Chapter Text
There’s a bird in a small metal bar cage with a rounded top. A painting that looks far too mature for a flat that belongs to two young adults. The frame is small, close to medium size, but still small. At least it covers the hole in the wall behind it.
There is nothing to dislike about Anja’s friends. The flat smells like cigarettes and beer. Playing cards are discarded on top of various surfaces. Generally, it’s noise. Sounds with no meaning being exchanged between people clinging to various degrees of alcoholic intoxication. These people and this situation is the reason why Phil’s not a recluse by now. Still, for whatever reason, Phil subconsciously takes the position of an observer rather than a participant. He mostly hopes that no one else notices.
Anja notices, of course. That’s what she usually says when everyone’s gone, anyway. Phil wonders whether it’s a conclusion she comes to after Phil’s locked himself in his bedroom or if she knows when it happens. Regardless, Phil’s introverted disposition creates no issue to anyone but himself. He thinks of this when he feels Anja’s gaze on him after he’s been quiet for a while. If anything, her fussing at least suggests some truth to the lie that she’s Phil’s older sister. That’s what older sisters do, Phil thinks. Fuss.
Lies aren’t exactly fun, but they’re better than the onslaught of questions a guy and a girl that live together platonically would have to answer if people knew the truth. Anja is the one that insisted on it. Phil’s seen her kiss enough girls to have an idea as to why. Sometimes, he wonders about how it would feel to be kissed by her. Phil hasn’t been kissed by anyone for a long time, but oftentimes just the thought of it turns him on enough to begin stroking his cock until he comes. As much as he tries to stick to the thought of Anja it always passes. It always passes, and is replaced by something worse than the attempt to objectify a person he's known long enough to consider family. Since he realised that this wasn’t considered ordinary, Phil has reasoned that as long as the thought stays in his head, it can’t be that bad. So the thought stays in his head.
Phil glances at the bird painting and wonders how the artist would feel, knowing their work is only displayed to cover up a mysterious indentation on a poorly constructed wall in a frail building.
“We could play one of Phil’s records.”
Phil doesn’t get to keep observing. Anja is standing next to the record player, rummaging through the box containing Phil’s sparse collection of records. There are eyes on him now. The two guys that Phil has hardly ever talked to and the two girls, both of whom Phil has caught Anja kissing when no one else was around.
There are secrets in this room, and as Anja pulls one of Phil’s records out of the box, it feels like one in particular is being revealed.
“What about this one?” Anja asks.
“You listen to that?” one of the guys, Stephen, asks.
He’s got dark brown hair and an Iron Maiden T-shirt on. Phil doesn’t want to fold in on himself but he’s sat hugging around his shins while his chin rests on top of one knee.
With a shrug, Phil responds. “It’s alright.”
“Bit queer, isn’t it?” Stephen’s friend Jim grins.
The girls roll their eyes. The humiliation digs into Phil’s spine.
“Fuck off,” Anja says. They shrink beneath her pointed tone. “It’s far more queer to believe in that kind of gossip.”
Phil lets out a chuckle. Morrissey’s voice fills the room as Anja puts the record on.
It’s easy to filter out the debate of what’s queerer when Phil can focus on the music. He may still be an observer on the outskirts of the social situation, but next to the sounds and lyrics that so deeply resonate with him, Phil doesn’t feel quite as alone.
-
Stephen and Jim leave to go to the local pub after a couple hours. One of the girls, Raz, leaves with them but promptly makes sure everyone knows that she’s not going to any pub. The other girl, Vicky, stays.
Phil cleans up cans and empties the ashtray while Anja and Vicky speak quietly on the sofa. The TV is on, showing Bananarama performing a song on Top Of The Pops that Phil is starting to get sick of hearing, but the girls aren’t paying attention to it at all.
Phil isn’t one to hover. He is happy to live and let live. He has enough secrets and feelings of being outside of whatever the ‘inside’ of society is not to judge people just because they’re different.
Anja and Phil don’t talk about it, but Anja has never hidden this part of herself from him. It’s as if she knows, somehow. At first Phil had thought she simply was an incredibly brave and open person just as she is, but then he realised that she does hide. She hides from everyone, except for Phil.
