Work Text:
“Right,” Roisin said, handing Greg a glass of wine before settling down on the sofa next to him, “what’s going on?”
Greg pulled a face as he took a swig of wine. “Who says something’s going on?” he asked, rather more sourly than intended, and judging by the look she gave him, he hadn’t fooled her for even an instant. No more, of course, than him arriving unannounced on her doorstep with several bottles of wine in tow had likely helped his case. He sighed and looked down into the glass of fairly shit red as if it might hold a better way of wording it than he was about to. “It’s Alex.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Roisin had stood. “Right,” she repeated, handing her glass of wine to Greg. “Hold this.”
“Why—” Greg started, but she had already headed into the kitchen, and he knew from far too much experience that as soon as she was out of eyeline, she’d pretend she couldn’t hear him.
He really needed to get better friends.
A moment later, she reappeared, this time with a container of ice cream and two spoons in hand. “If you’re going to whinge about boy problems, we’re going to eat ice cream,” she said brightly, sitting back down. “It’s a time honoured tradition.”
“I’m not whinging about boy problems,” Greg protested, though it didn’t stop him from accepting the spoon she offered. “What flavour did you get?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, amused, because she knew him well enough to know that it really didn’t.
Again, he needed better friends. Or at least some friends who were less able to immediately see through his bullshit.
Greg passed Roisin’s glass of wine back to her, exchanging it for the ice cream. As he helped himself to a spoonful, Roisin settled back against the sofa, giving him an appraising look. “So what’s going on with Alex?”
“Nothing,” Greg said automatically through a mouthful of ice cream.
Roisin rolled her eyes. “Look, if you want to sit here and sulk, fine—”
“I’m not sulking, fuck’s sake,” Greg grumbled sulkily.
“—but whenever our positions have been reversed, you’ve never let me just mope without at least telling you what’s wrong.”
Greg gave her a baleful look. “Roisin, I have begged, pleaded, cajoled, and bargained for you to not tell me any details about your personal life. You’re the one who insists on it.”
Roisin snagged the carton of ice cream from him. “So you’d be happy if we just sat here in silence without talking about what’s bothering you?” she asked sceptically.
“Yes!”
She shrugged. “Fine then.”
For a long moment, she ate her spoonful of ice cream in silence while Greg nursed his glass of wine and regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment. When the silence had grown truly unbearable, he sighed and glanced at her. “I—”
“Sh,” she shushed immediately, and he scowled.
“Can’t I just—”
Roisin had the audacity to hold a finger up. “You want to tell me what’s going on, be my guest.”
He ground his teeth together before relenting. “Fucking– fine. It’s Alex.”
“You said that already,” she said sweetly, and the look he gave her could’ve melted paint.
“It’s the fact that Alex isn’t fucking here.”
Roisin blinked at him. “Like here in my flat?”
Greg rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised he didn’t pull something. “Yes, Rois, you’ve really nailed the problem,” he said dryly.
She scowled. “I will throw this at you.”
It was an idle threat, and considering Roisin’s athletic abilities or lack thereof, even if she went through with it, Greg wasn’t exactly concerned. Still, for the sake of not having to pay for Roisin’s sofa to be cleaned, again, Greg decided he may as well bite the bullet. “You know he’s been touring,” he said, retrieving the ice cream before Roisin could follow through on her threat.
“Who?”
Again Greg gave her a look. “Alex, for fuck’s—”
“Right, yes, sorry,” Roisin said quickly. “So Alex has been touring.”
Greg nodded, stabbing his spoon into the ice cream. “And even when he’s not touring, I barely get to see him.”
Roisin nodded slowly, holding her glass of wine with both hands. “Which, to be fair, you knew would be the case when you got together with him,” she pointed out evenly.
And Greg had, because he wasn’t an idiot. He knew Alex’s family would always come first, followed in very short order by his work, and only then by Greg. As much as Greg joked about the size of his own ego, he really didn’t mind coming in third, if only because he would take whatever part of Alex he could get.
That being said…
“Think there’s a bit of difference between knowing something and living through it,” he said, and Roisin cocked her head.
“How so?”
Greg shrugged, taking a bite of ice cream before telling her, “I met someone.”
Roisin’s eyes widened and she smacked him on the arm. “You cheated on Alex?!”
“What?” he said, wincing as he pulled his arm away. “No, of course not.”
