Friday, October 31st 2014

Jack followed Millie and Ciarán through the front door of the packed house party. It was absolute chaos. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floors, the smell of cheap booze and weed hung thick in the air, and the place was already sweating with the body heat of way too many students crammed inside.

'Nickelodeon called and they are liv-ing!' Savannah's voice rang over the crowd as she spotted them.

Millie beamed, giving her a quick hug. 'This is my housemate, Ciarán, and sure you know Jack.'

Ciarán gave Savannah a once-over, smirked, and extended a perfectly manicured hand. 'Pleasure to meet you, girl. I've heard everything.'

'All good things, I hope?' Savannah winked, then turned to Jack, who nodded, offering a casual alright in response.

He stuck close to Millie and Ciarán as they squeezed through the bodies toward the kitchen. He had never seen a house so rammed. A group dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pushed past, and he nearly walked straight into a bloke dressed as a nun—with massive fake tits swinging under his habit.

Jack wasn't a massive fan of Halloween, but he had tried to make an effort. He wore a red tartan shirt, jeans held up with suspenders, and brown boots, carrying a plastic axe to top it off.

Lumber-JACK, Millie had teased.

Ciarán had darkened his stubble with makeup to make him look a little scruffier. Simple, but at least it wasn't shite.

'Love the costume!' called out a girl dressed as an angel, hanging off some lad with a bit of fake blood lazily smeared across his cheek.

'Who invited Dealz Jessica Rabbit?' Ciarán muttered under his breath, taking a sip from his bottle of Tesco gin. Jack fought back a laugh. He hated to admit it, but Ciarán was quite funny.

'Jack! What's the story?'

His stomach tightened. He turned—Paul.

Jack wasn't sure why his heart kicked up a notch, but it did. Paul was dressed as a blind mouse, black trousers, a crisp white shirt, a little cane, whiskers drawn onto his face with face paint.

'Oh hey,' Jack replied.

'I'm gonna go get a drink,' Ciarán said quickly, leaving them alone.

Paul leaned in slightly, his voice warm over the noise. 'Nice costume, by the way.'

'You too...It's...what is it?'

'The three blind mice.'

'Where are the other two?'

'Ironically, I haven't seen them in a while.'

Jack smiled, feeling himself relax, which surprised him.

They chatted a little—Paul was easy to talk to, and Jack didn't mind the company. But then, just like that, Paul had to go find his missing mice, and Jack was left standing in the crowded kitchen, buzzing slightly. He hadn't planned on drinking a lot, but an hour later, he was hammered.

Outside, the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. He followed Millie and Savannah to the patio, where people were passing joints like communion wafers.

'Want some?' Millie asked.

Jack hesitated. Then, before he could overthink it, he took the joint, took a deep inhale, and promptly started coughing his lungs up.

'Christ, don't pull a whitie,' Savannah smirked, taking it back from him.

He was lightheaded now, the booze and the weed mixing into a strange, floaty feeling. His limbs felt heavy, his head too light. Then Savannah dropped it.

'You know, when I first met you, I thought you were gay.'

Jack froze.

'Really?' he forced a laugh, 'why?'

'Dunno. Maybe because most of the lads that do English are? My gaydar is shite, though.' Millie side-eyed Jack. Watching him. 'Paul thought so too, by the way,' Savannah continued, innocent, but loaded. 'Kept asking me about you.'

Jack's heart slammed against his ribs. 'Saying what?' His own voice sounded weird to him.

'Just, you know... if you were single. If you were seeing anyone.'

Jack grabbed the joint from Millie and took another inhale, his lungs burning. He coughed again, Savannah grinned. 'You were wearing a red sticker that night, right?' she asked.

'Yeah, but I'm single now.'

Savannah raised an eyebrow. 'Interesting.'

'I'll chat to ye in a bit, need to go piss.'

Upstairs was quieter, the chaos muffled. He wasn't even sure why he had come up here, but his heart was pounding and he couldn't breathe properly. He needed a break from the questioning.

