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On any occasion similar to this one, Harry would usually be off his face by now. The only reason he isn’t, this time, is because he doesn’t think he can trust himself around Josh in that immoral state.
Because Josh looks good tonight. Like unbelievably so.
The oldest Sidemen member rocked up to the party wearing a black button-down - with the top two buttons undone - and black trousers. The dark clothing suits him, and his hair is styled messily, sexily, and he has this confident smile on his face, practically a smirk, that has been there ever since he walked in. Harry feels like he is twenty again, silently mooning after Josh from the other side of the room. (He feels absolutely pathetic.)
Ordinarily, there would be nothing wrong with Harry admiring a man’s appearance, or even lusting after one. Men are fit. (He grew out of his bisexual curiosity and panicked internalised homophobia years ago. Off camera, he is just as good at flirting with guys as he is with girls. That is, just as embarrassing and desperate.) He’d argue there is nothing wrong with him doing so with one of his best mates, either, as that would be hypocritical to the little platonic fling he had with Ethan years ago, back before the man met Faith.
No, the problem is the woman hanging off of Josh’s arm, except she isn’t hanging off his arm, because a woman that beautiful has the confidence to own her shit. She has on a little black dress, a fitting match to Josh’s tantalising ensemble, and the smile on her face is just as dazzling as the one on Josh’s, if not more so.
He doesn’t feel guilty about admiring Freya, the ease so unlike the shame which courses through his body when he eyes Josh. The difference isn’t because Freya is a woman and Josh a man; no, the difference is that Freya is beautiful. That is a fact, one that Josh would never dispute Harry expressing. Freya is a good-looking woman, and Harry can admit that easily because his feelings for her don’t go beyond objective attractiveness. Freya is like the older sister he never had, a cousin figure who is kind of distant but always a pleasure to be around. She is his favourite of all the Sidemen partners, by far, though that’s not the only reason she’s the only one he’s never called a bitch, even affectionately. Having known her since his teenage years, there have been times where she has felt somewhat like his mum. His mum away from home, despite only being three years older than him. She intimidates him as much as she calms him.
With the logic that Freya has been like a mother to him at times, Josh should feel like his dad. At the very least like an older brother, the way Tobi does. But no, Josh just has to be Harry’s coveted desire, the one thing he wants that money can’t buy him. (Josh was arguably what cemented the bisexual label for Harry. Before he recognised his crush on the older man he was still convincing Tobi that he didn’t need to be an ally, because there was nothing to ally. Harry wasn’t part of the community , thank you very much.)
So here Harry is, pathetically sober at a Sidemen party, lusting after Josh as he sips at a bottle of J2O that he stole from Vik while the man was mid-sip. (In his defence, Vik seemed to appreciate the alcohol he replaced it with a lot more.) He feels childish, sneaking glances from the opposite side of the room, having not said a word to Josh all evening. Not even a greeting when the party first started.
He may or may not be avoiding Josh.
And Josh may or may not be aware of that, judging by the curious expression on his face whenever Harry has the misfortune of catching his eyes.
Partway through the night, Josh is visibly tipsy, and there is a mischievous glint in his eyes that has Harry aching to knock back a shot - or three - and orchestrate some chaos with him. But Freya’s tinkling giggles stop him, his friend’s fiancée standing mere feet from Harry in a cluster of other women. The sound of her voice is a painful reminder that Josh is still unattainable, just as he was when Harry first admitted his feelings.
So Harry looks at Josh, but listens to Freya speak, and tells himself that he has no chance with this man. The fact hurts, of course it does, but he replays it at top volume inside his head, like a provoking mantra. He forces himself to refocus on his conversation with Chip, who makes a valiant and somewhat successful effort at distracting him. Chip is boisterous and well on the road to getting drunk, a close friend Harry finds funny enough to cling to in this moment of need and desperation.
“And then this bloke - big fella he was - come over, tryna-”
“How are you doing, Chip?”
Harry nearly turns and walks away the moment he processes Josh’s voice, the older man saddling up to Chip as he interrupts him. An arm wraps around Harry’s shoulder at the same time, and the shiver that wracks down his spine at the touch has embarrassment flaming across his face. It wouldn’t normally, he can control himself in daily life after years of practice, but there is just something in the air this evening.
Harry really wants to turn and kiss Josh. (If only he was talking about Chip. If he was, that would be a much easier feeling to ignore. He wouldn’t feel anywhere near as guilty, even if Chip also has a girlfriend.)
