A/N - A long, boring, but necessary one I'm afraid😂 Enjoy!

H.G
England, U.K
February 1st

"What are you so broody about Griff?"

I exhaled slowly.

"Like, I'm admittedly turned on by that scowl, whatever that says about me I don't know, but I'm also concerned."

I encounter an imbecile at every turn.

"I'm not broody," I practically glared at Julian's silver Mercedes and ignored his latter comment, "And I explicitly told you that I didn't need to be collected from the airport."

Julian pinched the back of my neck before he cracked the door open for me, "I'm sorry, that's incorrect," he did an awful attempt at McDonald Hobley's voice, "That was actually a lie."

"You watched 'Tell the Truth' as a child and proceeded to become a lawyer?" I mused and slipped into the passenger seat, "Do I even need to point out the irony Jules?" I fastened my seatbelt, trying to hide the slight nervous tremble from my hands. It seemed to appear whenever I was in this bloody country.

Julian turned about in his seat to stare me down. He always did so in a matter that unnerved me because it seemed as though he truly had the ability to read my mind. That's how we met actually.

I felt someone burning their gaze into the back of my bloody head in Oxford's dining hall and turned around to lock eyes with Jules. He exclaimed 'oh thank god, a kindred Tory opposing spirit' (in a room full of legacy tories) after studying my face for a brief second. Naturally, I wanted to hide under the table because the stranger was clearly insane. Later Julian would tell me that he recognised my sulking mug from pictures in the paper with my family and that he would break me free of my misery. Then we turned out to be roommates, so there was really no escaping him.

Whatever Julian saw on my expression right now, warned him not to irritate me further, but of course that's exactly what he did.

"Come on Griffy," Julian reached over to squeeze my hand, "Give your aunt Julie a kiss and tell me all of your troubles."

"Aunt Julie?" Despite of myself, I scoffed, "You're ridiculous."

"I was going to say 'fairy godmother' but I felt that would have been a little on the nose." Julian chuckled and drew his hand away after another tight squeeze.

I don't know why I didn't think of seeing Julian before, because for the first time since Christmas a sense of ease settled over me. We had been in contact quite a bit since we reconnected, but I really should make more of an effort to see him.

"What are you feeling guilty over Griff?" Julian frowned as he did his best to beat the Heathrow traffic.

I studied his side profile for a moment, noticing his now bare upper lip, "You shaved." I pointed out, changing the subject.

"It's a lot more maintenance than you'd think." Julian replied and rubbed at his phantom 'stache.

"Yeah, Freddie is constantly at it..." I started the sentence with a laugh but ended up trailing off with a frown.

I don't know why I felt I couldn't be upbeat when speaking about Freddie just because things had been a little rocky lately. I still loved him more than anything, and ending things didn't even seem to be an option on our minds. I suppose I was the one dragging things down for us, and I felt guilty. We just needed to bounce back. One rough patch in almost a year of being together isn't exactly a bad track record. I just need to pull myself together.

"For god's sake Hayes, stop pouting like that."

I lifted my brows, "Hm?"

"I feel the overwhelming urge to swaddle you when you look like that." Julian sighed, "Soph said the same when you met her so don't worry, I'm not strange."

"Just because your wife said something—"

"— just because my wife says something, means it's unquestionably correct. That's right."

"Does the whip hurt?" I joked, and attempted to smooth down a crease on the knee of my trousers.

"I'm really into it actually, think it's the leather—"

"Bloody hell," I exclaimed, my ears burned, "Be quiet."

Julian reached over to pinch my cheek, hard, which set me off snarling and simmering for the entire car journey. He dropped me off at the Savoy, after we bickered furiously when I rejected his offer to stay at his. He warned me off seeing my parents, even without the knowledge of what transpired between us, and then insisted he meet me for a drink tomorrow.

It was late when I retired to bed after wasting some time alone in the hotel bar. I found myself reaching for the phone beside me, but paused the second my fingers brushed the dial. He'll be out. My hand fell limply when I realised there'd be no point phoning Freddie right now. The only time I ever managed to speak with Freddie lately was in the mornings- Munich mornings- which meant it was the middle of the night in New York.

My head swam ever so slightly when I let my head rest against the plush pillow. I knew not to mix alcohol with benzos, but I have in the past and it never bloody killed me. Not for lack of trying. I chuckled at the morbid thought, deeming myself ridiculous for sulking so much over nothing. There's people starving, and dying, and here I was pouting because I was feeling a little lonesome.

