Chapter Text
Two months ago I moved into a new flat with my longtime friend, Imogen. My life turned upside down when, six months ago, I lost my brand new job for reasons beyond anybody’s control. Something about restructuring… My manager was as sad about having to let me go as I was about losing a job. Unemployed, alone in a city I barely knew, with my family on the other end of the country, it ended up being a pretty fucked up period in my life. I didn’t want to go back home, not so quickly. I had wanted an adventure, hadn’t I? I spent the first 31 years of my life in Kent. It was time to do something different. With that settled, I spent a miserable few months figuring out what the hell I was going to do next. There were so many things to deal with. I couldn’t afford the flat I had started renting weeks prior to being made redundant. I needed a new job. I had my little Daisy, my precious puppy to take care of. I panicked, I cried, I simply didn’t know where to begin.
After a period of intense moping, I finally got my shit together and started job hunting. I figured I could push through a little bit without involving my mum. I didn’t want to worry her or think that I needed financial help from her, even though I did. Day after day, week after week I did nothing but send application after application. Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing, but rejections. And if I landed an interview? I would get in my head so much, because everything was dependent on me landing a bloody job, that I would totally bomb the whole thing.
Back to crying and panicking, this time with added hopelessness and rage. I just couldn’t figure it out, and every day I was getting closer and closer to giving up, to calling my mum and sobbing my heart out. I started feeling like a failure. I would talk to my friends from back home, but I would keep most of my feelings and worries to myself concerned they would start looking at me differently now that my life wasn’t working out. Yes, I had enough money. Yes, I was getting out of the house regularly. Yes, I started looking at making new friends here. I told lie after lie and felt horrible every single time. It was a stupid mindset considering we’ve seen each other through some pretty horrible shit before. But I wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. My head turned against me and I convinced myself that I would be a burden if I opened up.
I went like this for weeks, falling deeper and deeper into this pit of loneliness and despair. At one point, I stopped caring about all the responsibilities that getting a job would take care of. I didn’t even realise that I couldn’t pay my bills anymore and that I’d been living off of instant noodles and toast so that I could buy food for Daisy. Days just started blending into one another and nothing gave me the motivation to keep going. And I didn’t give Daisy the care and love she was used to and that she deserved which broke my heart and fueled my criticisms towards myself even more. The feeling of failure solidified itself in my mind and nothing could change that.
Nothing until, one day, I got a bunch of messages from Immy. She sort of screamed that I was to call her as soon as I could because she had something important to share with me. The tone of the messages suggested that it was positive news. At that point, I hadn’t talked to anyone over the phone for a week or so. I replied ‘Can’t wait to hear this news! Call you soon.’ while actively dreading the call. My mind spiralled, I felt horrible for not wanting to listen to my friend when she was clearly excited about something.
She messaged me again an hour later because I didn’t call nor did I message again. I just sat there staring at my phone, too overwhelmed to do anything. Thirty minutes later my phone rang and Immy’s picture popped up on the screen. I knew I had to pick up or she would worry. So I did. My once natural and now fake upbeat voice came on instantly as she asked me if everything was okay. I lied flawlessly, which made me feel nothing but rotten inside. And then she told me the news, which was that she had been offered to transfer to another branch to train for a new position and the branch happened to be where I lived. She told me how excited she was about that and how we would be able to meet up and explore the city together. And all I did was try to keep quiet while tears streamed down my face. I didn’t even know why I was crying anymore. Was it her good news? Was it the juxtaposition to my own situation? Was it the overwhelm because I didn’t expect this whatsoever? At some point, I must’ve blacked out because Immy yelled from the other side of the phone bringing me back to reality. And that’s when I told her everything. I couldn’t lie anymore. Everything started spilling out of me alongside constant apologies for ruining the moment. We switched to a video call and in typical Immy fashion, she told me to shut it with the apologies. She helped me to calm down from the panic attack and told me that it was all going to be okay. She told me that we would rent a place together and she would cover us until I get back on my feet. She didn’t ask, which I appreciated because I would’ve said no for fear of being a burden.
But I needed someone to take care of me for a little while.
