Page 30 of Someone Like You
IAN
O f all the countless ill-advised decisions he’d made, befriending a prickly American stranger had seemed one of the most harmless.
A stranger carrying life-long fatigue in the bags under his eyes and the most dazzling charm in his smirk. And then there was that peculiar brand of sharp humour that was so in tune with Ian’s own wit that it almost felt like a direct prolongation of it. The same pace. The same wavelength.
And while he was busy having fun with Phil’s jokes and jibes, Phil’s brokenness had crept under his skin, worming its way through Ian’s defences, quiet and unnoticed, and had made a home for itself in his heart.
It’d lived there for months now. December was around the corner and Ian was dragging himself from rainy day to rainy day looking forward to when he’d see or even just hear from Phil again.
He was constantly craving it — the intellectual arousal only Phil’s brain could elicit in his brain and the ego-puffing reward from the rueful chuckles he could wrangle out of Phil. Like a bloody addiction.
He was ridiculous.
And pathetic.
Kibble headbutted him for attention. She was purring like a tractor, loafed upon his chest like a fur angel guarding his aching heart. The football match on TV was a blur of sounds and colours in front of him, a distraction as ineffective as the bottle of beer he’d been nursing since kick-off.
‘I love you.’
That was not something he’d expected to hear.
Ever.
Ian didn’t have any higher education, had never crossed Great Britain’s borders, and never had friends, let alone partners, as accomplished and sophisticated as Abigail…
Next to Phil, even on Phil’s worst days, Ian had always felt like a yokel, albeit not in a bad way.
Phil appreciated him for who he was and there hadn’t been a moment Ian had felt inferior to him in any way, but it was impossible to ignore how different their backgrounds were.
Even in his daydreams, he’d never gone that far. Being loved by Phil felt like a stretch.
‘It’s like loving the stars themselves: you don’t expect a sunset to admire you back.’
Where had he heard that rubbish? Some cheesy TV show probably.
Those three simple words had simultaneously felt like the greatest gift and a death sentence.
He hadn’t said it back, despite desperately wanting to. What use would it be? Make everything harder than it already was?
Perhaps he was just a coward.
Kibble let out a whiny mewl and rubbed herself against his beard again, over and over, her cold wet nose skimming over the tip of his own.
“You’re a nasty piece of work, lady,” he chortled under his breath as his hands came up to stroke her back.
Now that she had what she wanted, Kibble finally settled, stretching out her neck to rest her chin on his shoulder.
A sad smile tugged at his lips when he remembered this was how he’d held Phil in the kitchen. Just as carefully. Just as fondly.
‘Do you feel it, too? Is it killing you, too?’
Killing didn’t even begin to describe it.
Something that killed you wasn’t supposed to make you feel so burningly alive .
He never talked to anyone. Never liked anyone. Never clicked with anyone. Why did the one person he’d talked to and liked and clicked with have to be an engaged guy from overseas? What were the odds?
Fate had a questionable sense of humour.
He remembered falling in love with Jamie, how fast it’d been.
So fast it had made Ian’s head spin. Jamie had been like a magnet: outgoing, cocky, bratty, undeniably attractive in all the ways Ian liked, and the fuse between meeting him and loving him had been short.
They’d been happy together long enough for Ian to start imagining the future they could have together, the things they could do.
Go to Spain on holiday. Move in together.
Adopt another cat. Spend Christmas in the Highlands in Ian’s grandmother’s cottage.
It had all gone up in smoke as fast as it had ignited.
With Phil, love had come so quietly Ian hadn’t had any chance to detect it until it was too late.
He’d seen Phil asleep on his couch and he’d known.
He’d known by the way his entire body had yearned to lie beside him and keep him safe and warm.
The closest to it he’d allowed himself to do was get Phil blankets and leave Kibble to guard him.
A caress was all he’d dared and he’d regretted it the moment his fingers had touched Phil’s hair.
Unforgivably foolish of him to let himself borrow a taste of something he knew he couldn’t have.
But then, the morning after, a very emotionally distressed Phil had begged him for an embrace, and Ian hadn’t been able to deny him it, even if that embrace had killed him inside.
He’d held Phil once and his arms had felt empty and purposeless ever since .
Groaning inwardly, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drained the remaining beer, then draped his arm over his eyes, groaning again, this time out loud.