Jack shut the bathroom door behind him, leaning against it for a second as he let out a slow breath. His head felt light, his body both numb and buzzing at the same time. The bathroom was small, cramped, with a flickering light that made everything feel just a little too intense.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Get a grip.

Turning to the sink, he twisted the tap and let the cold water rush over his hands before cupping some and splashing it onto his face. It stung, shocking him back into the present. He did it again, then leaned down and took a few greedy gulps straight from the tap.

The water was ice-cold, grounding. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and straightened up, staring at his reflection in the spotted mirror above the sink. His pupils looked massive, his eyes slightly red from the smoke. He looked... off. Like someone he didn't fully recognise.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a swipe. His fingers moved faster than his thoughts, opening Instagram and searching Paul's name. Jack hesitated, then tapped onto it. The first photo was from over the summer—Paul at a beach somewhere, shirtless, sunglasses perched on his head, grinning at the camera. Jack's eyes lingered on the way the sun hit his skin, how confident he looked. He scrolled down. Nights out, holidays, a blurry picture of him and Savannah at what looked like a festival. Normal. Comfortable.

Jack swallowed, locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. His chest felt tight again, the reality of where he was, what he was doing, creeping back in.

Breathe. Get it together. Go back out.

With one last glance in the mirror, he turned off the tap, ran a hand through his hair again, and left the bathroom.

'Jack!'

Paul. He was standing outside the bathroom. 'Oh, hey,' Jack blurted.

Paul studied him, tilting his head slightly. 'You alright? Enjoying the party?'

'Yeah, yeah,' Jack nodded too quickly, glancing over Paul's shoulder.

They were alone on the landing.

Paul watched him, smirking slightly. Jack felt off-balance. He was drunk, high, his brain a mess, but his body felt warm standing this close.

Paul caught him staring. 'What's going on in that head of yours?'

Jack shook his head, trying to laugh it off. 'Nothing. Sorry'

'Mmm. Right,' Paul said, unconvinced. 'Bit too much to drink?'

Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to focus his eyes on Paul, 'maybe.'

'Don't worry, I'm steaming too.'

Jack didn't reply. He just looked back at Paul, who matched him for eye contact. Neither of them moved. The music from downstairs thudded through the walls, but up here, it was muffled, distant.

Paul tilted his head slightly, studying him, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was suppressing a smirk. Jack's stomach tightened. The air between them felt thick, charged with something Jack couldn't name—or maybe just wouldn't.

Paul took a step closer, slow, deliberate. Jack's breath hitched, but he didn't move away. His heart was hammering now, a deep, insistent pulse in his chest.

'You're thinking too much,' Paul murmured.

Jack swallowed, his throat dry. He was thinking too much. About Paul. About this. About how his skin felt too hot, how the alcohol and the weed had lowered his guard just enough to make him wonder—

Paul was right there. So close Jack could see the faintest freckles on his nose, the way his lips parted just slightly, waiting.

Paul closed the space between them, his lips brushing against Jack's with a warmth that sent a jolt through his entire body. It was slow at first, testing, but when Jack didn't pull away, Paul deepened it—his hand ghosting over Jack's arm, steady, sure. And for a fleeting second, Jack let himself sink into it, the unfamiliarity of it thrilling, terrifying—until reality crashed down all at once, and he wrenched himself back like he'd been burned.

'Shit—' Paul started, reaching for him, but Jack backed away, panic rising in his chest like bile.

'No—I can't—' His voice was sharp, breathless.

Paul held up his hands. 'Jack, it's okay—'

'No, it's not!' Jack's voice cracked. His hands curled into fists. 'I shouldn't have—fuck, I shouldn't have let that happen.'

Paul studied him. Not anger. Just confusion. Shock even.

'I'm sorry, I thought you wanted that to happen,' Paul said quietly.

'I don't know what the fuck I want!' Jack snapped.

Silence.

Paul exhaled, nodding slightly. 'I get it.'

Jack couldn't handle this. He turned on his heel and practically bolted down the stairs, shoving through the crowd, music pounding in his skull, 'no. You don't get it.'

But even as he disappeared into the noise, he could still feel Paul's lips on his.

And he hated that he didn't hate it.