Page 9 of Someone Like You

IAN

I an Galloway wasn’t fond of surprises, curveballs, or anything unanticipated in general.

He prided himself on being a reliable man, a reliable worker, and in return he expected the world to show him the same courtesy.

Plans needed to be stuck to, timetables respected, promises kept.

It was a simple ground rule that had always helped keep his stress levels to a manageable minimum.

This was why he couldn’t fathom how on earth he’d ended up befriending a guy who’d quite literally crashed into his life out of nowhere

It was unclear even to Ian himself how the situation had unfurled: there had been an incident, a few nearly heated exchanges, and then he’d found himself sitting in Sandra’s cafè with this complete stranger like it was normal for him to share his sacred Saturday espresso with just about anyone.

The truth was that Phil had caught him off guard.

Ian had grown up collecting stray animals, often injured, from the streets, and as soon as Phil had lifted his belligerent frown from the ground Ian had seen the same dismay of a bird caught in a storm in his eyes, the instinct of fighting to stay alive hanging on a thinning thread of soul-deep tiredness.

But Phil carried his inner exhaustion with a sprinkle of self-deprecating humour that had made him inexplicably likeable to Ian, even though after two weeks of regularly running together they still liked to pretend they couldn’t stand each other.

The ‘no talking’ rule hadn’t lasted long.

They enjoyed talking to each other, whether it was for teasing purposes or serious conversations.

What Ian truly appreciated about Phil was that he didn’t wallow in self-commiseration: he spoke openly about depression and the eerie thoughts it could put in your head, about his struggles with therapy and healing, and Ian’s respect for him had only grown when he’d realised how much of that determination to pull through came from Phil’s devotion for his girlfriend.

“Still with me, Handsome?” he asked, glancing to his side.

“Just because I’m quiet, doesn’t mean I’m struggling!” Phil panted. His face was flushed and sweaty, but he was keeping up. He had the stamina of a practised runner, even though his breathing wasn’t as smooth as it once must’ve been. Nothing a couple of months of training couldn’t fix.

Ian wasn’t used to small talk, anyway: he worked in silence, had his drinks in silence at the pub, even when he was watching football with his fellow Celtic fans.

But Phil’s slow, calm voice and his intelligence made him a pleasure to listen to, even when they disagreed on a subject.

“You’ve got somethin’ on your mind when you go quiet like that. ”

“I tend to zone out when I’m thinking.”

“Don’t think too much, it’ll give you more wrinkles.”

“I think you’re jealous of my wrinkles.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“They give me a sophisticated charm. While all you have is your lame two-hundred-seventy pounds of beef.” He skimmed a meaningful look down Ian’s body as they crossed the street towards the park .

“Twenty stone, actually,” Ian rectified, for the sake of accuracy. “That’ll be two-hundred and eighty pounds of beef for you.”

Phil let out a choked snort.

They sprinted into the park for the last couple of miles of the day.

They’d been graced by some sunlight lately and everything was lush and bright green, the last vestiges of summer before autumn.

Phil went silent again for a long while.

They stopped at a fountain to drink and freshen up before going to the café.

Ian was crouched to wash his face when he heard Phil sigh above him.

“Abby wants to meet you.”

Ian pulled himself up, wiping his face with a sleeve of his hoodie.

“One dinner, that’s all I need,” said Phil, forehead creased up in an imploring expression. “Think you can pretend you like me for a couple of hours?”

Ian, whose social skills were limited, to put it mildly, didn’t know what to say. He was curious to meet Abigail, but didn’t want to lie in her face. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to let Phil down either.

“Best I can do is ten minutes.”

A side of Phil’s mouth quirked up. “Still longer than I can pretend to like you .”

Ian chuckled low in his throat. Every time Phil countered him, his irritation dwindled a bit more, submerged by a warm wave that always caused him to lose track of the conversation for a split second.

Go on , a hungry voice inside him wouldn’t stop whispering.

Keep running that mouth. It had gotten so bad that even losing the upper hand at this verbal sparring was a pleasure.

Phil bent down to drink, then rubbed a wet hand over his glistening face. “Do you take bribes?” he enquired, glancing up at Ian.

“What’s on the table?”

Phil put a hand on his knee to push up to his feet. “Authentic home–made Italian meal,” he groaned. “Red wine included.”

“Deal.”

Phil’s jaw fell. “Really? That easy?”

“I was willing to sell myself for a slice of frozen pizza. ”

“Whore.”