He was too old to pine for love.
Twenty-something-year-old Ian had been convinced he’d be married by now.
He preferred girls back then, simply because they were more mature and more interesting to talk to than boys, but he’d never envisioned himself growing out of fancying both like everyone had always said he would, as if they knew him better than he knew himself.
‘Just admit you’re gay’ and ‘You only like guys ’ cause it’s trendy nowadays’ sat on top of an extremely high pile of bullshit he’d had to put up with, growing up in Glasgow.
He didn’t care much now: his skin had grown thick and so had his confidence, while his ability to get along with people had proportionately thinned.
He was a loner to the bone, happy to be by himself.
Unless the alternative was being with Phil.
“Daddy’s in big trouble, Kibbsy,” he sighed as his arm slid off his face, dropping the bottle to smooth Kibble’s ears down her head. “He’s goin’ to have his stupid heart broken because of a bloody Yank. Can you believe it?”
Kibble blinked, offering a sympathetic trill and a headbutt that filled his nose with fur.
“Thanks, doll,” he sputtered, plucking fluff out of his mouth. “Knew you’d get it.” He kissed her nose and got a content purr in return.
At half-time he picked up his phone. The notification of a text from Abigail made his stomach churn.
You’d better not have done anything stupid, Handsome, he thought as he opened the text.
Abigail
Hey, big man
It’d been sent less than half an hour ago .
Ian was distracted by a second by her profile picture: dark red blazer, black glasses, arms crossed, subtle smile radiating confidence.
A perfect balance of pretty and professional.
One could have easily guessed her strong-willed character just by looking at that photo.
A lesser man than Phil would’ve found her intimidating, if not emasculating.
Then again, a woman like Abigail wouldn’t have given a lesser man the time of day. They were made for each other.
You
Hey
Everything alright?
Abigail
I was just wondering if you’d noticed any change in Phil’s mood recently?
Ian’s jaw clenched.
Abigail
He was doing well but he seems distant these days
I’m scared he’s having a relapse… I don’t know what to do, he won’t talk to me
Sorry for messaging you. I’m just worried
This was the kind of partner anyone deserved: attentive without being intrusive, one who’d rather worry in silence than force the truth out of you, even to their own detriment.
You
Don’t apologise
It’s probably just a phase, let him be
Here’s something that will make you feel better: he joined my gym, he’s been going in regularly
He’ll kill me if he finds out I spilled the beans
He didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t work out
Abigai l
Pun intended?
“Ach, fuck it.” Ian chuckled to himself, Kibble bouncing along with his chest. Clever and funny… It wasn’t fair.
You
Just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect
Abigail
I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about the gym
You
He’s terrified of letting you down
I told him it’s bullshit but you know how he is
Just let him set his own pace, he’ll be fine
Abigail
Thank you, Ian
I don’t know what I’d do without you
Ian didn’t have the guts to reply to that. Anything he might say would be hypocritical.
Except maybe one thing.
You
Phil is lucky to have you
He meant it, but most of it was mere projecting.
It was what he’d wished Iris or whatever her name was had told him instead of taking Jamie from him.
It seemed so trivial now — Jamie, their story, their breakup…
Now that he had Phil as a benchmark, none of that felt relevant.
He’d suffered, he’d moved on, wound closed over, full stop.
Moving on from Phil would be a whole different challenge.
After switching chats, he stared for a long while at the flickering line in the empty text box.
It’d be a long day tomorrow, but the more he stalled, the harder it’d be for everyone.
He understood why Phil was so conflicted, but one of them had to be the bigger man and make the ugly decisions before someone got hurt .
You
We need to talk
A couple of minutes later there was already a reply.
Handsome
That sounds ominous
What did I do?
You
You exist
Handsome
Ah, yes
In my defense I was planning to amend that, but I’m too much of a wuss to even get rid of myself
You
Imagine your disappointment if you hadn’t given yourself a chance to plague my life
Handsome
That’s a very good point
It gave Ian chills to realise it could’ve happened.
If Phil had given in to his darkest thoughts instead of fighting back, Ian would have gone all his life never knowing Phil existed, never knowing he’d lost him, because he would have never had him to begin with, and that prospect was somehow worse than giving him up.
You
Tomorrow at Sandy’s 6 pm?
Handsome
I’ll be the glum nerd with the laptop