Thistle and Weeds
Fic: Thistle and Weeds
Characters: Freddie, Cook, Emily, JJ, Katie and Effy
Pairing: Freddie/Cook/(Effy), Emily/Naomi
PART TWO
The feeling of shame trails him wherever he goes. It doesn’t slide off in the shower, where in scalding water he tries to scrub himself clean. He ignores Cook’s texts and assiduously tries to keep himself busy. He leaves the spliff alone, trying to tell himself that this fantasy was drug addled inversion
He doesn’t dare wank.
It leaves him feeling restless and irritable and he lashes out at Karen a few times. When his hormones build to breaking point he relents, wanking furiously to the nastiest porn he can find and when he finally comes, it doesn’t feel like a relief.
~~~~
He takes refuge in the familiar.
The afternoon is rapidly turning into dusk and he’s the only one left in the skate park. He’s perched on the edge of the ramp, legs dangling idly out in front of him. It’s silent here, except for the soft hush of the breeze blowing across his face, his own deep, steady breathing and the distant sound of birds squawking.
Everything is so much simpler when he’s alone.
He closes his eyes and tries to keep his mind as silent as possible. Anxiety has formed like a tight, twisted knot in his stomach. No matter what he does he feels the tension lodged there.
He’s prone, to self reflection, to linger over both recent and distant past. Freddie’s always scouring his mind, picking apart his memories, wondering whether if he did this or that his life wouldn’t have turned into the giant shit pile it is today.
(He thinks about lighting a roach, but he hesitates. It might make his mind stumble into...unwelcome territory. Fucking too many slags has addled his brain somehow. That’s it...)
Thankfully, his mind is silent today so he sits back and enjoys the peace. He stays like that for a long moment until he finally hears someone coming towards him.
He tenses, whether with fear or anticipation he doesn’t know, but the footsteps are too light to belong to Cook.
Maybe it could be...
His eyes fly open and he immediately sees a mess of bright red hair next to him. He doesn’t disguise his shock when Emily shoots him a cheeky grin.
“Evening Fred.”
“Hey,” he replies, shuffling over to make room for her next to him. “How you going? Didn’t take you for a skateboarder?”
She chuckles, a deep rich sound which makes Freddie smile immediately. “I did when I was younger,” she admits. “But I was rubbish at it. My brother does it now, and if anything, he’s worse.”
“Shit,” Freddie commiserates.
Emily’s looking at him expectantly. There’s an awkward pause where he grapples for what to say.
“So, I mean, not that I’m unhappy to see you or anything, but, what are you doing here?”
Emily’s face closes off a little, and Freddie mentally kicks himself for his tactlessness.
“I’m here because of JJ. And me, as well, but JJ is really worried. “
Freddie sighs heavily. A familiar feeling of irritation settles on his shoulders. “Why hasn’t he come to talk to me?”
“He said he already has.”
“Oh, well,” he shifts awkwardly, inching away from her slightly. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s going on with you and Cook?”
“What do you mean?” he asks sharply.
“This ridiculous sex competition, getting fucked up every night, fighting, getting Chlamydia, which is disgusting by the way, and do you want me to continue?”
“No,” Freddie pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on.”
“You should talk to him,” Emily’s eyes widen beseechingly. “JJ doesn’t know what to do, and Naomi told me Cook is feeling pretty shit about something.”
“Why is it always me who is sorting this shit out?”
“Somebody has to,” Emily says gently. They sit silently for a moment, listening to the wind blow stray leaves across the park. After a moment Emily sighs incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re the better option to sort this out, since you know, you can be a bit of a cock sometimes,” she looks at him reprovingly, and she looks so much like Katie for a moment his breath catches in his throat. It’s only momentary because soon she shakes her head and smiles at him. “But you’ve got to be better than Cook. He’s spent the last week at Naomi’s house making a nuisance of himself. If he’s not monopolising the telly then he’s trying to convince Naoms to shag him.”
