Page 13 of Someone Like You

It was still lurking, the apathy that had transformed him into a breathing corpse for months, sucking all the will to live from his soul.

He couldn’t fall back into it, not after all the hard work he’d put into scrubbing it off himself like sticky grime.

A wise man had told him ‘ You chose to fight’ and that had reminded Phil of the unimaginable strength he’d managed to summon to get himself through his darkest days.

He couldn’t succumb to the demons in his head again.

He wouldn’t .

He had the most wonderful fianceé, his runs with Ian, and life was finally starting to taste like something again. He had too much to lose: fucking up wasn’t an option.

When he climbed into bed, he felt even more tense than usual.

He rolled to the other side and closed his eyes, bracing for another sleepless night, but the next thing he knew he was in a park at dusk, and Ian was there, fixing the wiring of a lamplight while humming a song to himself.

Shirtless. Dream Phil was reading out instructions to him from a sheet and Ian kept saying ‘I don’t care about that shit, I follow my gut!

’ and Dream Phil insisted rules existed to be followed, while Conscious Phil couldn’t understand the meaning of any of it.

‘Forget about this shit.’ Ian pried the sheet out of Dream Phil’s hands, balled it up, and threw it away in the shapeless darkness. ‘Do things your own way, ye feartie!’

And they were close — dangerously close. And Dream Phil was intoxicated by the heat radiating off Ian’s half naked body, his now empty hands yearning to reach out and…

A stab of sunlight blinded him.

Phil groaned, shielding his eyes. It took him a second to be fully awake, his mind still fogged by sleep. He’d dreamed . He couldn’t remember what, but still. He hadn’t been able to remember any of his dreams in a while. He’d also got a decent sleep, apparently.

Odd.

Awesome, but odd.

Yawning, he pushed himself up, threw the blankets aside, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and froze.

He was hard .

His nails dug into the mattress as he glanced down at his crotch with his jaw hanging open. He hadn’t had a full hard-on in over a year .

His heart jumped in his throat. Shock mingled with elation in the blood pumping faster and faster through his veins.

He knew this had to do with the dream, because he could still feel the arousal it had left behind, but his memory was blank, offering nothing more than vague impressions he couldn’t piece together: a park, darkness…

A piece of paper? And heat. A heat that had triggered a desperate want inside him.

A jolt of electricity coursed across his body, pooling right there .

He chuckled, amazed. It was the closest to arousal he’d experienced in ages, and it felt good .

There was nothing left of the sullen man who’d gone to bed the night before when he stepped into the shower. The morning wood was gone by the time he got out, but the elation didn’t subside .

He’d just wrapped himself into a towel when the bell rang. Trotting downstairs, he cursed Abby and her skincare addiction: they were getting more deliveries than a mail office. He didn’t even check before opening, used to meeting the same delivery guy every time, but it wasn’t Boyd from Evri.

“Took you long enough,” said Ian’s gruff voice.

Phil frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Unfazed by the sterile reception, Ian pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, cleared his throat, and started reading: “ Hey, it’s Abby!

Hope you don’t mind me stealing your number from Phil’s phone.

I’ll be in London for a few days. Feel free to pester him whenever you want.

He won’t be thrilled, but you’re bigger than him .

I’m counting on you. ” He paused, blue eyes dropping to the towel around Phil’s hips and then slowly trailing back up in a scorching wake. “Nice outfit.”

Phil’s ears burned. Suddenly very aware of how underdressed he was, he held onto the towel as if afraid it might fall off.

It was hard to believe Ian could make him feel so self-conscious when in his old gym group Phil had been the tallest and one of the fittest. Also the most popular among women, but that was irrelevant now.

His abs weren’t taut any more, his biceps had lost their definition.

Clothed, he could still effortlessly turn heads, but without clothes he looked undeniably flawed .

“Fuck you,” he sputtered.

“You wish.” Mischief glinted in Ian’s look before being replaced by a serious scrutiny. “You eaten?”

Phil was still processing: Ian at his doorstep, looking as striking as ever, the dark hair tied back in a ponytail, while Phil was virtually naked and still very preoccupied with the boner he’d just reluctantly washed away in the cold shower.

“Don’t you have to go to work or something?” he groused.