So that’s why, right now, I’m standing in our shared living room on my lunch break, looking out the big juliet window recovering from my depression one day at a time. But I’m also looking at the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on as I have done on most days for the past few weeks. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy, but if it does, I don’t care. I simply can’t not look at him.
It all started about three weeks ago. I was on my way back from the shops, shopping bags in my hands, and as I turned the corner, I saw him for the first time. My mind went blank, or maybe started malfunctioning, as I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. He was crouched up by the wall between the building door and the gate to the bin shed, a cigarette in his right hand and a mug in the other. He was oblivious to my presence because I was barely visible from that angle but I could see him very clearly.
My eyes first went to his hair. Those gorgeous, raveny waves that stopped just above his neck. They looked so mesmerising as they moved with the slight breeze. Then I scanned half of his face since I could only see his right side. I saw a piercing blue eye, the outline of red lips that looked so full and a sculpted jawline that should require a licence.
KISS HIM. DROP THE BAGS AND KISS HIM.
Part of me screamed for that to happen but I obviously wasn’t about to do that to a stranger. I do remember feeling flustered merely because I had to go past him to get to the door. Once I got out of that trance, I started walking again and internally begged the universe to stop me from making a fool of myself like I’m prone to do. As I was about to walk past him, I couldn’t stop myself from looking up to see his face in full. We made eye contact and he simply said ‘you alright?’ with a nod and a small smile. I, unable to form words on the account of seeing his perfect face, returned something of a combined shake of the head and a nod and opened the door to let myself in quickly. My heart was pounding, my face cheeks were hot to the touch, I felt the tingles in my stomach. And that’s how I knew I got myself a crush on my neighbour.
It’s been three weeks since that fateful moment and now I see him most days. He lives on the ground floor and our flat is on the second. Whenever I work from home, without failure, at one point in the day he will go to sit on a bench in the communal garden. Time of day varies, but it’s always the same bench and he always does the same things: drink his black coffee and smoke a cigarette.
I’ve been trying to find the courage to approach him since the first time we met, but it’s just not happening. I’ve created so many possible scenarios in my head on what to do and how it’d go, but I’m yet to follow through on any of them. I keep telling myself that it’s because I don’t actually know if he’s queer, but I know that’s not true. I won’t know unless I get to know him, right? Right. And even if he wasn’t, there’s something about him that makes me want to find out more about who he is. I could repress my attraction and suffer if we were to be friends, right? Right.
Today feels a bit different. He looks different. There is melancholy in his face, in his eyes, in his posture. Even the way his hair falls on his face feels heavy, charged. He’s smoking the third cigarette in a row, his coffee sitting cold next to him on the bench. He’s barely taken a sip from it yet. Both of those things are unusual. It’s one cigarette and a cup of black coffee while it’s still hot. This whole image of him scrunched up and deflated while the world around him is bursting with life after a really long winter is sending alarming signals into my brain. What happened? And more importantly: how do I make it better?
Maybe he’s just having a bad day. That would make sense. I don’t need to run downstairs and envelop him in a hug.
I take another sip of my tea and walk away from the window to sit down on the sofa. Daisy is taking her midday nap and I make sure not to disrupt her as I flop down. I could take the bins out and go sit on another bench? That’s one of my better ideas that could lead to an actual conversation. But that would mean talking to him. Ha. I can barely contain my blush just walking past him and I want to try talking? I crack myself up sometimes.
I do need to take the bins out though… It won’t hurt to sit on a bench on this nice, sunny day. He won’t know I’m there because I want to get to know him. Yeah! Let’s fucking do this. Enough with the excuses. I’m hyped up now, I can do this. I grab the bin and pull the bag out. I quickly walk over to the front door and put my shoes on. I’m buzzing with excitement now, but I’m also starting to sweat from anxiety. I’m really doing this. I grab the keys, open the door and go down the stairs, not even bothering to lock it behind me. I probably won’t be there long. I hear a noise of someone either entering or leaving the building coming from downstairs. As I’m walking down the last flight of stairs, I spot the door to flat one is open. Fuck. No. I move down a bit more and all I can see is his hand disappearing into the flat as the door shuts behind him.
Well, fuck my indecisiveness. I really won’t be down here long now.