A/N- Two warnings, (i) this chapter contains some heavy stuff so read with caution*
(ii) I also apologise if this chapter bores you to tears😂.

H.G
Knightsbridge, England
December, 19th

You won't often catch me quoting Sigmund Freud, but even a broken clock is right twice a day. When I first read that  "Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive, and will come forth later, in uglier ways," I probably should have passed some heed. Perhaps today's emotional breakdown could have been avoided if I had taken such a statement seriously.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

"Oh darling, are you feeling a little better now?" My mother lingered by the door, and peaked her head in.

I had fled home in the hopes I would receive a shred of comfort, which really was naive of me. Posh parents don't concern themselves with such nonsense.

"I already told you that I'm feeling much better." I rasped, and sat up in the bed. "If I could just get a glass of water—"

"You were throwing up all morning." She commented, "I will phone Doctor Morris!"

"Oh please don't." I exclaimed with horror.

Doctor Morris was a man who had to be at least seventy when I was a boy, so god only knows what age he is now. I went to him before when I was younger and suffering from a similar bout of nausea and insomnia. He told me that I was suffering from an excess of black bile, and that I was melancholic as a result. I wasn't too shocked considering Dr Morris was probably there when Hippocrates defined the bodily humours and Galen developed his theory of personality.

The doctor poked and prodded, proceeded to ask me about my sex life, and recommended seeing a psychiatrist by the end of the session because he claimed all my symptoms were manifestations of my ailing mind. All with my father in the room because I was only seventeen. It was bloody traumatic.

'Melancholy? Psychiatrist? Those bloody thieving doctors are scam artists! Hayes, you better pull yourself together and sharpen up. There's nothing wrong with you.'

So at seventeen I did indeed pull myself together, and didn't unravel again until four years ago when I first fled to New York. That was most likely the bleakest period in my life, until once again I somehow managed to piece myself back together. And now I don't know if I had it in me to do it again.

"Well if you won't see Doctor Morris" my mother began, "I'm afraid I will have to send you over to George and Annie."

"What?" I asked groggily, "Why?"

"I have guests popping over dear, I hope you understand."

"But I'll be in my room—"

"Please understand Hayes," she finally entered the room, "I don't want to risk anyone getting your bug." She briefly touched my forehead and left once again, "I'll have cook bring you up some water before you go."

I think I may have hit rock bottom, because I pulled on some grey trousers (that I think were for leisure wear based on the fabric), and a jersey from my days of playing soccer at school. I even wore 'sandals' because the effort of tying laces seemed far too much hassle today.

George and Anne looked at me as though I had lost it when I shuffled through the door of their Knightsbridge townhouse. My brother considered me with considerable concern as he ushered me in. I probably shouldn't have driven myself over because it completely took the rest of my energy away from me, but here we are.

"Hayes, are you quite alright?"

"Oh he's alright." Anne snapped and whacked me on the shoulder. "Pig!"

George's eyes popped open as he tried to shield me from his wife's wrath. He took me by the shoulders and sat me down on his suede couch. I definitely deserved that.

"What did he do?"

"He went for dinner with Rosemary last night," Anne seethed, "And he left her not two minutes after the deed was done. She's distraught!"

At that, I stood up, rushed for the bathroom, and got sick again. I near had a heart attack when George followed me in and attempted to tuck my unruly hair back behind my ears. His recent fraternal/paternal hybrid behaviour towards me was still jarring.

"Was she that bad?" George asked innocently.

"Piss off."

"I didn't think you even liked her."

I didn't, I just wanted to prove to myself that I wasn't gay, and ended up just confirming it. I'm not attracted to women, there it is. One kiss with Freddie was far better than any relations I have ever had with with a woman. Then I proceeded to be an absolute cruel prick to him.

"Perhaps he got food poisoning." Anne crooned from the door, "It would serve him right."

"Yes, it would serve me right." I groaned, because I used that poor girl as an experiment, "Can you apologise to her for me?"

"You can apologise yourself."

"Anne, now isn't the time darling." George hummed cautiously and gave me some space to fix myself up again. "Do you think it's a bug Hayes, you don't look at all well."

I don't know what's wrong with me.

"Come on mate, I'll get you some water. Did you sleep last night?"

"No." Or any other night since I finally accepted my attraction to Freddie.

