Page 10 of Electric Boy

Julian was the first to look away, choosing instead to stare pensively into his wine glass. “I don’t know what you’re doing hanging around me for. You must be bored senseless. I’d be bored with me if I weren’t me. I only just sling records and it’s not like I’m all that good at it, am I? No one comes to hear my band play, and me, prancing around like I’m Mick bloody Jagger or something.” The “th” in “something” became an “f” when Julian said it. His accent seemed to become stronger the more insecure he became. “And here you are, owning flat blocks, writing novels, telling your rich parents to sod off. You’re somebody and I’m… I don’t know. Not somebody.” He took a long, angry drink. Michael was beginning to recognize Julian was having one of his dark mood blips.

“You’re wrong,” Michael stated simply. This caught Julian’s attention. “I don’t find you boring in the least. In fact, I think you might just be one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met.”

Colour rose in two high spots on Julian’s cheeks. He bit back a smile and rolled his eyes. “All right.”

“I mean it. And, for what it’s worth, I think you could give Mick Jagger a run for his money.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t heard my band play yet.” His long fingers worried an uneven spot on the table’s surface. “I mean, unless… you’d… like to… come hear us play?” The way he pretended to sound nonchalant was disgustingly charming.

“I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”

“All right.” The colour in his cheeks deepened, as did his smile. “Yeah. All right.”

* * *

They walked together to Michael’s flat, Michael in companionable silence, Julian in companionable babble. Michael liked listening to his nonsense. There was a soothing, almost musical rhythm to the litany. He’d be willing to bet the transition into song was a successful one, though he was excited to find out the truth for himself in person. He’d be listening this coming Saturday night at the Mango Club, as Julian had told him.

They came to a stop before the steps of Michael’s flat block. The building was in the void between two lamp posts and was subsequently cast in romantic shadow. Julian’s prattle decelerated until it came to a gradual halt. He tilted his head back to look up at the building, as if trying to determine which window was Michael’s.

“Well, this is me,” Michael announced redundantly, jangling his keys in one hand. “I had a lovely time tonight, Julian.”

“I --” Julian began but then, like a broken record, skipped to, “Yeah.”

Michael was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were as they stood next to each other. He could just make out the pale ring of iris around Julian’s expansive pupils in the dark. Like he had looking up at the window, Julian had to tilt his head back to look at Michael, and Michael enjoyed the sensation of towering over him. If he wanted, he could take him and slam him up against the side of the building. He could ravage his mouth, and push his hands up under his coat. He could --

“Michael, I…” Julian started again, his voice little more than a breathy whisper. That all-consuming gaze of his travelled down once more to Michael’s lips and Michael felt a heat rise under his collar, his stomach clenching with anticipation. Michael wouldn’t be able to help himself. He was going to kiss him. What’s more, Julian wanted to be kissed. It was in the subconscious forward tilt of his body, the slight parting of his pale lips, the glassy look in his eye. The fantasies from just moments ago played out again and again in Michael’s mind, every second coming closer to a reality.

But before Michael could even fully commit to taking action, Julian blinked, hard, a swimmer resurfacing from underwater. His vision cleared and he took a confused, clumsy step backwards.

“I’ll… I’ll, um… I’ll see you. At the Mango. Er, yeah. Yeah. ‘Night.”

And then Michael was watching his thin, dark form darting away from him into the safety of the nearest lamp post’s ring of light. Cuban heels clicked away down the pavement.

So close and yet so infinitely far away.

Chapter Seven: Heart of Glass

Aisling sat in the dark, hugging her knees. She scrubbed her fingers over the mostly dried streaks of mascara on her cheeks. The telltale jingle of keys preceded the opening of the flat door. She was momentarily blinded when the light switch was flipped and the naked bulb overhead flickered to life.

“Jesus Christ, Aisling!” Julian cried, voice high, hand to his chest. “You scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here, sitting in the dark like that?”

“What the hell am I doing here?” Aisling retorted and stood. Her legs prickled with pins and needles from being sat in the same position for too long. “Where the hell have you been?”

“What do you mean where’ve I been? I’ve been out!”

“‘Out’ have you?” she shouted, competing with Julian to see whose voice could become the shrillest. “Out shagging some slag, more like!”

“Shagging some…” Julian gaped, open-mouthed, at her. “You’ve gone wrong. Shagging somebody else? You’ve really lost the plot this time.”

“Have I?” She stomped over to him, the heels of her boots leaving grooves in the faded carpet. She used a blue-tipped finger to poke him hard in his scrawny chest. “All dressed up for a night out with your mates then, are you?”

Julian’s eyes shifted to the side. It was only for a moment, but Aisling caught it. “Yeah. I am. So?”

“Oh really? ‘Cause I happen to have gone round the Barber. I rang here earlier and when you didn’t answer, I thought ‘Oh, he’s out with Rahul, isn’t he?’ So I went to the Barber and who’d I find but Rahul, by himself. ‘Where’s Julian?’ I asked. ‘No idea,’ he said. Fancy that. I thought maybe something was wrong with your phone. So I came here. Know what I found when I got here?”

Julian opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then closed it again. That was fine. She didn’t want him to answer. She wanted him to hear her answer.

“Not you, that’s for bloody sure!” she cried in his face. He winced. “And know what else I found?” She threw a dramatic arm backwards. “The bathroom full of steam, shower still wet, shaving cream in the sink. Need a fresh shave at seven at night? And --” she gave him a hard whiff and wrinkled her nose. “Cologne. And your best bloody jacket. So d’you want to run that by me again? Lie to my face one more time about how you were out with your mates?”