4_arrows

john paul/craig reunion fanfic - part 6

2008-08-21T13:20:52Z

John Paul was restless. He sighed heavily, flipped the collar of his jacket up and braced himself as he exited Niall’s apartment building and walked into the crisp November chill.

The little laneways between the buildings were like wind-tunnels. A pile of autumn leaves playfully danced in a little eddy at his feet. John Paul wasn’t in the mood for playful. He walked through the pile, crushing it underfoot.

I could definitely go for a nice, hot cuppa, he thought to himself, adjusting his scarf.

He had a fair amount of reading to do for a literature class the next day. He hunched his shoulders and made a beeline for Il Gnosh. A gust of wind followed on his heels as he pushed the door open.

The café was mostly empty and quiet in the post-breakfast, pre-lunch lull. Two people sat reading newspapers and sipping hot drinks at separate tables. John Paul took a seat and ordered a cup of tea from Tony, who glumly shuffled back to the kitchen. The breakup with Jacqui had hit him hard.

John Paul took his copy of The Great Gatsby from his canvas messenger bag and set it on the table. He wrapped his hands around the mug Tony had brought him and stared sullenly out the window.

In the three months since Kieron and Craig had both left him to rot in Hollyoaks, he’d become a bit of a hermit. He hardly ever went out and due to his constant reticence he was rarely even asked anymore. He no longer organized events at The Loft. He seldom accompanied his classmates for after class pints at the SU bar. Hollyoaks was like a ghost town for him. Every spot in the village was either haunted by the specter of Craig or the spirit of St. Kieron. He couldn’t go to The Dog. He couldn’t go to the SU bar. The Loft was full of painful memories. He had trouble sleeping in the bedroom he used to share with Kieron. The park reminded him of Craig.

Suddenly he realized he was sitting at the same table he’d occupied with Craig the fateful morning of their extremely brief reunion back in August. John Paul heaved another world-weary sigh.

He opened his book, but it wasn’t to read. At the back of the volume John Paul had stuck the four postcards he’d received from Kieron since his departure from Hollyoaks. He’d been traveling in Eastern Europe. The first was from Helsinki, the second from Riga, the third from Warsaw and the fourth from Budapest. It was this little stack that he retrieved now. Each was a typical picture postcard, with cliché images of castles, boats on rivers or locals buying produce in colorful open air markets.

John Paul had read them over and over again. He missed Kieron. He thought about him often. But he missed him like a friend. He missed him like a confidant. He didn’t, and this came as a surprise to John Paul, miss him like a lover.

Kieron didn’t say much in the postcards and when he signed him name, it was without a romantic signifier. It was never “Love, Kieron” or “All the best, Kieron” or even “Regards, Kieron” – it was simply “Kieron.” But John Paul appreciated them all the same. It was a thoughtful gesture.

John Paul flipped over the most recent card Kieron had sent him, the one from Hungary. It showed an aerial view of a majestic bridge spanning the Danube River.

Dear John Paul,

The goulash here is delicious. Reminds me of something you made for dinner once. I think you called it Myra Surprise. I’m off to Vienna next. Hope you’re doing well.

Kieron

John Paul read the words twice through. He tapped the postcard thoughtfully against the table for a moment and then slipped it back into The Great Gatsby with the others.

John Paul took a sip of his tea. He missed Kieron, but he missed someone else too. And in a very different way.

He’d toyed with the idea of flying to Dublin and surprising Craig. He’d envisioned the scene several times. It was a favorite fantasy of his. Whenever his mind wandered in class, it was to Trinity College. Having never been to Dublin, the only image John Paul had of the city was the stately entrance to Trinity and that was where his fantasies about Craig took place. With the main gate of Trinity as a backdrop and students streaming past them on either side, creating in their wake a kind of blurred cocoon of movement, John Paul pictured himself facing Craig, the two of them standing stock still, staring into each other’s eyes. Sometimes John Paul let the fantasy progress and Craig leaned forward to kiss him, unabashed though they were in public. But usually he forced his mind onto something else. He felt silly daydreaming about Craig. It made him feel like a sap.

He wanted Craig, but he couldn’t bring himself to take the plunge. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might be rejected again. Over the past few months his wounded pride had healed awkwardly and John Paul had picked at the scab. It was an unsightly scar and John Paul was embarrased of it.

He felt foolish because he was unable to let go. And he felt ashamed because he didn’t want to.

********

After two hours, several more cups of tea, a sandwich and then a coffee and pastry at Il Gnosh during which time he’d only managed to read a single chapter of The Great Gatsby, John Paul began to gather his things together. He was all on a sudden extremely tired. He thought he could do with a little nap.

He signaled Tony for the check and smiled gratefully when he saw that he’d only been charged for one cup of the tea and the scone. Tony knew he was a poor student and always fudged the bill to John Paul’s advantage.

John Paul took out his wallet and counted his change. It was a good thing Tony was so kind, because he just barely had enough to cover the truncated tab. He put his money in the little tray on which Tony had brought the bill and left the café. He was just about to turn in the direction of home when he noticed Steph walking in the opposite direction.

In the months since Max’s death, she’d really pulled herself together. John Paul admired her grit. He smiled at her and continued on his way down the street.

“John Paul, can I talk to you?” she said from behind him. He turned around and came back to where she stood.

What could she have to say to me? John Paul thought.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” she said.

Less than five minutes after he’d left Il Gnosh, he found himself back and seated in the same chair he’d just vacated. Steph ordered two coffees. Tony regarded John Paul with raised eyebrows but made no comment as he brought them two steaming mugs. Steph placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward in a confidential pose.

“If I gave you Craig’s address in Dublin, would you go over and visit him there?” she asked bluntly. The steam wafting off their coffees rose between them.

John Paul sputtered. “Wh-what?”

“I don’t mean to just come out and say it, but I guess I just have, so, you know…” Steph let her voice trail. “Do you have a pen?”

John Paul nodded. He reached into his bag, took out a pen and handed it to her.

“Do you have a piece of paper?” she asked.

John Paul ripped a piece of paper from one of his notebooks. Steph drew the paper across the table and scribbled something down. She pushed the paper across the table to John Paul and placed the pen on top of it.

They sat in silence for a moment and she nonchalantly sipped her coffee. John Paul looked at her and then at the paper. She’d written an address “24 Pearse Street, Dublin.” John Paul took the paper, folded it several times and put it into his coat pocket.

All at once he was excited. Elated. Giddy. He felt lightheaded.

“Thanks,” John Paul said. He smiled gratefully. All he’d needed was a push.

“Just call me cupid,” she said.

********

john paul/craig reunion fanfic, part 5

2008-08-19T11:50:42Z

Craig glanced around his old bedroom. Since Newt was being treated in hospital, Craig was sleeping there during his visit. There were posters for punk bands he’d never heard of on the walls. Most of Newt’s clothes, all black, were still hanging in the closet or strewn about the floor. There was a stack of graphic novels on the bedside table.

Darren opened the door without knocking and popped his head in.

“Why so glum, my little powder puff?” he asked.

Craig didn’t respond to baiting anymore. He really was a different person. In Dublin, he’d had ample time to reflect upon himself.

“You wear more jewelry than mum,” Craig said, sighing. But his heart wasn’t into it.

“You’re boring since you’ve come back, you know that?” Darren said. He came inside and sat down on the bed next to Craig. He scooted back so that he could lean against the wall. His shoes were on the bedspread.

Craig didn’t react.

“You’re not going to tell me to get my shoes off your bed?” Darren asked.

“I don’t care,” Craig said. His phone was in his hand. He’d nearly dialed John Paul’s number ten times that morning. He was almost glad of Darren’s interruption. It gave him a distraction from the task at hand.

Darren softened his tone.

“We, uh, all miss him,” he said. He sounded almost sympathetic.

Craig felt foolish for a moment. Of course he was sad about Jack, but it wasn’t Jack he’d been thinking about.

And then Darren said a surprising thing, more insightful and sympathetic than anything else he had ever said to Craig in his life.

“Look mate, if you wait too long, it’s going to be too late,” he said. He slid up and off the bed. “Stop being such an asshole and call your special friend.”

Darren left and closed the door behind him. Craig had been getting life advice from the most unlikely quarters lately.

The phone rang three heart wrenching times before John Paul answered.

“Craig,” John Paul said breathlessly. He’d either transferred Craig’s number into his new phone or he knew Craig’s number by heart. Either way, Craig took it to be a good sign.

Craig took a deep, ragged breath.

“Meet me in Il Gnosh in twenty minutes?” Craig asked. He felt as vulnerable as human gossamer.

There was a pause. And then –

“Okay,” John Paul’s voice crackled from the other end. “Twenty minutes.”

********

Craig arrived at Il Gnosh before John Paul. He felt physically ill in the best way possible. It was like he was aware of every belabored heartbeat. He imagined he could feel the blood as it coursed through his veins. He felt both alive and near death. Like a light breeze could blow him over and he’d crash to the floor into a hundred pieces like a cheap, fake crystal vase. The longer he waited, the more fanciful he became. Every time the bells attached to the door jangled, announcing a new customer, his heart thudded brutally against his chest. He felt internally ragged. Like with one false move he’d puncture his lung on the jagged edges of his ribcage and –

The bells above the door tinkled and John Paul entered. He walked over to Craig’s table and took a seat across from him. They stared at each other across the Formica expanse. Both waited for the other to speak first. Craig knew the onus was on him. He was the one who had arranged the meeting. But he wasn’t sure how to begin. John Paul smiled encouragingly. He looked so good. John Paul wore a blue T shirt and jeans better than anyone Craig had ever seen.

Suddenly Jacqui appeared beside their table with a notebook in hand. She appraised them coolly.

“What a pleasant surprise,” she said. She raised an acid eyebrow and looked at Craig. “Come back home with your tail between your legs? Bit late for all that.”

“Just two coffees for now,” John Paul said, ignoring Jacqui.

“Is that with or without arsenic?” she asked as she scribbled their order onto her pad.

John Paul gave Jacqui an imploring look. He widened his eyes and glanced meaningfully in Craig’s direction. She rolled her eyes.

“And two glasses of water,” said John Paul.

“Coming right up,” Jacqui said. Her voice was so gravelly it almost came out in a growl.

“She hates me,” Craig said, after she’d left. “I think she wants to kill me.”

“There’re a lot of people she wants to kill,” John Paul said. “It’s not a very exclusive club.”

After several minutes Tony brought the coffee and the water.

“Ignore Jacqui,” he said as he placed the drinks on the table. “She’s crabby. No sleep. The baby and all.”

Craig and John Paul nodded their thanks. Craig took a fortifying sip of water and began.

“Kieron told me to call you,” he said. “Because he…because he said you deserved the right to make a choice, you know, between us.”

John Paul didn’t speak. He wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee. He added sugar. He added milk. He watched the white mix with the black in slow swirls.

“And, uh, I called because I still love you and I miss you every day.” He spoke in hushed tones, almost a whisper. Craig felt naked. He felt exposed. He felt like he was sitting in the middle of Il Gnosh drinking coffee in his boxer shorts.

John Paul still didn’t open his mouth. But he was thinking. His mind was reeling. He knew in that instant that he still wanted Craig as much as he ever had. The mug was burning his hands, but John Paul didn’t move. The previous night, wrapped in Kieron’s arms, he’d suddenly felt an unbearable guilt. He’d lain there, in his little personal duvet of love, and all the time he’d been yearning for someone else. And now that someone else was sitting across the table from him telling him the yearning was mutual. Kieron was a saint among men. He was being generous. John Paul was in a muddle. But he did know one thing. He loved Kieron, but he’d made his choice.

John Paul’s face slowly broke into a smile.

“Me too,” John Paul said. Now he was grinning. “Me too.”

Craig smiled beatifically.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” John Paul said. “Really, really, really.”

He reached over the table and placed his hand on Craig’s hand. Craig continued to smile, but a slight twitch convulsed his face. After a respectable moment he slid his hand from under John Paul’s and picked up his coffee cup. He took a sip and placed his hands in his lap, out of John Paul’s reach. John Paul’s forehead creased. He felt the words leave his mouth before he had thought them out properly.

“Craig, give me a kiss,” he said. He leaned forward slightly in his chair. He wasn’t smiling anymore. All at once he felt very tired.

Craig laughed nervously.

“What? Let’s go back to your place and talk,” Craig said. “There’s a lot of catch up on. So much has happened since –”

“Craig, just give me a kiss and then we can go,” John Paul said. There was a slightly hysterical edge to his voice now.

“John Paul,” Craig said. “Let’s not so this…”

“I swear to god, Craig, if you don’t kiss me now in front of all these people, I’m going to walk out of here and that’s it. I’m through.”

A desperate, hunted expression found its way into Craig’s eyes, but for propriety’s sake he kept his voice even. They were in public, after all.

There were tears in John Paul’s eyes. Less than five minutes before Craig had been the source of John Paul’s happiness. Now, as usual, he was the cause of his grief.

What’s wrong with me? Craig asked himself. Just give John Paul a kiss. Just do it. Do it. Do it.

But his body wouldn’t obey. He nervously glanced around the room at the other people enjoying late breakfasts or cups of coffee. Some were reading the newspaper. Others were chatting. Not one of them would bat an eye if he just leaned over, brushed his lips against John Paul’s and then sat back down again. But he simply couldn’t. He was encased in concrete.

“Please don’t do this to me again,” Craig pleaded as John Paul stood to go. “Please!”

John Paul just shook his head.

“Don’t call me again,” John Paul said with a strange calm. “Just don’t.”

He turned and left the restaurant. The bells jangled above the door and he was gone. Craig stared dumbly at the now empty seat across from him. The steam still rose off of John Paul’s abandoned coffee cup.

Jacqui sailed over to the table with the check.

“That’ll be £4 when you get a chance love,” she said. She hadn’t heard their exchange, but she’d been watching from the other side of the room.

“Our John Paul’s too smart to be taken in by the likes of you,” she said.

Craig handed her a fiver and left the restaurant without acknowledging that he’d heard anything besides for the announcement of the bill.

Jacqui stared after him. She had no sympathy.

“Loser,” she muttered as she bussed the table.

********

When John Paul got home he found the dirty plates from the previous evening’s curry still sitting unwashed on the kitchen counter. The leftover sauce, dotted with grains of desiccated grains of rice, was congealed in a Styrofoam container. The plates were encrusted with the leftovers. John Paul looked down at the ravages of last night’s supper. It was unappetizing. It looked how John Paul felt.

He’d been able to control himself until he’d arrived home, but now the tears came. He didn’t sob. He hardly made a noise. For several minutes he sat on the sofa staring ahead of him at the blank television screen, the tears sliding down his cheeks. Little streams of sorrow. When the tears dried up, he continued to sit, slumped on the sofa, his mind vacant, his eyes expressionless. He felt like a dishtowel. Like a dishtowel that had been used to wipe up yesterday’s curry.

He could hardly believe Craig had refused to kiss him a second time. It was getting repetitive. John Paul had to admit that at first, at the very beginning, he’d enjoyed the furtiveness with which he had had to go about his relations with Craig. The sneaking around made it sexy. But that feeling had worn off rather quickly. When John Paul got involved with Kieron, the surreptitious nature of their relationship also gave him a little frisson. Maybe there was something wrong with John Paul. Maybe he craved controversy and subterfuge in a way he didn’t fully understand. Maybe he got himself into these impossible situations on purpose. Maybe he made his bed and then balked when he was asked to lay in it.

John Paul heard someone enter the living room from the hallway, but he didn’t look up. Kieron sat down beside him. He was still in his pajamas. He shuffled over to the sofa.

“I didn’t hear you go out this morning,” he said, placing an arm around John Paul’s shoulders.

John Paul didn’t move or speak.

“What’s going on?” Kieron asked. “Are you all right?”

John Paul tapped his sneaker on the carpet and then turned to face Kieron.

“Did you tell Craig to call me?” John Paul asked.

Kieron sighed.

“I did,” he said.

“Why?”

“To…to let you have a choice,” Kieron said. He was starting to feel like a willing cuckold. He must have been crazy to approach Craig, to smash open this can of worms.

“Well, I saw him,” John Paul said.

Kieron nodded, put his hand on John Paul’s back.

“And I made my choice.”

“And…?” But Kieron knew the answer. A fat tear slid down his cheek. It hurt, but Kieron had expected the blow. This felt like flagellation and in a strange way, Kieron needed to be hit. He wondered what he would do now, without the priesthood and without John Paul.

“He’s not ready,” John Paul said hoarsely. “And now I’ve lost you both.”

John Paul began to cry again and Kieron gently enveloped him in his arms.

“I’m going to pack my things,” Kieron said. “I’m going to go away, on a trip. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. Somewhere where nobody knows me.”

He paused.

“You know, I think things happened too quickly between us,” Kieron said. “Like right now, we were in love and everything – today, the future – it looked rosy. But what about later? What if I start resenting you? What if I start feeling like you forced me out of the priesthood. I know that’s not how it happened, but time dulls memory. It’s better this way. Really.”

John Paul sat up and wiped his nose on his sleeve like a child.

“So, you’re leaving?” he asked.

“I’m leaving,” Kieron said.

He leaned over and kissed John Paul deeply on the lips. He could taste the tears. John Paul gave Kieron’s shoulder an anguished squeeze. Kieron stood.

“He’s not ready now,” Kieron said. “But maybe he’ll be ready…later.”

John Paul shook his head.

“It’s a lost cause,” he said. “A lost cause.”

“There’s a patron saint for lost causes,” Kieron said. “St. Rita. I think there’s always hope.”

John Paul couldn’t help but smile.

“Always the priest,” he said.

Kieron gave a wan smile in return.

“I’ll write you a postcard,” he said.

“I’ll keep it with the others,” John Paul said.

He watched as Kieron turned and walked to the bedroom to pack.

********

Craig stacked pint glasses behind the bar in The Dog. His mind was utterly blank.

“You look like a zombie,” Steph said, taking a seat on one of the barstools. “What’s going on in your head?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Craig said. His voice was hollow.

“I’d believe it,” she joked, hoping to rile her brother into a reaction.

Craig smiled grimly.

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?” Steph said. Craig had finished stacking and was now rubbing the bar down with a cloth. She reached over and took the rag out of his hand. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve decided to go back to Dublin early,” Craig said. “I, uh, have some schoolwork I didn’t realize was due and I need the library over there to do it.”

“That’s a pathetic lie,” Steph said.

“Yeah,” Craig said. “It is.”

There was a brief silence during which Craig resumed scrubbing the bar.

“When are you going?” Steph asked.

“Tonight. Five o’clock,” Craig said. “I just changed my flight.”

“Mum’s not going to be happy,” Steph said.

“She hardly seemed to notice I was even here,” Craig said sulkily.

“There’s been a lot going on here lately,” she said.

Craig sighed.

“I know, I…I’m…Max was a great guy,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t make me say some cliché thing about making every moment count,” Steph said. “Okay?”

“You kind of just did anyway,” Craig teased, giving his sister a slight smirk despite himself.

********

Kieron had left that morning with his suitcases. He’d stowed a box of books and extra clothes, odd and ends, in one of Niall’s closets. And then he was gone.