I did end up trying to phone Freddie in the end. Thankfully the benzos did their job, and I passed out soon after I was greeted by his answering machine.

***

Kensington, England
February 2nd

"What's your name sir?"

"Uhm, Tom Churchill," I whispered the fucking alias that my father had given me, "I'm here for an appointment with Dr. Krule."

I had been strong armed by my mother of all people, to actually go and see a bloody psychiatrist. She promised she would try and be more open with me, if I were open to one session with a family friend. I figured it would be an opportunity to take out my anger out on a random stranger who had to sit and take it, so I caved. One session, that's it, and Mum would speak properly with me. That seemed rather fair.

"Tom!" A random gravelly voice to my left sounded. It took me a moment of course to register that he was talking to me, "How are you? I'm actually going to take you for today's appointment."

I narrowed my eyes on the well groomed, elderly man that addressed me, "And you are?"

"Dr Bennett," he held a hand out to me that I only accepted out of ingrained politeness. I didn't really want to shake hands with someone who had a doctorate in bigotry. Yes, I'll use that one later.

"My appointment is with Dr Krule." I frowned, "Specifically him, not just any one of you..." quacks, "doctors."

Dr Bennett languidly waved his hand in dismissal of my statement, "We have all received the same training, so come along."

I didn't want to draw any attention to myself, and I really didn't care enough to argue any further, so I followed the psychiatrist down the narrow corridor. His office was rather messy and eclectic. Tossed about psychology tomes lay on his desk, and I cringed at the 'worlds's best doctor' mug that sat upon a particularly antique book. The room was a clash of Chartreuse green and Marmalade orange, which reminded me of the Beach Boys' godawful 'Wouldn't it Be Nice'. That was even worse with cornflower blue sneaking into the chorus. Who puts orange and green together first of all, and then adds bloody blue to the mix? Ridiculous.

Anyway... it wasn't the space of a professional, which proceeded to make made me squirm just a tad. It looked like he had let his granny come in and decorate the place. I don't know, it just wasn't what I was expecting, and it threw me off.

"Take a seat Tom." Dr Bennett instructed and gestured toward the large leather couch that looked straight out of a Freudian guidebook. I snorted at the cliche before I plucked up one of the tacky cushions and set it aside.

I sat down as far as physically possible from the doctor and held myself up rigidly straight. "I suggest you start the clock now," I glanced down at my watch, "Forty-five minutes, like we've agreed upon."

Dr Bennett pursed his lip and furrowed his silver brows, "You're one of those are you?"

"Pardon?" I bristled, immediately on the defence.

"One of those men that doesn't believe in psychology, or in expressing one's self," he scratched at his clean cut beard, "So you think this is a massive waste of your time?"

"Oh I know that this is a massive waste of my time," I huffed, "And if you think that you can 'cure' gay people, it's an even bigger bloody waste of your time." My eyes studied the doctorate from  Cambridge that hung behind him, "Thirty years wasted to be exact. What a scam you're running doctor."

Ah yes. Feeling better already. It wasn't healthy for me to stop being catty for so long.

Dr Bennett merely nodded as he took a seat across from me, "Right." He undid his tweed coat, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath. "Right."

Right?

"You'll be an easy case I'm sure," he stared me down intensely, "Not sitting with your legs crossed, deep voice. Wearing suitable attire. You're a little too prim looking, and a bit loose with your wrist though... tell me, how are your testosterone levels?"

"Fucking hell," My eyes widened in utter disbelief, "Probably better than yours—"

"—we'll have you fixed in no time, on the outside you're already there. We'll just be dealing with those pesky homosexual inner thoughts."

I was rendered speechless by this. They're actually bloody using stereotypes to measure the level of 'help' I'll need. Would I have needed to be fucking institutionalised if I came in wearing rouge and leather?

My lips parted, in preparation to verbally destroy the man, but there was the sound of laughter echoing in the background which had me clamp up. My gaze snapped up to see that Dr Bennett was almost beside himself with laughter, he had even raised a handkerchief to dab at his bright blue eyes because he was close to tearing up.

"It's ridiculous isn't it?" He asked as my mouth dropped open with confusion.

"Ridiculous? What is?" I spluttered, "Being gay?"