It still surprises Phil to glance back at the sofa to see Anja and Vicky kiss. Vicky is cupping the side of Anja’s face and playing with a strand of long black hair with her thumb as they go. Phil’s got a lump in his throat and a growing erection in his trousers. He can’t look at something this intimate without being affected by it. He feels like a voyeur, a pervert, and then he feels bad for thinking that because he wouldn’t have thought those words if Anja had been kissing a guy.
It’s all so confusing.
Phil stays frozen for a bit of time. He pretends to be busy. The washing up does have to be done. It’s Anja’s turn and Phil usually never washes up when it’s Anja’s turn. Still, Phil stays and scrubs the plates and cutlery until they’re squeaky clean, willing himself not to listen to the sounds of Anja’s and Vicky’s kissing. The only times he hears something loud and clear, is when the announcer at Top Of The Pops places The Smiths’ new single What Difference Does It Make? at number thirty on the charts.
The TV turns off eventually, and Phil hears the girls stand up.
“Good night, Phil,” Anja calls.
Phil glances, but doesn’t look directly at them. They’re holding hands, on their way to Anja’s bedroom. Phil’s face is hot.
“Good night,” Phil responds, his voice coming out choked and odd sounding.
He stares down at the plate he’s been scrubbing for at least two minutes and waits until the door to Anja’s bedroom closes. He turns off the tap, puts the dish away to dry, and finally escapes to his own bedroom.
It isn’t much to look at. An unmade single bed, a window with no curtains, a desk, a wardrobe. He’s got various souvenirs placed on various surfaces from holidays with his family as decoration. There’s a wilting flower on his window pane, and a coffee stained rug on the floor.
Phil feels the humiliation wash over him as he closes the door behind himself. He wishes he was cooler. He wishes he could act older. Instead, he’s imprisoned by the insecurity that makes him feel embarrassed and turned on when two girls are kissing on his sofa. Phil doesn’t even attempt to convince himself that his reaction is just like any other bloke’s would be. His arousal isn’t due to him wanting to be with either of the girls. Instead, his arousal is urgent and demanding because of their attraction to one another - to their same sex attraction that’s so loud and clear and out in the open in a way that Phil never really sees elsewhere and before he knows it his trousers are off and he’s fisting his cock as he lies down on the bed and focuses on the primal urges that it elicited.
It’s after he comes that he wonders what the fuck this is about, really. Is he a type of pervert that gets off on it because of the taboo? That’s what he’s heard said about homosexuality recently, and in some way, it almost makes sense to think of it that way. Phil wipes his hands and stomach off with a paper towel and throws it in the bin next to his bed. But then, everything catches on the ‘almost’ because it’s not just sexual. He isn’t sure what else it could be, really, but he knows it’s more than that.
Before he goes to bed for the night, Phil puts his Morrissey poster he hid when the guests were coming around back on the wall above his bed. In this black and white photo, Morrissey’s wearing an open shirt and glasses, holding a dry bouquet of flowers against his chest. His skin is glistening with sweat. He’s firm and beautiful. Phil finds himself looking at the picture for a while before he finally turns off the light on his bedside table and makes himself comfortable beneath the covers. He falls asleep to the sound of Anja’s and Vicky’s soft moans on the other side of the wall.
-
The shy March sun is warming the world up as Phil walks from the library and to the independent record shop Martyn owns. They’re taking Martyn’s car to see their parents, just like they do every Thursday. And like every Thursday, Phil dreads the moment he opens the door because he never knows who will be working the cash. Out of the three employees, there’s only one he can’t handle seeing. The past few weeks he’s been lucky. Most Thursdays, Raz is the one standing there looking bored out of her mind. This Thursday, Phil isn’t as lucky.
The moment Phil opens the door and the bell chimes, his eyes are pulled to whoever is standing at the other end of the shop, and this time they land on the kind eyes Phil wants to run from. He doesn’t get to pretend like he didn’t see. He doesn’t get to hide behind the rows, looking at records while he waits for Martyn to finish up work. Like always, this person zeroes in on him the moment he steps inside and flashes a big, friendly smile his way.
“Phil!” Tom shouts, waving.
The charismatic, expressive face and the melodic tone of his voice on just that one word forces a smile out of Phil as he approaches him. Tom is wearing the hideous orange employee shirt with his own name tag on it and yet Phil finds himself staring. He stares at the toned muscles of his freckled arms and the stubble on his chin and the strawberry blonde hair and prays that he won’t embarrass himself this time.