I never believed that there was anything wrong with a man being with another man, or a woman being with another woman, no matter how much my family attempted  to convince me otherwise. In my eyes, I never really gave a toss who dated who, that was all personal information. I never cared for personal information. So what if unmarried Joe Soap down the road had been living with a man his entire adult life? Who cares? Just like I don't care that Mrs Miggins married Mr Miggins and had three kids. Does any of that information impact my life? Change it? Influence it? Interest me? No. It's polite small talk material and that's it.

I remember my father telling me about Hugh Alec, and Jeremy Thorpe disgraced politicians who had been caught up in an affair with a man. I was about ten, it was the sixties, and homosexuality was still completely illegal in Britain. My father had used the scandal to teach his first lesson in bigotry. He spouted off about how wrong it was, how both men should have received a longer prison sentence, that it should have been dealt with on a hush hush basis so children shouldn't have to hear about it.

I was of course confused, he kept saying how 'wrong' it all was, Hugh Alec and a lawyer named Jonathan. I couldn't comprehend that dating someone could land you in jail.

I always remember my first innocent question being 'is Jonathan mean?'

'No?'

'Then why does no one like them together?'

Unless Jonathan was a murderer, or an awful person, I didn't see how Hugh could be judged for having relations with him. Just like you wouldn't judge a man for dating a woman unless she was awful or vice versa. Dad tried to twist my mind into his view, on how morally wrong it all was, but it never seemed to stick. I never had a problem with men like Alex, or Freddie, or Julian, because they were just normal people. So that wasn't my issue. I had no personal problem with gay men, I didn't believe it to be a wrong way of life, or any shit like that.

My problem wasn't horror because I didn't believe any of it to be horrible. My problem was pure, unadulterated fear. I have also gone thirty years without knowing who I am, without letting me be my truest self. It is quite terrifying to admit to yourself that you have wasted so much of your life lying to yourself, keeping everyone at arm's length for no good reason. And my god I have been cruel, both to myself and others.

I could have been happy, but I consciously chose not to be. In fact, at every turn, I forced myself to take the difficult route. I made myself miserable.

All of which I have never truly acknowledged, because once I did... there was no coming back. I would have to deal with it, every consequence of my actions. The only time I have ever let myself explore the possibility that I may be gay, that I may have to deal with the consequences of living that life, I experienced a similar mental state to the one I was now in.

Four years ago when I was unforgivably cruel to my friend Julian, (I mean what I recently said to Freddie was practically a romantic Shakespearean sonnet in comparison) my body seemed to malfunction. Once again, I couldn't sleep, or couldn't keep down a meal. My body wanted to obey my mind's wishes, and cease to work.

After a week alone in New York, in the aftermath of an almighty row with my father, and losing the only person who truly cared about me, I sought to speed up the process of my body's shut down. I took a fresh pack of prescribed sleeping pills, and ingested  every last one of them in the hopes I would never wake up again. I did wake up, alone, on my side, ridding myself of the toxic contents that I had attempted to finish myself off with. I never told anyone, and if someone is every caught whiff of the incident and asked, I would deny it. In my own mind I had written it off an an accident, a wake up call.

My father's words echoed through my mind 'you better pull yourself together and sharpen up'. So that's what I did. I pulled out a fresh suit, and found it made me feel put together. I threw myself into my work and never looked back. The first women I found attractive, I clung onto. I was perfectly content with my boring, rigidly structured life, in fact it was almost comforting. Everything was within my control, and every emotion was tucked away.

Then Freddie came along and smashed the illusion. In four years, nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, not until I received a phone call from a disgruntled musician. That never happened. Then he invited me to watch a show. I don't know why I even accepted the invitation, that's not something that fitted into my New York life. Letting that one bit of impulsivity into my life seemed to have a knock on effect. Like dominos, change after change fell into place. I let myself get to know someone new. And now he's just another casualty in my vicious inner conflict.

Anne had to force the water down my throat in the end, because my body simply gave up. It was fighting against instinct... Ironic considering that's always want my father said gay men were doing, but right now, forcing myself to be enraptured by women was really what went against my nature.

"Can I give him the good news, it may perk him up a little." Anne asked as she plopped a plate of dry crackers in front of me. My stomach roiled at the sight.

"I don't know." George was watching me as if I were a feral animal, who may explode at any minute.

Oliver had a great time telling everyone about Pheasant-Gate. How I randomly 'lost it' and how I would enjoy a night in Bethlehem Royal Hospital.