John Paul had walked into the bedroom while Kieron was packing. He’d come up behind Kieron and placed a hand on his shoulder. Kieron had turned around. They’d embraced. They’d kissed. They’d slept together. And then, after several moments lying tangled in the bed sheets Kieron had kissed John Paul on the forehead, risen, dressed, finished packing and left without another word.

John Paul still lay in the bed. He felt like a blunt instrument. The last twenty-four hours had an unreality to them that John Paul was having trouble wrapping his mind around.

Presently, John Paul drifted into a fitful sleep. He tossed and turned and he dreamed. When he awoke, sweaty and still tired at 4:30 in the afternoon, he dragged himself from bed and into the shower.

After his shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, he regarded the bed he and Kieron used to share.

He was sad, but, he suddenly realized, not devastated.

The bed was still warm, but it felt as if Kieron had been gone for months, years. John Paul felt momentarily heartless for being so unaffected by Kieron’s departure.

Why had he treated Craig that way in the café? Why was it all or nothing?

“It’s not,” John Paul said aloud to no one. “It’s not a lost cause.”

He quickly dressed, grabbed his jacket and headed directly for The Dog.

********

The plane to Dublin was slightly delayed and when it finally took off, Craig wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

He decided he was a bit of both.

By seven he was back in his flat in Pearse Street, sitting on his sofa munching on some chips he’d picked up at Burdocks on the way home.

The visit home had been a wash.

Some grand gesture that turned out to be, Craig thought to himself. He fiddled with the clicker. There was nothing on television.

********

John Paul walked to The Dog. He made sure to stroll. He needed a little extra time. He was working out what he wanted to say in his head. He thought it best to keep it simple.

I love you. Take as much time as you need. Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll wait.

In the very mini fantasy he had time to entertain on the short walk from Niall’s to The Dog, John Paul saw himself squeezing Craig’s knee under the table after making his little declaration of love. Then they’d look at each other in the eye, rise from the table and go upstairs.

Easy as Sunday morning.

John Paul entered The Dog and went up to the bar. The place was just starting to fill up. He’d hoped to see Craig working. But the only person behind the bar was Frankie looking very dour indeed. John Paul swallowed and approached her.

“Hi Frankie,” he said. “How are you?”

She looked him up and down. She didn’t look amused. She looked like she’d never be amused again.

“I’m fabulous,” she said while reaching behind the bar to retrieve a packet of salted peanuts for a customer. “Living the dream.”

John Paul smiled uncertainly.

“I was, uh, just wondering if, uh, Craig happened to be –” he started. Frankie cut in.

“Craig’s already flown back to Dublin,” she said. “Didn’t even tell me he was going until his bags were already packed.”

“What?!” John Paul almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly. “I thought he was staying until the end of the week.”

Frankie glowered at John Paul from under her brow.

“Are you going to order something?” she asked. “I have customers.”

“Frankie,” John Paul pleaded. “I…I know how you feel about me, but…can you…did he happen to say anything…before he left?”

“Not a word love,” she said. “Not a bloody word.”

She turned on her heel and disappeared into the back room leaving John Paul to stare dumbfounded at her back.

********

More Craig/John Paul Reunion fanfic - part 4

2008-08-18T09:49:53Z

John Paul sat in silence on the floor of the bedroom he shared with Kieron in Niall’s flat. His back was against the wall. The only light in the room came from beneath the door. He could hear the hushed canned laughter of some variety program on the television in the living room. Niall must be in.

It was dark outside. The day had been warm and now so was the night. A light breeze blew in through the open window. It was the kind of evening not to be spent alone. John Paul wished he was out somewhere, laughing, drinking a pint in a beer garden, chaffing, being chaffed. His arm around…

But who was it he wanted to be out with? He surely didn’t know. It felt like every time he blinked, the face hovering in his mind’s eye changed.

He thought about what Kris had said to him earlier at The Loft regarding the tying up of loose ends.

Why was it that everyone was always giving him advice on his love life? Why was it that everyone seemed to think it was okay to have their say in his private affairs?

John Paul reflected on the last year and a half of his life. The constant public humiliation, the painful secrets. He’d fallen in love with his best friend, come screeching out of the closet and carried on an illicit love affair that was later exposed to the entire village as the result of his own despairing treachery. He’d suffered insults and rebukes from every corner. He’d had his heart ripped out of his chest at John Lennon International Airport. It had been quite the time.

Then he’d somehow found himself embroiled in a second covert romance, with a priest no less, who subsequently had his dirty vestments aired in front of a church-full of people while in the midst of performing a wedding ceremony. And the outraged whistleblower had been John Paul’s own mother.

His life was ludicrous, but he was finally approaching happy. And now he was getting married. But he wasn’t allowed even that simple measure of quiet satisfaction because Craig was back in town looking for a reconciliation.

If it wasn’t his life John Paul may have been able to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

But it was his life. John Paul drew his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes. Who did he want? Which one did he want? But now all he could see was a split screen, Craig on one side, Kieron on the other. And they both stared out at him with plaintive, mournful, inviting eyes. John Paul felt like the puppet and the marionette.

John Paul pondered his situation for the millionth time. If he had a grain of sand for every time he’d weighed his options over the past few days he’d be the proud owner of a private beach.

Why had he asked Kieron to marry him? The simple, easy answer would be because he loved him. And he did. But if John Paul was being honest with himself he would have to admit there was another reason beyond the obvious. Gratefulness. He felt guilty about what Kieron had had to give up to be with him. John Paul had needed Kieron to know that he understood the sacrifice made on his behalf. He needed Kieron to know that John Paul may be young but he didn’t consider what they had between them a fling.

But all it took was a former lover to come rolling into town for John Paul to be set adrift in the proverbial sea of self doubt. Because now he wasn’t sure if he was ready to get married. He felt bewildered by his predicament. Just last week life had been easy as apple pie. Well, comparatively.

John Paul heaved a sigh and lurched to his feet. He stomped about the room trying to get feeling back in his legs. He’d been sitting in an awkward position.

There was a knock at the door.

“Hey mate, I’ve ordered a curry,” Niall said when John Paul answered. “It’s in the kitchen. Want some?”

John Paul nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair. “That’d be nice.”

“You look like hell,” Niall said.

“Thanks,” John Paul answered, following Niall down the narrow hallway towards the kitchen and living room.

“No bother,” Niall said. “Say, where’s loverboy tonight?”

“Who?” John Paul asked, sitting down heavily at the kitchen table and rubbing his eyes at the harsh light.

“Uh, you’re wife to be,” Niall said, spooning rice into two bowls. “What’s wrong with you?”

John Paul looked up.

“Loads,” he said.

********

“Sorry, the number you are trying to dial does not currently accept calls. Please try again later. Sorry, the number you are trying to dial does not currently accept calls. Please try –”

Craig pressed the ‘end’ call button on his mobile. He was almost relieved. So John Paul had gotten a new phone number.

He tried to place the call one more time, just in case, but was met with the same monotonous recording.

What had he intended to say if John Paul had answered anyway? He didn’t know how to put it into words, but he’d been charged with feeling when he’d first dialed. Desire tinged with recklessness. He’d felt electric. And now he felt like someone had flipped off the switch. He felt guilty.

Because who was he to crash back into town and demand anything from John Paul? Too much time had passed. He didn’t have any rights anymore. Craig had always felt hard done by John Paul’s actions in the airport. Craig had taken his life and shaken it like a little Craig-shaped snow globe, and all for John Paul’s benefit.

He’d treated John Paul badly in the past. Craig knew that. But in his defense, what he’d given John Paul – at the time that was all he’d been capable of giving. And he felt sure that if John Paul had accompanied him to Dublin, Craig would have slowly become more comfortable with himself. John Paul had acted rashly, but Craig could hardly blame him. It was the straw/camel’s back scenario. Maybe if Jake hadn’t shown up unexpectedly Craig would have been more relaxed. Maybe the whole story would have had a different ending. Maybe, perhaps, possibly. Who cares. That’s not the way it happened.

Craig shook his head and stood, began walking in the direction of home.

Home was no picnic at the moment either. With Jack gone, a pall hung over The Dog. Steph was still a wreck over Max and that Newt kid was in the hospital. Everyone was wrapped up in their own personal misery, Craig included.

As he walked down the street, past a laughing gaggle of girls dressed in miniskirts and heels on their way to The Loft, he was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he hardly heard his name being called across the square. Craig finally looked up.

“Craig,” Kieron said. He was standing before him. “I’ve been looking for you. You’re in another world, mate.”

Craig didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. He simply stared.

“Let me stand you a pint,” Kieron said. “I have to talk to you about something.”

Craig narrowed his eyes, but nodded and they fell into step, walking in silence to The Dog. Once inside they approached the bar where Kris stood, idly tapping his fingers against the polished wood. He raised his eyebrows when he saw them.

“A priest and closet case walk into a bar,” Kris said when they reached him.

Kieron took no notice. Craig gave Kris a sour look.

“Two pints of lager,” Kieron said, placing the money on the counter and looking off to the side.

Kris pulled the pints and put them on coasters.

“You make a lovely couple,” he said.

Craig scowled. Without another word or a glance in Kris’s direction, they made their way to a table towards the back. Craig sat and took a skimming sip off the top of his pint.

“This is a little awkward, isn’t it,” Kieron said with an uncomfortable smile.

Craig remained obstinately silent. Kieron took a sip and didn’t speak. After several minutes ticked by on the wall clock behind them, Craig looked up from his beer. He cast his eyes up at Kieron for a moment and then looked down again.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I…” Kieron faltered. “I want to know if you really love John Paul or if you’re just lonely.”

“Well, both,” Craig said after a short pause.

Craig looked up now.

“You know, I’ve only seen him once since I got back and that was before I knew about you,” Craig said. “I tried to call him earlier tonight, but he’s gotten a new number. It’s just as well. I’m going back to Dublin next week, so I’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry.”

Kieron didn’t answer.

“Anyway, you’re the one who told me to not to give up too easily,” Craig continued, keeping his eyes down on the table. “But I guess you didn’t know who I was. Might have been different advice then, huh?”

Kieron shook his head.

“I’d figured out who you were,” he said. “I knew.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?” Craig asked. He looked confused.

“I thought John Paul should have the choice,” Kieron said, shrugging his shoulders. “He should get to choose who he wants.”

“So, what are you saying?” Craig asked. He wasn’t used to such evenhanded kindness from a romantic rival.

“I’m saying, may the best man…well, win isn’t the word, but you know what I mean,” Kieron said. “I think you should go and see John Paul.”

Craig stared gape mouthed at Kieron.

“Because if you don’t go and hash it out now, I’ll never be rid of you,” Kieron said. “You’ll always be there as this unanswered question in John Paul’s mind. And as nice a boy as I think you are, I don’t want you living with us.”

Craig sat inertly at the table. His pint was almost untouched. Kieron reached into his pocket, took out his phone, pressed a couple of buttons and then turned the screen so Craig could see it.

“That’s John Paul’s number,” Kieron said. Craig made no movement. He was still having difficulty making sense of what was going on.

“What do you expect to happen if I call?” Craig asked.

“I know what I hope will happen,” he said, draining his pint and standing to go.

“You seem pretty confident,” Craig said. He pressed ‘save new contact’ and replaced John Paul’s old number with the new one.

“Believe me,” Kieron said with a somber smile. “I’m not.”

********

As Kieron walked home, hands in his pockets, he wondered at what he had just done. He felt strange, both lightheaded and leaden.

Why had he approached Craig? Why had he said those things?

In the stairwell of Niall’s apartment building, he stopped with the sudden force of a sobering thought. Maybe he was punishing himself. God seemed to be taking it kind of easy in that department, so Kieron was doing it to himself.

It was like a part of him felt he didn’t deserve happiness. He’d fought valiantly against the guilt, but it still assailed him. Sometimes Kieron would look at John Paul, and despite how much he loved him, he’d wish he’d never met him because before John Paul, life had been simple. Well, if not simple, at least not agonizingly complicated.

Kieron never begrudged John Paul the changes he had had to make in order to be with him. Ultimately, he would have done anything. But he still couldn’t vanquish the guilt. He’d turned his back on his calling, and the loss ate him up inside.

********

Kieron turned his key in the lock and opened the door. He smelled the remnants of Indian food hanging in the air. Both Niall and John Paul were asleep on the couch in front of the television’s glare. He tapped Niall gently on the shoulder. Niall stirred and opened his eyes.

“I wasn’t making the moves on him, I promise,” Niall whispered, raising himself from the sofa. He stretched and backed away in the direction of his bedroom and then stopped. “By the way, are you two having problems?”

Kieron looked at Niall curiously.

“No, everything’s fine,” he said.

“He just seems a little depressed that’s all,” Niall said, raising his eyebrows and turning to go. “Thought there might be trouble in paradise.”

Kieron sighed and sat down lightly beside John Paul, who continued to sleep, his head resting on the sofa arm. Kieron lovingly ran the back of his hand over John Paul’s cheek.

“Wakey, wakey,” he said.

John Paul opened his eyes and yawned loudly. He smiled.

“Dreaming about anything good?” Kieron asked.

“Let’s go to sleep,” John Paul said, deftly ignoring the question. “Can you carry me in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kieron said.

John Paul grinned.

“Worth a shot,” he said.

They brushed their teeth in silence, put on pajamas and slipped into bed.

“It’s almost too warm for a blanket,” John Paul said.

“I’ll be your blanket,” Kieron said, sliding an arm around John Paul and pulling him close.

“Now you can’t complain if I steal the duvet,” John Paul said, snuggling closer. “You are the duvet.”

John Paul kept a smile in his voice, but now that Kieron couldn’t see his face, he let his expression grow long.

Dreaming about anything good?

Unfortunately, he had been.

More Craig/John Paul Reunion fanfic - part 3

2008-08-15T10:25:41Z

After he watched Craig all but run out of the bar, Kieron kept a flirty banter going with John Paul. He gave no indication of what he’d seen.

When Kieron’s break was over and John Paul had stood to go, Kieron gave him a quick kiss and then returned to his station behind the bar.

By the end of his shift, he’d broken five pint glasses. His mind was elsewhere.

Until now, the only competition Kieron had had when it came to John Paul was God. But this was different. And Kieron didn’t like his odds.

********

The gay nights at The Loft were going well. There had been three so far and a fourth was in the works. Each time the takings at the door increased. John Paul was building a name for himself. As usual, Warren was being a pain – he whinged about The Loft getting a reputation as a, in his words, ‘gay hideaway’ – but Louise knew a good business opportunity when she saw one and she made sure John Paul was compensated for his work.

John Paul was looking forward to the next one. He’d been spending a few relaxing hours each afternoon fiddling with his records at The Loft, practicing and preparing, honing his act.

After meeting Kieron at the SU bar for a quick pint he’d gone directly to The Loft to mess around on the decks. He was annoyed with himself for not having brought a flyer to show Kieron. John Paul had wanted to get Kieron’s opinion before he had them printed, but there was nothing for it now. He had to send the file off to the printers or they wouldn’t be ready in time to distribute.

John Paul put a record on the decks and leaned against the wall behind him. He let his mind wander. He thought about how wonderful it was the first time Craig had told him he loved him. Then he thought about how awful it had felt to happen upon Craig and Sarah’s engagement party. John Paul remembered experiencing a slight vertigo when he’d walked into The Dog that day. It was as if the world was expanding and contracting at the same time. He’d felt physically ill.

He still felt guilty for not mentioning his run in with Craig to Kieron, but wasn’t it better to keep quiet? Craig would have to return to Dublin for college in September anyway. Maybe John Paul could avoid Craig until that happened. John Paul still felt the twinges of attraction to Craig, but there was no question in his mind of indulging them. What kind of a person would he be if he did?

Kieron had gone from vestments to cleaning the SU bar toilets. He’d irrevocably changed his life for John Paul and John Paul needed to know that Kieron realized that his sacrifices weren’t being taken for granted. Kieron sometimes made light of his situation, joking that when escorting some of the more intoxicated students from the bar he was tempted to give them their last rites, but John Paul knew how difficult this was for him.

But though John Paul knew these things logically in his conscious, rational mind, his subconscious had different plants for him. Craig had invaded John Paul’s dreams every night since they’d seen each other in the video rental shop. And John Paul couldn’t help but feel like he was psychically cheating on Kieron. Because he enjoyed the dreams. He even found himself looking forward to them. And every single one ended with Craig and John Paul…

The record ended and John Paul snapped back to reality. He had real work to do.

John Paul kneeled in front of a box of records and flipped through them. He was looking for a specific sleeve.

“What the hell did I do with it?” he asked out loud, talking to himself. He settled himself on the floor Indian style and began to sort through the box again, systematically.

“I thought gays were supposed to be neat and orderly,” said a voice from behind. John Paul swiveled to look over his shoulder and then turned back to the box and his search.

“Sorry Francis, I didn’t quite here you over the clickity-clack of your stilettos,” John Paul said.

Kris stood behind John Paul, his hands on his hips.

“I’ve come here to do you a favor, so I’d be nice to me if I were you,” said Kris. “But that’s very original. Jokes about a man wearing women’s clothing. Very good.”

John Paul dusted his hands on the seat of his pants and stood up. “Sorry Fran, what’s your news?”

Kris bristled, but let it pass.

“Look, I just came by to tell you Craig’s back in town. Back from Dublin,” Kris said. “I saw him moping around The Dog. He looks like something the cat didn’t even want to drag in.”

John Paul’s face betrayed no emotion.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked evenly.

Kris raised a surprised eyebrow.

“I figured the fact that Casanova’s been skulking around like microwaved death would be of interest to you,” he said.

John Paul didn’t respond. He folded his arms over his chest and remained silent. Kris studied his face.

“You’ve seen him already, haven’t you,” Kris said. It was not a question.

John Paul was startled out of his studied indifference.

“Wh-what?” John Paul said, forcing an awkward smile. “No I haven’t.”

“Well that confirms it,” Kris said. “Look, it’s none of my business, but if you’re going to get married, I think you should tie up your loose ends. Craig is a very loose end.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” John Paul said. He continued to cross his arms over his chest, but now, instead of a pose of defiance, he appeared to be hugging himself like a helpless child.

“Yes you do,” Kris said, a little harshly. “You can’t go off and marry Kieron if you think you’re still in love with Craig.”

“What are you, omniscient?” John Paul asked, his attempt at a joke falling flat.

“No,” Kris said. “I have eyes.”

********

Craig’s temples were throbbing. His eyes were burning, but he wasn’t crying. He felt benumbed. But why was he so upset?

So the bartender was John Paul’s fiancé. Why did that matter? Craig had already known John Paul was engaged – who cares if it was to Kieron?

The truth was it didn’t matter. It could be anyone and Craig would feel the same way. What grieved Craig was the incontrovertible proof he’d just received. John Paul wasn’t bluffing. He’d moved on. As long as John Paul’s partner had remained faceless, Craig felt him not to be completely real. But there he was, in the flesh, kissing a very pleased looking John Paul. In public. Craig had never been able to do that for John Paul. He’d wanted to. But he simply couldn’t.

Craig took a seat beside the fountain in the village square.