“God. Sorry about that.”
“So, you can see my predicament,” Emily rolls her eyes and sighs. They both look out across the park and are silent for a long moment.
She’s a good friend, Freddie decides. Emily barely knows him but the fact that she’d come here on JJ’s behalf speaks volumes. If Naomi’s reaction at the Love Ball is anything to go by, she’s not going to like Emily meddling in JJ’s affairs. He can empathise with Naomi; jealousy is an emotion he is intimate with. But still, Emily’s here, sitting in the evening sun with a resolute expression on her face because somehow along the way she has turned into a more reliable friend to JJ than he’s been for a long while.
“You can’t keep on like this,” Emily says quietly, breaking Freddie’s train of thought. She turns and looks him straight in the eye. “Because...she’s going to come back eventually.”
He can’t meet her eyes.
“Have you heard from her?”
“Who?”
“Freddie....”
“Look, Emily, what is it you want me to say? She’s fucked off and she might never come back. There’s nothing I can do about that, alright?”
“Sorry.”
“No,” she looks chastised and it makes Freddie feel awful “It’s all right. “
“It must be terrible. I can’t imagine what it must be like, for the person you love to just leave you like that. And after everything... if you ever want to talk about it...”
“What’s to talk about? Love always goes to shit.”
“Not always,” he turns and he catches her smile. Her face is soft and open, and for a moment Freddie’s convinced she’s glowing. He hasn’t ever seen someone look so serene; and it hits him; yeah that's what love looks like
(for a vivid second he loathes Effy, Cook and the whole damn thing between them.)
He must look troubled because Emily’s brow is now furrowed with concern. She gives his arm a squeeze.
“Freds...”
“I’m alright, really Emily,” Freddie smiles weakly. “Thanks for telling me, I’ll talk to Cook, I promise. Tell JJ I’m on it.”
“Cheers,” she stands up and brushes dirt from her skirt. She shoots him a tentative smile. “JJ, Panda, Thomas and me are going to see a movie later, you want to come?”
“Nah, I’m good here. I’m just gonna...skate around for a bit.”
“Alright.”
“Hey Ems. Ems. Just... if you want, I’ll teach you how to skateboard sometime.”
“Thanks Freds. I’d like that.”
~~~~
He rings Effy for the fifteenth time.
For the fifteenth time it goes to voicemail.
~~~
It’s late but sleep still eludes him.
He’s utterly bored, sprawled out on his bed, idly flipping through an old comic book and willing sleep to come.
He’s about to break into his emergency stash of spliff when he thinks he hears a small thud against his window. He puts the comic down and listens closely. Nothing. And then...it’s there again. A definite tap. Silence. Then less than a minute later the tapping noise is there again.
He sees his window rattle every time he hears the sound. He warily gets off his bed, drawn towards the window even though he can guess what he’s going to see.
His suspicions are confirmed when he sees Cook standing on the lawn, looking up at him, pebble in hand and prepared to throw. He looks agitated, but as soon as he sees Freddie all the tension leaves his face. Cook shoots him a broad, silly grin and despite himself Freddie feels his lip quirk into a smile.
“Freds!”
“Shhh,” Freddie hisses, bringing his finger to his lip. He points towards the side door and holds up a hand to silently instruct Cook to wait.
He half expects Cook to have ignored his advice and stumble in regardless, but he’s waiting by the backdoor, swaying slightly.
“Freddie!”
“What did I tell you?” Freddie says gruffly.
Cook’s grin widens; he knows Freddie is only bluffing.
“Oy. Let me in!”
“Fine, just be quiet and follow me. I do not want to deal with Karen right now.”
He wraps his arm around his unsteady friend, who leans on him heavily. They quietly navigate through Freddie’s living room, almost knocking over a lamp, staggering up the stairs, Cook’s obvious inebriation making him hard to support.
They finally get into Freddie’s room where he pauses. The atmosphere is different, taut with tension. It feels so surreal, so wrong, that Freddie wonders whether this is a macabre trick of his subconscious.