“You fucking better not have,” she said, glowering at him. “You’ll be cancelled faster than you can say cunt on live television if you break that man’s heart.”
Greg just sighed. “Hand on heart, I didn’t so much as get someone’s number,” he told her, which was entirely true.
No wonder Roisin saw through it immediately. “But you thought about it.”
And he had. Months ago now, before he’d even realised just how much he could miss someone. He’d rung Alex to see if he wanted to get dinner or something but Alex, of course, had been filming. “This weekend?” Alex had suggested and Greg sighed.
“Haven’t you got a football match—”
“Oh, right,” Alex said. “Weekend after? I think I’ve got rehearsal with the band but I can reschedule—” He broke off as someone called him in the background. “I’ve got to go,” he told Greg. “Captain Jackie and the hot dog are waiting for me.”
Typical Alex, making some oblique reference to a joke that he wouldn’t get until several weeks later, and Greg scowled. “Who?” he asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t get anything resembling a straight answer from him.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Alex had assured him, and his amusement was almost enough for Greg. Emphasis on almost. “We’ll talk later and figure out a good time to see each other.”
But Alex hadn’t rung him later, had instead texted him to let him know that filming ran long and Rachel needed him at home. And Greg had decided to go down to the pub for a few drinks instead of following his initial instinct of driving out to Chesham as if that would solve anything.
A few drinks turned into several and Greg had found himself flirting with a cute man who was available and interested and most importantly there. He’d felt wretched about it later, of course, especially when Alex turned up at his the next day for an impromptu lunch before he had to get to some meeting or other.
Looking back on it now, Greg wasn’t entirely sure if he felt worse for the flirting or for not taking the flirting further when he’d had a chance. He was knocking on the door of 60, after all, so his chances to get laid were already few and far between, even more so when he only saw Alex once a fortnight in a good month.
And there had been very few good months of recent.
He didn’t tell Roisin any of that, since the details didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. If it hadn’t have been some stranger in a pub, it’d have been something or someone else, some other reminder that Alex was halfway across the country instead of with him.
“I just feel like I’m in a relationship with my fucking mobile more than with him,” Greg told Roisin.
Roisin nodded slowly. “Right,” she said decisively, handing him her wine glass again before standing, and Greg frowned up at her.
“What now?” he asked warily. “And don’t tell me more ice cream because I’m already concerned about what I’m liable to do to your toilet at this rate.”
Roisin wrinkled her nose. “No,” she told him. “But we definitely need more wine.”
Well, Greg certainly wasn’t going to argue with that.
Of course, they strayed from the original topic over the course of the next two and half bottles of wine, not that Greg minded. He preferred just shooting the shit with Roisin, which was why he’d gone to hers in the first place, knowing she was a good friend who was still willing to put up with him after all these years.
But as she emptied the third bottle into Greg’s glass, she had apparently hit the level of drunk that required getting back on track with a blunt question. “So do you want to break up with him?”
It took Greg a moment to even realise who she was talking about. “What? Of course not,” he scoffed. “When he’s here…it’s the best thing to ever happen to me, Rois.” He’d had enough wine for the sentiment to sound more sincere than sappy, but not enough wine to stop him from wincing and hurrying to add, “But he’s just– never fucking here.”
Roisin nodded slowly. “And have you tried talking to him about it?”
Greg pulled a face. “Oh, yeah, hey Alex, remember how we had a very long, very serious conversation when all this started about your priorities and how much you’d be able to give to this relationship? Can we reopen that because I’m a fat prick who’s feeling sorry for himself?”
Roisin shook her head stubbornly. “You’re not feeling sorry for yourself,” she told him. “You miss him. There’s a difference.”
“Maybe,” Greg said, without conviction. “But not from where I’m sitting.”
She started to add something but he didn’t let her interrupt, instead sighing and scrubbing a hand across his face before telling her tiredly, “I have no leg to stand on is the problem. He’s on tour, I’m about to be. I may not have done this for a few years but I remember how it goes, what it’s like. And even if I weren’t on tour, I spend just as much time as he does away, whether on holiday or filming or what have you.” He sighed again. “So phone calls are all we’ve got, I guess.”
“All you’ve got for now,” she corrected quietly.
Greg took another gulp of wine. “Beginning to feel like it’s all we’ll ever have.”