How had John Paul gotten over him so quickly? In less than a year, he’d found someone new. He’d fallen in love again. Craig hadn’t. And he felt like he never would. No other man appealed to him. But then again, neither did any of the girls he came across. He felt cursed. He felt like he’d been cast out of the Garden of Eden with his hat in his hand. He’d been unable to rectify the wrongs he’s committed and the Hollyoaks he’d left was not the Hollyoaks he’d returned to – Jack and Max dead, Jack crazy, The Dog near financial ruin.

Craig suddenly realized that he’d just compared Hollyoaks to the Garden of Eden. He chuckled to himself. He had to get a grip. He stretched his legs before him and then bent them again. He leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

He knew what he wanted to do. But he wasn’t sure if he should do it. Craig was aware that one of his greatest failings as a person was his tendency to be self-absorbed. He wanted John Paul. He loved him. But he also wanted John Paul to be happy, and if that meant being with Kieron, he would grudgingly have to accept that.

Was it selfish to make another play for John Paul’s heart? Craig wasn’t sure. But the way he felt right now, he also didn’t care.

He reached in his pocket for his phone and dialed a very familiar number.

More Craig/John Paul Reunion fiction - Part 2

2008-08-08T15:01:05Z

Craig felt like a recovering alcoholic on Step 9. It was time to start asking for forgiveness. He stood before the front door and raised his hand in a fist to knock. He stood there, fist hovering for another few seconds before finally let it bang against the door.

Mr. Barnes answered. He was so surprised to see Craig Dean standing on his front stoop he forgot to be furious.

“What are you doing here?” Mike asked with a mixture of shock and actual curiosity.

“I was wondering if Sarah was in…I wanted to talk to her for a minute,” Craig said, looking down at his shoes.

“Come to beg for her back, have you?” Mike asked. He was over the surprise and now he was angry again.

“No,” Craig said, looking Sarah’s father in the eye. “I wanted to apologize. Properly. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Mike widened his eyes slightly.

“A little late for that now, isn’t it?” he asked mockingly. But then he made an effort to control his tone. The boy was obviously in distress. A lot of water - several oceans in fact - had passed under the bridge since the events of the previous September. And this wasn't Mike's business. He could be so confident because he was certain Sarah wouldn't entertain the notion of reuniting with this sad sack for a minute. It wouldn't hurt to let Sarah take a look at him and realize once and for all that she'd dodged a bullet in not marrying Craig.

“I know it’s probably too late,” Craig said. “But enough time has gone by… I thought we could talk, as, I don’t know, adults or something.”

Mike suddenly felt bad for the kid. Here he was, sheepishly wanting to hash it out like an adult. And he’d never looked more like an awkward little boy.

“I’ll get her for you,” Mike said, gesturing for Craig to come in. “Sit down in the living room.”

Mike held the door open for Craig who walked inside and nodded his thanks.

“I can’t promise she’ll react the way you want her to, though,” Mike said, beginning to ascend the stairs. “She might not want to hear it.”

“I know,” Craig said. “I’m not expecting anything. Just thought I’d try.”

As he knocked on Sarah’s bedroom door, Mike had to grudgingly admire the kid’s nerve. He had a pair of stones.

Craig wandered over to the mantlepiece above the fireplace and looked at the photos displayed there. There were several pictures of a gurgling, smiling Leah and one of Amy and Sarah in their school uniforms. It seemed like an impossibly long time ago. Those photos were taken in another lifetime. Craig looked down at his hands and sighed. He wasn't expecting this to go smoothly. He knew she'd probably moved on and was happy to be rid of him and his mood swings, but he had no doubt she was still angry with him. He'd humiliated her. He hadn't meant to make such a bollocks of it all, but of course he had. His cheeks still flushed with color when he let his mind replay, in slow motion, the sickening moment when Sarah had walked in on him and John Paul embracing in Craig's room at the ill-fated engagement party. It had felt as if the organs in his body had decided to play musical chairs.

He sat down on the sofa and rubbed his hands over his thighs. His palms were sweating. He kept one hand on each knee and breathed in deeply.

"Nervous?" a voice asked.

Craig looked up to see Sarah leaning in the door jamb with her arms crossed over her chest. She wore her hair down and it fell over her shoulders. Her face was completely neutral and betrayed no emotion, positive or negative.

Craig gave an anxious laugh and cleared his throat.

"Hi," he said and stopped. Well, that's a hell of an opener, he thought to himself.

Sarah didn't respond. She continued to stand and watch him from the doorway. She wasn't going to make this easy. Or maybe it was better this way. He'd say his piece and then he'd leave. It wasn't as if he was deluded enough to expect a warm reception. At least she wasn't being overtly hostile.

Sarah raised her eyebrows inviting him to continue, but remained silent herself. Craig cleared his throat again and spoke.

"I, uh, I came to apologize," Craig said. "There's no excuse for what I did and I know it. I'm just doing this to make myself feel better, so really, I'm still being selfish, I guess. I can't help it. But I am sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Yep," Sarah said, shaking her head and smiling sardonically. "Same old Craig."

She looked at the floor for a moment and then directly at Craig, pinning him to the sofa with her eyes.

"I don't need you to apologize to me, Craig," she said, still smiling her disconcerting little smile. Like a demented Mona Lisa. "Right now you're of less consequence to me that a midge. So sure, I forgive you. What the hell. If it makes you feel better, go ahead. Consider yourself forgiven. I've given you this much thought since you went away."

As Sarah spoke the last few words she uncrossed her arms and held her index finger and thumb less than an inch apart.

Craig opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he spoke.

"Okay," he said, standing slowly. "Okay. That's fine. I wouldn't be crazy enough to say I hope we can be friends, but if you ever want to have a drink or go for a cup of coffee...I don't know, anything, you can call me. I'm just saying."

Sarah nodded. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"Craig, I think it's best if you go now. I don't hate you. I don't love you. In fact, I feel nothing for you at all. It may be hard for you to believe, but I don't think about you all that much anymore. I have a new boyfriend now. What I do feel for you though is pity. And that's why I'm going to tell you this. John Paul is engaged. He's marrying...well, it's a long story. He's getting married. That's all you need to know. You wanted us both and you've lost both of us. I don't care about John Paul and I don't care about you, either. But I did. And that's why I'm telling you."

She let her voice go soft for a moment.

"And I'm sorry about Jack. And Max," she said. "I really am."

Craig sighed.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll go now."

Craig skirted the couch and began to walk to the door. As he passed Sarah in the doorway, she reached over and took his hand, gave it a squeeze. Craig looked up into her face and smiled gratefully.

"Now you know what it feels like to lose the love of your life," she said, dropping his hand.

***********

Craig walked slowly through the village with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. Every few minutes he'd kick an empty cola can or a pebble across the cobblestones. Things weren't happening as he'd thought they would. He hadn't expected it to be easy, but he had thought there was hope. He was ready for recriminations, threats, anger and irritation, but in his fantasies, those phases passed like a fast moving cloud. And then the sky was clear. And beneath its blue expanse, Craig was genuinely forgiven, loved and loving. Instead he was mocked, shunned and lonely.

Lost in his thoughts, he ony noticed the gum after he'd already stepped in it.

Great, he thought, bending down and examining the mass of sticky pink bubblegum that now connected his sneaker to the pavement. Excellent.

Craig lifted his foot and watched the gum expand elastically between his shoe and the ground. Craig empathized with the gum. Dirty, stepped on, unwanted.

Everything was in shambles. Craig had returned home to find his family falling apart. His brother had been sectioned under the Mental Health Act. His brother-in-law had been run over by a car and killed on his wedding day and his stepfather was dead. Both his mother and his sister had been widowed within a week of each other. There were loan sharks banging around The Dog looking for their payback. Darren was acting extremely strange. There was also that foster kid Newt his mother had taken in after Craig went to college who was going slowly batty. And speaking of college, he'd lied when he told John Paul in the video shop that Trinity was great. True, his grades weren't bad and he'd made a few good friends. But he was miserable. He put a brave face on it all, but he felt wretched. He'd never been so lonesome in his life. And there was no one he could talk to about it.

Craig knew better than to think John Paul could make his troubles go away. He wasn't a child. He wasn't stupid. But John Paul, being with John Paul, would have made life bearable. If he was with John Paul, then maybe he would be able to breathe.

When he'd first arrived in Dublin the previous September, he'd spent every night alone in the flat he'd rented for the two of them. He'd bought six packs of Harp and watched RTE one and two for hours. Endless episodes of CSI: Miami and Law & Order. He'd done his schoolwork listlessly. Slowly, his classmates coaxed him out of his shell and he started to go out. Sometimes he had fun, but mostly his heart wasn't in it. He still maintained that he wasn't gay, but he couldn't help but feel like a fraud when he danced with pretty girls at the clubs, his friends smirking at him and giving him the thumbs up sign from their station at the bar.

He never mentioned John Paul to his friends. There was a photograph of the two of them in his flat and one of his buddies had once asked who the blonde guy was. Craig had said he was just an old school chum and left it at that. His silence on the subject of John Paul felt like a betrayal of the person he claimed to love most in the world.

Craig sighed and continued to walk down the street, dragging the heel of his sneaker on the ground to scrape off the remaining bubblegum. He glanced at his watch. 4:15. Might be time for a pint. Craig was in the mood to brood over a brew. He decided to head over to the SU Bar. He'd never get any peace at The Dog.

Craig shambled up the steps and inside. He headed for the bar, fumbling in his pocket for the change he knew was there, getting together the price of a pint. Craig didn't recognize the barman. He wondered where that guy Kieron was. He'd been a friendly face.

Craig ordered a pint and then turned to sip it while leaning against the bar. He surveyed the room. Several students were sitting together in the corner. A guy and a girl were playing a game of billiards. Craig let his eyes wander to the left corner of the room where two men were sitting side by side and kissing...

Craig blinked his lids. He felt like a cartoon character. He actually felt his eyes bug out of his head. Craig's had slipped around the pint he was holding and he quickly placed it on the bar to keep from dropping it.

The couple, one blonde, the other a brunette, had finished their kiss and were now leaning back against the cushions of the sofa on which they sat. Both reached forward and lifted their pint glasses from the table in front of them. After a quick sip the blonde one returned his pint to the coaster, picked up his knapsack and began to root around it in for something. Craig wished he could go to commercial break. He felt sick to the very core of his stomach. Suddenly the brown haired fellow on the sofa glanced casually in the direction of the bar. His eyes locked with Craig's. Craig swallowed painfully. He was sweating. He had to get out of there.

I have to get out of here, he thought. His mind was racing. He launched himself from the bar and almost sprinted to the door leaving his pint almost untouched behind him.

Kieron watched the retreat, swallowed and looked sideways at John Paul, who continued to search for something in his bag.

"I know that flyer's in here somewhere," he said, still looking down, oblivious to the dramatic scene that had just unfolded. "Warren has no taste, but I think Louise'll like it. One free beer for every queer. It's funny, right? I have a whole stack of them back at Niall's."

Kieron recovered his voice and even managed a little chuckle.

"Very clever," he said. "What about, If you're gay, you don't have to pay?"

John Paul laughed.

"Or, or...Dance with the same sex to hot tracks on the decks!" John Paul suggested.

"You're lame," Kieron said, scooting a little closer to John Paul on the couch.

"You're a defrocked priest," John Paul said, scooting closer still.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kieron asked, pretending to be insulted.

"I don't know," John Paul said, reaching over and placing his hand on Kieron's thigh. "I just like the word 'defrocked.' It sounds dirty."

More Craig/John Paul Reunion fiction - Part 1

2008-08-07T13:18:30Z

John Paul was dreaming. He fitfully turned over in his sleep, wrenching the blankets off of Kieron in the process. Kieron opened his eyes and raised himself slightly on his elbows.

“Every night,” he grumbled to himself, settling back down and trying to cover his body with the meager corner of duvet left to him. He rolled over and snuggled closer to John Paul, fitting himself so that his chest rested against the small of John Paul’s back.

I guess this is what they mean by ‘spooning,’ Kieron thought to himself, never before having considered where the term had come from.

“We’re like cutlery in a drawer,” Kieron murmured contentedly into John Paul’s back.

John Paul mumbled something Kieron couldn’t hear.

“Are you awake?” Kieron whispered .

John Paul spoke in his sleep for a second time. His voice was husky.

Kieron sat up again and leaned over John Paul’s sleeping frame. The little hairs on the back of Kieron’s neck stood at attention.

Still dreaming, John Paul spoke again. It was garbled, but Kieron heard him. He heard him.

Kieron looked down at John Paul’s face, innocent and exposed. The regular breathing, in and out, in and out. He continued to watch with sick fascination.

Maybe I didn’t hear him right, Kieron thought, grasping at straws. But he knew what he’d heard. And then he heard it again.

A small satisfied smile played on John Paul’s lips.

“Craig,” he sighed. “Craig.”

***********

“What’s this?” John Paul asked, sitting up in bed, grinning, blonde hair tousled.

“It’s nothing,” Kieron said, sitting down beside John Paul with a tray in his hands. “I thought it might be nice for us to have breakfast in bed.”

“But you had to go out to get this stuff,” John Paul said, picking up a scone and a butter knife. “Lemme fix one for you.”

John Paul cut the scone in two, buttered one side and spread jam on the other. He handed the plate to Kieron who took a big bite.

“You have jam on your face,” John Paul said, reaching over to wipe a bit of blackcurrant from Kieron’s cheek. “You’re going to spoil me if you keep bringing breakfast trays in here every morning.”

“I’m just trying to fatten you up,” Kieron said, pouring two mugs of tea from a small kettle.

“Let’s be fat and happy forever,” John Paul said, putting his mug on the bureau beside the bed and stretching luxuriously.

“Let’s,” Kieron agreed, the expression on his face suddenly turning serious. “Except there’s one thing I want to talk to you about…something...that happened last night…”

Kieron’s voice trailed off and John Paul’s heart skipped a painful beat. The particulars of the previous evening’s dream came back to John Paul in screaming, vivid detail. Guilt coursed through him like a poison. But it was just a dream. How could Kieron know about his dream?

John Paul affected total nonchalance.

“What’s up?” he asked, calmly lifting his mug and taking a sip.

“ Well,” Kieron said. “I’m not sure how to say this…”

John Paul’s heart thudded against his chest with such force he had trouble swallowing the tea in his mouth.

“What’s going on?” John Paul asked, unable to keep all traces of panic from his voice.

“It’s just, if you keep stealing the duvet at night, I’m going to have to kill you in your sleep,” Kieron said, raising his eyebrows. “And no jury in the land would convict me.”

The relief flooded John Paul like an antidote.

“If we’re talking about stealing the duvet, this might be a good time to bring up your snoring,” John Paul said. "You're like a freight train with nasal congestion."

“Point taken,” Kieron said, with all semblance of calmness. But inside his mind was roiling. He’d wanted to say something, but what would be the point? John Paul couldn’t help what his subconscious did. But the dream did mean that Craig was on John Paul’s mind and Kieron couldn’t help but be bothered.

“You okay?” John Paul asked, reaching over and linking his arms around Kieron’s neck. He leaned in.

“Perfect,” Kieron said, returning the kiss. He slipped his head from under John Paul's arms and began to clear the breakfast things, stacking them on the tray. “I’m perfect.”

“Your ego’s certainly intact,” John Paul chided.

***********

Kieron was out at a job interview. John Paul sat at Niall’s kitchen table with his hands wrapped around another mug of tea, a pensive expression on his face.

The dream was on his mind. It was a good dream. And when it was happening, it’d felt as real as the chair he was sitting on. As real as the kitchen table and the steam wafting up from the mug warming his face. It may only have been a dream, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty. Because he'd enjoyed it.

Despite himself John Paul closed his eyes and started to relive the dream. It felt deliciously wrong. He licked his lower lip.

The dream seemed to start in the middle of a scene. Craig was in the midst of saying something and John Paul had missed the beginning. The start of the dream was actually kind of confusing, but when it was happening it had seemed to make perfect sense.

“I don’t like smoothies because I don’t like fruit,” Craig said. Steph, wearing a slightly dirty, tattered pink debs dress had just served them two mango smoothies at the smoothie shack in the village.

In the dream John Paul had found that hilarious. He laughed so hard that mango smoothie came out of his nose.

Craig looked incensed.

“Fruit is strange,” he said. “Kind of queer.”

John Paul lost it. He laughed so hard, he started to choke.

Craig patted John Paul’s back. “I don’t understand why you’re laughing,” he said.

This only made John Paul dissolve into hysterics again.

And then suddenly they weren’t in the smoothie shack anymore. They were sitting in the park. On the same bench where Craig had told John Paul that things were definitively over between him and Sarah. The park was crowded with people strolling, playing frisbee or reading. There was a cowboy juggling billiard balls somewhere in the background. This seemed normal.

“Why aren’t we holding hands?” Craig had asked, reaching over to take John Paul’s hand. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Why is it ridiculous?” John Paul asked, resting his head on Craig’s shoulder.

“Because we should always be holding hands,” Craig said. “I think it should be...like a rule.”

John Paul couldn’t remember the next bit of the dream properly, but he thought it had something to do with smoothies again. In reality, John Paul had had a smoothie earlier that day. Maybe that explained the smoothie fixation. He wasn't sure.

And then they were in John Paul’s old bedroom, the one in his mother’s house. And then…and then…

John Paul licked his lower lip again. It really had been a superior dream.

***********

“Do you want to stay in tonight?” John Paul asked. He and Kieron sat on the sofa in Niall’s flat. Kieron had the newspaper open in his lap. “You know, decompress after your job interview.”

“I might just stop looking for a proper job for the moment,” Kieron said, flipping the pages desultorily. “I’ll just keep working at the SU bar for awhile, save some money for us, worry about a career later.”

“You’ll find something good soon,” John Paul said, doodling on the notepad balanced on his lap. “I could run out and get a DVD. And a Chinese takeaway…whaddaya say?”

“Yeah, okay,” Kieron said. “Anything except The Thornbirds. And don’t forget the prawn crackers.”

“You got it,” John Paul said, lifting himself from the sofa. He put the notebook on the coffee table. Kieron leaned over to take a look.

“Muzzle for Warren and then underneath you’ve drawn a picture of one stick figure hitting another stick figure over the head with a mallet, “ Kieron glanced at John Paul. “Ideas to improve The Loft?”

“Exponentially,” John Paul said, grabbing his jacket. “Be back in a bit.”

John Paul bounded down the stairs and onto the street. He headed towards the video rental shop. Once inside he started to peruse the New Releases section. Nothing good. He moved onto the older films. Kieron liked foreign movies, but John Paul wasn’t in the mood to read subtitles. Maybe he could find some kind of English drama. The Painted Veil or something. Kieron might like that. John Paul ran his finger along the Ps. The cases were completely out of order. The Parent Trap, P.S., I Love You, The Pacifier, The Perfect Storm…

“John Paul.”

John Paul let his hand fall to his side. He felt suddenly thick. Like a human side of mutton. He stood stock still. Sweat pricked his armpits. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t move.

“John Paul,” the voice said again, this time with a little more urgency. He felt a hand on his shoulder. His heart gave an erratic beat. He felt suddenly nauseous. He slowly turned.

Craig was standing in front of him. Like an apparition come to life. If there wasn’t a hand on his shoulder he’d think he was dreaming again.