Tom is different from the other friends Martyn had growing up. Actually, Tom is different from any friends Phil had growing up, too. He’s confident in a way that the others weren’t because he smiles and keeps eye contact and every word out of his mouth isn’t something to challenge Phil’s masculinity. Tom has always dared to be kind, and Phil has yet to grow out of the feelings that unusual kindness stirred up in him as a child.
If Phil’s nerves are noticeable, Tom doesn’t mention them. Immediately, he takes charge of the conversation because that’s what Tom does. He knows Phil can have trouble with these types of situations and he never makes fun of him for it. It doesn’t matter if this kindness comes from guilt. Regardless of the reason, Phil appreciates the effort.
He leans on his elbows against the counter as he listens to Tom’s latest horror story regarding the house he and his fiancée are renovating. Tom is only two years older than Phil but well on his way to a nuclear family life Phil doubts he’ll ever have himself. But then, if it was possible for Tom, why can’t it be for Phil?
“Hey, by the way,” Tom says, opening one of the drawers on the other side of the counter. “You like The Smiths, right?”
The topic changed so quickly that Phil has to laugh. It’s not funny, but Phil’s nervous. Tom’s gentle smile in return is too much for Phil to look at.
“Yeah,” Phil nods, because Tom isn’t the type of guy to call it queer to listen to their music. “How come?”
“Well,” Tom says, “I got two tickets to the show at Free Trade Hall that I can’t use. I already gave one of them away but if you don’t mind going alone?”
Phil looks at the ticket Tom picked up. His heart is starting to pound for a different reason than Tom’s presence. Phil has missed every opportunity he’s had to go to a The Smiths show even though he’s wanted to. Still, the issue that always stops him remains. Phil does mind going alone.
“I don’t know,” Phil says, quietly.
Something flashes behind Tom’s eyes then.
“Actually,” he says. “Maybe you wouldn’t have to go alone. I gave the other one to the new guy working here. He’s not from here so he doesn’t have any friends in Manchester yet.”
Phil immediately gets what Tom’s proposing. He stiffens, already overwhelmed by the idea of spending an evening with a stranger.
“He’s only eighteen,” Tom goes on. “And he’s cool. A bit weird, but cool. He reminds me of you a little. I’m sure you’d get on well.”
Tom looks so hopeful that Phil already knows he won’t be able to say no. And even if that wasn’t enough, Tom just described someone that reminds him of Phil as ‘cool’. That’s not something people use as a descriptor for Phil, ever. But Tom’s not like other blokes. He doesn’t care if Phil’s awkward. He never did. The fears melt away for a moment.
“Alright,” Phil says, taking the ticket from Tom’s hand. “I’ll go. Sure.”
He’s already regretting it for himself, but Tom looks so pleased with his compliance that Phil can’t stop himself from smiling.
“I’ll let him know, then,” Tom grins. “You could meet up here at seven on the thirteenth?”
Phil looks down at the ticket. The show is at eight pm on March thirteen, a week from now.
He nods. Before Tom has time to say more, Phil’s brother Martyn walks out from the back room, approaches them, and slaps Phil’s shoulder in greeting. Phil shrugs his hand away, feeling all the courage he built up wash away as he’s reduced to the younger brother role. He just lets Martyn speak over him, and Tom smiles and laughs at everything he’s got to say.
Before they leave, Tom ushers Phil over to give him something else. Phil takes the note, smiling his ‘thank you’ though he doesn’t know what for, and allows himself to melt, imagining Tom’s relief at Phil agreeing to his arrangement all the way to the passenger seat of Martyn’s car.
While Martyn talks about whatever is bothering him at work this time, Phil takes the note out of his pocket and unfolds it.
Daniel Howell. Tall. Curly brown hair.
Underneath it, a telephone number is scribbled down, supposedly to this Daniel fellow. Phil might have just been forced to babysit a stranger a week from now but he’s filled with excitement despite it, knowing he’s doing Tom a favour. The note is nothing but Phil finds himself staring at it as if it’s something. These insignificant words grow significant because Tom wrote them down just for Phil to read.