He meant for it to land like a joke, but his voice broke, just slightly, at the end, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it once before telling him, “Look, at the end of the day, you have to do what makes you happy, yeah? And if that’s no longer Alex—”
“It’ll never not be Alex,” Greg told her. “I just wish that made it easier.”
Roisin pursed her lips but didn’t argue with him. “Then I’ll just say this: maybe all you’ve got right now are phone calls. But he still answers, right? He still rings you back?”
“Of course,” Greg said. “But—”
It was her turn not to let him interrupt. “As busy as he is, as much as he’s got on, he always picks up for you,” Roisin told him, reaching for his hand once more. “And that’s got to be worth something.”
It was. It was worth a lot.
Greg just wasn’t sure if it was enough.
But that was a question that Roisin wasn’t going to be able to answer for him, so he instead forced a smile. “When did you get so wise, Rois?” he teased, poking her in the side and grinning when she half-heartedly swatted his hand away.
“I always have been,” she informed him dryly, sticking her tongue out. “You just never paid attention.” She stood a little wobbily and bent to attempt to haul him to his feet. “Now go home before you pass out on my sofa. Again.”
“Fine, I know when I’m not wanted,” Greg grumbled good-naturedly, standing and bending to kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
Roisin’s face softened and she gave him a tight hug. “You’ll get through this, love,” she told him. “And if not, there’s always more wine and ice cream whenever you need it.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long moment. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep or I may end up living on your sofa,” he told her.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Roisin told him. “Knowing you, won’t be the last.”
“Fuck off.”
If Greg hadn’t been fully aware of just how much wine he’d drunk, the rather uneven walk down to wait for his Uber would’ve been enough to convince him. And yet somehow, despite how much wine he’d put away – or, probably, because of how much wine he’d put away – he directed his Uber driver to drop him off at the pub instead of his building.
Nursing a pint of lager wasn’t going to help anything, least of all his impending hangover.
And yet despite what Roisin had said, he couldn’t bring himself to go home to an empty flat that no amount of phone calls could fill.
“This seat taken?”
It was a strange sort of déjà vu as Greg looked up from his glass at the man standing just a little too closely and smiling a little too widely, and he wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t recognise the irony for what it was.
Greg grunted a negative and tore his gaze away from the man’s eyes, which flashed a familiar shade of blue as he lowered himself into the empty seat.
“I’m trying to decide,” the man continued, with what Greg suspected was rather put upon hesitancy, “whether I’d have more luck with ‘come here often’ or ‘can I buy you a drink’.”
Greg glanced back over at him. On closer examination, the blue in his eyes must’ve been a trick of the light – same with the hint of auburn Greg could’ve sworn he’d seen. He forced a smile if only to distract himself from the fact that he was apparently seeing things now. “Don’t think you’d have much luck with either, mate.”
“No?” the man said lightly, resting his elbow on the bar as he turned to more fully face Greg. “So then what chat up line would work?”
The only thing that really ever had was ten years of terrible banter, but Greg wasn’t about to tell him that. “Why don’t you try your worst, and we’ll see how that goes?” he said with a light laugh.
The man’s smile widened and he gave Greg a slow, lascivious look before leaning in to ask in a conspiratorial whisper, “How much do you reckon you weigh?”
Greg gaped at him. “I– what?” he managed.
The man’s grin didn’t fade as he held his hand out for Greg to shake. “Hopefully enough to break the ice,” he said, and Greg groaned at the terrible joke.
So terrible that he couldn’t help but think of Alex, and all of the times the other man had been purposefully unfunny, just for Greg, and he swallowed and forced the thought from his head, instead shaking the man’s outstretched hand. “Greg,” he said, “Greg Davies.”
“Tom,” the man – Tom – returned. “Tom McKeown.” His hand lingered in Greg’s for just a moment too long. “So does that mean the line worked?”
“Oh, er…” Greg pulled his hand away to grab his pint, draining half of it in one gulp. “If it did, it’s only because it reminded me of someone.”
“Someone you want to talk about?” Tom asked, resting a hand on Greg’s arm in a way that should’ve had him flinching away from the touch. Emphasis on should’ve – instead, Greg leaned into the touch for just a moment. Before he could come up with some kind of appropriately dismissive answer, Tom added, “Or we could go back to mine and chat there.”