Despite wanting, so badly, to kiss Josh, he doesn’t, because he respects his friend. And he also respects his friend’s fiancé. Who is currently laughing behind him, having just shared a joke with her group of friends. Harry didn’t hear the joke, thinks it was probably a shit one, but the women all seem to find it hilarious, and one or two cackles can be heard. Freya’s laughter sounds louder than the others, musical where some of the others are witchy, but the sound burns. It makes his skin crawl, and that sensation is the very reason why he ignores Josh in favour of honing his attention on the sound behind him.
It feels weird to be so attuned to someone else, but Harry needs to be in order to remind himself that as comfortable as Josh is with him, the older man is not, and will never be, his. He can hold him, and love him, but he can never have him.
Not in the way that matters. The way he wants.
“No way,” Josh says dramatically, and Harry curses at himself internally, because all it took was that first word to pull his attention back to the man standing beside him, “did he really? Can you believe that, Harry?”
“Huh?” Josh’s face is very close to his own, brown eyes dark and intriguing, and one blink is all it would take to pull Harry away from getting lost in those features. Knowing that, Harry doesn’t blink, his heart selfishly going against his (so very weak) morals and scheming against him with his brain. “Nah, mate.”
At the short response, Josh looks at him with warranted suspicion. He turns his face away to say something to Chip, pointing at something behind him.
“Ah, you’re right. I best be going, lads, me woman’s waiting for me. It’s never good to leave a lady in longing.”
Without Chip there as a buffer, Harry feels his heart drop into his gut. He swallows, laughing timidly, fakely, when Josh mutters something he doesn’t quite catch. But the laugh makes Josh smile proudly, so Harry lets it linger in the air for a little too long, tainting their easy friendship with Harry’s depraved desires.
“You’re all out, mate,” Josh says, and it takes Harry a moment to realise that Josh is referring to the empty bottle in his hand, “me too. Best go and get a top up, aye?”
Josh leads the two of them over to the bar, his arm still wrapped around Harry’s shoulder. He asks Harry, “What’s your fancy?” as they cross the room, and Harry panics and blurts out, “An XIX,” without thinking. He was aiming not to drink tonight, purely because of Josh, but he realises how weak his resolve is, feeling so warm and cosy pressed up against his friend. All that’s missing is the warming buzz that alcohol brings him.
“You know what, me too.” Josh nods, then to the bartender, he says, “Two rum and cokes, please,” and smiles widely when the woman nods and turns away to fulfil the request.
“That’s not- you know what,” Harry just laughs, leaning closer against the other man and smiling when he feels him laugh too, “that’s fine. You got another secret mission going on? You getting paid for this, or what?”
“Getting paid in quality time with my boy!” If it wasn’t obvious before that Josh is tipsy, it definitely is now. Josh doesn’t often call people his boy , not unless he’s had a drink or two, if he is to mean it unironically, without a trace of amusement.
Either way, it’s music to Harry’s ears, and his chest puffs out subconsciously, his face warming subtly.
He’s pathetic. He knows he is.
Josh must know too, surely, especially with the way they are pressed against each other. But Josh doesn’t care. Has never cared. He raises an eyebrow at Harry, one corner of his lips pulling up in a smirk, but he doesn’t actually say anything.
“Thanks,” Josh grabs a glass as soon as the two drinks are placed on top of the bar, and Harry trades his empty bottle for the other glass, “come on, Harry.” He guides Harry away from the bar with ease, walking him back to their previous spot in the corner. Josh raises his glass to JJ in passing, but other than that neither of them address any of their friends.
It doesn’t take long after that for Harry to lose himself. A red wine and coke, plus an XIX, later, Harry is eager to no longer be completely sober. (Admittedly, he is probably just drunk off of Josh’s presence, Josh’s touch, but it is less sad to convince himself that he is getting tipsy from the alcohol.) All the alcohol he hasn’t, but otherwise would have, drank tonight seems to be catching up with him now that Josh is here to help him let loose. Oddly, tonight’s party is one Harry had weirdly been looking forward to, and Josh knows that, because Harry had mentioned it to him at least twice since it was first planned. Of course, as the good friend he is, Josh had decided to help Harry make the most of the evening. And as much as he has been trying to cut back, a good party does indeed include alcohol.
He won’t hear otherwise from Tobi. (The last good party he experienced without alcohol was his twelfth birthday party.)
