I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for.
***
We played the usual tunes on the ride home, Rye making all my problems disappear the way only he could; by belting out seventies classics without a care in the world. Something about the open country roads and Rye's Freddie Mercury impression brought me back to a happy place, giving me the sense that by coming back home we could rewind the clocks for a little while.
He dropped me off at my house where my mum instantly wrapped me up in a bone crushing hug. "So good to have you home, baby."
"I missed you," I told her.
A few months wasn't a long time to be away but I knew I was coming home a different person to when I had left, so many innocent memories attached to this place. My bedroom walls lined with photos of Rye and I made me feel things, and so did the empty outlines of the removed photos that used to hold the memories of my ex. I laid in my bed where I'd had countless sleepovers with Rye and lost my virginity to somebody I didn't know anymore. Just letting myself feel everything I needed to, even if I didn't understand all of it.
I spent the next few days with my mum, helping her put up the tree and catching her up on the time we'd spent apart, leaving out all the grown-up details that still felt weird to talk to my mother about, even though she knew I was an adult myself now. She was excited to hear about Brook, telling me how proud she was that I had opened myself up to love again after getting my heart broken. I didn't have the heart to admit my doubts to her, just wanting her to be happy, which I knew she would be as long as she thought I was.
The Beaumonts had invited us for Christmas dinner, always wanting to include us in their big family when they knew there was only two of us- not that I ever had a problem with that. I loved Christmases with my mum. The mornings where we she baked fresh croissants for breakfasts before we took a walk down the lake, feeding the leftover crumbs to the ducks by the pond. They were our little traditions, and I would never trade them in for a bigger family. But still, I loved Rye's house at Christmas even more. His little twin brothers pelting me with bullets from their brand new Nerf Guns the second I crossed the threshold, still in their pyjamas at three in the afternoon. Rye bickering fondly with his older brother, Robbie who I knew he'd missed more than he cared to talk about, while aromatic cooking smells wafted over from the kitchen. The Beaumont house was always so wonderfully chaotic.
Robbie started a Monopoly game in the living room which was bound to keep the twins calm for a little while, until the inevitable fights broke out, resulting in Rye being stripped of his role as the banker and banished to jail for three turns for stealing. Our mums gossiped in the kitchen over glasses of sherry while Rye's dad sat down with a beer in the comfiest chair in the house, trying to find a few rare moments of peace in his whirlwind of a household. No, I'd never felt like I needed anything more than my mum, but this was still my family too. A big family never being something I'd craved until Rye had welcomed me into his.
"I just can't believe you two are at university now," my mum cooed over Rye and I at dinner making me roll my eyes.
"It feels like yesterday they were splashing around naked in the paddling pool in our back garden," Rye's mum joined in.
"Mum!" Rye groaned.
"I just lost my appetite," Robbie joked, making Rye elbow him in the ribs.
"Boys, no fighting at Christmas," Rye's dad reprimanded.
The sentimentalism didn't end there of course, Rye's mum digging out the old photo album after dessert, forcing us all to gather around it. It was funny to notice just how much I featured in their family album, having been present at most family holidays and major events for the past decade or so. Rye and I had apparently gone through a long phase in our childhood of pulling the ugliest possible faces we could muster in every single photo.
"Oh you were so cute, boys," Rye's mum gushed.
"Hey, I'm still cute," I whined, and Rye ruffled my hair.
"Wait, look at this one," my mum said, pointing at a particular picture. "Do you boys remember when you got married?"
"Oh my god," Rye cringed. I looked down at the picture, we couldn't have been more than eight, holding hands while our little gap-toothed smiles beamed out at the camera. Rye was drowning in one of his dad's blazers and a bow tie, while I was wearing what I supposed was intended to be a wedding dress and veil, fashioned out of a bedsheet and pillowcase.
I let out a dry laugh. "I wonder which one of them grew up to be gay." Rye snorted next to me.
"Whole thing looks pretty gay to me," Robbie commented, Rye shoving him away as they started wrestling on the floor.
I stayed behind after my mum left to get properly drunk with Rye and Robbie on leftover bubbly wine. Love Actually was playing on the telly, though none of us paid much mind to it, having seen its reruns just about every Christmas anyway. I happened to glance at my phone, instagram notifying me that Brooklyn had posted a story, making me realise I hadn't thought about him once this entire day. I checked the story, seeing a selfie of him smiling with a group of people who were presumably his family, noticing Jack in there next to him with a Santa hat on his head. Brook had never told me that he and Jack were spending the holidays together, and I supposed that should have bothered me, yet somehow it didn't. In fact, I found that I couldn't care less about what Brook was up to, nothing able to spoil the wonderful day I had had. I simply closed my phone again and put my attention back onto Rye and Robbie, who were arguing over which one of them was the better footballer.