John Paul racked his brain for something normal to say. Something mundane. He was in a mental panic. He appraised Craig’s appearance. He looked exactly the same only…perhaps it was only John Paul’s imagination, but he seemed mellower. In the past, even when he wasn’t upset about anything, Craig had still always emanated a kind of angry static, a don’t-mess-with-me vibe. But John Paul couldn’t sense it on him anymore. He seemed calm. There was a smile playing on his lips. Lips that had, a little less than a year ago… John Paul snapped back to reality.

But Craig's taste in clothing hadn’t changed, for better or worse. He wore a black and white striped cardigan over a white T shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was still lean and tan and his eyes were just as deeply brown as John Paul remembered.

“When did you get back?” John Paul finally asked lamely. He casually shrugged Craig's hand off his shoulder. The electricity of the touch was disconcerting. Kieron was waiting for him at home. Trusting, loving Kieron patiently looking forward to a DVD and chicken chop suey.

“Yesterday,” Craig said. “Kind of late.”

“How’s Trinity?” John Paul asked. Could his questions be any duller? He felt like someone’s uncle. He couldn't wait to get away, but he was rooted to the spot. He felt like if he tried to walk away, he'd only pivot about uselessly in a frustrating circle like one of those little plastic ice hockey players.

“Yeah, it’s brilliant,” Craig said, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Really good.”

Craig looked at John Paul. John Paul looked at Craig. The silence was as thick as soup. John Paul felt like a wet dish rag, but Craig looked completely at his ease. And then he spoke.

“John Paul,” Craig said, causing a tremor to run down John Paul’s spine. “I’ve uh, I’ve come back for you.”

John Paul ears filled with a rushing sound, like one might hear at the sea. Come back for me…? The words would have made as much sense to John Paul as if Craig had spoken them in Urdu. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he let Craig continue.

“I missed you when I was gone. I never stopped thinking about you. I’ve changed. And now I want you back.” Craig said this with a kind of self-satisfaction, like he’d finally solved a difficult maths problem. John Paul physically shook himself and finally found his voice. And he was angry.

“You haven’t changed at all,” John Paul said evenly, reaching behind him and grabbing a DVD at random. He held it up as proof of his next statement. It was an effort to keep his tone steady. “I’m about to go home and watch a movie with my fiancé. I guess you assumed I was just waiting here for you for the past year, crying myself to sleep at night, hoping you’d come back. Well, I wasn't and I didn’t. You still have the biggest ego of anyone I know.”

John Paul stepped aside and strode to the cash register. He paid for the rental and marched out without another look in Craig’s direction. Once outside he looked at the DVD in his hands. The Thornbirds, part 1. Fuck.

***********

John Paul didn’t say anything about his encounter at the rental shop to Kieron who, in his eminent affability, thought John Paul’s DVD selection was funny. John Paul hadn’t forgotten the prawn crackers and it would have been a perfect evening if not for what was going on inside of John Paul’s head.

Suddenly he felt sick with a kind of retroactive guilt. During their secretive relationship, Craig had always claimed he was torn. He maintained over and over again that he had loved both John Paul and Sarah. John Paul hadn’t believed it. He hadn't thought it possible. He’d thought Craig was just trying to weasel out of responsibility yet again. He thought it was a cheap trick. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

Because despite what he’d said to Craig, he did still feel something. And it made him very nervous.

***********

Kieron was settling in nicely. He’d never worked at a bar before, but he was catching on. And that old cliché about a barman having to be a kind of therapist for his clientele was also proving to be true. On more than one occasion depressed students had come into the SU bar to cry in their beer – about relationships, bad grades, their parents. And they opened up to Kieron. They seemed eager to talk and to get an impartial opinion about their troubles. He’d always had a kind face. That was why he’d been such a good priest. And as unlikely as it was, Kieron was able to find a measure of the happiness he’d had in his old vocation behind the bar in the HCC student union.

A handsome boy entered the bar and peered around uncertainly. He seemed to be looking for someone specific and when he didn’t find the person he was looking for, sighed visibly. He had olive skin and a lanky frame. Kieron, in the midst of pouring a pint of Guinness, couldn’t help but notice him. The boy approached the bar and nodded at Kieron.

“Pint of lager, please,” he said glumly, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Coming right up,” Kieron said, capping off the Guinness and handing it across the bar to another customer.

As he pulled the pint he regarded the boy from under his eyebrows.

“Are you okay?” Kieron asked, wiping the bottom of the pint glass with a rag and placing it on a coaster in front of the boy. “You look a little down.”

The boy sighed.

“It’s a boring story,” he said, lifting the pint to his lips. “You don’t want to hear it.”

Kieron gestured at the room. The bar was almost empty.

“I’m not being overrun,” he said, “So if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

The boy smiled. “I feel like I’m at confession.”

“It’s funny you say that,” Kieron said.

“It’s just…” the boy began and faltered. “I guess it’s easy enough to summarize: I’m in love with someone who’s in love with someone else. That’s it really. It’s not even original.”

“Heartbreak doesn’t have to be original,” Kieron said, wiping the bar down with the rag. “You’re entitled to your pain. It’s not boring. It’s how you feel. It’s okay.”

The boy nodded.

“I know,” he said. “I know all that. It’s just… I’ve been away from town for a while and I came back thinking everything would be the same. I thought I’d waltz right up to hi – uh, her, and we’d get back together. And it wasn’t like that at all. I said what I had to say and they didn’t want to hear it. They said they’d moved on. And I haven’t. And that’s why I’m drinking at one in the afternoon.”

Kieron had been nodding sympathetically as the boy spoke until the ‘him-her’ slip. Although his face didn’t betray the realization, Kieron suddenly knew. This boy who had come home to claim a lost love was Craig. And the lost love was John Paul. The pieces fitted together.

“So, what do you think I should do?” the boy who might be Craig asked.

This was a new situation for Kieron. He’d never had to give dispassionate advice to someone who had the power to ruin his life.

“Well,” Kieron said slowly, making an effort to modulate his voice. “All you can do is make your appeal and if, eh, she doesn’t respond the way you want, you have to let her go. It’s the only fair thing to do.”

Kieron paused. He didn’t want to say the next bit, but he couldn’t help it. He really had been an awfully good priest.

“But don’t give up too easily either,” Kieron said, looking the boy in the eye. “Or you’ll never forgive yourself for not trying hard enough.”

The boy drained his pint and nodded. He reached his hand out to shake Kieron’s.

“What are you doing behind a bar?” the boy asked. “You’re like a psychologist or something. I’m Craig by the way.”

“Kieron,” Kieron said, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Craig took his hand back and placed it in his pocket.

“I’m going to take your advice,” he said.

“Good,” Kieron said, giving a strained smile. “Best of luck to you.”

the re union (fanfic), part 1

2008-05-19T14:20:00Z

John Paul tapped his pen lightly against his notebook. The only words written on the top of the college-ruled page were the date, May 19. Five days until the end of term. He’d taken no other notes. He was too distracted by his thoughts to even doodle in the margins.

Introduction to Literary Methods, Semester 2. The Canterbury Tales. One of John Paul’s classmates stood awkwardly at the front of the lecture hall with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans reciting the General Prologue in Middle English.

“Whan that Apreel with her showres sohta, the drought of March had perced to the rota and bathed every vayne in sweech liquour…”

The room was hot and smelled like students – that odd mix of body odour and bubble gum. The windows were all flung open wide and a stagnant breeze blew in. Outside John Paul could see a cherry blossom tree in bloom. The girl sitting to John Paul’s left had a bored expression on her face and was covertly sending a text message under the desk.

The lecturer sat in the front row, nodding along with the recitation before putting up her hand for him to stop.

“Very good pronunciation Connor. There’s real improvement from the last time.” She stood and adjusted her tweed skirt, a vastly ill-considered choice considering the temperature. As she scribbled in black marker pen on the whiteboard, one could make out two circles of dampness beneath her arms.

“Final essays are due in next Monday,” she said, pointing to the date she’d written and underlined on the board. “You can either hand your paper in to me here on the day or have it time-stamped in the English Department office if you want to submit early.”

A chuckle ran through the room at her last remark. Before she could even say “class dismissed,” the students had begun to make their way to the exit.

John Paul stretched and gathered his things. He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and stood waiting for the row to empty so he could reach the door.

Loping down the hallway he stopped at the sound of his name.

“John Paul, wait up!”

John Paul turned to see Eliot, new and improved, striding to catch him up. Eliot placed an arm on John Paul’s shoulder.

“You’re looking a bit glum, my friend,” Eliot said as they left the building and walked down the front steps of Hollyoaks Community College. “Anything the matter?”

John Paul shook his head. “No nothing. I’m fine. I’ve just been thinking.”

“That’s quite obvious, I would say,” Eliot nodded and then looked up into the sky. “I think it’s going to rain soon. That should break the back on his heat, anyway.”

John Paul didn’t answer and the two walked along in silence.

“Let me buy you something to drink,” Eliot said. “A libation. To celebrate the end of term.”

John Paul smiled and shrugged. “I was never one to turn down free drink.”

“To The Dog,” Eliot said energetically, steering them in the direction of the village.

“To The Dog,” John Paul repeated, with slightly less enthusiasm.

II.

John Paul wasn’t sure what was wrong with him lately. His first year at university had gone well enough. Michaela was clean. He had friends, his family was off his case for the time being. True, his love life left something to be desired, but didn’t it always?

Nevertheless he was feeling down, out, off, in the dumps. He hated to admit it, but he was lonely. Plain and simple. After his brief dalliance with Kieron – John Paul still had trouble believing that he’d actually embarked on an affair with a priest – he’d begun to think about Craig again.

It’s true, he’d never actually stopped thinking about Craig, but John Paul had been able, with mild success, to relegate those thoughts to the back of his mind, stored away in a dusty shoebox, tied with a bit of string.

John Paul often thought about what it would be like to see Craig again, face to face. Or just to hear his voice over the phone speaking friendly, hopeful words: I miss you, come and visit me, or I’m coming home.

He tried not to feel sorry for himself – he’d always thought self-pity to be an extremely unattractive quality – but it was difficult.

He also tortured himself with alternate scenarios. What if he hadn’t overheard Craig adamantly telling Jake that he wasn’t gay? Or what if he had chosen to overlook what he’d heard? What if Craig had kissed him in public as they waited in line to get their boarding passes? What if he had gotten on that plane with Craig? His life would be so different from the way it was now that it would be almost unrecognizable.

John Paul tried not to torture himself with impossible fantasies, but it wasn’t easy, especially in the seconds just before sleep. In those moments he would let himself get carried away. In those moments he couldn’t help himself. And he’d had some vivid dreams, the majority of them with happy endings.

Most began with the two of them getting off the plane together at Dublin Airport, catching a bus into the city, finding the flat Craig had rented for them, dropping their things and going for a walk along the Liffey, hand in hand – and why not hand in hand? This was a fantasy sequence after all – before buying sandwiches at a newsagent and sitting on the boardwalk watching the sunset, a wino hunched a few feet to their left, softly snoring, head slumped on his shoulder. John Paul liked the detail about the wino. It made him feel like less of a Pollyanna.

But upon waking reality always came rushing back with the vengeance of a cold shower. And John Paul was left with the kind of feeling he imagined junkies underwent during withdrawal.

III.

Eliot and John Paul walked up the cobbles to The Dog’s entrance.

“Well, it’s not raining yet,” Eliot said, glancing up at the sky again. “Would you venture an al fresco pint?”

“I’d venture it,” John Paul said, smiling. Eliot was such a character.

John Paul reached into his pocket for some money, but Eliot shook his head and began to back away towards the front door.

“On me, on me,” he said. “You take a seat and I’ll be right back.”

John Paul settled at one of the picnic tables beside the pond and leaned back slightly to look down the street.

Besides for a couple strolling hand in hand and walking a dog, the village appeared to be deserted. The sky had turned into an angry smear and the air smelled like impending rain.

After a few minutes, Eliot returned with the pints. He placed the beer on the table and took a seat across from John Paul who nodded in thanks and took a sip. They sat in silence.

“Would you consider telling me what’s on your mind?” Eliot asked.

John Paul sighed. “I must be awful company, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be daft, John Paul,” Eliot said. “Anyway, I asked you to accompany me because I thought you were looking somewhat down and could use a friend.”

“I appreciate it, Eliot, I do,” John Paul said, just as a fat raindrop fell and plopped loudly into his pint.

“Abort mission?” Eliot asked, already standing with pint in hand, shoulders hunched against the rain that had suddenly begun to fall quite steadily.

“Affirmative,” John Paul said as they dashed for the door trying their best not to spill their pints.

IV.

Inside The Dog, Eliot and John Paul searched for an empty table. The place was jammed.

“Looks like a drizzle’s good for business,” John Paul said, glancing around. He took a sip of his pint and wiped the rainwater from his brow as he surveyed the room, his eyes suddenly stopping and widening in surprise, a perimeter of stunned white visible around the blue.

“Perhaps we can squeeze in over by the bar,” Eliot said. “There appears to be an opening. Of course you and I could always have a loud discussion about a contagious disease I’ve recently contracted causing boils or blisters of some sort. You can ask me if the cream I was prescribed is working. I’ll start to scratch my stomach and say, ‘not all that well’, and I’m sure that’s all it would take for the entire bar to clear in haste giving us ample room to enjoy our pints in peace…”

But John Paul wasn’t listening. The only thing he could hear was the blood rushing to his head. It sounded like waves were crashing on his cerebellum. He rapidly blinked his eyes, rubbed them and stared at the bar, wondering if his beer had been spiked, if he was hallucinating.

“For god’s sake mum, I’m on my holidays,” Craig said as he lifted a case full of empty green glass bottles from behind the bar. “I don’t actually work here anymore, you know.”

“Just be a good lad and take those out back,” Frankie said, beaming. She ruffled Craig’s hair as he went by. “It’s nice to have you back.”

Craig was wearing a white T shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his shoulders so that John Paul could see the muscles jump in Craig’s skinny arms as he repositioned the crate. Frankie turned back to the sea of customers and Craig disappeared into the back of the bar without looking in John Paul’s direction.

“John Paul?” Eliot asked. “Have you been abducted? Earth is calling John Paul.”

John Paul closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it, the way cartoon characters do when they’ve seen an unbelievable sight.

“I was saying we can go sit over there by the bar,” Eliot said, pointing. “I see two stools.”

“I’m so sorry Eliot, but I have to go,” John Paul said, handing Eliot his half-drunk pint and fumbling with his schoolbag. “I’ll make it up to you. It’s just…I don’t feel so well all of a sudden. I have to go home. I’m really sorry, really.”

Eliot stared after John Paul as he beat a rapid retreat to the door. In his rush he knocked into a pretty, slim blonde girl in a small yellow vest, spilling her red wine all down the front of her top. She gasped in shock and then in outrage as John Paul tried to wipe at the stain with his hand before apologizing profusely and backing away until he was out the door and away.

“What was that?” Eliot asked out loud to no one, holding a pint in each hand.

“That was John Paul seeing a ghost.”

Eliot turned to see Kris wearing a tight white T shirt and red cummerbund filling a bowl with peanuts behind the bar.

“A ghost?” Eliot asked, elbowing his way to Kris who was now in the process of pulling a pint.

“A ghost,” Kris said, as he handed the pint to a waiting customer and made change. “Craig is back in town.”

the reunion (fanfic), part 2

2008-05-19T14:19:20Z

VI.

The rain was coming down in sheets and John Paul was glad of it. The streets were empty as he made his way home and the weather mirrored his mood.

Craig was back in Hollyoaks. Back from Dublin. On his summer holidays from Trinity.

John Paul was having difficulty making sense of what he’d seen.

And Craig looked so good. John Paul had forgotten the frisson that Craig caused in him. A quaking of the heart. Almost a year had gone by since he and Craig had parted at the airport in Liverpool and in that time Craig had gone from being a deep, gaping lesion to a large scar, no longer agonizing, but still painful, still unsightly. The kind of scar that keeps you from taking your shirt off at the beach. The kind of scar that a pop psychologist might call “emotional baggage”.

But now he could feel the wound opening Again and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling, though in a strange way John Paul relished the pain.

John Paul reached his house soaked to the marrow. He opened the front door and slung his sopping bag onto the floor.

His mother was sitting on the sofa watching telly. She turned to look over her shoulder to see who it was.

“John Paul!” she exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. “The state of you.”

Rain dripped down his cheeks and hung in watery stalactites from his chin. Myra strode into the kitchen, picked up a clean bath-towel fresh from the wash and handed it to her son.

“You look sick,” Myra said. “What’s going on?”

John Paul was about to speak when his phone buzzed in his bag on the floor. He knelt to retrieve it and pressed “read”. His heart thudded in sweet anticipation. It had to be Craig. To say he was home. To say he wanted to meet up.

“Study group off tonite. Meet in library 2morrow? Text if cool.”

John Paul sighed. He’d forgotten about the study session. Just as well it was cancelled. He was in no mood.

“What is it, honey?” Myra asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” John Paul said, sticking his phone in his pocket and wrapping the towel around his neck. “I’ve just got a bit of a headache. I got caught out in the rain on my way home. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a bit.”

Myra nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but John Paul had already turned and was making his way up the stairs before she could utter a word.

Myra shook her head. She recognized that haunted look in his eyes. She’d seen it before.

VII.

Craig lay on his back on his bed, throwing a hacky-sack in the air so that it almost touched the ceiling and then catching it as it fell. The only light in his room came from the lamp on his dresser. He listened to the patter of rain on the window. He caught the ball, tossed it from hand to hand for a moment and then let it roll onto the floor.

He’d only arrived back in Hollyoaks that morning. All of his assignments were finished. He’d sublet his apartment in Dublin and said goodbye to all of his new school friends. Two of his buddies, Michael and Darragh, had wanted him to join them on a trip to Thailand. They were off for the entire summer to dance on fire-lit beaches and trek amongst the ruins of Buddhist temples. But he’d turned them down.

“Hollyoaks? For the entire summer? But Thai birds are such honeys,” Darragh had said. “You have to come. It’s gonna be deadly.”

“Some Thai birds are actually Thai blokes,” Michael responded. “You’ve got to be careful of that, you know.”

Craig had just smiled benignly and made his apologies.

He’d had two girlfriends while in Dublin. Orla and Rachel. They’d both been sweet girls. Irish. Friendly. Pretty. Chatty. Smart. But neither relationship had worked out. Neither relationship had been anything more than pleasant. There was no spark.

He’d met Orla in September while reading the events notices up on the corkboards at the front of Trinity. She recognized him from a history class and introduced herself. They ended up talking for hours that day. It was a beautiful afternoon and classes were finished so they’d decided to take a DART train out to Dun Laoghaire for a cup of coffee. They’d dated for three months but broke up, not very amicably, after Craig categorically refused to meet her parents. After that Orla no longer sat next to him in “History of Central Asia”.

Rachel wasn’t a student. She was older, twenty-three, and she tended bar at Doyle’s, a pub near the college. He and Rachel only dated casually and had ended up in bed together several times after Craig had wandered into Doyle’s around closing time, just a little to the right of drunk. But after awhile she’d grown tired of him. She wanted something more and Craig simply wasn’t able to provide it.