"Oh no my dear boy," he attempted to get himself under control once again, "That my colleagues think in the way that I've just given you a taste of."

He was... messing about with me?

"I shouldn't have teased, I never usually would," Dr Bennett apologised, "But I have never had a boy come in here all guns blazing like you have, I thought I could get away with it. I'm sorry if I took it a little far."

I blinked furiously as my mind twisted about to catch up with what was happening, "Oh." It was rather guarded "oh."

"I try and save as many of you men and women from Dr Krule as I can, because that's exactly what nonsense you would have been subjected to." Dr Bennett drummed his fingers against his knee, "I can't intervene for everyone, but I'm happy I got to you Tom."

Dr Bennett looked like your typical old fashioned English man, who voted Tory, and yearned for the good old days where freedom of expression was taboo. Yes, I had judged a book by its cover, but everyone does, and if you say any different you're lying.

"So you don't think it's something that needs to be... fixed?" I asked carefully, because this easily could have been a rouse.

"No, and neither does the science." Dr Bennett let his eyes roll, "It's been disproven time and time again that there's nothing atypical going on in our minds."

I knew that... but it was still nice to hear it after the past few weeks of hell that I had been subjected to. "Our?"

Dr Bennett cracked a small smile, "Mhm, that's right. Nobody here knows of course, as far as that lot are concerned, I'm married to a lovely woman named Gail."

I let out a small cautious laugh, and relaxed back into the seat ever so slightly, "Really?"

Dr Bennett nodded, "Really. Gail is actually the name of my gorgeous Corgi," he chuckled, "In reality, I've been tied down by my husband for twenty five years now."

Husband. I knew legally that wasn't possible, but it was rather nice that he said it so causally. I'm sure his 'marriage' was filled with more love than a lot of legally binding ones. I had never heard a man refer to another man as their husband, but the world certainly didn't cave in around us.

"Twenty five years.?" I did the math in my head, "That long?" They would've started seeing each other when it was all illegal then.

"Mhm," Dr Bennett's eyes crinkled, "It was rather exciting dodging the law back in the day Tom." He joked, but there was some clear hurt there. Didn't need to call myself a bloody psychiatrist to come to that conclusion.

"Anyway, that's me. Why are you here?" Dr Bennett hummed, "It doesn't seem like you believe you need help with anything. So why come?"

I tried to bite back the 'well I don't believe that's any of your business,' but he had offered me up a secret of his own... and this was his "job" apparently. I fully rested my back against the plush leather, and reached over to drag one of the floral cushions back onto my lap.

"I really do believe that this is all ridiculous and that 'psychology' is simply a cult the public have unwittingly accepted as a science." I began to grumble, "But I suppose that if I were to pretend to be one of your little sheep, I would start by telling you..."

***

Rolling Stone, New York
February 8th

"Hello... do you mind if I join you two?" I asked my colleagues cautiously and lay a nervous hand on the back of the free chair.

Summer and Alex looked positively startled by my question. I attempted to smile in a friendly fashion, but I don't know how well that worked. Alex and Summer silently exchanged a brief conversation of expressions before Alex gestured toward the free chair across from them. Thankfully the Rolling Stone canteen was empty and I didn't have to deal with my fellow music critics. Naturally, we're the truly wretched ones. I don't really know why that is.

"Of course Hayes," Alex chuckled, "You don't need to ask."

Alex and I socialised outside of the workplace, so I don't know why he was acting so bloody shocked. We went for lunch a few months ago for gods sake. "Thank you." I murmured as I quickly took a seat.

"You always eat lunch out... alone." Summer commented, "Are you okay?"

"I wasn't sure he even ate." Alex hummed, "Drank blood? Yes. But for him to actually eat—"

"—do you think he reviews the places he eats in?" Summer proposed, "He's probably been banned from every restaurant in New York for his unwarranted critiques."

"Oh he fecking critiques everything," Alex agreed, "You and my mother would be two peas in a pod Hayes, let's make this meeting happen."

I blinked at the flurry of noise squeaking from either side of me.

"Oh my god," Alex exclaimed before I could even attempt to reply, "Summer!"

"What?"

"Isn't the thought of Hayes Griffith with a packed lunch the most adorable image ever?"

"Stop." Summer gasped, "That's literally the cutest thing I have ever heard."

What the bloody hell have I willingly subjected myself to? "I er," my brows knit together, "I didn't bring lunch."

