Chapter Text
SIMON
“Simon, I love you, but we just aren’t right for each other.”
That’s what Agatha told me yesterday. We were supposed to get lunch after my shift at Ebb’s, but instead, she showed up early and dumped me. Right in the middle of my shift.
“But Aggie, I love you! We’re soulmates,” I had replied.
“We’re not, Simon. I love you too, but not like that.”
She couldn’t have waited until after my shift this time? I was completely useless after that. I messed up someone’s order three times in a row. Ebb had to send me home early.
“I don’t think you love me like that either,” she had said.
“What are you talking about? Of course I do!” I argued. She sighed.
Sure, our relationship wasn’t perfect. We’d broken up a few times before, but she had never said anything like that. She wasn’t making any sense. I told her so, and she just rolled her eyes.
“Look, I can’t tell you how you feel, but I can tell you how I feel. And I don’t feel like that.”
“Look, I know I’m a shit boyfriend, and I’m sorry—”
“It’s not that, Simon.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m telling you, and you’re not listening! I don’t like you like that! I don’t think I ever have!”
It didn’t make sense. Agatha and I belong together. We’ve been together for almost a year. We’re supposed to get married after uni. What does she mean, she never liked me like that?
“Can’t you just try?” I pleaded desperately.
“I have tried! I’ve been trying this whole time! But I don’t wanna try any more. It’s not working.”
Then she turned on her heel and left without another word. After Ebb sent me home, I laid on the couch for 24 hours and cried.
To make matters worse, my best friend Penny is studying abroad in America and won’t be back until the end of the term, and she’s usually busy whenever I can call. Though, to be fair, even if she were here, I doubt she’d be much support anyway. Penny never thought Aggie and me were a good match to begin with, but she lost all sympathy for our situation around the third time we took a break. Last night, when I texted her that Agatha and I were officially over, she actually texted back “finally.”
So that’s how I ended up drinking alone at the pub, no girlfriend and best friend on another continent. I nurse my pint and sorrowfully stare at my last text from Aggie. (I texted her last night and told her I missed her. All she said in response was “I don’t think we should text each other like this anymore.”)
My self-pity is interrupted by someone raising their voice at the end of the bar. I look over and see two well-dressed blokes, one of which is getting a little handsy.
“Come on, darling, have some fun!” the handsy one says. He’s pale, almost gaunt, with straight ginger hair cropped at his ears, parted straight down the middle. He looks at least in his early thirties, and he’s leaning up against the other bloke and trying to kiss his neck.
“I’m not in the mood,” the other one says, shrugging the handsy bloke off. He’s taller but younger, closer to my age, and he’s dead handsome. He has longer black hair that frames his tall cheekbones perfectly. The smarmy older bloke goes back in, kissing the younger bloke’s neck. Anger bubbles up inside me, and I clench my fists at my side. The younger one pulls away, but the older is insistent. “Lamb, please, stop.”
He—Lamb(? what kind of ridiculous posh name is that)—doesn’t stop. The younger bloke looks visibly uncomfortable as the older starts nipping and licking his neck. Suddenly, I can’t sit around and watch this any longer. I get up out of my seat and march over to them.
“Oi mate, he told you to stop,” I shout, getting their attention. The handsy bloke turns to me, looking annoyed.
“Mind your own business, chav,” Lamb says with a sneer. The younger dark-haired one stares at me, eyes wide.
“Not until you leave him alone,” I growl. I push my shoulders back and jut out my chin.
“He’s my boyfriend, you oaf. Now piss off,” he spits at me with his posh vowels.
“I don’t care who you are. Stop means stop.”
Lamb rolls his eyes and turns back to his partner, who’s still transfixed on me with an unnameable emotion. Lamb runs his hands all over him, making it abundantly clear he has no intention to stop. Well, neither do I.
“I’m not joking, mate,” I growl louder. Lamb turns back to me with a sneer.
“And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he says. We’re starting to get the attention of the bartender. I know if I keep this up, I’ll end up getting kicked out or worse. And while I have no doubt I could rough him up, I’m not actually looking for trouble tonight. I just want him to stop.
“He’s obviously uncomfortable,” I say. “You’re being pervy.” Lamb scoffs, feigning offense.
“Darling, are you really gonna let him speak to me like this?” Lamb asks, turning to his partner. His partner blinks, stunned, before seeming to come to a decision.
“I did say stop, Lamb,” the younger one says simply, expression stony and unreadable. Lamb gapes at him, fuming.
“Unbelievable,” Lamb finally mutters. “Fine then. I’m going home. Call me when you want to grow up.”
Lamb storms off, leaving just me and the younger bloke, who now won’t look at me. I notice now his suit isn’t black, but a dark green velvet, and his shirt has tiny pink flowers on it. It suits him. He frowns at his empty glass, expression far away.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He quickly jerks up, still not meeting my eye.