No one in Dublin knew about John Paul. Craig had filed him away. Put him in his empty suitcase under the bed. But he still dreamt about him sometimes. More than sometimes. Often in the dreams John Paul strangely took on Orla’s role or Rachel’s. One night Craig dreamt that it was John Paul he’d run into in the front of Trinity by the notice boards. That he’d gone with John Paul to Dun Laoghaire for a cuppa. That it was John Paul who worked at Doyle’s.

He’d gone to a gay club in Dublin once, alone. A place called “The Dragon”. Several men had chatted him up there, but no one interested him. All he could think of was getting the hell out of there.

He’d returned home and made himself a cup of tea. And while sitting on the sofa in his common room, he tried to understand why it was that no bloke had ever done it for him – except for John Paul.

Craig couldn’t stand the label. Gay. Why should he be tagged as gay when it was only one guy he wanted? Gender was not the issue. John Paul was.

Craig sat up and looked out the window. The rain was starting to peter out. He lay back down and picked his phone up off the bureau.

Create message. “John Paul. I’m back in Hollyoaks. Can you meet me?”

Craig tapped his fingers impotently on the keys for a moment and then deleted what he’d written. Who was he to assume that John Paul even wanted to see him?

A knock came on his bedroom door.

“Craig, tea’s on the table,” Frankie said.

“Coming,” Craig said, lifting himself from the bed and tossing his phone down on the pillow.

He’d call John Paul later. He’d just have to think of the right thing to say.

VIII.

John Paul had spent a fitful night. He’d lain awake for hours, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep only when his mother came in to check on him.

At breakfast he’d remained silent and sullen and no amount of prodding from his sisters [Michaela had asked him if it was “his time of the month”] could pry him from his funk.

He’d gathered his school books and slunk out the door without even touching his food.

IX.

John Paul bought a sandwich from the college canteen at lunchtime and brought it with him outside. The previous day’s rain had left blue skies in its wake. The grass was still wet so John Paul found himself a seat on the steps in front of HCC’s main entrance.

He took a bite – and discovered bacon and egg on brown bread; he hadn’t even looked to see which sandwich he’d taken from the cooler – and stared out over the field, watching three lads practice kicking a football back and forth.

During the night, as sleep alluded him, John Paul had made a decision. He was going to call Craig. Or he was going back to The Dog. Or he was going to write him a letter, send him a package, arrange for a singing telegram, dispatch a carrier pigeon. Whatever. But he wasn’t going to do nothing.

And yet, here he was, in an egg and bacon flavored sulk, doing just that. Nothing.

But what if Craig had no desire to see him? Craig’s appearance in Hollyoaks likely had nothing to do with him. Craig’s family lived in Hollyoaks. Why should John Paul assume that he had even crossed Craig’s mind?

John Paul finished the sandwich and crushed the wrapper in his hand. He’d eaten it, but he hadn’t been hungry. John Paul looked at his watch. He had class in ten minutes.

John Paul sat in a lecture staring at the back of the head of the girl in front on him. She had an ill-conceived piercing through the skin behind her neck. It didn’t look terribly healthy and appeared to be going septic. He had half a mind to tap her on the shoulder and tell her she should have it looked at when his phone buzzed lightly against his leg. His heart began an erratic beating pattern as it had each time he’d received one of the seven subsequent agonizing messages in regards to the rescheduling of last night’s study session. Every time his phone rang, his hopes sprang eternal. Craig.

Covertly reaching into his left pocket John Paul angled his notebook to hide the phone and read the message.

“We’re out of milk. Pick some up will you.”

Mercedes.

He was this close to throwing his phone out the window.

the reunion (fanfic), part 3

2008-05-19T14:18:34Z

XI.

John Paul sat listlessly in the living room with a copy of The Canterbury Tales open and unread in his lap. His mother had prepared him a mug of tea – without milk, John Paul had not bought any on his way home out of some kind of misplaced spite – which sat un-drunk on the table before him.

He looked at his study sheet. Discuss, using examples from the text, the position of women in Medieval England. Make specific reference to the Wife of Bath.

The seconds ticked by so audibly the kitchen clock could actually have been implanted inside his skull.

A knock on the door. John Paul shifted his study materials onto the sofa and roused himself. He was beyond getting excited about text messages and unexpected visitors. It was probably just the postman. Or Michaela forgot her house keys.

John Paul opened the door and was about to say, ‘yes?’ but the word died away on his lips.

“Can I come inside?” Craig asked.

John Paul gawped. The clock in his head ticked for several seconds as he stared.

“Craig,” he finally managed and stepped aside. Craig entered and stood beside the door, ill at ease. He looked the same, but different somehow. More mature, maybe? Less boyish.

“My sisters are home,” John Paul said, regaining his senses. “If you want some privacy it’d be better to sit in the middle of the village and speak into foghorns.”

Craig smiled.

“I forgot how funny you are,” he said.

They stood looking at each other, neither moving.

“Let’s go for a walk, then,” Craig said. “Is that okay?”

John Paul nodded. He grabbed his keys off the credenza and followed Craig outside.

XII.

They shuffled along in silence in the direction of the park behind the village. Both had their hands stuffed into their front pockets.

“We might run into someone,” John Paul said, venturing a look in Craig’s direction.

“That’s okay,” said Craig. “I know.”

The silence continued.

“How’s Dublin?” John Paul asked. What a lame question. How’s Dublin? Why ask ‘How’s Dublin?’ when all he wanted to do was grab Craig by the shirt collar, look into his eyes, forget the past.

“Dublin’s great actually, really good,” Craig said. “I’ve made some good mates, classes weren’t too bad, interesting even. Good craic.”

“Craic?” John Paul asked, smiling. “Are you going native?”

“Maybe a little,” Craig said, allowing himself a grin.

More silence, then: “Did you miss me?” John Paul felt the words leave his mouth like butterflies before he had a chance to catch them.

Craig stopped walking and turned to face John Paul. John Paul waited nervously for a reply. They had reached the center of the village now and were standing in front of the fountain.

“Did you miss me?” John Paul asked again, looking directly into Craig’s face for the first time. It was expressionless, but his eyes were narrowed as if he’d suddenly been struck with a blinding headache.

“No,” Craig said, shaking his head.

John Paul blinked. This was not the answer he was expecting.

“I missed you,” John Paul said in the same tone of voice as he might have used as a six year old when speaking to an adult after knocking over an expensive vase.

“You didn’t let me finish,” Craig said, starting to walk again. “Let’s go to the park.”

John Paul trailed Craig like a puppy until they were inside the park and seated side by side on a bench.

“What I meant was…” Craig began and then faltered. He looked down at his hands. “What I was going to say was I was too busy trying to forget about you to miss you. I didn’t want to think about you. Because then I’d start to miss you and I knew that would just make me feel crap.”

“Oh,” John Paul said because he didn’t know what to say.

“So I guess in a way I did miss you,” Craig said.

“Don’t write for Hallmark,” John Paul said, turning to look at Craig who was still staring down at his hands.

“You know, I saw you at The Dog yesterday, working behind the bar,” John Paul said when Craig didn’t respond. “I got so flustered I spilled red wine down some girl’s shirt and accidentally felt her up when I tried to help her clean up the mess.”

“That was you?” Craig said, finally looking up and smiling. “Was she blonde?”

John Paul nodded.

“She came up to the bar demanding a free refill because she said some ‘clod’ had spilled her drink all over her before she’d even taken a sip,” Craig said. “But why didn’t you just walk over, say hello to me?”

“Because I was in shock. Because your mother was standing right there,” John Paul said. “Because I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

“I didn’t sleep with any other guys in Dublin,” Craig said suddenly, looking down at his hands again. He picked at imaginary dirt on his knee. “I went to a gay bar one time, but it was all wrong.”

John Paul felt his heart flutter. He’s going to tell me something good now, John Paul thought, I can feel it. He’s going to say it.

“But I did have girlfriends,” Craig said. “Two.”

“I had partners too, Craig.” John Paul knew it was childish, but he said it anyway. Tit for tat. “I didn’t curl up and die just because you went away.”

Craig sat up straight, an angry flush across his cheeks.

“Because I went away?” he said, almost yelling. “I had to get on that plane John Paul. I had a life waiting for me in Dublin. And I invited you along. I wanted you there. But you’re the one who didn’t want to come. You’re the one who, what was it you said, ‘deserved more’.”

John Paul didn’t speak and Craig continued.

“I was a wreck for weeks,” Craig was struggling to keep his voice under control. “I asked you not to leave me and you just turned your back. You fucking left me!”

“I thought you said you didn’t miss me,” John Paul said quietly. He wasn’t used to hearing Craig use swear words. But why not throw a little gasoline on the fire? Better out than in. That’s what Myra always said. Of course her advice pertained to flatulence, but anyway.

Craig shook his head. “Of course I missed you,” he said. “Don’t be daft. And don’t think it didn’t work out with Orla and Rachel – that’s what they were called by the way – because I wasn’t thinking about you when I was in bed with them. There were some nights when I was invited to go out with friends, but I preferred to stay in alone, watching telly and wondering what you were doing at that exact moment. Pathetic it was.”

“I had those nights too, Craig,” John Paul said. “I didn’t walk away because I wanted to. I left because I knew I’d still be your dirty little secret even when we were in Dublin. We were surrounded by strangers in that airport and you wouldn’t even give me a kiss. In Ireland we’d be in a country of strangers and I just had these visions of me putting my arm around you as we walked down the street and you pulling away, making sure no one was looking. You can’t live in a closet, Craig, there isn’t enough room.”

“You can’t live in a closet, there isn’t enough room?” Craig mocked, him tone turning a little nasty. “Did you hear that at a homosexual support group?”

“Craig, why are we fighting?” John Paul asked, getting desperate. “I’ve been waiting months to see you again and now you’re here. I have to pinch myself…” John Paul let the sentence hang. He reached out and lightly touched Craig’s wrist, a prelude to taking his hand.

And Craig reacted as if he’d been burned. He snatched his arm away and suddenly stood.

“I have to go,” he said, turning on his heel. And then over his shoulder, “My mother expects me back to help at the bar.”

the reunion (fanfic), part 4

2008-05-19T14:17:45Z

John Paul walked home in a daze. That was certainly not how he envisioned his reunion with Craig. It was as if nothing had changed. Craig was still a self-loathing homophobe who wouldn’t even let John Paul touch his hand without the cover of darkness and a locked bedroom door.

The rest of the week went by slowly. John Paul attended classes and study sessions and crammed for his exams. He beat a path between the library and home and made sure to avoid all places where he could potentially run into Craig. He’s considered giving Craig a ring, being the bigger person, but every time he picked up his phone to call, he’d press the ‘end’ button before it could engage.

He tried his best to think ill of Craig. To hate him. To harden his heart, but it was impossible. How had things gone so wrong in the park? John Paul had retraced their conversation over and over again, going over it in minute detail, unable to stop himself, like rubbernecking at his own road accident, like a pathologist conducting a postmortem.

By now his entire family knew that Craig was back in town and for a few days they all tiptoed around John Paul like he was an invalid. But they were McQueens, and their discretion could only last so long.

One evening Mercedes came home with a salacious story from The Dog.

“So there I am working behind the bar with Darren the pig and Craig the dirty little rat and who comes in but Sarah and Nancy, you know, that girl with the crazy pink hair. They’re laughing away – you can tell they’ve already had a few – and they walk up to the bar. Craig happened to be in the back getting something. Sarah orders and she’s waiting for the drinks, chatting to Nancy when Craig comes back out, his arms loaded up with little bags of crisps to stow behind the bar. Sarah happens to turn around and lays her eyes on him and you’d pay money to see the look she gives him. Would peel the linoleum off a floor.”

Mercedes stopped at this point and adjusted her gold lamé tube top, relishing the suspense she’d created.

“So, what happened next?” Michaela asked. She loved some good gossip. John Paul sat on a stool at the kitchen counter stirring a mug of tea and pretending not to listen.

“So then Sarah just loses it, right. Her eyes go all narrow like and she starts telling him off. But she’s not yelling, she talking in this creepy stage whisper. ‘Who do you think you are, showing your face back in Hollyoaks? Aren’t you ashamed? Even John Paul had the good sense to chuck you in the end.”

John Paul looked up. “She said that.”

“She said more too, but I’d have to wash your ears out with soap if I told you,” Mercedes said. She had clearly been enjoying the story, but toned it down when she saw the glum expression on John Paul’s face.

“Poor cow,” Mercedes said, shaking her head. “After she finished – and don’t think Nancy didn’t have her say too – the two of them flounced right out of the bar. And Craig was still standing there, with an armload of Salt and Vinegar crisps staring after. I feel bad for her and I feel worse for you. The jerk. I can hardly stand to look at him.”

John Paul sighed. As long as he was in Hollyoaks, he was condemned to have his dirty laundry constantly aired. The entire village had watched him get his heart trampled at that engagement party and now they were watching the re-dux in painful slow motion.

Mercedes patted his back.

“I’ll ‘accidentally’ step on his foot tomorrow at work,” she said. “And I’ll make sure I’m wearing stilettos.”

XIV.

Craig didn’t know where the anger had come from that day in the park. He thought he’d gotten over the hurt he’d felt when John Paul had left him at the airport. But he’d only bottled it away and it just took seeing John Paul again to bring the feelings rushing back.

Why hadn’t he just told John Paul the truth? That all that effort he’d put into not thinking about him had been exhausting. And it hadn’t even worked.

Towards the end Rachel had known. Not that he was in love with a bloke, but that there was someone else.

“You’re missing someone, aren’t you?” she’d said, rather gently all things considered. “Someone from back home?”

He’d nodded. It wasn’t long after that that she told him she was moving on. Craig had smiled wanly and accepted it. When John Paul was on his mind, Craig was to good company what garlic was to fresh breath.

And that incident with Sarah in The Dog. Even as it was happening, he couldn’t believe it. Sarah looked beautiful, she always did, but now there was something dissipated about her beauty and Craig had a sick feeling it had to do with him and his betrayal. Everyone in the bar had turned to watch the scene. Even his mother had caught the tail end of it. It was mortifying, but after it was over and he’d weathered the inevitable snide remarks from Darren [“I don’t think she’s quite over it, mate” and “I guess that’s what happens when you sleep with your best mate at your own engagement party. Oops!”] Craig went back to work and tried his best to pretend that nothing had happened.

“Are you alright?” Frankie had asked, touching Craig lightly on the back. “She was a little drunk, that’s all.”

Craig had nodded and reached down to get a bottle of Coke for a waiting customer.

“That was some floor show,” said the girl who had ordered the Coke as she handed over her money. She grinned and walked away without waiting for change. Craig glared at her retreating back.

Despite the confrontation with Sarah, he was glad he’d started working at the bar again. At least it kept his body busy, if not his mind which, as he wiped down the bar with a dish rag, he let wander. He thought about the time he’d gone to John Paul’s house to hang out and they’d ended up playing Bunny Ball and wrestling in John Paul’s bedroom. And then Jake had walked in, almost caught them. Jake. Lost his marbles now. It was hard to believe, everything that had transpired while he was away in Dublin.

“A penny for?” Kris asked, coming up beside Craig and leaning against the wall. “You’ve rubbed that spot on the bar so clean you’re well on your way to digging a hole to China.”

“What?” Craig asked, looking up, blinking. “What about China?”

Kris laughed. “Nothing. I was just going to say that you have Singapore noodles instead of brains.”

Craig just stared at Kris.

“Do you know who I ran into yesterday, looking sadder than Darren without his jewelry?” Kris asked, and then went on without waiting for Craig to respond. “I saw John Paul at college moping around the place like his puppy dog had died. But I don’t have to tell you about the miserable look on his face – all you have to do is take a look in the mirror.”

“Do I owe you something for this session?” Craig asked, moving down to clean the rest of the bar.

“Is there something wrong with you? Did you have your head bashed in when you were a wee child?” Kris said, following Craig to the other side of the bar.

“Stop following me,” Craig said, tossing the dishrag to the floor and ducking underneath the bar to the other side to collect the empties scattered on the tables.

“Stop pretending you’re some kind of hard man and get on with it,” Kris said, walking behind Craig. Craig reached for an empty glass and Kris quickly picked it up before Craig had a chance to react. “I’ll finish up here. You. Go.”

Craig stood still for a moment and considered. The old Craig would have bristled at being bossed around. He would have lost his temper at the mere mention of John Paul. But things were different now. He was different now. And there was no point pretending he wasn’t bothered. Because he was. Very, very bothered.

“Okay,” Craig said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kris said, stacking glasses. “I’m a regular cupid.”

XV.

Craig sat at a table outside The Dog in the dark, fingering the phone in his pocket. He stared out into the pond. Just call, he said to himself, do it.

“I must be stupid or something,” Craig said aloud into the night air. He heard a cricket chirp in response. Then a rustle of clothing and the sound of footsteps behind him. John Paul.

“Something on your mind?” A body sat down next to him, patted his back.

“I’m fine,” Craig said, sighing, his heartbeat returning to a semblance of normal.

Jack turned to look at Craig.

“You’re most certainly not fine, my boy,” Jack said. “You look like yesterday’s newspapers after they’ve been left out on the stoop in a rain.”

“Thanks Jack,” Craig said, smiling despite himself.

“You think I’m joking,” Jack said. “Look here, I can even just make out one of the headlines there on your forehead: ‘Local lad down in dumps, romance suspected culprit.’”

“I just want to be normal Jack, you know, normal,” Craig said.

“And what’s normal, son, you tell me,” Jack asked. He reached into his pocket and took out a packet of crisps. “Get stuck into that.”

Craig reached over and opened the bag. “Normal is…normal,” he said, munching on a crisp. “That’s the point. You can’t define it because it’s normal, nothing special, nothing weird. Just standard. No one stares at standard.”

“And that’s all you want to be then, standard?”

“I don’t want people to think I’m a freak,” Craig said, reaching for another crisp. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten since lunch time and it was almost 10 o’clock.

“So you’d rather be lonely than have a bunch of ponces who you probably don’t like anyway think you’re not exactly like them.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds silly, but I am the way I am,” Craig said, shrugging. “I don’t want everyone thinking I’m a queer when it’s only Jo-,” Craig cleared his throat, “One person I fancy.”

“Craig, I love your mother. She’s good to me and I love her. And if her name was George, I’d still love her.”

“But her name’s not George,” Craig said. “It’s not fair.”

“Oh, it’s more than fair,” Jack said. “You’ve been given a gift, had it fall right down into your lap and you don’t even know it. Some people never find the love of their lives. And you have. You’ve found that person. You know where he lives. You know that he’s probably at home right now thinking about you and you refuse to do something about it.”

Craig remained silent.

“Love is about compromises, Craig, you have to realize that,” Jack went on when he got no response. “If it’s John Paul you want, what’s a little label? You don’t have to run around flying rainbow banners, but you can’t be ashamed of yourself. There’s nothing worse.”

Jack picked up the empty crisp packet and stood.

“I know you came home to see us, but you also came back for him,” Jack said. “I won’t pretend I fully understand, but I know he’ll make you happy, so stop sitting there like a slug and do something. It’s getting tedious.”