"You're going to be an uncle again." Anne smiled brightly, "George and I, we're having a boy."

Usually, I didn't feel jealousy towards my brother's happiness, in fact it was often nice to know that George was doing well, but in my current mindset, it irritated me.

Smile. How does one smile again?

"Congratulations." I murmured in a detached tone. "You two are amazing parents."

I'll probably never be a parent, or never be allowed to marry.

"Lottie has already informed us that she will be moving in with you." George laughed and slowly clasped my shoulder, "She declared she was no longer sharing our attention, we got a whole speech."

I tried to force an amused chuckle, one that I would usually release when my goddaughter got up to her  dramatic antics. My face felt heavy, and the effort of expressions seemed to much for me in my current state.

Speak of a diva, Lottie trudged in, tears dotting her little cheeks. "Dad- dad?"

I was surprised at how quickly George dropped everything and went to his daughter. "Darling, what's wrong?"

She fought her way through her tears to explain how she had broken a glass. I braced myself a little for the telling off, the scolding- natural father things. I wasn't prepared for him to bend down to her level, and fuss over her. God I fucking pouted after a broken nose as a boy and my father snipped at me to man up.

"You still- love me?"

"Of course I still love you," George laughed at her dramatics, "I would love you no matter what."

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I felt my eye twitch.

"I work hard- everyday of my life! I work till I ache my bones-" Edward came in, screeching with a wireless radio, "At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own!"

I have a theory that all of my bitching about music had made it so that music comes back and mocks me.

"Til the tears run down from my eyes, Lord! Somebody! Somebody please! Can anybody find me, somebody to love!?"

"Edward," I huffed, "Can we switch songs, or better yet turn the damn thing off?"

"Okay uncle grumpy." Edward snipped, and set about fiddling with the dial.

"Uncle Grump- Griff." George quickly corrected with a sheepish smile, "Is a little under the weather, how about you grab a record he would like?"

Annie had placed a peck on Lottie's cheek, "George will you start the dishes? I'm just going to go get changed for work."

"Of course," George hummed, and turned to start washing up plates from their lunch. What a lovely perfect family. Good for them. Good. For. Them.

"Found one of your records Hayes!" Edward declared waving about a special edition of the Kink's Muswell Hillbillies.

"That'll do nicely." I hummed but I really couldn't care less, "Just don't scratch it."

"I won't your excellency." Edward mockingly bowed his head before he strode over towards the record player.

I spluttered slightly at the attitude before I reached into my pockets and pulled out a pack of Stuyvesant cigarettes. I tapped the end of the cigarette off the carton and watched the happy family wearily.

George frowned at me disapprovingly. "How is that going to help your stomach?"

"I wasn't expecting it to help." I muttered childishly as my gaze honed in on Ed who was struggling with where to place the needle on the record. He's definitely going to scratch it.

'I couldn't care if the people don't notice me, they wouldn't know that I really exist. I'm nobody's shelter, I'm nobody's cover.'

The unreleased Kink's song, filtered through the room, causing Edward to frown. See how music fucking mocks me?

'I'm nobody's lover, and nobody's friend. I'm so used to lying and pretending. I'm nobody's fool and I'm nobody's friend—" I stood up, plucked the needle up, and threw on a more upbeat tune.

"I never heard that song before." Edward gaped and flopped himself down onto my knee.

For a while I distracted myself by explaining demos to Edward, how musicians didn't let certain songs make the final cut. When I didn't make a negative comment he frowned, and practically stared into my soul.

"You didn't say 'none of the songs should have been released, not just the demos' or anything like that." Edward gasped suddenly, "You really are sick!"

"I'm fine." I huffed, my lips twitched a little at his comment. Perhaps I could mould a protégée.

"Hayes, you know who I ran into yesterday?" George approached cautiously.

"Who?"

"Edward, could you help Lottie get her things ready for school?" George asked softly, "I'll be along in a minute."

I straightened in my seat, my guard snapped into place. I furiously took a puff of a cigarette and let my hand drop onto the table causally. George wrung a dishcloth in his hands and sat across from me.

"Julian, he had a case brought to me about waste been dumped in the Thames. I didn't even know people specialised in environmental law."

At the mention of his name I tipped some ashes into the crystal tray I had dragged over. "That's nice."

"I told him you'd meet him."

The cigarette snapped between my fingers and ashes went flying. "Excuse me?" I immediately set about looking for another drag of something, anything.