So, Harry may or may not be playing up his insobriety. Not all of it is a dedicated ploy, some of it thoughtless and guided by his genuine attraction, but either way he ends up leaning a little too close to Josh. Laughs a little too enthusiastically at jokes that really aren’t funny.
At some point, Freya wanders over with a heavily pregnant Talia in tow, and she places a delicate hand on her fiancé’s shoulder and a soft kiss on his cheek. The actions act as both a greeting and a farewell.
“We’re gonna head out, Josh,” she tells him, jutting a thumb behind herself at Talia, “this one’s done for the night so we’re gonna Uber home. You stay and enjoy yourself, though. You seem to be having fun with Harry.”
The two kiss, then, followed by a shared look. It’s something intimate and reverent, an expression Harry has absolutely no understanding of. Freya smiles as she whispers something in Josh’s ear, giggling when Josh leans close to do the same back. A part of him wishes he could have this same comfort and familiarity with Josh, but he’ll take the changed drink orders and simple banter over nothing.
The part of him that does crave for more, though, flushes with humiliation when Talia laughs at him, like she knows something he doesn’t. She glances from Harry to the couple, then back again, and giggles into her hand. It’s not a malicious sound, but it does leave discomfort prickling at the back of Harry’s neck hotly, and his cheeks must flame an ugly red colour. If she wasn’t on labour’s doorstep, he would tell her to go fuck herself. (Though he is fearful of saying that to her these days, after that one time she winked awkwardly at him and said don’t mind if I do. Simon still won’t quit laughing at him about it. It wasn't that funny.)
The two women leave, and Harry is once again left with Josh. With the one thing his heart yearns for the most. He shouldn’t be, though, because he feels way too smug, almost victorious, as if Freya going home with Josh means Harry has won, and that he has the right to want more than friendship with the other man.
“Ah, mate, I need a piss,” Josh says after a moment, and Harry nods. He momentarily resigns himself to a small window of time without Josh at his side, but then he realises that there is a hand on his wrist, dragging him across the room in the direction of the toilets. Okay, sure. He guesses they can go piss together. It’s not like Josh hasn’t seen him in worse moments.
The men’s toilets are empty. Which is fortunate for Harry, because it means no one is around to judge if he catches an accidental look at Josh while they both… take care of business. No one is around to judge except Josh, but he has this annoying little habit of laughing off Harry’s odd quirks. As if ruffling his hair will excuse Harry’s peculiarities, or reverse time back to when Harry was younger and didn’t have a crush on one of his best friends.
Glancing around the room again, just to make sure, Harry heads for the urinals. Or tries to, at least, because Josh’s hand, still wrapped around his wrist, stops him.
“Hm? I thought we were here to piss.”
“We can do that after,” Josh tells him, smiling fondly, “I want us to do something else first, though.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, his lips twisting around the word what, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask his friend what he means. Because his friend suddenly kisses him. There are lips on Harry’s! And they belong to his friend! His very taken friend!
It takes Harry an awfully, immorally, long time to pull away from the kiss after he reminds himself that Josh is an engaged man. He’ll have a wife at some point in the near future.
But Josh’s lips feel so good against his own, warm and soft. His beard is kind of scratchy, especially against Harry’s own unshaved stubble, but he can ignore the way the sensation makes his skin crawl because his heart is currently doing somersaults inside his chest. Actually kissing Josh is way better than he imagined it would be back as a twenty-something bisexual man, and his eyes drift closed without him really thinking about it.
An additional problem, retrospectively, is that Harry never pulls away. Even after thoughts of Freya, sweet and gentle, with a heart of gold, fill his mind, he still continues to lose himself in the kiss. Josh is actually the one to pull away, a simple smile on his face as he does so.
Losing the warmth against his lips, and missing it, Harry opens his eyes with a jolt. He stares at Josh, his lips parted, and wonders why the man pulled away so soon.
And then he hears Freya’s laugh replaying in his head, loud enough it would be plausible for her to be passing right outside the door. Which, on second thought, she could be , because Josh pulled Harry away straight after the two women left. Maybe they decided to stop off for a bathroom break before their Uber got here. It would make sense, considering Talia’s current… predicament.
The idea that Harry may have just kissed Josh with his finacée right outside the door is honestly nauseating. Harry has to take a moment to breathe, fearing he may actually throw up. He just kissed a taken man. Or, well, a taken man kissed him. But is that really any better? Especially considering Harry’s refusal to pull away after acknowledging the man’s partner.