“What?” he says. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” He turns back to intently studying his glass.
“My name’s Simon, by the way,” I say. “What’s yours?”
“Baz,” he replies, finally looking me in the eye, and I see that his eyes are an interesting shade of dark grey. His gaze is so intense, I can’t help but nervously squirm.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just couldn’t sit there and watch him do that,” I say. “Even if he is your boyfriend,” I add. Baz’s expression is still unreadable. I wonder how he does that.
“It’s alright,” he replies. “He was making an arse of himself. He’s normally not like this.” He grimaces. “Or I guess I’m not.” He momentarily drops the mask, and I see it. The sadness, the pain. But as quickly as it came, it leaves. I want to know more.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, because I can’t help myself. He frowns at his glass.
“Today is…” he says in a low voice. Something dark and painful clouds his expression, and I realize I’ve pushed too far. If I hadn’t overstepped before, I definitely have now.
“I get it. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I say, backpedaling. I don’t want to scare him off. “But if you do, I’m here to listen. In any case, he shouldn’t have treated you like that.”
BAZ
Lamb is going to be furious with me. I’ve humiliated him, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Things have been rocky for some time now, and I couldn’t be arsed to pretend to be a perfect, happy couple. Not today.
“Today is the anniversary of my mum’s passing,” I say, the words tumbling out before I have time to think.
Simon looks at me with a surprised but sad expression, and I think I’ve cocked it all up. I never talk about this with anyone. The first rule I learned from my father after she passed: it’s impolite to mention your tragic backstory—all it does is earn pitying stares and awkward silences.
“I get it,” Simon says, snapping me out of my melodramatic spiral. His expression has melted into a warm smile. “My mum passed when I was young. Even though it’s been a while, I still carry it with me. Most people don’t get it.”
“Yeah,” I reply, giving him a soft smile in return. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s his kind blue eyes and golden smile, but I can’t help but implicitly trust Simon. There’s something so warm and inviting about him, and I want to know more. “What was she like? Your mum, I mean.”
“I don’t really remember,” Simon says sheepishly. “She died when I was a baby, so I don’t have any real memories. I’ve only got stories from my nan and uncle.”
“Ah,” I say. “Me too, really. My mum died when I was five. There are bits and pieces, but nothing solid. My family doesn’t talk about her much.”
“That’s hard,” Simon says. His tone is understanding, but not like he feels sorry for me. It’s foreign but… refreshing. I appreciate it.
“I miss her,” I say, because I can’t seem to stop myself tonight. “Especially today. Even though I didn’t know her well.”
“That’s alright,” Simon says. “You didn’t have to know someone well to miss them, especially your mum. I didn’t know my mum at all, but I miss her. I miss all the things I missed out on growing up without a mum. Most people don’t know what that’s like.”
“Yeah,” I say, then grimace. “Lamb sure doesn’t.”
“My girlfriend Agatha didn’t either,” he replies, then winces. “Ex-girlfriend. I keep forgetting that.”
Ex-girlfriend. This piques my attention. Tell me more, beautiful stranger.
“Is that new?” I ask.
“Yeah, she dumped me yesterday,” he says, giving a painful smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, though I’m really not that sorry (he’s too handsome for me to be that sorry). “Her loss,” I say, with a dangerously close-to-flirtatious smile. What are you doing, Basil? He’s straight, and you’re still in a relationship. Christ, how much have I had to drink tonight?
Before I can get myself into any further trouble, my mobile rings. I don’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it is: Lamb. I roll my eyes and let it ring.
“Shouldn’t you get that?” Simon asks.
“No,” I say, before hitting decline. “It’s my boyfriend. I’m really not in the mood.” Not a second later, it starts ringing again. I roll my eyes and decline again, and again, it immediately starts back up. This time, I just let it ring.
“Look, mate, you should probably just answer. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boyfriend,” Simon says, seeming genuinely concerned. It’s sweet.
“I’m proving a point,” I say stubbornly.
“I get it, but trust me, it’s not worth it. Unless you wanna end up single like me.” Honestly, I’m not opposed to the idea.
The ringing stops, and a text quickly pops up.
My eyes threaten to take permanent residence in the back of my head.
“He’s ordered me an Uber. I guess I should go,” I sigh reluctantly.
“Oh, alright. Good luck, mate,” Simon says, reaching out to shake my hand. I take it politely. “It was nice meeting you, Baz. I hope your night gets better.”
“Thanks, you too,” I say, and I really mean it. For a moment, I try not to focus on what awaits me at home, and instead let myself appreciate this unlikely pleasant evening I had with this handsome stranger. “I hope we meet again, Simon.”