Chapter Text
David
[11:41] Archana: I’ve got to ask, is there something going on between you and Olly?
Oh, shit. Called out. She must have clocked something. Of course, it’s not normal to let your brother-in-law’s brother crash at your place after he suffers a badly-ending, haphazard night out. Was it just that? Or had there been something else? Olly had been speaking awfully loud. What had he said, again?
I try to reply quickly, aiming for a genuinely bemused tone.
[11:43] You: Huh? Like what? Not sure what you mean…
Yeah, that’ll do it. Normal response.
Shit, she’s typing…
[11:44] Archana: It’s really none of my business…
Shit, crap, fuck. Not off the hook yet, then.
This is salvageable. I know it is. Just need to act fast.
[11:44] You: No, no! Ask away! I understand if you have questions - I know it might have seemed weird.
No typing from Archana.
Better front load this shit.
[11:46] You: He doesn’t usually show up unannounced. He’s crashed before, but he usually gives me the heads up first. I’ve made sure he’s gotten home a few times - like, at family events and things. Sometimes he just needs a shoulder to lean on or a friendly face.
[11:47] Archana: That makes sense. I thought you both just seemed… close, couldn’t put my finger on it.
This is going well, she’s on board. Nearly in the clear. Might just need to send one more…
[11:48] You: Yeah, I suppose. Truth be told we have grown close.
I pause, before adding one more message.
[11:48] You: Olly’s become like a little brother to me.
Fuck. I am going to hell.
2 Weeks Later
Olly
Wow, so this fucking… sucks.
My lecturer has given me a 63 in my latest essay. 63! I’ve never gotten below an 88, and even that piece was submitted after I was essentially drunk and stoned for three days straight.
This last term I was killing it with my assignments, twice getting top of my class… Although I did have some choice motivation for finishing one of those.
I admit I’ve perhaps been a little off my game…
Logging off my uni portal, I shut my laptop with a clunk.
I check my phone. 19:43. No messages. God, I hate that I’m such a fucking mess.
“Wake up, fuckface!” Oscar and Bailey unceremoniously barge their way into my room.
“I’m not even asleep.” I retort. “I was just… getting some work done.”
“Mills said you’ve got fuck all due until after reading week,” Bailey states confidently, “You’re out of excuses for why you can’t come out with us.”
I’ve been trying to keep my recent implosion discreetly hidden by holing up in my room and taking extra shifts at the coffee place, but I can see these two are on a mission to drag me back to the living whether I’m ready or not.
“Dude, we miss you!” Oscar sits up close to me on the bed, taking my hand. “We’re going dancing and you’re coming with.”
I’m already shaking my head and starting to protest when he squeezes my hand and brings it to his chest. “I’ll let you do my eyeliner,” Oscar pleads, giving me his classic raised eyebrow pout, and I feel my resolve start to ebb.
I guess my only plans for the night were trying to jizz the sadness from my veins.
“Ugh, fiiine!” I exclaim dramatically, before adding, “but you’re buying the drinks. I don’t get paid until next week, and I’m literally down to zero for the month.”
“Deal.” Satisfied, Bailey retreats from the room to get ready while Oscar starts leafing through my t-shirts, presumably wanting to borrow my stuff.
An hour later and three shots down of some questionable schnapps Bailey found in the cupboard, I’m certainly warming up. I’m wearing my tight black ripped jeans and a Beabadoobee shirt with the sleeves cut off. Ava and Mason arrive with vodka, and we mix it with orphaned fridge booze in a nearly empty coke bottle to make some sort of deadly punch. I down a cup of the mixture and gesture for a refill, gasping as it burns my throat.
Back in my room, I check my reflection, lifting my arms above my head. As my t-shirt peels away and reveals my midriff, I note the rise and dip of my hip bones are more pronounced, and instead of looking strong and toned, my abs appear to have melted into my skin, replaced by a torso that looks sunken and frail.
I’ve not exactly ever been regular with my meal planning, and I barely think we’ve ever done a full grocery shop as flat mates, but food has really dropped to the bottom of my priority list. I’ve been relying on black coffee and vaping in my work breaks. I’d never been into working out – fuck the gym – but I’d always felt supple, athletic, and strong in my own way, muscle memory from my stint in gymnastics often kicking in.
I catch my own eye and see sadness there. This is not me. I decide then I’m not going to allow my brain to sit with these pathetic ideas and have a word with myself.
Get a grip. You are not sad, just fucking horny. Now go get some.