Alex and Summer exchanged a glance, pouted their bottom lips as if to say 'that poor helpless creature' before turning their attention back toward me.

"Did I read somewhere that Freddie can't cook either, how does that work?"

"They obviously have bloody servants Summer."

As the fashion critics discussed me, and my personal life as if weren't sitting there, I stood up to make myself a cup of tea. Aghast, I noted that there really wasn't a kettle in this bloody place. Several contraptions for coffee, but no kettle for tea? I huffed loudly and set about searching for a mug.

Summer appeared beside me, and placed a cautious hand on my elbow, "I'll get you a cup of coffee, sit down."

I naturally went to reply that I would figure it all out myself, but forced myself to smile, "Thank you," I murmured, "You'll have to show me how to work it tomorrow."

Alright. So maybe I decided to listen to some of the tips and observations that Dr Bennett had graced me with. Of course, I had scoffed and rolled my eyes during the actual session, but after a few days of stewing, his words were starting to settle. Perhaps that was the brainwashing kicking in.

Apparently he thought I focused on the relationships I didn't have, and not the ones I did have. Which was true, but then he suggested I needed to 'nurture' the relationships I already had, which lost me. Then there were a series of flowery metaphors that had me checking my watch.

Nurture indeed.

A few days after an unnecessary fight with Freddie, it seemed I woke up with the psychiatrist's words fresh in my mind. It seemed I really did try and 'nurture' the bad relationships whilst letting the good ones wither and die.

Freddie had likened me to my family and called me a judgemental prick before I hung up the phone the other night. There were two of us in the argument, but I still think he took things a little too far. He was annoyed I wouldn't go to Munich, that I missed Radio Gaga's launch party, but could go to England for a visit. I explained my reservations about the extra attention he had been receiving under the German press, but I had done so in a smart arsed way. He said I could hide out with him and his friends, that I wouldn't even be noticed if Barbara was there. That rubbed me up wrong, and I made a quip about the sort of people that he was hanging about with. That's what prompted his 'judgemental prick' insult.

That I deserved, but comparing my level of judgement to my parents' wasn't exactly fair. I think that Freddie is the kindest, most lovely person I have ever met, but he had a penchant for knowing exactly where to twist the knife when he wanted to.

It took me until today, a few days after our spat, to realise how stupid it was that I was putting my family's feelings over Freddie's. Especially when he's shown me more love in a year than my family have in thirty one.

Freddie missed my call last night, but I was determined to catch him tonight. I was going to bloody ensure that we didn't end things on a sour note this time around. He's put up with so much of my nonsense, it's only natural that he's reached his wit's end with me lately. What was happening right now between us, wasn't my fault, or Freddie's, but my parents'.

So my plan for tonight was to get at least a laugh off of Freddie, but until then, I was stuck at work.

"Spoilt brat," Alex nudged me with his elbow, "Letting poor Summer run about after you."

Summer, a random coworker, who I have never exactly been all to friendly towards, had a better reaction to me being gay than my only family did. In fact, she seemed delighted that I had been open with her and didn't treat me any differently (well, she no longer threw herself on me). People like Summer, like Alex, who have always made an effort to be nice to me, when I didn't encourage it, were exactly the type of people I needed to make the effort with. Not my family.

"You can't expect Hayes Griffith to make his own coffee." Summer quipped as she gently lay a bright red cup in front of me.

"Thank you darling," I chuckled, and took a deep sip of the unnecessarily frothy drink.

"You've never bloody made me coffee." Alex began to grumble, "I'm just as pretty as Hayes, why don't I get special treatment?"

"Oh sweetheart" I shook my head with pity, "Who told you that?"

Alex shot me a playful glare, which set us both off bickering for the rest of the lunch break. It felt rather good to make the effort... I didn't even have to spend my usual five minutes after any social interaction feeling guilty for being a grumpy twat. This was much more efficient.

Perhaps I shall make this a bi-weekly habit.

***

Central London, England
February 10th

Freddie and I had successfully managed not to fight on the phone last night... even though I was a little irked that it took him almost a week to actually answer or return a phone call of mine.

I put my annoyance to one side and focused on trying to salvage things a little between us. The second I appeared to be upbeat, Freddie retuned the energy immediately. I wasn't allowing him in, and once I did, he did his best to ensure that I was alright. I knew I would have to properly discuss what happened with my family some day with Freddie, but I didn't want to put all that pressure on him. It wouldn't be fair. Which is why I had been attempting to sort myself out little by little in the past month.