Ian felt that warm flare again. He pushed it away the same way he pushed Phil away from the fountain, but, unlike Phil, who indulged the nudge and jogged off towards the main path, the warmth stayed there, rooted in Ian’s chest. Immovable.

Glasgow hadn’t looked so crowded in weeks: people were coming out of the woodwork to take advantage of what would probably be the last sunny Saturday of the season and, as expected, the outside tables of La Dolce Vita were already taken when Ian and Phil arrived.

As they reached the zebra crossing, Ian spotted something that made him take a step back. Phil shot him a questioning look.

“Better go somewhere else today,” Ian muttered.

“What’s the problem?”

“My ex.” At one of the tables on the other side of the street, a couple of lovebirds were sharing breakfast under the sun. They looked perfect together: him, tall and handsome, and her, pretty and confident. Made for each other.

Phil checked them out and let out a whistle. “Damn, she’s hot.”

“The other one.”

“Oh.” Phil looked again. “Damn, he ’s hot.”

Ian cast him a wry chuckle. He was over Jamie, but the scars remained. He wasn’t particularly keen on crossing paths with him, especially if he had that kind of company.

Phil studied the merry couple, then Ian again. “Bad breakup?”

“See the ginger? Her name was basketball practice before he grew the balls to tell me about her.”

“That’s vile .”

Ian shrugged. “At least he was honest. Eventually. I just don’t think I’m ready to deal with all their lovey-dovey shite just yet.”

Phil hummed pensively. Ian was about to drag him back into the park, but he felt a strong grip around his wrist pulling him back. Phil’s hazel eyes were ablaze with determination when his fingers intertwined with Ian’s. An impish grin tugged at his lips. “Let’s throw it back in his face. ”

It wasn’t hard to guess what he was plotting. His hand was warm and firm in Ian’s; he looked excited, like a child who was proud of his mischief, and that genuine excitement infected Ian as well.

“Leave the talking to me. If you want to say something: short, blunt sentences. Look at me, not him.”

“Quite the schemer, eh?”

“It’s my job. Trust me.”

Ian arched an eyebrow at him. “I do.”

The flush on Phil’s face spread down to his neck.

They crossed the street hand in hand. As they approached the café, Phil muttered: “Pretend I just said something hilarious.”

Ian didn’t need to fake his amused reaction. It was ridiculous for two grown men to be doing this over something so stupid, but it was all worth it when walking past the happy couple a surprised voice exclaimed, “ Ian? ”

They halted, looking around as though they had no idea where the voice had come from.

“Ah, Jamie.” Ian offered the gaping man a condescending nod as Phil let go of his hand to circle his waist with an arm; Ian’s arm moved spontaneously around his shoulders. “How’s it going?”

But Jamie wasn’t looking at Ian. He was transfixed on Phil, who was grinning so besottedly Ian nearly lost it. Phil was a guy who didn’t go unnoticed, even more so now that he had this dishevelled air adding to his charm, and definitely knew how to seduce an audience with his presence.

Jamie licked his lips; his Adam apple bobbed. “Good, I’m… good.” His gaze shifted to Ian. “You look…”

Phil swiftly placed a hand on Ian’s chest. “We’re gonna be late for lunch if we don’t hurry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ian adjusted his arm around Phil and offered Jamie and his girlfriend, whose name escaped him, an apologetic smile. “It was nice seeing you, J. Have a good day.”

On the way into the café, Phil’s hand casually slipped into the back pocket of Ians’ jeans.

“They’re still looking, play along. ”

“You didn’t have to squeeze .”

“Squeeze what ? It’s all steel!”

Despite Phil’s tone, Ian suspected it wasn’t entirely an insult. He stalked off to their usual table by the window, trying to keep his cool. It wasn’t every day that he found someone intellectually stimulating and fun.

No one came to take their orders: Sandra and Anna knew their habits by now and shortly after sitting down they already had their coffees laid out on the small table.

Ian grinned inwardly watching Phil add sugar to his cup: he’d gradually cut down to half a sachet and could now handle his espresso quite decently, although his microexpressions were still as comical as ever.

Phil raked his hair back as he stirred the sugar and a pattern of veins surfaced up his forearm, the sleeves pushed back to the elbows.

A pink bracelet stood out among the dusting of pale hair.

“I really like this place,” he observed after downing his water. “I always tell myself I should get my laptop out and spend an afternoon here, see if I can get some words down…”

“Then do it.”

“I don’t know…” Phil rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Since starting the medication, I haven’t been able to… to feel properly, you know?”