Craig watched as Jack walked to the front door and disappeared into The Dog.

Tedious. It certainly was.

the reunion (fanfic), part 5: the end

2008-05-19T14:03:04Z

XVI.

Take two, Craig thought to himself as he walked in the direction of the McQueen house. Action. He stopped about a block away and dialed John Paul’s number. The phone rang four times before John Paul picked up.

“Craig,” he said.

“I’m down the road,” Craig said. “Come and meet me.”

“Okay, I –”

Craig hung up and John Paul stared at his phone for a moment, his ventricles waging some kind of medieval warfare in his chest cavity.

Three minutes later he was walking down the dark street, searching for Craig. He found him sitting on a bench near the bus stop. John Paul sat down beside him.

The night was warm and quiet. John Paul could hear the muted murmur of a neighbor’s television through an open window. Graham Norton. Oddly appropriate.

Suddenly, Craig took his hand out of his pocket and put it on John Paul’s knee. The moment was electric. John Paul covered Craig’s hand with his own.

“I know why you didn’t come with me to Dublin,” Craig said. “Because I was like soggy newspapers.”

“Pardon?” John Paul asked, turning to face Craig who had scooted closer on the bench so that their thighs were touching.

“Nothing, it’s just…I mean, I’m sorry,” Craig said.

“I know,” John Paul said, moving his hand over Craig’s hand. “But would you be sorry if it wasn’t nighttime and there were people around? Could you still stand to touch me?”

“I could,” Craig said. “I mean, I think so. I could try. I mean, I’m willing to try. I want to try,” Craig stuttered. He turned to look at John Paul. And then they were kissing, John Paul’s hand on Craig’s cheek, both of Craig’s hands on John Paul’s shoulders.

When they pulled apart, Craig moved slightly away from John Paul on the bench and lay down to put his head in John Paul’s lap.

“Would you come home with me now?” John Paul asked. “Just walk in the door and up the stairs to my room. My mother and all my sisters are watching telly downstairs. They’d see us come in. They might say something. Would you come anyway?”

Craig sat up. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.”

“Okay,” John Paul said. “Okay.”

They made their way up the path to the house. John Paul put his key in the lock and pushed opened the door.

Once inside the entire McQueen brood minus John Paul turned to see who was at the door. They gawped in silence.

“We’ll just be upstairs,” John Paul said. Craig looked up and smiled shyly at the assembled.

They turned and started up the steps, John Paul in front, Craig trailing. They’d almost turned the bend to the main landing when Michaela let out a whoop, the kind of noise reserved for the moment when the main characters finally kiss in a mostly tame family sitcom. The clan burst into a cackle.

“Shut it!” Myra yelled.

John Paul looked behind him to see Craig’s face blush burgundy from his ears to his neck.

“At least I’m not watching the tube with my mother on a Friday night,” John Paul called down the stairs as he and Craig burst into his room, laughing.

They fell onto John Paul’s bed.

“Are you okay?” John Paul asked, letting his arm meander around Craig waist.

“I’ll survive,” Craig said, looking around the room. He hadn’t been here since the previous August. Above the bed on the wall was a photo of Craig and John Paul in their school uniforms with their arms around each other, beaming at the camera. That was before everything. It might have been another lifetime. Or someone else’s life.

“I have that picture on my wall too,” Craig said, gesturing in the direction of the photo. He kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. John Paul followed suit.

“You know I’m probably going to have panic attacks and freak out and lose my mind from time to time,” said Craig, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m ready but I’m still…nervous.”

“I know, it’s okay,” John Paul said, “And sure, you’ve already been through the worst of it, that den of barracudas down there.”

Craig sat up and reached down to pull John Paul’s shirt over his head. He ran his hands along John Paul’s chest.

“One second,” John Paul said, jumping from the bed. He walked to the door and turned the lock.

“I thought it was my job to be paranoid,” Craig said as John Paul returned to bed. They were taking off their clothes like it was going out of style.

“Not paranoid so much as realistic,” John Paul said, reaching over to turn out the light. “Michaela thinks she’s a journalist now and she’s just bought a new Polaroid camera.”

The End

fan fiction, p7 - the last installment

2007-08-23T22:38:49Z

John Paul gawped wide eyed at Craig who in turn stared down at the table, rubbing his finger back and forth over its edge.

“I broke off the engagement,” Craig said, looking up, catching John Paul’s eye.

John Paul had thought quite a lot about this moment, the moment when Craig would finally follow through and keep his promise. The only difference between this scene and the one he’d devised in his mind was the look on Craig’s face. In John Paul’s fantasies, Craig looked happy, not haunted. He would reach out to John Paul, embrace him, maybe even softly kiss him without a care as to who was watching.

But this was reality and it was coming thick and fast.

John Paul’s arm twitched and knocked against his empty pint glass. Craig reached out his hand to steady it, brushing John Paul’s wrist in the process. He jerked his hand back as if burned.

John Paul took a deep breath. “How did she take it?” John Paul knew it was a silly question – how did he think she would take it? – but his head was spinning and he felt he had to say something.

“Well, she slapped me across the face,” Craig said, his mouth set in a hard line. “And then she kicked me out of her house.”

John Paul noticed for the first time a small red welt forming beneath Craig’s left eye and a slightly mottled pinkness on his cheek where Sarah’s open hand must have hit.

There was so much John Paul wanted to say. He desperately wished he could reach across the table and put a comforting hand on Craig’s arm or put his arm around Craig’s shoulders to console him. But he restrained himself. This was Craig’s grand gesture and it was Craig who had to set the pace.

His back had always gone up when in the past Craig had said things like, ‘I’m the one whose caught in the middle here’ or ‘It’s not the same, the way I feel for Sarah is different,’ but now, now John Paul felt a rush of sympathy and a little guilty. Craig’s brow was furrowed and he had an agonized expression on his face.

“I never meant to pressure you,” John Paul said, looking intently at Craig, trying to express with his eyes what he wanted to do with his hands.

Craig shook his head. “That was your problem, John Paul.”

“My problem?” John Paul repeated shakily.

“You should have pressured me more,” Craig said, wiping at his eyes. They were moist, but no tears fell. Craig was not one to cry in public. “I waited so long and I’ve make a right holy mess of things.”

John Paul shook his head ‘no,’ and was about to speak when someone suddenly pulled up a chair and sat down at their table.

II.

“If it isn’t the happy couple,” Spike said, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms above his head in a yawn. “Broken any hearts today, Craig?”

Craig looked at Spike with a mixture of horror and disgust.

“What are you talking about?” Craig’s voice was coated in ice.

“Nothing, nothing at all, killer,” Spike said, clearly enjoying making Craig squirm. “I just ran into Sarah a few minutes ago. She was bawling her eyes out. We didn’t stop to chat, though.”

The three boys remained silent. John Paul and Spike exchanged a glance and John Paul mouthed the words ‘please, don’t.’

Spike sighed. “I have to go get ready for my set,” he said, half rising from his chair. He leaned close to Craig’s ear and whispered, “Don’t mess him around, Craig. Just grow a pair or I’ll cut yours off.”

Spike smiled widely and walked to the other side of the bar.

“What did he say to you?” John Paul asked. He looked at Spike at the other end of the room fiddling with his records and then back at Craig. Craig didn’t speak. “Craig, what did he say?”

“He told me not to hurt you,” Craig said. He let his knee touch John Paul’s leg under the table. “I think this is first time I ever agreed with Spike about something.”

“Look, Craig, let’s get out of here,” John Paul said, stuffing his magazine and wallet into his knapsack. “There’s no one home by me. We can talk.”

Craig nodded and stood, following John Paul to the door. Spike looked up and saw them leave, an injured expression on his face. He watched the door as it closed and settled back into its jamb. Sighing heavily, he held his headphones to one ear and continued his sound check.

III.

John Paul and Craig sat silently on the sofa in John Paul’s living room, John Paul on one side of the couch and Craig on the other. John Paul could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen and it unnerved him.

For once, Craig spoke first.

“She hates me,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I don’t blame her.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” John Paul asked softly. Craig nodded. He slid over and put his head in John Paul’s lap. John Paul looked down at Craig for a moment before placing a hand on his forehead and stroking his hair.

“I’m weak,” Craig whispered. “I strung her along for such a long time…I really do love her, but now she’ll think I never did.”

“She knows you loved her,” John Paul said, purposely using the past tense, wondering if Craig would notice.

“Maybe,” Craig said.

“How did it happen?” John Paul asked again, rubbing his thumb along the crest of Craig’s eyebrow.

“Well, I was upset, you know, because of what had happened with Michaela. Even though it was really early, I went over to her house. I needed to see her to feel…normal.”

Craig stopped. “I don’t mean you’re not normal, John Paul.”

“I know what you meant.” John Paul said and continued to caress Craig’s forehead. “It’s okay.”

Craig cleared his throat. “Well, I knocked on the door and she answered in her bathrobe. We went up to her room and we started kissing. And then she said, god, she said, ‘I can’t wait to be Sarah Dean. I really like the sound of that.’ She was still kissing me, but I pulled away. Sarah Dean. It really hit me then, you know? We were going to get married.”

Craig paused again and took a deep breath. John Paul could feel him inhale and exhale.

“She got up off the bed and pulled her robe back on. She asked me what was wrong. And then I just blurted it out. I said everything was moving too fast for me and that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be engaged yet because we’re so young. God, John Paul, the look on her face would have stripped the paint off a car. She stared at me for what felt like ages. Then she asked me if we were just calling off the engagement or if we were breaking up for good. I didn’t answer and then she stepped forward and slapped me, hard.”

John Paul’s hand wandered to the bruise beneath Craig’s eye. He touched it lightly.

“And then she just started crying and yelled at me to get out. So I did.” Craig’s shoulders began to shake as he started to cry. “I didn’t tell her why I was ending it…I just couldn’t, John Paul, I’m sorry…”

“Hush, now,” John Paul said, still rubbing Craig’s back with his other hand. “Just take all the time you need, okay?”

John Paul let Craig cry it out. For a quarter of an hour Craig wept and John Paul murmured reassuring sweet nothings into his ear.

“I’m not going to rush you,” John Paul said as Craig’s flood of tears started to ebb.

Craig nodded. He sniffed his nose. He was all cried out. John Paul pulled a Kleenex from the box sitting on top of the small table beside the sofa. He put it to Craig’s nose and said, “Blow.”

“Get off it,” Craig said, finally giving John Paul a small smile. “I’m not your five year old son.”

“Or my auntie as it turns out,” John Paul said. “Who exactly are you then?”

Craig gave a real smile this time and took the tissue from John Paul. He wiped his eyes and gave his nose a good blow. John Paul patted his back.

“Let me make us some tea,” John Paul said, starting to get up from the sofa.

“No, I’ll do it,” Craig said, also rising and walking into the kitchen. John Paul leaned back down into the couch.

“I’ll take two lumps and –“ John Paul started. Craig cut him off.

“I know how you like it,” he said, filling the kettle with water from the tap.

IV.

“I have a lot of things to do before I go to Ireland,” Craig said, settling back onto the sofa with two mugs of tea. He placed them both on the table, the one with milk in front of John Paul.

“What do you have to do besides for pack?” John Paul asked. He wondered if the move to Dublin still included him. He wanted to ask, but he held his tongue.

“Loads of stuff. I have to register for classes, buy new clothes and a new pair of sneakers,” at this Craig looked down at his tattered Converse. “I have to train that new replacement kid Jack hired to work at the bar, my mother wants me to help her finish cleaning out the bleeding attic. And then you still have to buy a plane ticket. Oh, and I need some school supplies, pencils, pens, notebooks. I also wanted to buy some more memory for my laptop because I’m running out of space. I know there’s other stuff, too…”

John Paul had stopped listening after the words ‘plane ticket.’

“I’m still coming to Dublin?” John Paul asked, putting his mug of tea back down on the table and turning to face Craig.

Craig smiled. “What, you didn’t think I’d let you stay here and rot at HCC, did you?” He also put his mug on the table and leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from John Paul’s face.

He put his lips lightly against John Paul’s. They both kept their eyes open, blue versus brown.

They closed their eyes and as kiss deepened, John Paul felt Craig’s hands roam beneath his shirt.

Apparently, John Paul thought to himself as he pulled Craig closer, there was no situation, at least not from John Paul’s perspective, that Craig couldn't manage to kiss and make better.

The End

fan fiction, p6

2007-08-23T05:16:33Z

John Paul spent the next two hours lying on his back on his bed staring at the ceiling. He could hear the sounds of the house coming to life outside his bedroom door, the toilet flushing, slippers padding down the hall.

After silently watching Craig retreat in the direction of home, John Paul had stood outside his house for a good ten minutes, arms hugging himself, replaying the ghastly scene of a few moments before in his head. He went inside only after a light mist began to fall, coating his arms and shoulders and head and causing him to shiver.

As much as he was a realist, John Paul was also a diehard romantic. For all the pragmatic advice he had given his sisters and friends in the past, he always believed in ultimate happy outcomes and enchanted endings.

Though he mocked and scoffed when other people said cornball things, John Paul never for a moment thought that life would actually swindle him. Bait him with the promise of true happiness and then – John Paul turned over on his side and placed his palm flat on the part of the pillow Craig had used – switch it with whatever it was that had just transpired on his front stoop.

Maybe John Paul had seen too many movies, read too many books. Maybe that was his problem . He believed in story arcs. Lovers torn apart, but later reunited, always reunited.

When Craig had come back for the second goodbye kiss, holding John Paul close, John Paul distinctly remembered thinking that everything was going to work out fine. He’d been sure of it.

The previous chapters in their book had seen Craig and John Paul suffer insults, break apart and come back together again. But kissing Craig at that moment, John Paul had been sure it was the final chapter. ‘Happily ever after’ had seemed real to him.

But now John Paul was fairly certain that after being found out by Michaela, Craig would be scared off for good. It was like a taste, a preview of what it would be like to come out together as a couple. Craig’s fatal flaw was the way he let other people wind him up. He always took the bait. As badly as he wanted it, John Paul had trouble seeing Craig ever being comfortable with an openly gay relationship.

He wasn’t angry with Michaela even though she would have been an easy and convenient scapegoat. She may have been the catalyst, but judging by the way Craig had reacted, something like this was probably inevitable, if not now, then later.

John Paul’s stomach grumbled. His body said hunger, but his mind was in turmoil. He didn’t think he could eat a bite.

Just some coffee, then, John Paul said to himself, slowly raising his body from the bed. He had a terrible headache.

II.

By the time he made it downstairs, the house was empty, everyone having embarked on their day. John Paul was relieved. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to explain his long face.

He took a mug down from the cabinet and put the kettle on and sat on one of the kitchen stools to wait for the water to boil.

As he waited, he wondered what would happen the next time he saw Craig. He would have to see him at some point.

An awful notion suddenly occurred to John Paul. What if Craig and Sarah started telling people about their engagement? What if their families threw them an engagement party before they left for Ireland? John Paul didn’t know if he could take having to pretend to be pleased for them. He was now operating under the assumption that Craig would go back on his word and stay with Sarah.

Steam began to curl from the kettle spout. John Paul dumped some sugar and instant coffee in his cup and poured the water on top. He wrapped his hands around the mug. It was too hot and it hurt a little, but John Paul enjoyed the sensation anyway.

Knowing Craig had changed him. John Paul wasn’t sure if his old pre-Hollyoaks self would have taken Craig’s abuse. Craig did something to him. It was almost chemical. John Paul could split his life into two distinct halves – B.C., Before Craig and A.D., After Dean.

John Paul finished his coffee and went upstairs to get a jumper and his knapsack. He was feeling terribly sorry for himself, but he was damned if he was going to waste another afternoon imprisoned in his house.

III.

John Paul could have gone anywhere for a drink, but he decided to try The Dog. He was feeling reckless and he needed to know where he stood.

He took a deep breath and opened the door to the bar. It was early, just a little after half ten and most of the tables were empty besides for two older men drinking pints and a young woman with a book and a glass of white wine by the window. Jack was tending bar and Craig was nowhere to be seen.

John Paul found himself a spot near the pool table. He settled himself into a wooden chair and reached in his backpack for a magazine. After a few minutes of flipping through it and glancing at a couple of the articles with little interest, he grabbed his wallet and made his way to the bar.

“Pint please,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on the bar.

“You’re looking a little down there, son,” Jack said kindly, taking a glass from the shelf above his head and angling it against the tap before pulling the pint. “Barmen are better than therapists. Anything you want to get off your chest?”

“Yes,” John Paul said with a sad smile. “The 500 kilo weight that’s sitting on it.”

Jack shook his head and placed the pint on the bar. “I’ll wager we’re talking romantic heartache.”

John Paul handed over the money and took the glass Jack proffered. “It’s a passing storm. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t really want to discuss romantic heartache with his secret lover’s stepfather, so he shrugged his shoulders and did his best impression of a well adjusted teenager. “No worries,” he said, taking a sip from the glass and starting to walk back to his table. “I’ll be over it by the next commercial break.”

Jack laughed and returned to work, picking up a rag to clean the bar.

IV.

John Paul sat nursing his beer and flipping through magazines for the better part of an hour, both hoping and worried that Craig would make an appearance.

He was feeling a little silly for staking out The Dog and was considering making a move when a shadow fell over his table. John Paul looked up.

“Craig!” John Paul said, getting quickly to his feet and then sitting down again. His breath caught. Their eyes met for an electrical moment.

John Paul wasn’t sure how to play this. He was about to make a benign comment, to ask Craig about midfielders or something, but Craig spoke first.

“I did it,” Craig said simply, taking a seat across from John Paul. “I’ve split up with Sarah. I did it.”

john paul/craig fiction, p5

2007-08-22T05:06:50Z

Michaela’s voice was shrill. Rushing up the path in front of the house towards them, she looked disheveled and wild-eyed. Her hair was mussed, her dress wrinkled and she’d obviously been out all night.

“You two, you were…kissing!” Her mouth was agape. She was almost yelling. John Paul thought he might throw up. His hair felt like it was standing on end, every last strand of it. Unable to speak, he rushed forward and made a motion for her to be quiet. It was as if the scene were taking place underwater. John Paul’s limbs felt heavy. Craig continued to stand off to the side looking ashen.

“What are you doing here?” John Paul asked in a shaky voice hardly recognizable as his own, finally recovering his senses and the faculty of speech.

“Um, I live here. What are you doing here? What’s he doing here?” Michaela put her hands on her hips, striking an aggressive pose. She glared in Craig’s direction. Craig looked nauseous and was breathing heavily.

John Paul knew he had to take control of the situation. Craig would be useless right now. He might as well have turned to stone. If Michaela opened her notoriously big mouth and told anyone about what she’d seen, John Paul didn’t know what Craig would do.

“Look, Michaela,” John Paul said evenly, looking his younger sister squarely in the eye. “I’m not sure what you’re on about. What do you think you saw?”

Michaela boggled. “I know what I saw, John Paul. He had his tongue down your throat!”

“You know,” John Paul said, trying his best to remain calm and collected, “I saw something too.”

Michaela narrowed her eyes.

