Page 23 of Someone Like You

Phil munching with gusto was a delight to behold, especially knowing how much he struggled with appetite. But the list of delightful things went on and on.

Phil going to the gym.

Phil getting a bike so he could explore the city.

Phil writing again.

Phil smiling more and more every day.

Ian’s breath hitched.

Phil smiling.

His ultimate weakness.

One didn’t get crow’s feet by being a gloomy sourpuss all his life.

Phil’s wrinkles said he liked smiling and being a part of his journey in reclaiming that part of himself was an honour Ian didn’t take for granted.

And Phil was smiling now, rambling about how good the cream cheese was and how sore his muscles and joints were after just a couple of hours of embarrassingly basic weight lifting.

“It’ll get better,” Ian promised. “Consistency’s the key.”

“I know,” said Phil, popping a whole cracker into his mouth. “I’m trying,” he added, chomping all on one side. He suddenly stopped mid-chew, glancing down at the food, then up at Ian. “Sorry, did you want some?”

Ian shook his head reassuringly. He felt like all of him was melting into warm, gooey mush, and was all too aware of the besotted grin pulling at his cheeks. Thankfully, Phil was too preoccupied with filling his belly to notice.

Cracker. Dip. Mouth.

Cracker. Dip. Mouth.

Cracker. Dip. Mouth.

“You’re staring,” Phil grumbled in between chomps.

“You’re puttin’ on a show.” Cracker. Dip. Mouth. “Leave some room for dinner. What’s Abigail goin’ to say?”

Cracker. “Oh, she’s in Edinburgh, so…” Dip. Mouth. “Didn’t you have questions? ”

The questions, right. Ian had completely forgotten about those. They didn’t seem so important now. He would’ve been more than happy to just keep watching Phil wolf down crackers and cream cheese like they were the world’s greatest delicacy.

“So, in the epilogue,” he said, “Alba tells Beauchamp the sunflowers are from her boyfriend, but that’s because she doesn’t trust him. They aren’t actually from Paul, right?”

Cracker. Dip. “What makes you think that?” Mouth.

Ian made a face. “That prissy cunt buying sunflowers ? He would’ve bought the worst kind. Probably red roses.”

“Very observant.”

“It was her brother, wasn’t it?”

“Who knows?” Cracker. Smirk. “Read the books and you’ll find out.”

“And the hot doctor who laughed at Alba’s joke about her leg…. There was definitely something there.”

“Can’t exclude that.” Dip. Mouth.

Ian snorted. “How long do I have to suffer before they get together?”

“Who says they will?” The seraphic flutter of Phil’s eyelashes wouldn’t have been half as infuriating if it hadn’t also been so allusive.

“They had a whole three scenes together and in all of them their chemistry was through the roof. I can take a hint.”

“Can you?”

“Ye’re doin’ my nut in, old man.”

“Sorry, don’t speak Glaswegian.”

“Ach. After months here you still haven’t learned the basics…”

Phil smirked again. Cracker. Dip. “Just read the books, big boy.” Mouth.

Mouth.

Ian needed to stop staring at his mouth. He pulled the two books Phil had brought him to the centre of the table. “You going to sign these for me? ”

Phil sucked some cream cheese off his thumb and index finger. “Already have.”

Curious, Ian opened the book on top, Moon Lie , second in the series.

‘To the obnoxious guy who ran into me at the park. Suffer.’

“I will,” Ian lamented, “if Alba doesn’t dump that prick.” Then he opened Star Captor , the final volume of the trilogy, and this time the dedication prompted a smile out of him: ‘To my daughter’s other dad. You’re gonna like this one.’

“Is this a spoiler?”

“Maybe.” Cracker… No dip. Phil glanced down at the empty tub and Ian cackled at his disappointment.

“There’s more in the fridge.”

Phil licked his fingers again , looking at the devastation he’d left on the table: only cracker crumbs left in the box and barely a smudge of cream cheese at the bottom of the plastic tub.

“I’ll deplete your pantry if you enable me.”

“Still hungry?”

“Fucking starving.”

Ian bit the inside of his cheek. What he was considering was a bad idea.

Bad, bad idea. He and Phil, alone again…

It was thin ice to trample on so carelessly.

But despite claiming he was immune to it, Phil looked lonely and Ian was only human: he was learning every day that there was very little he wasn’t willing to do for that kicked puppy look.

“Do you like thai ?”

* * *

They could’ve had the food delivered, but Ian proposed a stroll to the restaurant. He needed to move and be somewhere his forbidden daydreams would stay put. Being home with Phil made him want things he couldn’t have.

They walked side by side in the cool breeze of dusk, comfortable with their closeness, even when they swayed into each other .