Screams of delight are coming from the kitchen, and when I reach the doorway, I see that Mason and Mills have arrived. I rearrange my face and take in the scene - Oscar is lying on the floor with a plastic shot glass balanced on his belly button, liquid teetering at the edges. Ava is shrieking as Mason leans over Oscar, trying to line up his mouth to the rim. Bailey is yelling, “I’m not paying up if you don’t shoot it in one”.
“What’s the bet?” I ask, as they look up at me, Ava barely able to control her cackling.
“Do two belly shots with no hands, winner gets a fiver. You spill it, and you owe me the five quid.”
“Come on, Olly,” Ava shouts, “you’re next!”
“Yeah, I’m game.”
I start to pull at my shirt, but Mills interrupts. “No, no, come on, ” she shouts over the din. “The Undercroft is free entry if we get there before 10.”
The walk takes 20 minutes. I’m slurping the dregs of the evil cocktail, and by now, the alcohol is really starting to work. My brain feels fuzzy and a little numb. It’s good.
We reach the club, it's just the shitty student union but the music isn’t bad and the drinks are cheap.
There’s also no chance of seeing him.
David
“That was amazing,” Archana coos, placing her knife and fork on her nearly empty plate. “Best salad Nicoise I’ve ever had.”
I nod in agreement, swallowing the last of my chicken chasseur, “mm-hmm.”
“Where did you hear about this place?” Archana queries.
“My friend Cookie from football said he brings his wife here for her birthday and mentioned it might be romantic.”
Archana beams at that, her hand slipping easily across the table to hold mine.
In the couple of weeks between our disaster date and now, we’ve seen each other almost daily at work. I really put in the effort, pursuing her for lunch and sending her emails with GIFs from Friends and Smack the Pony, both of which she mentioned she used to love when she was over for a steak dinner. I’m sure there were other topics we discussed, but it’s all a little foggy.
I pay and we slip outside, coming to face each other in front of the restaurant.
“Well, I had a great time, David.” She’s smiling and holding my gaze.
“Me, too,” I reply, returning her smile. “Shall we go for a drink? I know a nice bar near here. They play live jazz, but you can still, like, chat.”
“Sounds perfect,” Archana smiles prettily. “Let's go.”
I know this part of London well so I turn on the charm offensive and tell her about which places are new and the patisserie where I sometimes go for pastries on a Sunday. We fall into step with one another, and at some point our fingers interlock, swaying gently between us. Her hand feels small and unfamiliar in mine.
Olly
We get into the club just before 10 and the pounding music really wakes up my senses. Bailey and Oscar were right. I needed this. As promised, they get the rounds, and after two Jagerbombs, I’m ready to dance.
Mills and I are screaming at the top of our lungs to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer," and I’m feeling more like me again, my friends around me, music pounding in my ears.
This place would call itself queer friendly, but it’s mainly full of straights, some people hooking up in the corners of the room, couples dancing, and girls in huddles.
Oscar comes up to me and throws his arms around my neck. I pull him close, and we hug and move to the music.
“GOOD TO HAVE YOU BACK!” He yells into my ear. I just shrug and move away from him as if I can’t really hear him.
Admitting I was returning from anything now would be focusing my mind where it can’t go. I need to be here, present. I jump on the spot, spinning, losing myself in the music. Oscar’s back in my ear again. “JUST SAY IF, LIKE, TOO SOON, BUT THERE’S A TOTALLY HOT GOTH, AND SHE LITERALLY CAN'T TAKE HER EYES OFF YOU.”
I follow his eyeline, and to be fair, there are some pretty intense looks coming from the girl across the room. She’s dancing with what look like her friends, wearing a fishnet full body suit under ripped jeans and a crop top. I give Oscar what I hope is a look of ‘why not’ and walk over towards the bar, passing via her group of friends.
She appears next to me, leaning against the bar. Close up, she’s cute, sporting a nose ring and flecks of pink in her dark fringe. I’m getting fresher vibes even though it’s October. This is gonna be easy.
“I’m Lylah.” OK, no hanging around.
“Ollie.”
“Fucking love your tattoos. So sexy.” Lylah looks up through her eyelashes.
“They’re meaningless. That’s the point.”
She reaches her hand out and traces a finger across the lettering on my arm. Lylah looks back up at me, her tongue ghosting her lips. Wow, this is forward.
But hey, young people today just know their bodies, if she wants me as her conquest, so be it. A thought crosses my mind, halting me for a second. Wait, is this what I was like with…?
“Yeah, cool, meaningless, I get it,” she says, nodding. I don’t think she does. “Wanna dance?”
“Sure.”
The dance floor is packed now, and it’s easy to get close. The song changes, and Lylah turns, pressing her back to my chest, her arm reaching back and she gently grasps my neck.
My hands find her waist, my fingers sliding over the fishnet lacing, the muscle memory of lust awakening in my groin.