“Not until 9. Oh, by the way.” Ian bent to the ground to pick up something Phil hadn’t noticed and handed it to Phil with a shit-eating smirk. “I’m a man of my word. ”

It was a bunch of flowers. Phil took it by reflex, too baffled to think . Sunflowers and hydrangeas and some minuscule white buds he couldn’t name.

“Jackass,” he laughed, but there was a flattered undertone to it. Fresh flowers weren’t cheap and, even if it was just a joke, Ian had remembered. He appreciated the commitment to the bit.

Ian tilted his head. “I’m not here to intrude.

Just wanted to check on you. And give you the flowers.

” His smirk ticked up on one side. “Have a nice day, Handsome.” He stepped back to leave, putting up a stoic facade, like a rejected child playing tough.

Phil rolled his eyes so hard they nearly got stuck backwards.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He peevishly stepped aside and held the door wide open so that Ian could come in, which he did without the slightest hesitation, leaving Phil standing there with a bunch of flowers cradled in the crook of his arm and Sarif from next door gawking at him while retrieving his mail.

Phil waved at him. “Don’t tell my girlfriend.” And then he retreated inside. He tailed Ian to the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable,” he deadpanned.

Ian glanced back at him. “You’re comfortable enough for the both of us.”

“Oh.” Phil had completely forgotten about his state of undress. “Yeah, I should probably…”

“Don’t bother on my account.” Ian’s attention skimmed down his torso. “I’m not complainin’.”

“That makes a change.”

Ian chuckled, but didn’t look away. Phil felt that look in his groin — felt it like he hadn’t felt anything in way too long. It spread a heat he had lost all familiarity with, clouding his mind in a way that was almost inebriating. He’d forgotten about this, how good it felt.

“I’m gonna go get changed,” he announced, glad to have an excuse to seek some privacy.

Upstairs, he downed his pills, took his time getting dressed, waiting for the heat to wear off.

When he returned to the kitchen, Ian had tossed his jacket in a corner and was leaning back to the counter, scrolling through videos on his phone.

Phil had brought a vase for the flowers; he placed them on the window sill, where they could soak up the rare sunlight the day had been graced with.

“You didn’t have to actually show up, you know?” he noted.

“You told Abigail we’d hang out when she was away.”

“So?”

“So I’m not a liar.” Ian gave Phil a pointed look. What he meant was perfectly clear and absolutely out of the question.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, that’s not gonna happen.” Phil made a sharp gesture. He had no idea why he was so averse to the idea: he liked spending time with this man, maybe even a bit too much.

Phil’s stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud growl that earned a snicker fromIan, who headed straight to the fridge and started rummaging around in it.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re hungry and I missed breakfast to come see your pretty face. If you’re not feedin’ us, I will.”

That gave Phil’s executive dysfunction a much needed kick. He wasn’t going to just stand there while someone else made him an omelette or whatever Ian was planning to make with those eggs he’d pulled from the fridge.

“This is my kitchen,” he stated firmly. “ I do the cooking.”

Ian cast a sceptical glance at him, then, with a snort, relinquished the eggs.

“Sit,” Phil ordered. Oddly enough, Ian acquiesced, grabbing the closest stool and taking a seat at the counter, hands clasped in front of him.

More than a little bemused, Phil got to work, opting for pancakes, since they were one of the few things he could decently pull off.

Muscle memory kicked in right away; as he gathered the ingredients, he was all too aware of Ian’s smug look following him, and once again he had a feeling he’d just fallen into a scam.

But then something else dawned on him, something so mind-blowing he nearly dropped the milk carton.

He was cooking .

Not just shoving junk food or leftovers into the microwave, but actually preparing a real meal starting from scratch.

Stunned, he froze in the middle of the kitchen, grinning at his own hands while trying to remember when it had been the last time he’d cooked for himself.

Months. Likely close to a year. Abby would never believe this. He couldn’t wait to tell Doctor Raji.

“Hope you like pancakes,” he said, turning back to Ian, who was watching him intently with a hint of dimples just above the line of the beard. “I can make scrambled eggs if you prefer—”

“Pancakes are grand,” Ian gently interrupted him. A warm tingle tickled the nape of Phil’s neck.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Is decaf alright?”

“Aye.”