“What I saw is a girl who looks suspiciously like you trying to sneak back into the house at dawn,” John Paul said, pausing for a moment to sniff the air, “Reeking of alcohol and smelling of smoke and, is that, hmm, do I detect aftershave?”

Michaela remained silent, waiting for John Paul to name his terms.

“Look, you keep your gob shut about what your sleep deprived brain thinks it saw and I won’t tell mum you were out carousing around town at all hours with god knows who, alright?” John Paul continued to look her straight in the eye, though out of his peripheral vision he could see Craig was still having a hard time regaining his composure.

John Paul raised his eyebrows at Michaela in a gesture that asked if she was willing to negotiate.

“Fine,” she said, pushing her way past John Paul into the house in a huff. “Snog your best mate, see what I care.”

Michaela shut the door behind her, leaving John Paul and Craig alone outside. Craig was leaning his back against the brick outer wall of the house, hands shoved deep into his pockets, eyes tightly shut, slowly knocking the back of his head against the bricks over and over again.

II.

John Paul approached Craig and placed his hand between the back of Craig’s head and the brick of the wall, cushioning the blows.

“Craig, what are you doing?” John Paul asked, his heart sinking. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

For some reason an old memory surfaced in John Paul’s mind. He was seven or eight years old and had spent an entire afternoon gluing together and assembling the tiny plastic pieces from a model car kit. He was almost there. All he needed was a little more glue from the garage before securing the wheel in place. He’d left the model on the floor of the living room and went to retrieve the glue.

When he returned a few minutes later, the model was smashed to bits. Someone had stepped on it and even though it was probably an accident - John Paul had never been able to determine which sister had done the damage – he was devastated. He hadn’t cried, but he did save the mangled mess of unsalvageable parts. He put the pieces in a shoebox and kept it in his closet for years. He’d even brought it with him when the McQueens had made the move to Hollyoaks.

He thought about the model now. It would have been a great little car.

Craig opened his eyes and stood away from the wall. He looked spooked. He chewed his lower lip. John Paul reached out to him, tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Craig stepped to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. John Paul’s arm fell to his side.

“So that’s what it’s like now?” John Paul asked. Not five minutes ago Craig had had his arms around him, pulling him in for a kiss.

Craig surveyed the still empty street and said nothing.

You’re not going to finish with Sarah, are you? You’re not going finish with Sarah, are you? You’re not. The words reverberated in John Paul’s skull. Finally, he spoke them.

“You’re not going to finish with Sarah, are you?” John Paul said, his arms now hanging limply at his sides. Craig still said nothing.

“Are you?” John Paul repeated, suddenly aware of the early morning chill.

Craig looked genuinely sorry. He finally met John Paul’s gaze, but only for a moment, before turning around and walking away, slowly making his way down the street.

john paul/craig fiction, p4

2007-08-21T23:40:41Z

It was a gray morning, the kind of day when dawn doesn’t really seem to break as much as slowly seep through the night like a stain until it’s gradually light enough to see.

John Paul had woken up several times during the night to the sound of Craig snoring, a little loudly if the truth be told.

John Paul had never actually shared a bed for the entire night with another person, besides for with his sisters or his mum when he was much younger on the rare occasion of a McQueen family vacation, and he wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t sure what to do with his arms and usually an active sleeper, he began the night lying stiffly, trying not to move or even roll over lest he disturb Craig.

But as the night wore on, the awkwardness disappeared. John Paul liked the feeling of Craig’s breath on his arm. He liked the snoring. Around 3 a.m. John Paul and Craig were using each other as pillows and fighting over the duvet like an old couple.

His sexual encounters with Hannah had been rushed and disastrous and though recently Craig had started spending more time with John Paul after they’d made love, he usually came up with some excuse and bolted shortly after, often following a phone call from Sarah wondering where he was.

When Craig asked to spend the night, John Paul had been pleasantly surprised. Craig had a knack for that kind of thing. John Paul’s expectations of Craig’s follow-through were so low that when Craig made a gesture like the one he’d made the night before, it drove John Paul to distraction. Despite other signs pointing to the contrary, John Paul could never help but believe what Craig told him.

Usually a logical and sensible person, John Paul lost his compass when it came to Craig. It was a strange feeling to be simultaneously aware of and deny Craig’s manipulation.

Craig had set the alarm on his watch for 6:00 in the morning. He didn’t want to run into anyone on his way out of the house.

The watch began to beep, low at first and then louder and louder at ten second intervals.

John Paul stirred and reached his arm over Craig’s body, his eyes still closed, searching unsuccessfully for the watch. He knocked one of the empty beer cans to the floor by mistake. Craig didn’t even move. John Paul’s hand finally grazed the watch band. He lifted the watch, pressed a button on its side to stop the beeping and held it close to his face looking at the time with one bleary eye. 6:00 a.m. He groaned.

Craig continued to sleep. John Paul was about to lean over and wake him with a kiss and replace the watch on his night table, when he stopped for a moment and looked back down at the watch. It was expensive looking with a dark brown leather band. It was the watch Sarah had given Craig for his 19^th birthday.

John Paul wanted to let Craig sleep, but he knew he should wake him so he could sneak out of the house without being caught. He looked down at Craig’s face, cheek pressed against the pillow, legs tucked beneath him near his chest. He wondered what it would be like to wake up like this with Craig every morning.

John Paul let himself entertain a brief fantasy in which he and Craig shared an apartment and made each other eggs and coffee in their boxer shorts. John Paul smiled to himself and rubbed Craig’s shoulder.

“Craig, Craig,” he said, brushing his lips against Craig’s earlobe. “Craig…get up…”

Craig finally opened his eyes and stretched, yawning loudly and noisily clearing his throat.

“Shhhh, Craig,” John Paul said, covering Craig’s wide open mouth with his hand. “I thought you wanted to make a clean getaway, not awaken the dead.”

Craig licked the palm of John Paul’s hand, tracing his tongue from thumb to pinkie.

“Do you know what I used to do when I was little and I didn’t want Jake or Steph or Debbie to eat a piece of candy I wanted?” Craig asked, sitting up. "Sometimes I still do it just to annoy Darren."

John Paul wiped his hand on the duvet and shook his head, laying his head back down on the pillow.

“I used to lick it, to mark my territory,” Craig said, grinning.

“Are you marking me as your territory, then?” John Paul asked.

“That’s right. I am.” Craig let out a guffaw and ducked as John Paul sat up and popped him over the head with the pillow.

“I belong to no man!” John Paul declared laughing, jumping from the bed as Craig swiped at him with the side of the duvet.

II.

After quickly getting dressed, John Paul removed the chair from beneath the doorknob and poked his head into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear. He wondered how Craig would react if one of his sisters saw him emerging from John Paul’s bedroom, clothes rumpled and eyes full of sleep.

Craig peeked his head over John Paul’s shoulder. “So this is what they call the walk of shame, right?”

Shame. Even though he knew Craig was joking, he didn’t like the way he used the word. The only shameful part of what they were doing was the fact they were doing it behind everyone’s back.

“I’ll make sure no one’s downstairs,” John Paul said, feeling a little deflated. He wished he didn’t have to sneak around.

The night was over and Craig was leaving, but this day was different, John Paul said to himself as he crept down the stairs. It was. Today Craig was ending it with Sarah. John Paul felt confident he would do it. Today. There was something in the way Craig had sounded the night before. He was more serious, like this was something he really wanted to do and not something he was just saying to buy himself a little more time with John Paul.

John Paul hadn’t really allowed himself to consider what it would be like to go to Ireland with Craig, but now that he had, he wanted it and badly. What would he do in Dublin? John Paul wondered. He’d never really thought about attending an Irish university, but now the idea excited him.

The stakes were higher for them now. If Craig didn’t finish with Sarah today, John Paul would have to end it for good. He knew that. If he didn’t, how could he even stand to look at himself in the mirror?

John Paul surveyed the empty living room and kitchen. Everyone was still asleep. He quietly took the steps back upstairs two at a time and signaled to Craig that it was safe to come down. Craig quickly descended, avoiding the creaky third step from the bottom as John Paul had advised him the night before.

They stood by the door for a moment. Craig was obviously eager to make a move, but he paused before opening the front door, letting his hand linger on John Paul's hip. He met John Paul’s eyes and gave a small smile before placing a light, soft kiss right below John Paul’s ear at the very top of his jawbone, his other hand resting on the back of John Paul’s neck. John Paul cupped Craig’s elbow and kissed Craig on the same spot.

They broke the embrace and Craig pulled the door open. He started to walk away, but then suddenly turned and strode purposefully back until he was standing directly in front of John Paul again. He placed his hands on John Paul’s lower back and pulled him towards his own body.

“Give us a kiss,” he said, leaning in. John Paul’s heart lurched. Granted no one in the village was awake to see it, but it still felt good to kiss Craig in public, outside.

III.

“What the hell are you two doing?!” an angry voice demanded. Footsteps pounded up the path towards the front door.

Craig ripped his face apart from John Paul’s and stepped away so quickly he stumbled backwards, almost falling.

John Paul’s stomach dropped and he opened his eyes, the blood hammering in his temples.

john paul/craig fiction, p3

2007-08-21T05:01:37Z

John Paul lay on his stomach, cradling his head in his arms, facing Craig, who sat propped against John Paul’s pillow, one leg straight before him, the other hanging over the side of the bed. The duvet covered them both.

“I knew that would happen,” John Paul said, his breathing slowly returning to normal. “It’s not fair, really. There’s no suspense.”

“Do you want to hear something crazy?” Craig looked down at John Paul’s face.

John Paul nodded. “Always.”

“I once had a dream that you proposed to me,” Craig said, flushing slightly, looking a little embarrassed.

“You had a dream that I proposed to you?” John Paul raised himself on one elbow.

“Sarah’s little sister was there, don’t ask, and she was singing some ridiculous pop song in the background. You were wearing a black tuxedo and a bowtie, and you got down on one knee and everything, the whole deal.” Craig allowed himself a grin.

“Sarah’s little sister was there? Amy?” John Paul laughed. “There must be something Freudian going on there, don’t you think?”

Craig gave John Paul a playful punch on the arm. “The ring you proposed with looked like something you’d get out of a vending machine at a games arcade.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t like my taste in imaginary dream jewelry chosen by your subconscious?” John Paul pretended to pout.

“Precisely.”

“What was your answer, then?” John Paul asked, actually nervous as he waited for Craig to respond.

“I didn’t give you an answer in the dream, but I remember smiling,” Craig said, smiling now as well. “I’m pretty sure it made me happy.”

“I had a dream about you too, a long time ago, before everything,” John Paul said, reaching over to brush his palm back and forth against the short bristles of Craig’s freshly cut hair. “I’ve actually had many.”

“Tell me about one,” Craig said, nuzzling his head into John Paul’s hand.

“Another time,” John Paul said. “Your head is big enough as it is.”

II.

Just an hour and a half had passed since Craig had come knocking on John Paul’s bedroom door. As a precaution and having learnt from past mistakes, John Paul, at Craig’s request, had tossed the clothing hanging off the back of his desk chair onto the floor with the other dirty laundry, and wedged the chair beneath the doorknob. No one would barge in this time.

“Everything’s always alright when we’re in your room,” Craig said, finally rousing himself from the bed, leaning over to retrieve his pants from the floor, pulling them on one leg at a time. “Just the two of us.”

“There’re always going to be other people, Craig,” John Paul said, instantly regretting it and hoping he hadn’t struck a nerve. The quiet, peaceful moments between them had become few and far between and John Paul didn’t want to ruin one with a dose of reality. He said as much.

“Don’t say anything,” John Paul said hastily. “Reality is for later.”

Craig agreed. “Later,” he said, looking down at his hands.

“Come back to bed,” John Paul said, patting a still warm spot beside him. “Sit close.”

Craig zipped his pants and returned to the bed.

“Do you have to be home at any time?” John Paul asked. He felt sleepy and comfortable and even a little drunk. His head buzzed in a kind of post-coital haze.

“I think I want to stay the night,” Craig said, leaning back against the headboard. “Would that be weird?”

“It’d be great.” John Paul stretched his arms above his head and yawned loudly. “But we’ll need provisions if we’re going to barricade ourselves in here all night. And what’ll you do if you have to use the toilet? You might encounter a roaming sister. We also let my mother out of the cage at night, so…”

“You’re teasing me now,” Craig said, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. He seemed relaxed and John Paul felt grateful.

John Paul was never sure exactly how Craig would react to any given situation. He knew that it was slightly dysfunctional to be thankful for Craig’s good mood, but he didn’t want to over think this. John Paul wanted Craig and Craig was here, shirtless, barefoot and in his bed, stroking his back. What more could he ask for right now?

“Your skin is so white,” Craig said, looking down at John Paul’s exposed back. He ran fingers up and down John Paul’s spine.

John Paul murmured his assent. “Chester has fine weather. It’s renowned for its beaches.”

Craig laughed. “Is anyone going to come looking for you? Who’s home tonight?”

John Paul turned to look up at Craig again. “You do know where you are, right? The McQueen house is not for the faint of heart. There is no expectation of privacy here.”

“That I know. We’ll just be careful,” Craig said. “Were you joking when you mentioned provisions before, because I’m starving.”

John Paul kicked off the duvet and sat up, casting a hand around on the floor for a pair of pants and a T shirt.

“I never joke about food,” John Paul said, keeping his voice deadpan. “I’ll see what I can do.”

III.

Leaving Craig securely cloistered away in his bedroom, John Paul padded down the stairs in search of a snack. He made his way to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and draped an arm over the door, leaning inside to take a look. He blinked against the brightness of the bulb inside the fridge. He pulled out two cans of lager, placed them on the counter and continued to poke around.

“So you and Spike are back together then, are you?”

John Paul jerked his neck at the sudden noise, banging the back of his head against the inside of the fridge and knocking a carton of orange juice to the floor.

“Oi, mum, you could give us some warning first,” John Paul said, rubbing his head and retrieving a roll of paper towels from the cabinet to clean up the mess.

His mother, wrapped in a pink chenille robe, sat herself on a stool and rested her arms before her on the counter.

“I didn’t mean to startle you and I don’t mean to stick my nose in, but I did and I will. I heard two voices in your room and now you’re here in the kitchen with your T shirt on backwards about to bring two cans of lager upstairs,” Myra said, looking her son up and down. “I put two and two together.”

John Paul felt trapped. Without realizing what he was doing he nodded ‘yes.’ He kneeled down to mop up the spilled juice, mind reeling.

“So, when did you decide to try again?” she asked. She was still slightly uncomfortable with her son’s proclivity, but she’d be damned if she let him know that. She wasn’t going to make him feel bad for just being himself.

“Oh, it’s, ah, still pretty new,” John Paul said, quickly tucking a half empty bag of crisps underneath his arm and grabbing a beer can in each hand, preparing for a quick escape. “We’re, you know, going to take it slow.”

Myra nodded. “Slow is good.”

“But it’s a secret, mum’s the word. We’re not telling anyone yet,” John Paul said in a pleading voice, hoping his mother wouldn’t see through his lie. He felt supremely uncomfortable.

“Sure, I understand,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to know what’s going on. Mum’s the word.” Myra smiled at the pun and made the ‘zip your lip’ motion with her forefinger and thumb.

John Paul gave her a dubious look. McQueens were not usually known for their discretion. John Paul decided not to mention this incident to Craig.

"I can keep a secret, John Paul,” she said. “What do you take me for?”

She patted John Paul on the back as he slid by her towards the stairs.

“Just make sure you know what you’re doing,” Myra said in a tone that spoke of sage advice and vast experience with men and their ways. “And keep it down. You guys were making quite a racket up there.”

IV.

John Paul knocked three times on the door, waited a few seconds, and then knocked three times again. He heard Craig approach and remove the chair from beneath the knob.

John Paul slipped into the room and unloaded the beer and crisps onto his desk. Craig pushed the chair back into place.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” John Paul asked, popping the tops on the cans and handing one to Craig. “The secret knock you came up with was also a nice touch.”

Craig took the beer John Paul offered him and put it to his lips. “Does it bother you? It makes me feel better,” he said after a long sip.

John Paul shrugged noncommittally. To be honest, at this point, he’d let Craig padlock the door if it put his mind at ease.

They sat on the floor munching crisps and drinking beer. This was finally a comfortable silence.

“Do you know your father?” Craig asked, turning to look at John Paul.

John Paul raised an eyebrow, but pondered the question. He was more familiar with his father’s reputation than he was with the man himself. The previous Christmas, on the pretense of getting to know each other better, he had duped Michaela into letting him into the house after which he’d stolen all of the family’s holiday gifts. He’d even taken the tree and Myra’s stock of liquid cheer, which obviously hadn’t gone over well.

“From what I gather, he’s not a good guy,” John Paul said, wondering where Craig’s question had come from. “No one really mentions him, but I’m pretty sure he’s not the kind of father who plays footie with his kids on Sunday afternoons, if you know what I mean. I think he’d be more likely to steal the football.”

“Oh,” Craig said, taking a sip of his beer.

“Why do you ask?” John Paul noticed Craig picking at a loose thread on his jeans, looking distracted.

“I don’t know,” Craig said, snapping the thread and wrapping it around his finger. “I was just curious.”

“What about your father? “ John Paul asked.

“Jack gets on my nerves sometimes, but I like him well enough,” Craig said, finishing the last of the lager and crushing the can at its middle. “Jack, he’s really a good guy.”

“I don’t mean Jack, I mean your real father,” John Paul said, sliding a little closer to Craig.

”He cheated on my mum with this girl, 19 years old, and they had a baby. Then he left her and his newborn kid and tried it on with my mum again,” Craig said quietly.

John Paul hadn’t known this. He put a comforting hand on Craig’s knee.

“Craig, why are we talking about fathers?” John Paul asked, slipping his arm around Craig so that Craig’s head rested on John Paul’s shoulder.

“He’s just on my mind,” Craig said evasively.

“Why?” John Paul prompted. He knew something was bothering Craig and he wanted to help.

Craig rubbed the back of his head and neck and licked his lower lip.

“I don’t know, it’s just that he cheated and we all turned our backs on him, everyone in the family, and for good reason. What he did was disgusting. He hurt everyone he supposedly loved. But then again…”

“Then what?” John Paul knew where this was going.

“Then he ended up all alone,” Craig said, looking down at his lap.

“Is that what you’re most afraid of?” John Paul asked. “Being alone?”

“Do you remember how much fun we had when we were just friends?” Craig changed the subject. He looked up and turned to face John Paul. “It was great, wasn’t it?”

“It is great,” John Paul said. “I don’t like it when you use the past tense like that.”

“If this ends badly, do you think we’ll still be able to be friends?” Craig asked. For maybe the second or third time in all the months they’d known each other, Craig sounded completely exposed. His tone reminded John Paul of a small child.

“I also don’t like the doomsday predictions,” John Paul said, taking his arm from around Craig’s shoulders and getting to his feet. “We’re going to Dublin, aren’t we? Let’s get some rest.”

Craig hesitated a moment and then stood, following John Paul to the bed. They lay down side by side, Craig resting his head on John Paul’s chest. John Paul turned off the light and the room went dark.

“Will you still love me when we wake up and I have morning breath?” Craig asked. He traced a line up the side of John Paul’s torso, causing John Paul a pleasurable shiver.