Her arse feels good against me.
David
We arrive at the blues bar, ‘Ain't Nothin But’, but it’s busy and we have to queue. It’s a short line, and the people in front of us are regulars, assuring us it’ll only take 10 minutes but doubt is creeping in; this place is way more serious than I remember. But still, it’s a nice place, and popular is good.
Archana breaks the silence, “So.. you like Jazz?”
I feel like I must be on to a winner here. Archana’s classy and Jazz is… You know, cultured. “Yeah, I love it.” Beyond a lie. “I used to be quite into Jamie Cullum when I was younger.” Shit that sounds wrong. Better not give her a play by play of my wank bank.
She nods before leaning in conspiratorially. “I don’t know much about Jazz. You’ll have to school me.”
Flirting! This is good!
When we get inside, it’s table service, not really the casual vibe I was going for, but I plough on, hoping to chat and move things on a little. People are clapping between numbers, and the moments are either too noisy or too quiet.
We manage a brief exchange about music. It's so loud I can barely hear her over the live band, but I just about make out what she’s saying as she lists her favourites as Maroon 5, Clean Bandit and “THAT NEW ONE BY MILEY CYRUS?” I don’t know it, so I just nod politely.
The vibe is courteous, but I’m holding back, not really giving her myself. She’s a good match for me, a worthwhile pursuit. I should make more effort.
I decide I need to come clean. I yell over the music, “YOU KNOW, I LIED BEFORE.”
She frowns, a questioning look on her face.
“ABOUT JAZZ.” Relief and a knowing smile. “I’VE HEARD OF JAMIE CULLUM, BUT I HONESTLY KNOW FUCK ALL ABOUT JAZZ.”
She laughs and holds my hand.
“WELL, ME NEITHER!” She shouts, our faces close. She looks charming in this light, her eyes sparkling.
Until now the evening has been perfectly fine, but some moments have felt forced. We aren’t at the smooth back and forth we had managed in the early moments we shared at my flat.
Encouraged, I go louder “LITERALLY, ALL JAZZ SOUNDS THE FUCKING SAME TO ME.”
More nodding, more laughter.
Her bright face spurs me on, so I shout, “I WOULDN’T KNOW IF THIS WAS GOOD OR IF THIS WAS TOTAL SHIT!”
And like a bad movie, there’s sudden quiet and my last four words echo across the room, audience members' heads whipping round to us in their seats, the gap between the end of the number and applause and my yell coinciding perfectly.
The clapping mercifully begins, and I’m staring shamefaced back at Archana. To my relief she starts to laugh, and I do, too. People are still staring at us with contempt, but we’re completely consumed with laughter now. Tears are forming in my eyes, and she is clutching her stomach with one hand, the other gripping my forearm affectionately.
“Should we go?” she says between laughs.
“Definitely,” I say. We pick up our things, rushing past tuts and disapproving looks towards the exit.
We’re still laughing as we push out into the cool October air, me dragging Archana by the hand. I feel a jolt behind me, and I stumble. “Ah!” cries Archana, tripping into me, “Ow!,” she’s hopping now, holding on to my arm. “Shit, my shoe!”
Olly
I dance with Lylah, our bodies grinding together. She is hot, and chances are I’ll go home with her. The combination of no food, schnapps, vodka punch and Jager have well and truly hit and eclipsed my ability to keep beat with the track. I’m feeling more like I need to vomit than come right now, and I’d rather not blow my chances by doing the former in here.
I motion to Lylah that I’m going outside for a smoke, and she smiles and shouts in my ear to come back soon, her mouth grazing my ear lobe.
I worm through the club and past my friends, signalling to Oscar where I’m going, any words completely drowned by the bass.
My head swims.
I stumble out the front of the club and throw up in a nearby bush, breathing deeply into the cool night air. My hands are on my knees as I try to steady myself. I look up and across the street. It must be past midnight, but this is London, and cabs and buses are still busying the roads.
In the gaps between traffic, a figure has caught my gaze, the outline of a man, a couple in fact.
The man is laughing, holding his partner’s arm steady. My eyes take in his date, she’s hopping on one leg laughing back at him, holding her shoe in the other hand.
I stare, transfixed, unable to move from my bent over position. I watch as she rights herself, slipping her heel back on her dainty foot, her face beaming. There is renewed giggling as he leans forward and says something in her ear.
They draw closer. The arms are so familiar I can almost feel the hands on my waist as my eyes trace the grip the man has on her hips.
I should look away, go back inside, run, but I remain rooted to the spot as I watch, in agony, as David brings his mouth down to meet Archana’s lips.
***