I had been doing good, I really had, but for some reason I woke up with a thundercloud over my head today.

A thundercloud that sunny Julian was trying his best to battle.

Jules had invited me over to England for the opening of his sister's photography exhibition. He had told me to invite Freddie if he was interested, which I did, but with the album deadline date fast approaching he was swamped. I would be going to Munich though in a few days, which I was thoroughly excited about. For now though, I had reverted back into my snarly self.

"I heard the BBC are looking to poach you back from the yanks." Julian commented as we strolled past Paddington station.

I let out a deep sigh, "Mhm. They keep trying to have me appear on various programmes. They always have done so."

I've done a few radio stints with the BBC over the years... and I won't be mentioning the times I've appeared on English television in the past. Thankfully I don't think ATV exists anymore to provide any evidence. When I was younger, and had Jules to push me, I let myself take up such opportunities to get my name out there. Since the move to New York, I kept myself hidden, with the exception of a few televised interviews with musicians.

"What was the rumour about you and your own show?" Yup, it was easy to get television gigs back in the day.

"Oh that," I scoffed, "Just another one of those promotional shows for new music. They want to follow the same formula as those American chat shows." I felt a blush crawl up the back of my neck, "I'm one of the names they keep tossing about to host it. New Music Express also want me back with a top position."

Apparently producers thought I was playing a character that purposely pissed off musicians for a reaction. My last televised interview had been for Entertainment Tonight, with Sting of all people from The Police, last year. I was rather unimpressed with him to say the least, and he got all huffy with me in response. One of my colleges at Rolling Stone had previously commented that the Police were the first big band to "break America on a grand scale", and that they were "possibly the biggest band in the world."

I laughed when I read that too. The Police who?

Name a song aside from the one where they sang about a courtesan, or the recent one where they make you feel as though you should file for a restraining order. Go on.

Poor old Sting wasn't too happy with me suggesting that their album was padded out with cheap gimmicks so of course people would buy into it. Cheap is popular. I likened them to the Prosecco and wished him the best of luck trying to produce Champagne. I thought that was rather nice of me, but Mr Sumner didn't agree and wouldn't even shake my hand in the end. Quite unmannerly of him if you ask me.

I just view interviews as a dialogue, give and take, I certainly take a lot from them. But musicians are much to sensitive, so they have a huge sulk when you suggest what they've produced isn't perfect. Reactive musicians are always entertaining and I'm an expert in making them explode without trying. I never bring up their personal life, but my questioning of their music seems to be enough to keep people entertained.

So of course the BBC wanted to profit off of my ability to rattle musicians. NME wanted to profit off of my improved critiques. I was in high demand... but unfortunately that demand was in England.

"Those are bloody brilliant opportunities Griff," Julian grinned, "What does Freddie think?"

I rubbed at the back of my neck, "We haven't really had time to talk about those things. Freddie's been buried with his albums, I don't want to distract him."

"Didn't Freddie buy that big fuck off mansion in Kensington?" Julian asked, catching me off guard.

"Mhm, he's hoping to have it ready to move into by next year."

"So he's settling in England?"

I shrugged listlessly, "As much as Freddie could settle, yeah."

"And you have several job opportunities... in England?" Julian fixed me a stare, "Are you purposely playing dumb Griffith?"

"I know what you're insinuating." I huffed, "But it's not that simple. If I uproot myself from New York, to move to London, it's not like I could even live with Freddie—"

"Has he asked you to?"

"Well, he's mentioned it—"

"And you used the excuse of your job in Rolling Stone to avoid answering the question?" Julian asked although he knew he was correct. "Just like you're using the excuse of Freddie working to not talk to him about the opportunities you have lined up in London, and when the albums are done you'll whine that he's on tour so there's definitely no time to speak with him then. You'll put it off forever, and ever, until eventually—"

"Is there anything you love more than the sound of your own voice?" I snapped impatiently at his drawn out monologue.

"Yeah, you." Julian said sharply, "So I'm concerned by your isolating behaviour."

The last time Julian said he loved me, he had meant it in the sense that he was in love with me. My reaction? Snarling some horrible things his way before pissing off to New York. I don't know he managed to say it again so causally after my past cruelty.