If it’s awkward Cook doesn’t feel it, of course, and peels off his shirt and throws it to the ground.
“Cook?”
“What? It’s a fucking oven in here.”
The levity between them leaves as quickly as it came. They stare at each other for a long moment.
Of course it’s Cook who breaks the silence.
“Don’t stand there mate. You still got those Brando films on your laptop?”
“Course.” Very few people know that Cook is a movie aficionado. There is so much of him that’s Freddie’s only; secrets and habits only decades of friendship can reveal.
(Except now there’s Effy. Effy who could reduce his best friend into a quivering mess in seconds. Maybe she knows him better now).
They gingerly settle under the covers, wordlessly ignoring their usual routine of topping and tailing. Cook’s body feels close and warm underneath the blankets. It’s reminiscent of when they shared a bed when they were kids, curled up together and taking the piss out of their form teachers.
It feels different now. It’s like an undefined line has irreversibly been breached. He’s not certain what it is, but finds he doesn’t really want to think about it at all, not with Cook pressed flush up against his front, solid and secure.
Freddie settles on “Apocalypse Now” and they stay quiet for a long moment. Cook’s breath is steady and sounds very loud in the darkness.
“Why are you here?”
“I just couldn’t...I just couldn’t stand you hating me, Freds. We’re best mates. For life.”
“I know. I know.” He inhales and feels like he’s breathing Cook in. “Go to sleep.”
~~~~
Cook is asleep within seconds but Freddie can’t join him. His mind just won’t shut up. Cook. Showing up like this, unannounced, when he knew Freddie had been avoiding him. But that’s just like Cook to be so presumptuous. Give give give. That’s all he does for Cook. He gives so much he sags under the weight of it. And despite it all he gets nothing but a spit in the face in return.
Except that’s not right, Freddie thinks, watching Cook’s face, which is illuminated by sheen of pale white moonlight. That’s not right at all. It was Cook he clung to when his mother flitted in and out of hospital wards. It was Cook who held his hand as a stern, colourless man returned his mother’s ashes to her family. It was Cook who coaxed him out of his room and made him remember that life shouldn’t stagnate.
Despite everything, and at times it was awful, it was simpler back then.
Back before Effy became the catalyst for a tussle between them that practically destroyed something ten years in the making.
Then she left.
Freddie wonders why he didn’t give up on the both of them.
He knows why.
(That’s the problem.)
~~~~
Cook’s left by the time he wakes in the morning
It should't bother him, but it does.
~~~~
Emily has cobbled their entire group together to celebrate Naomi’s birthday. All eight of them arrive at the Roxxie where Emily has reserved a section just for them near the rear of the pub. He’s not sure why Emily is so adamant they all go out anyway, as a unit, because Freddie thinks they’re not really a group yet, just a bunch of disparate individuals with only a few thin threads of experiences to bind them.
Still, he grudgingly admits he quite likes Emily, despite her blatant attempts to pry into his love life. She’s made an effort for him and it would be churlish not to return the favour. It also seemed like a welcome opportunity to leave his shed. It’s mortifying when even his own dad is encouraging him to get out more.
Though what’s the point, he thinks moodily, watching as Cook pointedly ignores him all evening. He’s chatting up Katie, leaning close and is seemingly oblivious to Katie’s bored expression. She’s sitting while Cook stands next to her, oozing a natural ease which must eventually charm Katie when she finally laughs at one of his jokes. He casually brushes past her arm, fingers lingering and Katie isn’t pulling away and suddenly he’s overcome by a spike of anger so sharp he slams down his pint in frustration, a bit of lager slushing over the top and splattering onto the floor.
JJ turns and blinks at him rapidly and Freddie apologises profusely, already seeing that his friend is concerned. Katie’s staring at him like he’s pathetic and Cook’s expression...he can’t quite read it and Freddie looks away from them both and mumbles a small “sorry.”