We were still tipsy as all hell when Rye and I finally wandered into Rye's room to crash for the night, his childhood bedroom bringing fourth another flood of memories. I watched Rye as he stripped out of his clothes, a goofy smile on my face as I thought about how happy I was to have him in my life, my heart about bursting with love. The heart palpitations returned at the sight of his near naked body, but I was too drunk to bother repressing them, humming instead at the warm fuzzy feeling I got in my tummy when I looked at him.
"What you staring at?" Rye asked, noticing me.
"You're preeeetty," I drawled back and Rye laughed, walking towards me to wrap his arms around me.
"Bedtime, you," he said, kissing my nose several times, making me giggle.
I let him pull me into his bed, snuggling into him straight away, loving the way our bodies fit together. Loving how small I felt when he held me, how warm, how safe, how loved. Loving him, my best friend, so much I didn't know what to do with myself. So I just held on.
I could hear his heartbeat against mine, racing as if it wanted to burst out of his chest. His arms gripped me tighter than normal, erasing all the space between us. If I wasn't careful I was going to get turned on, or at the very least do something stupid, because I knew exactly where his lips were even in the darkness, and I could feel his heavy breaths ghost across my cheek. But even as the alcohol made my vision blurry, I could still see the line, and I didn't dare to cross it. Because there would be no more nights like this one if I did something dumb to ruin us. He was so important to me that losing this wasn't an option, and that thought alone let me keep myself in control.
"Merry Christmas, Rye," I mumbled into his chest, squeezing my eyes shut and willing sleep to take over.
"Merry Christmas, baby," he whispered back. I forced myself to take another deep breath, not letting the words affect me as I drifted to sleep in his arms.
***
When we woke up we had changed into a spooning position, which was fortunate because I quickly realised I was very, very hard. It must have been early because Rye was still asleep, his vice grip surrounding me and preventing me from leaving his bed.
"Fuck," I mumbled as I came to my senses, reaching down to palm at my aching cock. My boxers were already damp from precum and I realised I must have woken up midway through a wet dream, but thankfully before the point where I ended up coming in his bed. It was imperative that I found a way out soon or I would be about to make a mess I wasn't prepared to explain to him. "Ugh," I groaned quietly, biting down on my lip as I applied more pressure to my dick, not able to stop myself.
"Andy," Rye murmured sleepily. "Why are you jiggling?"
"I need to pee," I lied. "Let me out."
"No," he mumbled, pulling me tighter so I could feel him along my entire body, including the outline of his dick against my ass, definitely not helping my situation one bit.
"Rye, I'll piss myself if you don't let go," I warned, spasming as I suppressed yet another moan. I just had to get to the bathroom. I was fully awake now and panicking, my orgasm dangerously close the the surface already.
"Fine," he groaned, loosening his hold. I shot out of his bed and darted across the hall to the bathroom.
I got into the shower, not even caring that the water hadn't warmed up yet as I got under, only requiring a couple of tugs before I was releasing against the wall with a moan. I sighed, panting through my high as the water washed away the evidence, relieved by how dangerously close I had been to disaster.
I stood under the water for a few more minutes just to process what had just happened. So much could have gone wrong. What if I had thrust against him in my sleep? What if I had woken up just a few moments later and got come all through his sheets? How would I have even begun to explain that? This wasn't like it was when I was fifteen, this was worse. There was no more puberty to fall back on to justify my body's urges, no excuse for the butterflies I fell asleep with when he held me. My feelings for my best friend were rapidly turning into something that was beyond friendly, and it didn't seem to matter that every logical part of my brain was telling me Rye wasn't an option. I needed to make it all go away and fast, but I didn't have the first clue how to do that.
Rye made grabby hands at me when I came back into his room to collect my clothes, demanding in a sleepy voice that I come back to bed. I didn't dare refuse, not wanting to anyway and being wary about raising his suspicions, so I climbed back under the sheets and let him latch onto me again. The confusing, unwelcome butterflies returned at once, their presence making me feel guilty.
"Why's your hair wet?" Rye asked.
"Felt like a shower."
He hummed, seeming to accept that answer. "You smell good now."
***
We hung out just about every day after that, although I always found an excuse not to stay over, fearing a repeat of the Christmas night situation. It was becoming unfortunately apparent that I was crushing on him, not able to stop myself from wanting him even when I was sober.
On New Years Eve, and we were in his bedroom getting ready to go to a party hosted by one of our old college friends. I fixed my hair anxiously in the mirror, nervous about a night of partying, alcohol always seeming to amplify the emotions I was trying to suppress.
"You alright, babe?" Rye asked gently. "You seem on edge."
I spat out the first excuse that came to mind. "You know, just gonna be weird seeing everyone."
"Really? You're still bothered by what they all think of you?"
"Everyone loves you, you wouldn't understand," I shot back. He rolled his eyes and let it go, seeming to have bought my thin excuse.