"I said you would meet him in Hyde Park, this evening." George snatched away my carton of cigarettes.

A lead weight must have been dropped on my chest from a height because the breath was suddenly knocked from my lungs.

"Why!?" I hissed, "Why would you tell him that? He hates me! I'm not going!" All of which was said in the same breath.

I think I was a brilliant test run for George and Annie in dealings with stroppy teens. Maybe I am a diva as Freddie says.

"He doesn't hate you." George sighed, "Although I wish you would tell me why you two fell out. You and Julian were inseparable, I really liked him. I liked you having someone to look out for you—"

"I don't need anyone to fucking look out for me."

George rubbed at his brow and stood up, bringing my cigarettes with him. "We all need someone in our corner Hayes." He turned and started drying out an ottoman pottery bowl.

"Not me."

"That's why I like that friend of yours, Freddie, he seems nice." George commented, "Maybe you could bring him around here for Boxing Day, I know you liked having him around at your birthday."

I remained tight lipped and sullen. I wonder if George would be so quick to invite him over if he knew the extent of our relationship. Even then, I have fucked things up with Freddie again and again.

"Uncle Griff is crying." Charlotte said suspiciously as she bounced in, pack on her shoulder.

"Lottie, what have we told you about making things up sweetheart?"

"I'm not making things up." Charlotte huffed with offence, "He's crying." And because her honesty had been called into question, she stormed off.

George let out a deep sigh, "Lottie," he turned around, "Please don't lie—" he suddenly dropped his tea cloth. "Bloody hell, he- he is."

I don't ever remember crying before, and I certainly I don't ever remember it being so... unsavoury. I didn't cry when I was dumped in boarding school. I didn't cry when Oliver was cruel. I didn't cry when Dad told me he was glad I was pissing off to America so he could forget about having such a disappointment for a son. But now? Tears were lashing down my cheeks, my nose appeared to be clogged, and I couldn't catch a single breath. Why do people do this regularly? Every attempt to stop myself from crying only seemed to worsen the problem.

George was frozen, "Hayes!? Are you- what's- you're crying-" he spluttered, "are you okay?"

Are you okay?

At that point I was bawling- yes, bawling. I buried my face in my hands as if that could stop this seemingly never ending torrent of tears. It seemed as though every unshod tear I ever shoved back was here with a vengeance. George and I were not used to emotional outbursts, but tears were a whole other level of expressing our forbidden feelings.

Griffith men do not cry, but then the most insane thing happened, because I must have broke some sort of seal.

George's brown eyes welled with tears. "Stop- if you cry I'll cry."

"No-" my voice caught, "I don't- you can't cry."

Then my brother was also crying. Yet, we didn't make one attempt to comfort each other, that would have been a stretch too far. Too much damage had been done for embracing to be our natural reaction to tears toward each other. Anne walked in a few moments later, and we were still just blubbering nonsensically. I didn't know the true root of my tears, I just knew that the mention of Freddie was the catalyst. The sight of me being upset, seemed to be a catalyst for my brother.

It seems all Griffith men are prone to emotional outbursts after a lifetime of hiding them.

"What is wrong with you two?" Anne quickly wrapped her arms around her her husband, "You didn't even cry when Edward was born!"

George muttered something nonsensically and cried into his wife's shoulder. I seemed to sniffle even more because I had nobody to bloody comfort me, so I merely wrapped my arms around my aching sides.

"S-suit?" I managed to choke out, "I'll see- Jules."

"Hyde- Hyde Park- two- two hours." George attempted to catch his breath, "Armani- is- wardrobe—"

"I'll- I'll take Stefano Ricci."

"There's Cucinelli—"

"My god, can't you two just hug instead of naming luxury suit brands!?" Anne exclaimed, looking as us emotionally stunted messes, wondering for the millionth time what she married in to.

I quickly strode upstairs, and rummaged about in George's wardrobe. I can pull myself together for a final time. I certainly thought so once I felt the 100% cashmere fabric of a Stefano Ricci suit cocooning me anyway.

No, I didn't find it sad that a suit comforted me, and neither should you.

***

London was particularly dreary today. The sky looked as if an artists had lazily brushed a few thunder grey strokes across a blank canvas and decided to leave it at that.

I believe they call that style 'abstract'.