“How was the gym?” Ian probed. Phil’s uneven gait gave away how tired he was, but his hands were leaning slackly in the pockets of the White Sox jacket, back up straight and proud.

“Good. I mean, I’m wrecked , but…” A little self-conscious laugh. “Feels good. My shrink says post-workout dopamine can do wonders for depression, long term. If I manage to stick to a regular schedule, we’re gonna try to taper the drugs and see how it goes.”

Ian halted in the middle of the pavement. Phil did too, with a couple of steps of delay, and turned back around to check on him. Half of Ian’s mouth was curved up while inside a cocktail of emotions made him lightheaded.

“That’s great news.”

“Isn’t it? After two years of downs, we’re finally seeing an up. It’s not much, but it’s something, right?”

“Not much my arse. What did we say about giving yourself flowers when they’re due?”

“Alright, alright.” Phil broke into a shy, touched grin. “I’ll admit I’m kinda stoked.”

“You better be.” They resumed walking. “Did you tell Abigail?”

An invisible weight set on Phil’s shoulders. “Not yet. Don’t wanna get her hopes up in case I screw up. I’ve already got enough to atone for.”

Ian scoffed. “Like what?”

A blue shadow darkened Phil’s expression. “Never mind, I just…” His eyes shut as a clipped sigh grazed up his throat. “Everything’s so fucked up these days.”

“You just said you’re doin’ better.”

“Yeah.” Phil’s puff of laughter was meek and spiritless. “The two things are related, funnily enough.”

“I’m confused.”

“Oh, me too, believe me. Never been so fucking confused in my life.” Sad hazel eyes locked into Ian’s, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Want to talk about it? ”

Phil inhaled sharply, like a sniffle, but angrier. “If we talk about it, shit gets real.”

A wary glance laden with guilt and a silent apology laid on Ian, who let his gaze fall to the ground with an understanding nod.

His heart was pumping faster against his ribs, deafening in his ears.

He thought he knew what this was about and Phil was right: if they talked about it, there was no way back.

They got spring rolls to go, which Phil insisted on paying for, and walked back to the flat under a powdery drizzle.

The atmosphere was still comfortable as they ate and chatted about the books, but something was off.

The easiness was dented, festering at the edges, spoiled by a sentiment that couldn’t stay buried for much longer without blowing up in their faces.

“I think,” said Phil, leaning back in the chair with his hands contentedly splayed over his full belly, “these were the best spring rolls I’ve ever had.”

Ian arched an eyebrow. “You scoffed them down so fast I doubt you even tasted them.” He still had a roll in his dish and pushed it towards Phil, who eyed it hesitantly. Ian retreated his hand. “Take it. I’m full.”

“You’re not full, you just want me to have it.”

“Ach. No foolin’ you, is there?”

Phil scowled at Ian’s devilish smirk, but, instead of arguing, he grabbed the roll and bit a huge chunk off it. “Fuck you,” he mumbled with a full mouth, then washed the morsel down with what was left of his Pepsi. “I’d kill for a beer right now.”

Ian didn’t need to be told twice. He reached back to the fridge and pulled out two cans, placing one in front of Phil and popping the other for himself.

“Non-alcoholic,” he clarified, then took a sip with a grimace. “Tastes like cold pish.”

Phil picked up his can, studied it, swiping a thumb over the ‘0.0’ indication. “Why did you even buy it?”

Good question. Ian had seen it at Sainsbury’s and had put a six-pack in the trolley without giving it much thought.

It had been only after putting it away in his fridge that he’d realised he could do more, so he’d gone down to the pub and told — told , not asked — Cal to stock up some zero-alcohol beer.

Cal had gawked at him like he thought he was kidding, but when Ian hadn’t budged he’d just waved him off, grumbling ‘Aye, aye, whatever!’

Slumped in his chair, Ian titled his head. “For you,” he said in a condescending tone that implicitly added ‘you prick’ . “Why else would I buy this shite?”

“Son of a bitch,” Phil chuckled under his breath.

There they were, the charming crow’s feet that Ian was constantly looking out for, the telltale sign of the sincerity of Phil’s smiles.

Still transfixed on the beer, Phil bit his lip, charily gazing up at Ian through his eyelashes.

“You know, this would be so much easier for me if you quit being so annoyingly wholesome.”

“What would?”

“Pretending.”

In the silence that fell afterwards, the power of that declaration gashed into Ian’s chest like a claw, tearing through every layer of self-deception he’d so carefully built to restrain those feelings he knew could never see the light of day and which were now threatening to bleed out.

All Ian could do was stuff more denial into the gaping wound and pray it held.