“Why did you do that?” He blurts out in questioning, staring at Josh in wide-eyed horror. Josh just cheated on Freya, his loving fianée, his partner of over a decade, and Harry just helped him do so. Eagerly!
“You look good tonight,” Josh explains, nodding down at Harry’s body, as if that is any excuse for what the two of them just did. He smiles, teasing, as if Harry isn’t in the middle of a crisis right now. (Maybe more than one.) “Who you trying to impress, hm?”
“I- what- no one! Stop trying to distract me. Why would you kiss me when you’re engaged to Freya?! Why would you do that to her - she’s such a lovely woman!”
Josh’s facial features soften, his smile turning kinder, losing its teasing edge and instead adopting a much more caring one. “Harry,” he says seriously, meeting the younger man’s eyes, “I didn’t cheat on Freya, Harry.”
Harry’s head rears back, and he stutters over his words trying to express- everything. His mind is a swirling mess of anger, happiness, betrayal, indignation, and hope. “Er, y-yes you did! You’re engaged to her, and you just kissed me. That is the textbook definition of cheating! Don’t act stupid!”
Harry practically spits the words out, filled with nauseous disgust and pessimistic contempt. For a moment there, Josh had truly felt like something Harry could want, could have. How selfishly stupid of him.
“‘Cheating’ only applies to situations where the partner is unaware. Freya literally gave me her blessing to kiss you.”
“You- you’re lying.” Because why else would Harry be getting everything he wants, without societal outrage and unethical consequences. “You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not lying, Harry.” Josh sounds sincere, but Harry is desperate enough to believe anything the man tells him in this moment, because he wants this lie to be true. He wants it to be true so badly. But he knows it’s not, and to pretend otherwise is just wishful thinking. Josh is drunk, and he made a bad decision, this didn’t mean anything. “Freya truly did give me permission to kiss you. And more, if you would ever want that.”
“Why would she- why would she give you permission?” Harry doesn’t know why he is entertaining this deception, letting it go on for so long, but maybe it’s because he has dreamt of this moment for years.
“You start considering hall passes a lot more seriously after over a decade of being in a relationship together.”
Harry doesn’t understand at first. He stares at Josh blankly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and frowns in confusion. What relevance do hall passes have to Josh being a cheater?
“Wait, are you saying- am I…?”
“Yes, Harry, you’re my hall pass.”
Things aren’t really getting any clearer, but Harry nods anyway, just to give himself the delusion that he is starting to understand better.
“But I thought hall passes are supposed to be celebrities, not people you know in real life. You’re not actually meant to meet them, it’s supposed to be unlikely that you’ll ever actually have a chance to have sex with them.”
“You are a celebrity, Harry.” Josh shrugs, like Harry’s entire world and his understanding of it aren’t collapsing around him at this very moment. “And if it makes you feel any better, Freya has two to make up for the fact that I know you. She says it’s cheating that I know you so intimately, but the option of a second pass shut her up real fast.”
The smile is back on Josh’s face as he says that, his voice dizzyingly fond. Even after everything that has just happened, is happening, the switch is the unfortunate reminder that Harry will never have Josh the way he wants him, wholly and forever. His alone to cherish and flaunt. (If he was engaged to Josh, Josh would not have a hall pass. Not to shit on Freya’s parade or anything.)
“Why am I your hall pass? Why use it now?”
Josh shrugs again, and the gesture honesty hurts a little bit, but Harry can't explain why.
“Because I like you. And I finally felt comfortable expressing that.”
I finally felt comfortable expressing that.
Okay, but what about what Harry wants? (This.) What about what Harry is feeling? (A horrible and intense longing for Josh.)
“Oh.” Is all Harry can bring himself to say.
And then he walks straight out the door.
Josh doesn’t call after him. As if he understands what Harry is feeling in this moment. As if he understands that Harry is struggling after being offered everything he wants in such a casual, upsetting manner.
Josh lets him go without saying anything, doesn’t try to pull him back or anything. But Harry’s phone vibrates in his pocket as he exits the building, and he knows without a doubt that the notification is a message from Josh. He doesn’t bother to check it.
He finds several other party guests lingering outside the building, a couple waving at him as they prepare to leave. Many of them must sense his distress, because nobody tries to talk to him properly, though they all clearly want to. He lets Chris pull him over to share an Uber, despite them living in opposite directions, thankful for the excuse not to have to look at his phone screen before he is ready to.
He has no idea when, or if, he will ever be ready.