Even the array of herbaceous plants that littered Hyde Park's rose garden appeared to have lost their lustre - aside from those brave enough to stick the winter months. Nervously, I leant down and lightly touched the blinding yellow of a Coronilla, letting the familiarity of colour comfort me. My world is always a little dull without music. The shades and patterns that my mind concoct never quite appear in the colours I encounter in everyday life. Flowers always provided the closest physical representation to the vivid colours my mind often teased me with.

When I was quite young, they brought me a great sense of succour. A young boy with a deep fascination for flowers... obviously that didn't go down well in boarding school, or at home. Whilst Oliver and George were out shooting game, I was toddling around, playing with petals. Of course within the first few weeks of boarding school, my strange interest was noticed, so I was called a 'pansy' for months at the age of six. I overcompensated once the teasing at school, and scolding at home, reached a tipping point. I absolutely destroyed the contents of glasshouse used to teach botany classes to the older boys at school.

Dad had to pay a large sum of money to the college in order to appease the headmaster, but he wasn't angry at me. I remember it well, he was delighted because he finally had the opportunity to say 'boys will be boys' in relation to me. It was the first time Dad had made the trip over to visit me in Belfast, and approved of something I did. He ruffled my hair, halfheartedly scolded me, and brought me out for dinner with a few of his Tory friends in Belfast. He told the story of my misbehaviour as if I had done something good. That was the shred of approval that I clung onto when he dropped me back to school and forgot I existed for another few months.

After the behaviour with the flowers was nipped in the bud, my father approved of most things, until he didn't. My interest in horses was managed after a colleague of Dad once commented that it was more of an hobby for women (with the exception of playing polo). So I stopped pursuing that extracurricular activity in school, and reserved it for when I was at home- privately. Instead, I took up soccer, cricket and boxing. More scraps of approval with thrown my way. My new favourite colour was blue, not violet. I didn't read Oscar Wilde, I read Churchill. I didn't have opinions of my own or ingenuity. I was to be another faceless conservative sheep, and to only ever use my voice to agree with painfully outdated ideology.

For the most part I was complacent. People say it's hard to sit and do nothing, but it's remarkably simple when the choices are between being accepted or being shunned. Of course, as a teenager I rebelled in my own way in drips and drabs, but it wasn't until I went to university that I really decided to go against the grain (by my family's standards).

I studied the joint degree of English and Politics at Oxford, as a compromise. That's where I met Julian Wright, outcast son of the current Home Secretary. Maintaining that friendship was the first time I openly defied my parent's orders. I grew up around spoilt, old fashioned toffs for my entire life. They all shared the one judgemental mind, so I always struggled to make any real friends. Julian was the first person in eighteen years who took a genuine interest in me. I was starved for a human connection so it didn't take much for me to let him in. I had finally found someone who didn't make me feel as though I was internally warped just for existing.

And I was awful to him in the end.

After the recent... situation, that transpired with Freddie, I finally felt I had the courage to follow through on something I had put off for four years. An apology. I was really struggling with the the fact that now stared me in the face regarding my sexuality. I truly wasn't faring too well, and sought to speak to someone. I assumed Freddie would ignore me for a good reason. I also couldn't trust myself not to take out my anger and self-pity out on him any more than I already had. An internal war raged within me for years and there had been many indirect casualties as a result. I was trying my best to protect Freddie from it in the past few weeks, but he seemed to ignore my raised hackles until I finally bit.

Julian was the only other person who would understand. He was also someone I had taken my struggles out on in the past, and he most likely justifiably hated me for it. I was shocked when George said he agreed to meet me, but I didn't take it as a good thing. He most likely had a list of grievances ready to go, so I was on guard.

"Jesus," Julian scoffed, "You look like your father." From his tone, I could immediately tell that he was disgusted by the fact. I was too.

I was startled by his sudden appearance, but was well trained in the art of indifference so didn't let it show. I also think after this morning with George, my emotions fizzled out too and I could be myself again.

  "Hello."

Julian was always one of those larger than life types. To use a crude expression he had once taught me, he was the sort of bloke who could 'charm the knickers off a nun'. When we were young, everyone just instantly fell in love with his high drive and charisma. He was always switched on and upbeat, full of life. I must be some sort of fun project for men like him, because I seem to keep attracting them.

Julian glanced at his tattered leather watch, "Four years later hm? I expected an apology in the form of a shorthand note on my deathbed."

