Chrysalis Days & Butterfly Nights [Wattys 2023 Shortlist]

1

"You're really tall." Such a banal thing to say, but Luke couldn't think of anything else to say.

She was tall. Incredibly tall, but also one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

-+-

Two Months Earlier

"Put it in! Stick it in! Go on! Go on!" Andy bounced on the seat, fist balled as he glared at the tv. "Oh, for fuck's sake! You big fucking girl! How could he fucking miss from there?"

He sat back, balled fist now an open hand, rubbing his forehead as he shook his head. After a second, he peeked through his fingers before dropping his hand and sitting forward again. If anyone could see him now, the ridges in the forehead, the grimace upon his lips, the intense stare, anyone would thing he wanted to kill someone. He probably did, but only in his mind.

"It was the wrong angle. Greedy shit should have passed to McHale." Luke tried to take a drink, but the bottle, somehow without him noticing, had run dry. "Another beer? Not like I'll miss much."

"Yeah." Andy sighed so deeply, it could have signalled the end of the world, a terrible announcement from the doctor, or the mechanic. It was sadness personified. "Ralf. I ask you. What kind of a fucking name is 'Ralf'? No surname. Just fucking 'Ralf'."

"He's Brazilian, they all do it." In the kitchen, Luke removed two bottles from the fridge, replacing them with the room temperature ones from the case under the counter. "My great-great-granddad was called 'Ralf'."

"Exactly!" The bottles clinked as Luke handed one to Andy, who unscrewed the cap, flicking it in the general direction of the bin in the kitchen. He'd pick them all up later. "An old man's name for a bloke who plays like an old man. Brazilian my arse."

Saturday afternoons. Luke and Andy had bonded over their local team, years before, while working for the same firm. They had been friends for years. Watched each other grow older, each other's best man at their weddings. Luke was even godfather to Andy's daughter, Skye. Saturday afternoons were their time. Their's and their team's. Though neither could really afford to make the trips to away games anymore.

Play restarted, the ball thrown deep into the other half and anticipation gripped them both once again. The edges of the seats of the sofa folded beneath them as the team used their wingers like well-oiled machines. The switch, across the pitch, caught on the expert boot of the captain, slipped to the side, perfectly placed at the feet of Ralf.

Andy groaned, but couldn't turn his eyes away. Hips swivelled, sending defenders tumbling, that ball sticking to those boots as though glued there. Luke grabbed Andy's arm, fingers digging in. They both jumped, bobbed, weaved in time with Ralf's moves and, as it looked like he was about to ruin it once again, he passed. Right in front of McHale, who only needed to guide the ball past the keeper.

"You fucking beauty!" Beer erupted from the end of Andy's bottle, soaking him, as he jumped to his feet, Luke not far behind. They bounced in joy, arms around each other's shoulders. "Best signing we ever made, that Ralfy-boy! I always said so."

"Sure you did." The grin on Luke's face felt like it would break the muscles in his cheeks. "Never said a bad word about him. Ever."

"Yeah, well. We always complain about the ones we love the most." Andy looked anywhere but at Luke as he said that. Those complaints would come again in the very next game, no doubt. "Come on, ref! Blow the fucking whistle! Blow it! Blow it!"

The referee looked at his watch, the whistle clamped between his lips. Andy urged the man onwards, fingers rolling as though beckoning through the tv. A quick glance to see where play continued, whether an attack was in progress, whether it was safe to do so and the referee blew for time, raising his hand to point toward the centre circle. They had won! Today. They were still a good dozen points from the top spot, but still had more than a few games to catch up.

Now it was Andy's turn to look at his watch. They all had tight schedules, these days, but Andy had the schedule of a loving dad as well as a dutiful husband. People wanted and expected his attention and he gave it without question. Except Saturday afternoons, and, even then, only until the game ended. He had responsibilities that Luke no longer had.

"Your t-shirt's soaked. Cath'll be furious if you turn up smelling of beer." Luke watched as Andy tugged at the chest of his t-shirt, smelling it, giving a satisfied 'ah' at the smell. "Get a wash while the taxi's on the way and grab one of my t-shirts from the dresser. I'll clear up and text her you're on your way."

Without arguing, Andy turned toward the door to the stairs, pulling the t-shirt over his head. He gave it one, last sniff before disappearing, his feet pounding on the stairs. Luke loved Andy to bits. A brother. The best friend a man could possibly hope for. Never judging. Always there when Luke needed someone, and he had very much needed someone more than a few times on his life.

By the time Luke had cleared away the bottles, the uneaten food and found the tossed bottle caps, it seemed like ages since Andy had rushed upstairs. Frowning, Luke poked his head out into the hall but couldn't hear a sound. It was only when Luke remembered that Andy had only a passing acquaintance to paying attention to people that he thought he needed to rush upstairs.

As soon as he entered the bedroom, he knew he should have come for the t-shirt himself. Andy, as predicted, hadn't looked in the dresser for a t-shirt, he'd opened the wardrobe and now stood before the full rack of dresses, skirts, tops and the shoes below. Andy's head turned as Luke entered, a sad, confused look upon his face.

Luke had no idea how he could begin to explain this.