"And as your friend, I want you to be happy." Julian pressed on, "Which means no pushing Freddie away. If you do, don't come crying to me because I'm warning you that you're doing it now."

Julian was the first relationship I had sacrificed for my family, and I regretted it now more than ever. I never needed to be anyone but myself around him, and I still put my family first. I obsessed too much over having a family in the traditional sense, when I could have had one all along in the non-traditional sense. Blood means fuck all really, it certainly doesn't mean you'll be loved unconditionally. With my family there was an entire contract containing terms and conditions if you wanted to be thrown a measly shred of love.

"I rather like it when you're assertive with me," I deadpanned as we turned onto Bell Street, "I'm a little flustered now."

Julian cracked a smile, and I realised he had never had me joke around in such a way with him before. I was never comfortable enough to do so. "There's more where that came from Griff."

I threw him a smirk, "I rather hope there is." 

"Piss off," Jules laughed before he propped the door open of the rather contemporary Lisson Gallery. "And I mean it, talk to Freddie about those job offers."

That's where the night began, but it's certainly not where it ended. I would tell you what I remembered of the exhibit, but I simply can't remember anything but the feeling of being impressed. I can just about recall the blurred route Jules, his little sister and I took, hopping from pub to pub after the event. That was only because we had taken it so many times when we were younger. We started off in some high end places like the Queen's Rose, before ending the night in the godawful Dog's Inn. My shoes would be bloody sticky for weeks after a few hours in there.

I woke up the next day, strewn across a tattered armchair in Audrey's shoebox flat with nothing but one of her faux fur coats as a blanket. I had a thundering hangover, but the kind that reminded you of the good time you had the night before. So I wasn't too grumpy.

Freddie seemed amused that I had an old fashioned pub crawl when I rang him that morning. He said he was glad that I had fun, and was sorry he couldn't join me.

"Only three more lonely nights without me." I joked.

"How will I cope?" Freddie whined in a dramatic fashion that had me grinning.

"Oh you won't, I don't know how you managed this long Freddie."

"I haven't," Freddie chuckled, "I hope you know that as soon as you touch down in Munich, you won't be let leave again."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," Freddie's laughed, and the sound was a balm that soothed all wounds, "I'll see you around 7 on Thursday then?"

"7pm Thursday." I confirmed. "I love you." I added nervously after a brief moment of consideration.

"Love you too."

***

Gramercy Park, New York
February 16th

I was only meant to stay the weekend in Munich, but I had packed for a few extra days just in case. I couldn't exactly see myself wanting to leave Freddie at all to be honest. So it had taken me a little while longer than usual to try and force my suitcase shut. I was running slightly behind schedule, but luckily I had accounted for a certain number of lost minutes in my mental timetable.

Just as I was dragging my suitcase out into the hallway, there was an almighty bang on the door. That, I hadn't pencilled in to be a waste of my time.

"Hayes!"

I started at the sound of my brother's voice. I slunk back against the wall to hide, even though the door was locked. There was then another serious of loud successive thumps and furious knocks.

"Hayes. Open the bloody door!"

I had never George sound so cross, ever. He was always placid, so I was very wary of seeing him like that. I had been avoiding him since Christmas Eve had happened. I was too much of a coward to face him. Of course he's tried ringing, he's sent multiple letters... but I'm ignoring him out of self preservation.

"I know you're there, and if you don't let me in, I'll fucking knock this door down."

Fucking!? If I had pearls I would be clutching them. George never swore. Oh god. He knows. He knows and he's furious.

I half considered considered calling his bluff. I have sturdy doors... he may not be able to knock it. But if he does I'll have to go to the effort of repairing it.

"Why must we resort to such boorish behaviour, we are supposedly civilised you know?"

"Hayes!"

With a haggard sigh, I walked toward the door. My heart was threatening to leap from my chest as I tried to suppress the rest of my family's awful reactions towards me. He can't know though, Dad wouldn't tell him, he would never be able to have that bloody conversation with George.

I opened the door.

"I have a flight to catch so you'll excuse me for not offering you a spot of tea when you come crashing into my flat unannounced." I said with the haughtiest lift of my chin imaginable.

George ignored me point blank, caught a hold of my elbow, and yanked me off towards the living room. For a moment, I was five again, getting tugged away by my big brother because I had caused a massive scene by having a strop over something or other. Usually it was just because nobody payed me a blind bit of attention, but I've grown up now, and don't want the bloody attention in the first place.