Thomas suggests pool and JJ, Katie and Cook all agree. They begin to play, looking far happier than Freddie. He looks around and sees Emily and the birthday girl at the next table. They’re nestled together, Naomi on a tall stool with Emily practically sitting on her lap as she leans against her. It’s as if the rest of the room is cast in shadow; it’s clear they only have eyes for each other. They’re completely, so completely smitten; Naomi’s eyes glaze over as Emily affectionately squeezes her arm and whispers something in her ear.
Under the fluorescent lights Freddie sees Naomi flush a lovely pink colour. Freddie catches her profile as she turns and looks at Emily and her face is so relaxed and open. It’s the prettiest he’s ever seen her and it makes his breath catch almost painfully in his throat. It looks so easy for them, whatever troubles they were in (and yeah, he still remembers their faces on the steps at the Love ball) they’ve managed to navigate through it. Not him though. He was so certain everything was sorted when Effy knocked on his door a few days after the boat incident and stripped out of her clothes and whispered in his ear that she loved him.
I’m such a tit, he thinks, swallowing his bitterness with a mouthful of lager.
Not for the first time he thinks the universe is honestly against him. Freddie feels himself scowling. He hates it; he hates that he resents Emily’s relationship because his own has wilted before it began. He hates that everything is muddled and unclear. He hates that he can’t even go out with his friends to the pub anymore without feeling the beginning of hot tears pricking at his eyes.
Cook catches his eye and mouths “drugs” at him and Freddie shrugs.
Fuck it, he thinks. Fuck it.
~~~~
After they snorted some unknown white powder the night turns south a bit. JJ’s gone to watch some dvds at Thomas’s place; Katie has left as soon as her boyfriend turned up and Cook’s...disappeared somewhere. Emily and Naomi are not much company; they’re completely enamoured, looking at each other with such open affection it makes Freddie’s stomach churn. They finally go, leaving Freddie alone with his thoughts. He staggers out of the pub and brings his hand to his eyes. It comes away wet. Fuck, maybe the drugs are making him go soft. That would be right. First his brain cells, then his manhood.
He wanders away from the party and ends up in a park across the road from the pub. It’s empty, Freddie’s a bit surprised at that, figured there’d be some drunk derelict around to annoy him. He sighs heavily, feeling very weary and worn all of a sudden. He leans against the nearest oak-tree, closing his eyes and wishing for the whole world to stay still, just for a moment.
Fuck this, he thinks, his will power slipping away as he reaches for his phone. He pinches his eyes shut as he dials her number, because perhaps this time...
“Hi, this is Effy I’m not here right now but leave me a message and maybe I’ll get back to you.”
“ You...god, just, fuck it. Fuck you. I loved you! Fucking... why did you go? It’s all gone to shit now, I hope you’re happy. Don’t come back. Don’t. Just fucking don’t. I hate you.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Cook?” Freddie starts. He was certain he was alone. He blinks away tears. “What...”
“Who’re you calling?” Cook snarls. He hovers around Freddie like a wasp.
“Cook, I’m tired.”
“Yeah? I’m crying on the inside, Freds.”
“I’m being serious, now is not the time...”
“I fucking love her! I would have done anything for her, absolutely anything. But she chose you. And you’ve chucked her over first chance you got.”
“Fuck you,” Freddie shoots back, feeling a spike of anger shooting up his veins. He’s geed up now, gearing up for a confrontation a whole summer in the making. “You don’t know a thing about it. I’ve been trying....all summer I’ve been trying to talk to her...I really love her but it’s too hard.”
“She still loves you, you bastard.” Cook is right in front of him, crowding Freddie and breathing onto his face. “She always has. And you see, she’ll be going straight back to you and you two can play happy couples again.”
“Yeah, but she loves you too, doesn’t she? Well, you’ve got your chance because I’m done trying to make you and her happy.”
“Nice,” Cook hisses. “Real Romeo, aren’t you?”
