Page 50 of Topped

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Alfie asked as I handed him a cup of tea and shoved a packet of ginger biscuits under his nose. He was sitting at one end of my sofa in his customary oversized hoodie and jeans, tiny swatches of paint across the back of his hand from where he’d been painting some of his beloved fantasy miniatures.

“Not that this isn’t nice, but your message made it sound urgent,” he continued, when I climbed onto the other end of the sofa, sitting cross-legged and staring at him as I tried to figure out what to say. I’d been putting it off for the twenty-odd minutes since he arrived, chatting to him about everything except what was on my mind. The thing I’d wanted to pick his brain about in the first place.

It was almost ironic in a way. I loved involving myself in all my friend’s problems and their love lives, offering my thoughts whether they were wanted or not, but the idea of opening up in return was making me feel sick.

Maybe I should find another problem to ask Alfie about.

“I think there’s something wrong with Rupert,” I blurted out, biscuit halfway to my mouth. So much for finding another issue to bring up.

A deep frown formed on Alfie’s forehead. “Shit. What’s going on? I mean, what do you think is wrong? Is he ill? Is this like when Darcy was stressed but refused to go to the doctor?”

“No, I don’t think he’s ill.” I shook my head. Then sighed and nibbled the edge of my biscuit. “It’s more… I think something is bothering him, but he won’t tell me what it is and it’s starting to worry me.”

“Are you together then?” Alfie asked. “Not that you need to be, obviously, but I’m just wondering what your relationship is to each other because maybe that’s got something to do with it. Like, if you’re close with someone, you’re more likely to be open with them than someone you’re only hooking up with occasionally.”

“We’re… I don’t know. We’re probably something but we haven’t talked about it. Not beyond let’s hang out and fuck and watch movies and have dinner. But, er, I stay there a couple of nights a week too.”

Alfie pursed his lips, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “Okay… and you like him?”

“Well, yeah. I thought that was obvious,” I said with a shrug before shoving the rest of the biscuit in my mouth. I didn’t usually keep biscuits in the house because otherwise I went through them like water, but since I was having a guest round, I’d figured it would be polite to get some.

“Have you told him this?”

“I think so,” I said, scrunching up my face as I thought. “Yeah. I always try and be honest with him about what I’m thinking and feeling, because he worries sometimes and I don’t want to make him feel worse.”

“Right,” Alfie said slowly. “But have you actually told him how you feel and talked about what you want from this? Or are you telling him half of it and forgetting the rest.”

“What do you mean ‘forgetting the rest’?” I asked indignantly, casually skipping over the first part of Alfie’s sentence and hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Alfie sighed and lowered his mug, offering me what I assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile. It wasn’t. “I know you don’t do it deliberately, but sometimes you forget to tell us things because you’ve thought about them but not said it out loud. And it’s fine, we’re used to it now, but I wonder if you’ve been thinking about how much you like Rupert, but not actually told him? And maybe it’s because you think you have or assume he knows, or maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“You’re afraid of being honest with him because there’s a chance he won’t want the same things as you.” He huffed out a tiny, self-deprecating laugh. “You wouldn’t exactly be the first one of us to do that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m making sure I follow in the time-honoured tradition of being a shit communicator.”

“But you’re not, that’s the thing. You might forget things sometimes, and you can jump around topic-wise, but I always know how you’re feeling or what you’re thinking. You’re probably the best communicator of all of us.”

“Thanks,” I said with a grin. Then my face fell. “Not sure this is helping, though. ’Cos if I’m great at communicating, why are we struggling?”

“Well, you never actually answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“Have you told him exactly how you feel and what you want from this? And I don’t mean in vague terms, I mean sitting down with him and spelling it out. Preferably at a time when you’re not going to get distracted by getting naked.”

“You know we don’t have to get naked to have sex?” I asked teasingly, shooting Alfie a wink, which only made him roll his eyes.

“Don’t be a twat, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” I sighed and pulled another couple of biscuits out of the packet to soothe my racing mind. Alfie said nothing, happy to wait for me to think everything through. “I don’t think I have. Not, like, spelled it out anyway.”

“Okay. Is that because you don’t know how you feel or⁠—?”

“Or,” I said, cutting him off before I lost my train of thought. “You know me, Alfie, I don’t really do relationships. Or, they don’t do me. Nothing ever sticks so might as well keep it casual. Can’t get hurt then.”

“Liar,” he said, prodding my leg sharply. “You and I both know it doesn’t work that way. Look at Darcy and Owen for Christ’s sake! They kept saying they were casual but it was clear to all of us that wasn’t the case. You’re only lying to yourself and it’s not going to work.”