It was forward of him, forward in a way Greg hadn’t experienced firsthand in far too long, but while usually he’d consider it a turn off, a not so small part of him was tempted to do what he’d thought about doing months ago, to take him up on the offer, to toss back the remainder of his lager and go home with a stranger who was good-looking, and friendly, and most importantly of all, fucking there.
But the far larger part of him knew, deep in his bones, had known for close to a decade now, that no one, regardless of their proximity, could ever compare to a gap-toothed grin and honking laugh, and long, thin fingers tangled with his.
And that was worth something, too.
“Sorry,” he heard himself say as he pulled his arm away and stood. “I, er, I actually should get home.”
“Oh,” Tom said, disappointment flitting across his face. “Someone waiting for you?”
There wasn’t. And yet, as far as Greg was concerned, there might as well have been. “Yeah,” he said. “Someone I love very much.”
Tom smiled slightly. “He’s a lucky man,” he offered.
Despite himself, Greg managed a small but genuine smile. “Thanks,” he said, “but if anyone’s lucky, it’s me.”
“Even though he should be sat next to you right now?” Tom pressed, and Greg just shrugged.
“Suppose so, yeah,” he said. “Because he chose me.” Because Alex had, in every way that mattered. Regardless of the empty bar stool next to Greg, regardless of the half of his bed that was too frequently empty, regardless of the thousand ways Greg wished he could have him there that day and every day.
Alex had chosen to have Greg in his life, to build a space for him. To answer his calls no matter what else he had on, as Roisin had so helpfully pointed out. To remind him at every opportunity that he loved him.
Which meant for Greg, there never had been a choice.
He shrugged again, a little helplessly. “He chose me to be his,” he said, more to himself than anything. “And at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”
Greg didn’t wait for a reply, just making his way to the door, fumbling for his mobile. He dialled Alex without even looking at his phone screen, sucking in a deep breath of cool air as he stepped outside the pub.
He glanced down at his watch as Alex’s phone rang, pulling a face when he saw the time and preparing to leave a voicemail.
But to his surprise, Alex picked up. “Hi,” he said, and Greg couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face at the simple greeting.
“Hi,” he returned, looking back down at his watch. “I didn’t expect you to answer.”
“You caught me at the interval,” Alex told him, which explained the cacophony of noise Greg could hear in the background. “When I saw it was you, I figured it was important.”
Greg winced. “It’s really not, mate, I’m just…”
He trailed off and Alex let out one of his little hums. “Drunk?” he supplied, and Greg barked a sharp, surprised laugh.
“Fuck off,” he said, and he could practically hear Alex’s answering grin through the phone.
“Not a denial, then.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “I spent the evening at Roisin’s,” he said as either an explanation or excuse.
Alex hummed again. “In that case, I’m surprised you’re not passed out on her sofa.”
Greg laughed again. “You and me both.”
He could hear someone shouting in the background, and Alex told him, a little apologetically, “Well, if you’re sure it’s nothing important, I really must run—”
“Of course, yeah,” Greg said, a little heavily, his good mood at hearing Alex’s voice disappearing at the reminder that, once again, this was all Greg got, little moments like this.
At least until Alex added, “But can I ring you back later? After the show?”
Greg’s brow furrowed, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating double-time in his chest. “I mean, yeah, if you’d like, but like I said, it’s nothing important, I just…”
He trailed off, the words ‘I just wanted to hear your voice’ dying in his throat. Even now, even after everything, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
It wouldn’t change anything, after all.
But as if he knew exactly what Greg was thinking, Alex told him, simple and sincere, “I miss you.” Greg’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as Alex continued, “I’m driving home after the show, and it’d make my drive feel much shorter to have you, or at least your voice, to keep me company.”
Greg swallowed, hard. “Of course,” he said, his voice low. “Break a leg tonight, yeah?”
“I’d prefer not to,” Alex said mildly, and Greg huffed a light laugh. “Thank you, Greg.”
Greg softened. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Alex said, steady and sure as he always was. “I’ll ring you later.”
The call ended and Greg exhaled shakily, feeling suddenly lighter than he had in months.
Nothing had been solved, and given the realities of their lives, nothing was likely to be solved anytime soon.
But Alex had picked up the phone, just as he always did, and had told Greg that he missed him and loved him.
And that was worth everything.
Which meant Greg would find a way for it to be enough.