“It depends on the magnitude of the situation,” John Paul said. “We’ll see in the morning.”

Craig soon fell asleep, his breathing even, one arm flung over John Paul’s upper body.

But John Paul remained awake, left with an uneasy feeling he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He felt Craig’s chest rise and fall beside him.

Shelving his apprehension, John Paul shook it off and focused on enjoying the heat of Craig’s body beside him. It felt good. It felt really good.

Reality, he thought, was definitely for later.

john paul/craig fiction, p2

2007-08-20T07:37:50Z

John Paul hardly had time to react to the message before he heard a soft knock on his bedroom door. His heart skipped a beat and he raked a hand through his tousled blonde hair, a cowlick sticking straight up at the back.

His mouth went dry and his stomach dropped and he felt simultaneously ecstatic and disgusted with himself for being pleased.

John Paul quickly catalogued the majority of their previous encounters. Craig had an M.O. He would appear at John Paul’s door looking abashed. He’d make sure John Paul was alone and then he’d somehow, somehow, destroy his resolve, though John Paul was never sure exactly how that happened.

The knock came again, slightly more insistent this time, accompanied by his name.

“John Paul, open up, it’s me…John Paul…” Craig whispered, his voice sounding husky.

This is ridiculous, thought John Paul. It’s as if I’m a character on some soap opera. How much was he supposed to swallow before he said ‘enough’?

A few more moments slid by, John Paul tapping his foot against the carpeting of his bedroom floor. Who was he kidding, anyway? As if he wasn’t going to let Craig in. He got up from the bed, crossed to the door and pulled it open.

II.

Craig was sitting on the floor in the hallway, ankles crossed with his back against the wall opposite John Paul’s door. He looked up at John Paul standing above him. The hall was dimly lit, but Craig’s dark eyes glinted in the half light.

John Paul reached down to help Craig to his feet. Craig took John Paul’s extended hand and held it for a beat longer than was necessary to stand up.

“Where’s Sarah?” John Paul asked, taking back his hand a little roughly. He held the door open for Craig and entered behind him.

“Mike’s taken her out to a meal. I think he wants to make amends for blowing up at her about her exam results.”

“The cat’s away then,” John Paul said, switching on his bedside lamp.

“Don’t you believe in laundry anymore?” Craig asked, attempting humor. He gestured towards a large pile of unwashed clothes and towels haphazardly strewn in the corner. A few shirts and a pair of cords hung off the back of the desk chair.

“The washer’s on the fritz again.”

Craig, still standing, looked around the room uneasily and shifted from foot to foot. The awkward silence grew. John Paul didn’t care. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I came here?” Craig asked, venturing a look at John Paul who was now seated on his bed flipping through a magazine with studied nonchalance.

“I just assumed you want an ego boost and a shag,” John Paul said matter-of-factly, not looking up. He licked his forefinger and turned a page of the magazine, feigning extreme interest in one of the articles.

“Come on, John Paul, don’t be like that,” Craig said, taking a slightly flirtatious tone. “Sarah’s not expecting me tonight, we have some time together, so let’s make the most of it…I thought we were on the same page, you know, with everything. What do you want me to say?”

John Paul couldn’t take it anymore. Craig couldn’t be serious with this load of nonsense.

“So what, we’re condemned to have the very same conversation every single time we see each other?” John Paul felt bile burning in his throat and he raised his voice. “Everything is obviously not okay. I’d resigned myself to being the afterthought. That was fine as long as I thought that maybe, maybe in the end you’d finally choose me, but I’m obviously seriously delusional. Sarah’s my rival but she’s also my friend and the two of you are getting married. Married, Craig. You may not feel guilty, but I do. I felt guilty before too, but I just couldn’t stop. But I’m done now, done, okay?”

Craig raised a skeptical eyebrow. He sat down beside John Paul on the bed and placed a hand on John Paul’s thigh.

“I think the problem here is that you think I’m someone I’m not,” Craig said, slowly moving his hand a little higher. John Paul felt his heart flutter, but kept a stony face. ”Did you think we’d move to Dublin together and spend nights drinking and dancing at The George?”

“So you’re familiar with Dublin’s gay club scene now, are you? Done a little research?” John Paul looked askance at Craig’s hand, now resting a few inches below the front pocket of his jeans, but made no move to push him away.

Craig didn’t respond and an unnerving silence fell between them. John Paul broke it with a question.

“Craig, do you really want to marry Sarah? I know you proposed in a moment of panic, but now that it’s done…” John Paul let the sentence hang.

Craig paused. He tapped his pointer and middle fingers against John Paul’s leg. He seemed to seriously ponder the answer. A full minute passed.

“No.” Craig did not elaborate.

“No?” John Paul asked, incredulous.

“No,” Craig repeated. “Just no.”

III.

John Paul couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“If you don’t want to marry Sarah, why are you going on with this charade?” John Paul asked, casting the magazine aside. “You’ve bought her a promise ring.”

Craig kicked off his shoes and leaned back against the headboard.

“She’ll be devastated. The longer you string her along, the worse it’s going to be, you know that, right?”

Craig shrugged. “I know.”

“Is that the best you can do? Twitch your shoulders? Sarah’s over the moon. She’s going to be gutted.”

Craig stood up and started pacing the room.

“Look,” he said, continuing to blaze a trail from one side of the room to the other, gesticulating as he spoke and not looking at John Paul. “I’m going to lay my cards out on the table for you.”

John Paul nodded. “Okay.” He was fairly certain we hasn’t going to like Craig’s cards.

“Okay,” Craig exhaled. “First off, I’m never, and I mean never John Paul, really, never, going to tell anyone in Hollyoaks about us. I’m just not. I know I made a lot of promises to you before and at the time I believed what I was saying. I know you don’t buy that, but it’s the truth. All this living as a gay couple stuff, I’m just not okay with it. I’m sorry. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

John Paul listened as Craig spoke, confirming every fear and suspicion that had nagged him since the beginning of all this.

“Is that all you have to say?” John Paul’s voice cracked slightly and he hated himself for betraying his hurt.

“No, there’s more.” Craig took a deep breath and continued his pacing. “I don’t want to lose you, John Paul. I said it before and I meant it, really. Stop looking at me like that. I want you to come to Ireland with me, okay? I really do. I’m going to finish with Sarah. I’m going to tell her it’s all moving too fast for me or something and call off the engagement. But I’m not going to tell her or anyone else about us. I just can do it. Is that okay for now? Is that going to be enough for you?”

IV.

John Paul wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “You’re going to split up with Sarah and you want me to go with you to Dublin? Are you serious?”

Craig met John Paul’s gaze dead on and gravely nodded his head.

“How do I know you’re not just messing me around again? If I hear you say ‘I’m going to finish with Sarah’ one more time I think I win some kind of thousandth customer toaster oven door prize.”

“I’m serious John Paul. I want you.” Craig emphasized the ‘you,’ still looking directly at John Paul.

Those three little words again. I want you. John Paul bit the corner of his lip. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if Craig really understood the difference between ‘I love you’ and ‘I want you,’ but right now he also wasn’t sure if he cared.

“I’m yours, but we still have to keep it quiet. I’m just not ready…maybe in Dublin?” There was a pleading edge to Craig’s voice. He came back over to the bed and sat next to John Paul so that their legs were touching.

“Maybe in Dublin.” John Paul repeated the last three words. Maybe in Dublin. Maybe.

Craig turned to face John Paul and cupped his cheek with his hand. John Paul could feel himself slipping, any promises he had made to himself before literally dissolving into nothing.

“Is that a yes, then?” Craig asked.

Spike's words resurfaced in John Paul’s mind. Just don’t be a martyr, mate. John Paul thought again about how it would feel to be Sarah when Craig suddenly ended with her two weeks after proposing marriage. John Paul felt less like a martyr and more like a cheater. But any feelings of guilt or shame he had took a rapid backseat when Craig leaned in for the kiss.

Craig kept his hand at John Paul’s cheek as they kissed and John Paul was suddenly struck by an ironic thought. He was the Hannah of this relationship. A willing doormat.

“Yes,” John Paul said, and they fell back onto the bed.

john paul/craig fiction

2007-08-19T06:43:33Z

He heard Sarah call his name across the square. She sounded excited. He hesitated for a moment, looking back over his shoulder as Craig hushed Sarah and pulled her by the arm in the opposite direction.

Carmel stopped wheeling her luggage, gaudy pink and almost blindingly so against the pink monochrome of her velour tracksuit, and turned around, noticing that John Paul was no longer beside her.

“John Paul, sweets, are you coming?”

John Paul bit the left side of his lower lip and sighed heavily out of his nose. Sarah and Craig had disappeared around the corner. Though they were no longer in sight, he could see them in his mind’s eye, kissing, holding hands, happy in the afterglow of whatever lie Craig had told her to save the situation. What could he possibly have said?

“Yep, I’m right behind you,” he said, getting a better grip on the second piece of Carmel’s luggage and sprinting for a moment to catch her up.

“Are you alright?” Concern creased Carmel’s forehead.

“I just found you at a bus shelter about to embark on an international journey to find Alek. I think I should be the one looking after you right now.”

Carmel smiled sadly and said with a mixture of naiveté and wisdom that was a brand all her own, “Without pain there’s no pleasure, right? I read that in a girly magazine. Let’s get us some tea and we’ll cry on each other’s shoulders.”

II.

Back in his room, a record playing on the decks, John Paul lay on his bed, turning the day’s events over in his mind.

He thought about what he’d said to Spike. Everything’s fine. I’m happy.

What utter trash. Happy? What kind of an idiot would be happy with this?

I know I’m just his little secret, but we love each other.

John Paul turned on his side, his back towards the door. The record was finished and there was silence in the room.

Secrets. He wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t retrieved the letter he’d impulsively written to Frankie. He’d meant every word in it. Secrets were poisonous and his secret was changing him. He could feel it.

John Paul reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Tucked inside, hidden between old receipts and his library card, were the pictures they’d taken that day in the photo booth, mugging and making faces for the camera. He looked at the back where Craig had drawn a heart and the letter X. He smiled despite himself and then as quickly his expression darkened.

Dublin. There was hardly any time left. He’d told Spike that he wanted to enjoy the time he had with Craig, even thought it would only be for a few weeks. He could lie to Spike, but he couldn’t lie to himself. Even though the last few months were full of angst and heartache, once Craig disappeared with Sarah, Hollyoaks would seem like a shadow of its former self.

Spike had told him to make sure he didn’t end up getting too hurt. Fat chance of that.

III.

John Paul kept to himself mostly. He spent a lot of time in his room listening to music or splayed out on the sofa downstairs watching DVDs. His family moved about him in the house. Past his door, past the sofa, here and there, but, it seemed to John Paul anyway, like they were moving at warped speed and he was in slow motion.

When he did leave the house it was for a quick nip to the shops to replenish snacks, pick up a magazine or get some groceries for his mother.

He felt listless and a little bored. He hadn’t seen Craig in more than a week now. He hadn’t seen Sarah either. He imagined they were probably busy planning their move to Ireland. It was only a few weeks off. Craig hadn’t called or even sent a text message. John Paul wasn’t sure what that meant.

His mother seemed concerned about him and kept making him sandwiches, which he thanked her for and then left, untouched, on the coffee table.

It was summertime. He was meant to be having fun. The summer before university. But he just couldn’t muster the enthusiasm.

Was it Wednesday or Thursday? He wasn’t sure. Without school or plans with friends the days just kind of melded together into one, long grayish mass. He didn’t mean to be maudlin or feel sorry for himself, but he couldn’t help it.

“Are you still sitting on the couch, for god’s sake?”

Michaela wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been wearing that T shirt for three days. Do you want to kill us all with your stench?”

“You can leave me alone now, please.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s eating you, but just do us all a favor and sort it. It’s like you’ve made the couch your second home.”

“Very sorry to be an inconvenience to you, Michaela,” said John Paul, listlessly changing the channel.

Michaela let out an annoyed groan and stomped up the stairs muttering something about “wah, wah, the golden boy’s having a quarter-life crisis…”

Maybe Michaela was right, John Paul thought, putting his feet on the floor and sitting upright. Why was he the one moping around like the world was ending?

“Well, I’m going out,” he said to no one while reaching down to slip on his sneakers which he did without untying the laces.

“Fresh air, etcetera,” he announced to the empty living room.

Switching off the television he grabbed his mobile and his wallet and let himself out of the house.

IV.

It was a warm afternoon. The sun was out and people milled about enjoying the day. John Paul listened to music as he strolled somewhat aimlessly, his hands in his front pockets. He adjusted his ear buds and turned up the volume.

His mind wandered. He thought back to that amazing day when Craig had come knocking on his door. He still remembered it fondly, despite the way it had ended.

Craig had looked so vulnerable and scared. It was a side of Craig that John Paul loved. He didn’t like it when Craig put on a macho exterior, which was his most common pose.

And then those words. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want you. And then he’d kissed him, almost violently. John Paul could hardly believe it was happening. He was so shocked he almost didn’t kiss him back.

And then, upstairs. John Paul would never forget the look on Craig’s face. They had reached the point of no return. This wasn’t the drunken kiss in the gym. This was something else altogether. Craig’s expression wavered between lust and a strange kind of wide eyed panic.

Passing by Il Gnosh and lost in his thoughts, he jumped when he heard his name being called and the sound of knocking on glass. He looked to his left to find Sarah and Craig sitting together at a table inside. Sarah rapped her knuckles against the window again and motioned for him to come in, a welcoming smile on her face.

Without any other options for escape, his heart beating wildly, he set his jaw and went inside. He had to see them eventually.

“John Paul, it feels like we haven’t seen you in ages!” Sarah continued to smile widely and pushed out a chair with her leg for him to sit.

“Well, I’ve been busy, stuff around the house, you know and Jaqui…” John Paul let his voice trail.

He hadn’t dared look at Craig yet. Staring at his hands, he looked up at Sarah again and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, Craig and I have big news,” Sarah said, her grin growing wider by the second.

Craig finally spoke. John Paul looked up, catching his eye, and swallowed hard. Craig was wearing a striped cotton shirt, green and blue, with a collar. He’d just gotten a haircut. He looked well. Craig looked directly at John Paul for a moment and then switched his gaze to Sarah.

“Sarah, I thought we were going to wait, I think we should wait –“ Craig stumbled over the words, sounding anxious.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sarah scolded, reaching out her hand to rest on top of Craig’s. “This is John Paul we’re talking about, not the whole village. I’m dying to tell someone!”

Craig shot a nervous glance in John Paul’s direction. He was about to say something more, but Sarah spoke first.

“It’s like a dream, John Paul. I thought we’d wait until after uni, but who cares about timing when you’re in love, right?” Sarah was literally beaming now.

John Paul looked at Craig again, but Craig was staring at the tabletop.

“We’re getting married!” Sarah exclaimed in a stage whisper, showing her hand to John Paul. On her ring finger she wore a cheap looking silver band set with what looked like a small garnet.

John Paul’s breath caught in his throat. Engaged. They’re engaged. Engaged. Married. Craig. Sarah. He stopped thinking in full sentences. His mind ground to a halt. He looked from Sarah to Craig and back again in confusion.

Sarah mistook his silence as a commentary on her engagement ring.

“Oh, this is just a promise ring,” she said, looking lovingly at Craig, who still kept his gaze trained down. “Craig’s saving up for a proper diamond.”

John Paul came back to his senses. Anger was bubbling up in his chest. He could feel it searing his insides. He thought he might scream but for Sarah’s sake, he smiled weakly.

“Who needs diamonds? The ring is beautiful. Congratulations you two,” he said, a strange kind of calm coming over him. What else did he expect from Craig? The bit on the side shouldn’t have any expectations.

“Well, I have to run,” said John Paul, getting up as Sarah began to protest. “Some errands for my mother, you know…”

He quickly made his exit without another look in their direction.

“What’s up with him, then?” Sarah asked, watching John Paul beat a hasty retreat.

Craig cleared his throat.

“Maybe I should go and talk to him, see what’s up, you know,” he said, rubbing his neck and the back of his head, something he always did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

“Yeah, alright, but hurry back!” Sarah winked. “You don’t want to leave your fiancé alone!”

Craig smiled uneasily and looked around to make sure no one had heard her.

“Be right back.”

Craig stepped out of the café and looked to see which way John Paul had gone. Spotting him, he dashed in John Paul’s direction, and, catching up to him, put his hand on his shoulder.

John Paul spun around, a withering look on his face.

“What do you want?” John Paul said coldly.

Craig didn’t answer. He looked to make sure no one was nearby and reached out his hand to touch John Paul’s arm.

John Paul took a step backward. “What. Do. You. Want,” he said, enunciating each word. Craig parted his lips as if to speak, but said nothing.

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you. I’m out. I’m finished. It’s done. And I don’t want to hear about how hard this is for you again. I know it’s hard for you, but it’s hard for me too, alright? Enough of this Craig. Enough. You’re obsessed by what everyone else thinks. I don’t doubt you care about Sarah, but marriage Craig, marriage? You’re playing with fire and I’m not going to be a part of the lies anymore.”

“But I – “ Craig faltered. He looked at John Paul’s face and John Paul’s blue eyes flashed, prompting him to continue. Craig remained silent.

“Leave it to you to start your sentence with ‘I,’” John Paul said bitterly. He’d become more sarcastic lately.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” Craig looked down at his feet.

“When did you ask her?” John Paul had also recently become a glutton for punishment.

“Right after she overheard Spike saying I was keeping something from her, that day in The Dog,” Craig said. “I was this close to telling her the truth, I swear it, but then I choked and I said the first thing I could think of to make her stop crying.”

“When’s the big day then?” John Paul didn’t know why he didn’t just walk away. This was the end, anyway, so why prolong the torture? But he stood rooted to the spot, waiting for Craig to answer.

“There’s no date, John Paul, we’ve only been engaged for less than a fortnight,” Craig paused and looked around again checking for witnesses. “Can we go somewhere else to talk, your place?”

John Paul felt the anger welling again. Craig couldn’t say boo without making sure they weren’t being watched first.

John Paul shook his head and turned to go. “Your fiancé is waiting.”

VI.

John Paul was furious, but it was mostly with himself. He needed two hands to count the times he was almost free of Craig. He had tried so many times to put up a strong front, but he always caved. All Craig had to do was come knocking and his front came tumbling down.

All the same, next time I come knocking, you’ll be there. I know it and you know it.

The arrogance of that statement should have been enough to turn John Paul off for good. And it would have been, if it weren’t completely true.

John Paul wondered what he would do if Craig came over now, like he’d done so many times in the past. Would they exchange words and then sleep together? John Paul shook his head and turned off his bedside lamp. This time was different.

Why did he even love Craig? What was it about him? He treated John Paul poorly, made him sneak around, made him feel dirty. The way Craig pronounced the word ‘gay,’ he might as well be talking about rotting garbage.

But there was something else there, something beautiful lurking beneath the surface. Craig wasn’t eloquent, but his eyes always spoke for him.

John Paul’s phone buzzed against his leg. He fished it out of his pocket. One message. He pressed ‘read.’

‘I’m standing outside your bedroom door.’ The message was from Craig.