"I don't like shorthand." Nobody is that pressed for time where they can't write out a full word, and you waste even more time explaining shorthand to someone who doesn't get it. It's really so unnecessary-

Julian scratched at his dark moustache. He's joined club clone. "Shorthand is impersonal, which suits you quite well. Wouldn't you agree?"

"It's inefficient and illegible." I muttered.

Julian smiled nostalgically at that, before he quickly let his lips fall flat. "So you're home?"

"I try visit a little more now." I murmured. George guilt trips me by using his children... and Freddie had been here often.

"Well I admit I never thought I would see you again after you pissed off to the states," Julian took a few steps past me, expecting me to follow, "which was the point if I recall correctly."

"It was."

Julian sighed and languidly dropped himself down onto a bench, "This is your opportunity to use flowery words, apologise." His golden eyes flicked to mine for a moment, "You're wasting it."

"You're right," I sat beside him, "I suppose I should explain—"

Julian held a hand up to cut me off, his wedding band glimmered directly in my face, "I know why you were an almighty wanker, and fucked off. I just want the apology."

I blinked in confusion, which caused Julian to sigh impatiently.

"It's a classic really. I declared my feelings and tried to make a move on a man who hated himself for returning said feelings. You got spooked, defensive, snarled some insults to try put me off you, and accepted a job on the other side of the world so you wouldn't have to deal with me or your confusion."

Yes, that's exactly what happened.

"You are apologising for one of two reasons Griff- Hayes." Julian declared, "You have accepted yourself and feel the need to apologise for needlessly putting us both through that ordeal now that you're comfortable with you. Or else, you are struggling and know that I would still bloody drop everything for you."

My lips smacked together, but no words escaped.

"I wish it was the former, but you look fucking awful- well as awful as Hayes Griffith can look- so I know it's the latter, and I'm a soft twit for agreeing to meet you after all you have said to me."

Julian always could speak for an abnormally long amount of time without catching a breath or without stopping to let other people contribute. It was irritating and charming all at once, but that was simply a matter of opinion. It intimidated me at first, but I soon realised that he never tried to speak over me (unless he was annoyed with me).

"I find it hard to believe that I look awful." I joked halfheartedly, knowing it would fall flat.

Julian's lip twitched, but he continued to stare at me with high expectations for a deep conversation. Or as Freddie referred to it 'a heart to heart'. Ugh. Why are the men in my orbit so fond of circumlocution?

"Forma bonum fragile est." I hummed, and rubbed at my face.

"If you're going to try and flirt your way out of this, forget it."

I found myself chuckling, "Beauty is a fragile quality."

Julian cast an amused roll of the eyes my way before he remembered he was pissed off with me, "They aren't the sort of flowery words I'm looking for."

"I apologise profusely for the way I treated you, and for everything I said—"

"Yes, yes whatever." Julian huffed, "I get the picture. Now, what is it you want?"

"I- what? You said that you wanted flowery words and—"

"You are awful at apologies, you always have been. I don't want to see you flail about when you already look like a little lost puppy right now."

I scrunched my nose in offence, which caused him to let out an easy laugh. "Let's put a pin in your past irrational invective, and pretend like the past four years didn't happen. What's sent you running into my folded arms? I can rip into you after."

When two people can just fall into an old routine after a prolonged absence, it signifies the depth of friendship. It made me feel even more guilty for what I had said and done to the man.

There was so much to say, far too much to say. I hadn't seen Julian, whom I once practically spent every second of every day with, in a long time now. I should have been apologising, asking him how he had been. Asking him to just bloody shake me into copping on like he used to do.

"You're married."

"You're perceptive."

"To a... woman?"

"As opposed to what?" Julian arched a brow, "A tree?"

"You're an environmentalist, who knows?" I muttered, "I just thought - well- you know, that you're ah-"

"Gay?" Jules said loudly enough for me to flinch and look about the empty park, "You're still scared of the word?"

I kept my lips clamped shut, slightly ashamed.

"I have had girlfriends, I have had boyfriends." Julian shrugged, "I loved a woman enough to settle down, hence marriage. Which you would know, if you bothered  to keep contact. You could have been the least helpful best man ever, it would have been lovely."

I ignored the last remark as hope spluttered through me, "Great— so these feelings are temporary, I can find a woman—"

Julian fixed me a stare, "Oh Hayes dear, you're gay with a big fat leather clad 'G'."

