But not for such as you and I.

Meet me at the fountain.

Morrissey walked what for what felt like hours. He checked his watch. 11:00pm. It was completely dark now, the sky the colour of spilled ink, spreading across the cold Manchester night, not a star in sight. He found himself in a park; nothing except an old stone fountain was there, with ivory threatening to overtake it, and water that actually looked more like black coffee. There wasn't even a bench where he could sit. Instead Morrissey approached the fountain, and took a seat on the edge of it, and rested his head in his hands. He had nothing to do but dwell on his situation. How could he let it get this far? He thought. He was pathetically in love with his best friend, who was committed to somebody else, and quite a wonderful person too. Angie was also a close friend of Morrissey, and if she knew how he really felt about her boyfriend... No, fiancé, he corrected himself, she would be so upset; he couldn't do that to her. But didn't Johnny deserve to have all the facts before he got married? If he knew how Morrissey felt maybe he'd call off the wedding, leave Angie, and maybe even tell Morrissey that he loved him too. Wishful thinking, that's all it was, Morrissey cursed himself for even thinking such a far-fetched situation could be real. Of course Johnny didn't love him. He was happy how he was, Morrissey just wanted his best friend to be happy, and he was.

"God I'm hopeless" He muttered to himself.
"What's that now?" a cheerful voice asked, seemingly from nowhere, making Morrissey lose his balance and fall into the murky water behind him.
"Oh God I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" A woman rushed towards him, and helped him out of the water, as Morrissey's cheeks turned a violent shade of red.
"It's quite alright..." He replied meekly "...Just a spot of water, no harm done." He forced a polite smile.
"You're soaked, I'm so sorry." The woman apologised again. Morrissey couldn't help but notice she was very pretty. She sported a quiff that mirrored his own, except it was the colour of red wine rather than Morrissey's light brown mop, and her eyes were the colour of sunlight shining through whiskey, not quite as dark as Johnny's, he thought. Despite the freezing cold air surrounding them, she wore light blue jeans, a pair of brogues, and a plain white shirt buttoned all the way up. No jacket. Her smile seemed genuine and friendly, as she introduced herself. "I'm Linder." She stated, her arm twitched slightly, as though she was going to shake his hand but then though better of it.
"Morrissey." He replied, nodding his head slightly.
"An unusual name." Linder commented.
"My last name." He answered the question she didn't ask. She also didn't bother asking his first name. Instead, she questioned what he was doing in an empty park, alone, at 'this bloody time of night.'
"I just came here to think." He told her.
"About what?"
"Somebody important." He smiled slightly to himself.
"I knew it. People don't walk around Manchester at this time of night, unless they're in love, or unhappy, or both. So why don't you tell me what's wrong?" Linder offered.
Morrissey explained his current predicament. Linder was silent for a moment, before saying "You need to tell your friend how you feel." With a serious expression.
"I can't" Morrissey felt like he could end up crying.
"Why can't you?" She pressed.
"Because I can't hurt either of them."
"Look" She spoke quite frankly "the way I see it is if you don't tell your friend how you feel you'll be miserable, and might end up losing him anyway because it'll be too painful to see him be with someone else. If you do tell him however, you could be pleasantly surprised to find the feeling is mutual, or yes he might let you down. But there's still a chance, and you need to take that chance, or he'll marry that woman and you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what would of happened if you had been honest."

Morrissey realised the ridiculousness of the situation. He didn't know this woman, yet he had just opened up to her and told what he wouldn't even admit to himself for three years. He was normally so awkward and reserved, yet he was sat there, clothes still completely soaked, having an important discussion with a total stranger as if they had been friends for years. However he found himself agreeing with her. He had to take a gamble for once in his life, and just tell Johnny that he loved him. 

"You're right" he said plainly "you're actually right."
"See, not just a pretty face." She joked, nudging his side with a sharp elbow. A sudden burst of determination filled him. "When are you gonna tell him?" She asked curiously.
"Now. Before I change my mind." Morrissey took a shaky breath.
"Are you scared?"
"Profoundly."
"You'll be okay" Linder assured him confidently. He felt positive for the first time in a long while.
"Thank you. I've appreciated this a lot." He told her honestly. Linder merely shrugged.
"Don't worry about it, good luck, and sorry again for soaking you." She added.
Morrissey laughed awkwardly, before saying his goodbyes, and heading out of the park.

Christ, he was terrified. Nothing in his life had ever seemed this important. He walked the quite streets, his pace and breathing rate quickened in equal measure, as he reached the block of flats where Johnny resided on the top floor. Morrissey checked his watch, 12:30. Johnny would probably still be up, playing guitar or something, he thought. He pushed open the door and went inside the building; he heart felt like it would beat faster and faster till it tore out of his chest. At least he didn't have to ring the buzzer to be let in, that'd be awkward, fortunately for him the lock had broken years ago and the cheapskate landlord had never bothered to get it fixed. Sign of the times.

Morrissey climbed each creaking step until he reached the sixth floor, Johnny's floor. He took a deep breath, and knocked quietly on the badly painted door. He was about to turn around and flee back down the stairs, until he heard padded footsteps approach from inside, and the sound of a key rattling in the lock. He braced himself.