he wished he remembered starting it.
The man opened his eyes and noticed the shock on Grian’s face, no matter how he tried to hide it. He pulled back and tried to say something, though neither of them could hear the words over the music. The man gently guided him to the corner of the club, where the music, whilst still very loud, was able to be talked over.
“You okay?” The man said, putting the back of his hand on Grian’s forehead and prompting Grian to notice how hot he’d suddenly become.
“Yeah.” Grian said bluntly, his attention being drawn back to where the boy was still running around in the crowd, “I’m fine.”
“Do you want me to call you a taxi?” The man asked, reaching to pull out his phone.
“No, it’s fine. I’m getting the bus.” Grian said, pushing the man slightly to the side to continue his view of his younger self.
“Let me take you to the bus stop then.” The man insisted, careful not to hold on to Grian too hard but really wanting the shorter man to leave.
Feeling a bit petulant over having been drawn away from the boy, Grian pouted the entire walk to the bus stop, and he didn’t thank the man as he turned to leave once Grian was on the bus.
After a few minutes, Grian’s mind was onto other things. Mostly it was centred around the fact that alcohol didn’t actually stop his hallucinations. But more importantly; it did make them a lot more enjoyable.
+++
The bartender looked slightly different the third time Grian went out. It was definitely still the same man, though the lovestruck puppy eyes Grian was used to seeing him with were gone. It didn’t change his behaviour though; the bartender still poured him a shot as soon as he walked in the door and pulled the card machine out of his reach.
After reaching his preferred level of drunkenness, Grian stood to leave, only to be halted by the hand of the bartender on his, “Don’t you think you should repay me for those drinks?” The man’s voice was gag-worthily sweet, and he smiled at the younger man in an odd way.
Grian opened his eyes wider from where they had been half-lidded, and reached for his phone to get out his bank card. He walked over to where the bartender had hidden the card machine, but by the time he made it, the man had pulled it further out of reach onto the bar back.
“That’s not the kind of payment I meant, baby.” The man said.
Grian tilted his head in confusion and looked at the board where the shots he had been drinking were displayed. His brain registered the amount and realised they weren’t as expensive as Scott had made them out to be. So, to satisfy the bartender, Grian pulled out a few notes he had stuffed in his pocket, dropped them onto the bar, and left to make his way to The Hermit again.
As soon as he entered the place, Grian locked eyes with the moustached man from before and rushed over.
“I am so sorry for last time.” He rushed out, “You were just being considerate, and I was being a dick about it.”
“It’s fine.” The man laughed, “You were drunk.”
“Yeah.” Grian humourlessly laughed along, fully aware that alcohol was not the main source of his weirdness, “I don’t think I ever caught your name?”
“It’s Mumbo.” The man said, reaching out for an only slightly awkward handshake.
Grian picked up on the vibe and realised, “Did you tell me that last night?”
Mumbo nodded, smiling.
“Did I tell you my name last night?” Grian asked.
“You did, Grian.” Mumbo admitted.
They lapsed into silence for a second before Grian spoke again, “I enjoyed it. The kiss, I mean. What I remember of it at least.”
“Ha.” Mumbo laughed, scratching the back of his neck, “Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have done that while you were too drunk to remember it.”
“Oh that wasn’t,” Grian started, before deciding against it, “Don’t worry about it.”
Mumbo smiled again and Grian knew he was continuing the conversation, though none of it went in. Instead, that tapping in the back of his mind returned, and Grian let it in.
This time he wasn’t even in the club anymore.
Instead of the flashing lights, Grian was greeted by a warm home, light flooding in through the windows that caught on every particle in the air and made them look like little dancing fireflies. He heard his mother, using a voice he’d never heard directed towards him before, call him in for dinner, and he walked slowly into the kitchen. Where he knew there was just an empty space where cans and bottles often piled up, there now stood a beautifully big table where his parents sat, dishing out plates of food to Joel, and Pearl, and Jimmy. They were all smiling, and it was wonderful.
He sat down in the empty chair and was given his own plate, and even though it looked like every meal he had ever wanted growing up, he suddenly felt violently ill.
Before he could remedy this in his perfectly happy world, he was pushed back into reality, where he was currently bringing up a lot of liquid, and very little solid, into a toilet.
“Hey Grian, it’s Mumbo. Do you remember me?” Mumbo said. He nodded after some consideration and the taller man continued, “You kind of spaced out and then started throwing up everywhere.”
“Why’d you have my phone?” Grian asked, seeing it dangling from Mumbo’s gangly, pale hands.
“Oh, here, sorry.” Mumbo said, giving the phone back, though it soon fell from Grian’s hand onto the floor with a dull thud, “I called the first person in your contacts. I thought they would know what to do if you had a seizure or something.”
“You called Scar?” Grian asked, kind of devastated. His best friend, the one he’d had a crush on since their eyes met, knew he was being sick in a nightclub bathroom, “Kill me now.”
“You probably won’t like that he’s on his way here then.” Mumbo muttered into his hand where he was biting the skin around his nails, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. He already knows I’m fucking weird.” Grian said, pouting nonetheless.
“I don’t think seizures are weird, Grian.” Mumbo retorted.
“It wasn’t a seizure.” Grian said, hearing his words echoed. For a second he thought he was getting another hallucination, which was rough, but that idea was dispelled when he saw Scar in the doorway.
“Hey.” Scar said as he knelt down next to Grian and pushed his hair to the side, out of his eyes, “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”
Together the two men bundled Grian into Scar’s car where it was waiting outside, and Grian only felt a little bad that he was using a man who already had enough trouble standing as his personal walking frame. Scar didn’t seem to mind though, fetching a bucket for Grian to hold from the boot of his car in case he needed to be sick again. Before they left, Grian finally managed to get a thank you out in Mumbo’s general direction.
“I thought you went out with the guys on Saturday?” Scar said after a long silence, though he kept most of his attention on the road.
“I did.” Grian replied, “And I went out on Tuesday too.”
He didn’t see Scar wince, but he felt it.
“I can do that if I want to.” Grian said, feeling like a child, “It helped with my… thing.”
“Did it?” Scar asked, looking at Grian’s shrivelled up form in the passenger seat.
“You’re not my parent Scar. Or my boyfriend. You can’t tell me what to do.” Grian insisted, though his walls were crumbling around him as he spoke.
“I know.” Scar said simply, and continued driving.
When they reached Scar’s flat, Grian quietly got out and followed Scar inside. He made it up the few flights of stairs, but practically fell onto the sofa as soon as the opportunity arrived. Scar calmly came over with a blanket, not saying anything as he wrapped it around Grian’s shoulders. Grian didn’t know if Scar disapproved of the more revealing top he had chosen to go out in that night, but if he did, he didn’t say anything at least.
His friend appeared once more, holding a paracetamol and a glass of water, both of which he gave to Grian to take. He sipped at the water, remembering his own advice for patrons of Secret Life when they’d had too much, as he tucked his legs up underneath himself.
He said nothing as Scar sat down next to him and put on a movie. Scar did this often, normally while Grian was sober, ever since he’d found out that Grian rarely watched films growing up. The only association he’d had with Star Wars was a t-shirt Joel had been given as a hand-me-down from an older cousin, and Scar was insistent on fixing that.
Grian didn’t pay as much attention as he normally did, instead choosing to finish his water before falling asleep against Scar’s shoulder. He drifted off to thoughts of that perfect version of his childhood, and the idea that maybe he shouldn’t try to revisit it again.