The words barely struggled to get through my hastily patched up defences. I knew that. Of course I fucking knew it. I knew it for a long time, but admitting it makes it real. Reality means consequences.

"But you—"

"—are attracted to both men and women. You aren't, you never have been. You actually celebrated when Suzanne Beckham cheated on you."

I made one last feeble attempt to deny myself but by now, I simply couldn't, "That's not true—"

"Hayes. You can lie to the people around you, that's fine, but why lie to yourself anymore? Doesn't it just fucking hurt?"

I remained silent. Yes, it does.

"You would agree that I am an intelligent man, wouldn't you?" He didn't even give me a second to answer, "Of course you would. Do you think that I would ever risk our friendship, and my pride, by telling you that I loved you, unless there was any chance that I thought you would return the sentiment?"

My fingers trembled as I reached inside my jacket for a cigarette. "No."

Julian smiled gently, his hand went to squeeze my shoulder. "Admit it to yourself first, that's all that matters. Everyone else's reactions and thoughts are out of your control." His eyes narrowed, "Learn to block out ignorance. Especially from that fucking family of yours—"

"Don't. Please."

Julian sighed deeply, "You deserve some happiness Hayes, no matter how much you have convinced yourself otherwise. I never held a grudge against you. I knew you well enough to know that all the hateful words you spewed my way were really points inward rather than outward. It hurt, but I knew you would hate yourself enough without me joining the club." Julian brushed back his dark hair, "I don't hate you- just in case that wasn't clear enough."

I seemed to have froze, so Julian ruffled the hair on the back of my head fondly before he sat back in his seat. When you can pick up after a few years as if you were never apart, that's the mark of a true friendship. Why do I feel the need to sabotage all of my relationships? I'm sure there's a German word for it... Mauerbauertraurigkeit?

"How do I put this in a way that Hayes Griffith will grasp?" Julian pondered aloud, "Have you read Seneca's 'Letters from a Stoic'?"

I glanced over at him, as if to say 'of course I have', because obviously everyone just casually reads a collection of letters by a Stoic philosopher to his dearest friend from 65 AD.

'There are more things likely to frighten us, Lucilius than there are to crush us; we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.'

"Si vis amari ama." Julian pronounced perfectly, reminding me of his own grammar school upbringing.

"If you want to be loved, love." I frowned.

The words seemed sour on my tongue, but the sentiment seemed rather... nice. I usually hated little positive sound bites, they didn't take the complexities and cruelty of life into account. Like when people say 'keep positive' or 'don't worry', I want to boot them back to whatever hippie march they have escaped from.

'If you want to be loved, love' was sound advice, but most likely wasted on the likes of me. Maybe if I switch the wording... 'If you want to be liked, like.' Mhm, that sounds manageable for now. Tolerate would be even better.

Julian cracked a smile as if reading my mind, "God I'm fucking good aren't I? Should have been a psychiatrist. Now who's the lad?"

"There's no lad!"

"Of course there is, there always is." Jules scoffed, "You were always obvious when you fancied someone, it always starts off as attraction that you mistake for jealousy."

I sniffed haughtily.

"You really need to learn your emotions, perhaps I could buy you a leather-bound book, you may pay attention then."

We spent the rest of evening reminiscing, catching up, and building bridges. I spent my time littering about random apologies, but Julian seemed to want me to forget about the whole thing. If I worked up enough courage to meet with Julian after my past awful behaviour, surely I could face Freddie. However, I knew despite of our estrangement, Julian would never outright reject me (even if I deserved it). I simply couldn't handle the prospect of rejection from Freddie right now. Yet, I let him be rejected by me.

I set Freddie loose when it went against every fibre of my being. I can't wait around forever. Of course I wanted someone to be that patient with me, but was not at all used to it, so I struggled against it. When you don't exactly like yourself, you tend to want everyone to feel the same way in order to back up your own personal self-loathing. Quite the vicious cycle. Freddie had already been beyond understanding with me, he's dealt with every mood, every ugly side of me. I was rarely nice, yet he stayed. Why the fuck would I ever want to rid myself of a man like that, be it with friendship or... more.

Perhaps Peter Freestone can guide me toward the best way to grovel, because as Julian pointed out: I'm awful at apologies. But for Freddie, I needed to at least try.

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A/N- Hope you enjoyed! And thank you all so much for 5k reads, I really didn't expect this story to take off, so thank you again!❤️