In actuality, seeing old friends was a good distraction. I stayed in larger groups so I wouldn't end up alone with Rye, getting lost in conversations about what everyone was doing with their lives now. Nevertheless as midnight drew nearer the tension increased, Rye managing to corner me at the fridge as I went to grab another beer. "Let's go outside," he said.
"I don't wanna smoke," I protested.
"Then keep me company."
He pulled me out to a back patio a drew a packet of tobacco out of his pocket, beginning to roll himself a cigarette while I watched him quietly.
"You know I don't think I saw you smoke once all summer," I mused as he lit up. Rye shrugged.
"Got back into the habit I guess." He blew out the cloud of smoke and turned to look at me. "You know what's crazy?"
"What?"
"This is the first New Years in about four years where we've both been single."
"I'm not single," I reminded him.
"I just meant without a date," he corrected. I frowned at him, unsure what he was getting at.
"What made you think of that?"
"I dunno," he shrugged. "Who are we gonna kiss?"
I let out an awkward laugh, my heart rate picking up speed at the question. I looked at the time on my phone, trying to take on a jokey tone as I replied to him. "Well, you have about two minutes to find someone."
He peered back inside. "That's not very long," he noted, "you might need to step in, babe."
"Ha-ha." I looked away from him and took a deep breath in, trying to ignore that part of my brain that was screaming like a teenage girl. I saw him smirk as he cast a sidelong glance at me, taking another drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the railing.
"Let's go in," he said. "The countdown's starting."
We rejoined the main throng of the party as everybody gathered in the living room, the sixty second countdown having begun on the TV at the front of the room. Rye slung an arm over my shoulders as the collective heartbeat of the room seemed to thrum in time with the seconds, each one drawing me closer to a fate I wasn't sure of. I couldn't tell if the tension between us was as palpable to him or if it was all in my head, but it made everything blurry, until time caught up with us and I was suddenly drawn back into the moment.
"Three... two... one."
"Happy New Year, Fovvs!" Rye cheered, pulling me in for a hug, relief and disappointment flooding me in equal measure as I wrapped my arms around him.
"Happy New Year," I replied, pulling back to smile at him. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stared back at me, the popping fireworks and cheering kissing people around us fading into background noise. He took my face in his hands, my breath hitching as I suddenly realised what he was doing, not a second to process it before he brought his lips onto mine. The butterflies in my stomach exploded as the rest of the world disappeared, his kiss the only thing I could focus on.
He tasted like cigarette smoke and beer, but underneath all that was something else, something so addictive it scared me. It could only have been the taste of him lingering on his tongue, which pushed past my lips to mingle with the taste of me, causing an unexpected moan to escape me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to feel like that. Not with him.
He pulled his face away with an exaggerated "mwah!" noise, his cheeky grin filling my stomach with lead as it was enough to tell me that the kiss hadn't been fireworks for him. Just a drunk jokey New Years pash between two bros. I could have sworn I remembered him sighing into it when his tongue touched mine, but I must have just been caught up in the moment, my crush causing me to imagine something that wasn't there.
I smiled back at him in response. My attempt must have been a weak one because Rye's grin changed into a frown, but I didn't give him a chance to question it, suddenly needing to put as much distance between us as I possibly could. "I'm gonna get some fresh air," I told him, making a bolt for the sliding doors that lead towards the garden.
Fireworks were still going off somewhere in the distance and I sat down on a little grassy ridge to observe them. I stared until they morphed into blurry balls of light falling out of the sky, my vision as hazy as my mind. I was so painfully muddled up, that kiss having triggered something deeper than my surface level attraction to him that had been laying dormant in me for a while. Something that would break my heart if I didn't find a way to get rid of it. I tilted my head upwards, searching for answers in the falling orbs of light, the tears starting to spill over when I realised they had none to offer me.
"Andy?" I heard a voice say, making me stop instantly, chills running through my entire body at the sound of it. I turned around, seeing the person I had been too lost in my thoughts to recognise staring at me. A person who's face I'd tried so hard to forget, and almost succeeded until this moment, the sight of it breaking a dam in my mind and sending a flood of memories crashing over me. Eyes an unmistakable shade of blue piercing straight through me.
"Mikey?"
A/N: yooo don't kill me?
ok, so i want to explain quickly now that i almost redacted mikey from this book- as i said before it's been planned for a long time, so before i stopped including him in most of my work. ultimately i made the decision to keep him in because i think the parallels work well for the story and give it more impact than if i'd replaced him with a random OC, and it's only one chapter he's gonna feature in anyway. the only reason i saw him as different to jack for a time was bc there was some beef there for a while, but that seems to have chilled down recently anyway. so stick with me, and i hope you're all still enjoying the story so far. fair warning without spoiling anything, you're gonna hate me more in upcoming chapters bc things are gonna get worse for randy before they get better. but ya'll know i will make it worth your while eventually. thanks so much for reading xxx