"Sit."

"Did you not hear me? I said I have to go."

George pinned me with a dark stare which left no room for argument. I slipped down onto the leather seat and focused my gaze on his Dior oxfords. He really should polish those, there's a scuff on the toe. Where have I put the polish? Perhaps I can skip out to find some—

"What the bloody hell is going on Hayes?"

"How would I know?" I mumbled childishly, "You're the one who randomly swung by."

"Randomly swung by!" George paced about in front of me, "You've ignored me for two solid months! I thought you and I had gotten to a good place Hayes."

I opened my mouth to speak but George kept going, "I would have bloody thought you were dead if Dad of all people hadn't told me he saw you. I was confused, but then when Oliver, Oliver, told me had heard from you, I knew something was wrong. Talk to me."

I glanced up at George, who was staring me down. It was then I noticed the almighty shiner he was sporting on his left eye. "What happened—"

"You first."

"Nothing happened—"

"Really," his tone dripped with venom, "Then why did Oliver inform me that you've been sleeping with men and could be a potential danger to Edward?"

I was transported back to Dad's office on Christmas Eve, but this was all so much George. Him and Mum were the only people I had any hope for accepting me, but it was clear that I had nobody now. All the progress I had been making in the past few days appeared to be dashed.

"George I'm sorry," the words left my lips before I could even attempt to stop them. "I'm sorry you found out, Dad didn't want to burden you with it, and I—"

"Sorry? Burden me? What are you on about?"

"I would never hurt Edward—"

George's eyes widened with horror, even the brow sporting his bruise raised, "Hayes you don't even need to assure me. I know that, bloody hell I know that." He rubbed at his jaw, "I'm not angry with you Hayes, I'm sorry I confused you. I'm all over the place."

I simply blinked.

"I'm angry with our parents, and I'm half ready to strangle Oliver." He gestured up and down along his face, "This anger, it's not directed at you. Fucking hell I'm sorry Griff."

"I- well- but I'm gay?" I stammered, unable to see that George was seemingly fine with all of this.

George merely shrugged dismissively, "Right, okay."

I frowned, "No... I really am."

"Yes... I believe you."

We stared at each other, "Okay..."

"Okay."

A silent beat passed before I opened my mouth, "Gay as in, I'm attracted to men. Not the happy- French sense."

George slowly drew his hand down his face, "I know what you mean Hayes." The faintest of smiles then touched at his lips, "I would have been terrified if you had meant it in the latter sense."

Cautiously, I returned the brief smile, "I agree that would've been cause for alarm."

George's smile dropped as he took a seat across from me, "Hayes, you should have known you could come to me. I don't know exactly what happened, but I would have had your back."

"Would you?" I asked suspiciously, "How was I to know that? I don't know where you stand with all this. You've always said that you're under the impression that gay men are fine as long as you don't have to see them."

George winced as if realising that every time him, Oliver and Dad sat there giving their two cents on gay men, that I was also sitting there, learning to loathe myself little by little.

"I was wrong to say that, and I don't think I can apologise enough that you had to hear it." He dragged a hand through his hair, "I'll admit, I used to think that it was just... a sexual thing, and that anything in that vein should be kept private."

"It's not—"

"I know. I know." George cut in, "It's only because I had never really came across many gay men, or gay couples, which is no excuse. I didn't really know that they had proper relationships— the same as a man and a woman." He glanced at me, "That was ridiculously naive and stupid of me, so I do apologise for being so narrow minded."

I was still on shaky territory with George so I didn't interrupt.

"When I look back and think of you and any ex-girlfriends." George shook his head, "You were miserable with all of them Hayes, but we bloody forced you to be in those relationships. I can't even begin to imagine how hard that was. Jesus Christ you would've married that American girl just to keep Mum and Dad happy."

I never expected my difficult experiences to acknowledged in such a way by my brother, it seemed to good to be true.

"I saw the way you were with Freddie, and it all became so glaringly obvious." George fiddled with silver cuff link, "I'm ashamed to admit that the thought of you in a relationship with him made me uncomfortable at first."

"That's fine—"

"No. It's not Hayes, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

I went to protest that I couldn't expect everyone to just be okay with me dating a man, especially my literal Tory brother, but he was about to shock me into silence.

George reached out and gently squeezed my wrist, "Who you're attracted to isn't a choice, but being a bigot bloody is, so we're the ones that need to change, not you."

