Page 30 of Electric Boy

“Rahul was only just leaving, weren’t you, Rahul? He came round so we could listen to a record -- the new Bryan Ferry, Bête Noire -- it’s genius. I’m ready to go. Honest.”

“You, uh, take care, Jules,” Rahul said, also feeling oddly formal. He wasn’t used to saying goodbye to his closest friend, and certainly not in public like this. He gave Julian a rather awkward pat on the back. “You remember to bring that record back to the shop or Mel will be on you like a bag of cocks. ‘If we want the merchandise, we pay for the merchandise’ --”

“‘-- same as everybody else’.” Julian completed the well-worn Mel catchphrase. “I won’t forget. See you tomorrow.”

“Right.” Rahul pursed his lips in a paper-thin attempt at a smile. “Michael.” Michael nodded and Rahul squeezed past him and up the stairs. He walked casually to the end of the block, turned the corner, then stopped, ears perked like a hunting hound. He’d have plenty of time later to unpack what had just happened between them. But for now, the real plan was set in motion

Chapter Seventeen: Mind Your Own Business

Rahul’s presence was an odd little hiccup in the otherwise pleasant start of their evening, but never let it be said that Michael wasn’t adaptable. After Julian cleared away some plates and grabbed his coat, Michael held out an arm for him. Julian’s combined expression of delight and surprise made the entire night worth it. The handsomely made-up young man took his arm and cosied up to him as they ambled casually down the street. He seemed entirely unselfconscious about their public display of affection, something which Michael found both baffling and refreshing. For a young man who had never, to his knowledge, been with another man before, he didn’t seem to care much if people assumed he was gay. It could just be his exhibitionist nature, or it could just be that he genuinely didn’t care what others thought. Michael found that unlikely, especially considering that Julian took pains with every aspect of his appearance, even going so far as to lightly distress his black nail varnish after applying it to make it look careless and punk. Whatever his true motivations, Michael was sure he would suss them out in due time. There were few mysteries in his life he had not fully unravelled, in both a professional and private sense.

“I still don’t see why you can’t just tell me where we’re going,” Julian was saying as his Cuban heels deftly avoided the spilled innards of a rubbish bin, the bulbous black body of the bin bag laying askew on the pavement like a corpse.

“Because that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it, love?” Michael cooed, delighting in the way the tips of Julian’s ears turned pink.

As they neared the corner, a black shape hove into view and Michael stuck out his hand. The taxi pulled up haphazardly to the curb and Michael held the door open for Julian, who looked just as chuffed as he had when Michael had held out his arm. Michael made a mental note to continue treating the young man to such displays of chivalry.

* * *

Rahul peered sneakily round the corner of the building and watched his two marks disappear into the back of a cab. He would’ve been done for had there not been another taxi practically on its wing. As Julian and Michael’s taxi tore off only to come to an abrupt halt at the next light, Rahul made a mad run for it and plunged into the back of the other cab without even bothering to hail it.

“Follow that taxi!” he bellowed, pointing ahead and feeling every bit like James Bond.

The cabbie threw him a withering look in the rearview mirror. “You takin’ the piss, mate?”

* * *

Michael helped Julian out of the taxi and watched with immense satisfaction as Julian’s eyes grew wide as they took in the cinema marquee.

“The Lost Boys?” he asked rhetorically, somewhere between genuine delight and mild incredulity.

“I took a guess it might be your cup of tea,” Michael said casually -- if casually were a synonym for smugly. It didn’t take a professional crime writer to deduce that the goth-adjacent, sexually ambiguous punk with an Iggy Pop poster pinned to his living room wall would enjoy an American vampire film. But it was still nice to be appreciated.

“You never! I’ve been dying to see this for ages, only Rahul’ll never go with me. Something about Hollywood films being the ‘great heist of the twentieth century’.”

“Well, luckily I’m here now.”

The look Julian gave him was nothing short of adoring.

Michael bought their tickets and they entered the warm, welcoming interior of the cinema.

* * *

Luck continued to be on Rahul’s side. The cinema that Julian and Michael disembarked at had only one screen, and he was easily able to purchase a ticket and squirrel himself away in the last row. He could see the silhouetted backs of Julian and Michael sat in the centre of the middle row. The cinephile’s seats, as Rahul well knew.

From this vantage point, he intended to ignore the movie and instead monitor the two men’s interactions like a buzzard, ready to act at the first sign of indiscretion. Call him a prude, call him a school marm. He could weather the slings and arrows. What he could not abide, however, was the calculated dismantling of his best friend’s virtue.

* * *

Julian’s eyes were big and round as they reflected the action on screen. He took mindless fistfuls of popcorn from the bag sat on Michael’s lap. Michael didn’t care much for this sort of film -- the editing was rough and sloppy, and the acting was mediocre at best -- but he enjoyed Julian enjoying it. The way his mouth hung slightly open and his bright eyes tracked every movement. The way he jumped but grinned in delight when a sudden scare occurred, and the way he laughed loudly and unabashedly at the obvious gags. What Michael loved most was how the dark cover of the cinema allowed him to observe Julian just as candidly as he might through the window of his flat, only closer, able to marvel at all the glorious details. Like the little mole on his jaw that led naturally into the constellation of moles on his throat. Like the feline upturn of the corners of his mouth which gave the illusion that he was always smiling just a little.

Michael loved him best this way, free and seemingly unobserved. Michael wished Julian knew he was perfect like this and wouldn’t have to perform or change himself around others. If only there was a way to tell him which wouldn’t make him all the more self-conscious. Oh well. Michael would steal these moments when he could.

It was inevitable that Julian would catch him staring. When he did, his mouth held the unspoken question. “What?” Eyebrows angled, amused. “Have I got something on my face?” they seemed to ask.

“You’re so beautiful,” Michael tried to tell him via the tilt of his head, the smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. But he wasn’t sure Julian fully received the message, so he punctuated it by reaching up and running two fingers softly along the sharp line of his jaw. Julian’s eyelids sagged and he leaned in, breath hot on Michael’s cheek.

It was a bit adolescent, kissing in a cinema, but Julian was re-enacting all his firsts with Michael, so Michael was magnanimous enough to allow it. He closed the scant distance between them and their lips met. Gently. Unlike their first violent clash, this one was sweet, undemanding. It was kissing for kissing’s sake with no expectations, for the sheer joy of parting each other’s lips with questing tongues. Michael tasted the salt on Julian’s tongue. He knew it could go no further than this, but Christ, if his body didn’t crave more! He lifted his other hand to run it through Julian’s silky black hair, but in his daze he’d forgotten it had had the crucial job of holding the popcorn bag in place.