My jaw slacked open because I was simply astounded.

"George—"

"You and I, we're done with that lot." George said sternly, "I never want to see you bend over backwards to keep them happy ever again. Right?"

Everything seemed to pour out of my lips then. How I tried my best to hide my sexuality all my life. How I knew that I was once in love with Julian, but once he tried to act on the mutual feelings I had to go to greater efforts to smother out my urges to be with a man. That's why I ran off to America and attached myself to the first woman I could find. How bloody disappointing it was to wake up every morning because I simply couldn't stand myself.

Before George could attempt to apologise, because he looked on the verge of breaking by the end of my long winded confession, I quickly jumped in and told him that all of it changed when I let Freddie into my life. I told him that I was happier than I ever was, and decided to leave out the part about the ambush from our parents.

George was scrambling for words when I finally lapsed into silence.

He shook his head slowly, "I never— well I— how the hell— how can you fucking stand any of us Hayes?"

"It's as much my fault for choosing to go against my nature." I shrugged.

"You were forced to do that Hayes," George let loose a shaky sigh, "I can't believe that the majority of people are all content to make other people so bloody miserable just because they can't understand who they're sleeping with. It's not like your lot can understand why we sleep with women but you don't go around giving us grief for it."

Despite of the deadly serious energy sizzling throughout the room, I conceded a small laugh, "Very true, I simply can't see the appeal of procreational shagging."

George's eyes were unbearably glassy, but he proceeded to crack a cheeky smile, "I think Angela would've turned any man the other way so I can't say I'm surprised by all of this—"

"Fuck off." I gave his shoulder a shove, and we both broke out into laughter instead of tears.

We spent some more time flitting between light hearted ribs and deep conversation before I realised with a start that I had a flight to catch. George apologised profusely when I told him that I would have missed it by now. I tried to phone Freddie to tell him that I would be late, but there was no answer. I would try him again from the airport, but for now, I was definitely going to be a little late.

"Well don't worry about the tabloids focusing on you when you're in Munich." George chuckled and followed me out into the hallway, "Oliver and I will be taking the front page slots for the foreseeable future." He plucked up my suitcase for me.

"Why's that?"

"We may have had a scuffle outside Westminster."

"What?" I exclaimed with surprise as we travelled downwards in the lift. "Dad is going to—"

"Who cares what he's going to do?" George huffed, "We're done, remember?"

Done. Yes I'm done.

I nodded slowly, "Right. Yes. Sorry. What happened with Oliver?"

George looked as though he didn't want to tell me what transpired, but knew I would pester him until he caved. "Well he told me that I shouldn't be letting Edward anywhere near you, and he called you something that I won't be repeating, not even to quote him."

"Oh." I murmured as we settled into the back of a chauffeured town car. I could take a lucky guess as to what word Oliver spat out.

"Naturally, I decked him one. Right outside the House of Parliament. Several journalists caught sight of it."

George may be my hero. I snorted a laugh, "Hardly."

"He's had it coming for a long time." George grumbled, his expression full of guilt and fury. "Of course the sod retuned the gesture. So it turned into this almighty brawl." He laughed tightly, "It was during a House of Lords session too, so Dad was in his get up when he tried to pry us apart, wig and all."

I could already see the Newspaper headlines. How can Alastair Griffith be responsible for the running of the country when he can't even control his own children?

"So I can get up to all the debauchery I want in Munich then?" I feigned a serious expression but it was so difficult not to smile like an idiot. I still have George, and it's better than I could have ever imagined.

"Of course," George nodded and returned my smile, "And if you're about to do anything particularly sinful in public, give me a call because I plan to cause some more scandal."

"More scandal?"

George threw me a grin, "Guess who's put their name forward to be in the running for Kensington's next MP, and being backed by the Labour Party?"

"You're literally going to give Dad a heart attack," I spluttered.

George shrugged, "Less opposition for when I try to get my brother the rights he deserves then." He gave my shoulder a squeeze, "But until that happens, I want you to have a good time in Munich."

With that I hugged my brother for the first time that I could ever recall as an adult, and promised him that I would indeed have a good time in Munich.

——

A/N- Hope you enjoyed!
Thank you all so much for 12K reads, I really appreciate it! 🤍

The next chapter will be Freddie's POV of what he's been up to in the same timeframe as this chapter. With any luck, I hope to have it up soon enough!