“And you are? Tell me Cook, since you love her so much, are you going to tell Effy about all the girls you’ve fucked when she sees your diseased dick?”
The tension snaps. Cook lunges forward with an animalistic snarl, curling his fists around the material of Freddie’s jacket and pulling him forward. They’re foreheads are squashed together and their bodies are pressed flush up against each other
Freddie can dimly feel the bark digging into his back. He doesn’t care about that, though. Not with his whole body throbbing with anger. Not with Cook so close, breathing hotly and raggedly onto his face.
“You know what I was thinking of, when I was fucking those girls?” Cook leers, his breath hot in Freddie’s ear. “Do you know? The whole time I was thinking of how good it was to fuck Effy.”
That throws Freddie; he should have known better but still, he never thought Cook would go there. Unearthing everything they had spent a whole summer burying. Cook’s face is radiant, positively buoyant but then that’s expected; he’s always enjoyed destruction.
Freddie can’t stand to look at him, but he can’t shut Cook out. Everything he’s feeling is accentuated; they’re bodies pressed together, Cook’s sticky breath on his cheek and his own erratic, strained breathing.
“Wasn’t it why you fucked them too?”
“N-no.”
“No? Don’t give me that, mate.” He starts to rub up against him, pushing his hips into him. Freddie’s mouth is dry and he weakly tries to push him away.
“Cook...”
“When I was inside ‘em, going balls deep and all, you get me, I was remembering how good it was to fuck her. How I wished I was fucking her instead.”
And Freddie can’t breathe, can’t move. He’s feels his trousers tightening where Cook is pushing up against him. A hot flush spreads all over his face; his neck.
“She feels so good doesn’t she? Being inside her ‘n all.”
“Y-yes.”
“How thick her hair is when you grab it, how tip top her tits are, and her eyes, man, they’re piercing, the way she looks at you when she’s riding you. And how amazing it is, that sigh, you remember it, right, just after she comes?”
“Yes.”
“You still want her?”
“Yes.”
Cook stops rubbing and pulls back a bit. Freddie shifts forward a little, immediately missing the friction. Cook looks at him for a long moment, his expression unclear. Freddie half expects a punch, but when Cook’s bulky fingers fly to Freddie’s zipper he realised he half expected this reaction, too.
Whatever was lurking between them is open now when Cook takes Freddie’s rapidly hardening cock out of his pants. Freddie feels a spike of embarrassment, at how easily the blood is seeping downwards, but he forgets it as Cook wraps his fist around Freddie’s cock, moaning as he does so. It’s cold but Freddie barely feels it. He’s inert, frozen, and he opens his mouth silently when Cook’s starts to slowly stroke his cock.
“She’s so beautiful, you know, isn’t she? All those other bastards wanted her, but they never got to have her. Not like you did.”
His hand starts to move faster, with more purpose Cook’s trying to say something important, but Freddie’s hazy mind can’t grasp what it is. Not when Cook’s hand is so warm and damp and his grip so firm.
“And I kept thinking, all summer, how it’s gonna be when she gets back. It’ll be you and her. Together. And it’s...”
Cook’s voice wavers, full of choked, barely concealed emotion. Freddie’s eyes fly open and see the desolation on his friend’s face.
“It’s fucked cause I’ll lose both of you...”
Freddie doesn’t want to want to hear any more of the pain in his friend’s voice. He moves on instinct, grabbing the back of Cook’s head, feeling short strands of hair between his fingers. He pulls forward and within a second Cook’s mouth is on his own.
Cook freezes, lips firm, his fist resting mid way on Freddie’s shaft. Freddie moves his mouth, ardently earnestly, licking Cook’s lips. Cook finally responds and they’re kissing wetly, Freddie’s tongue thrusting into his friend’s mouth. Cook makes a small, desperate noise, right at the back of his throat, and it makes Freddie kiss him harder. Some dim, corner of his mind is telling him to stop, that things are careering out of control. But he doesn’t care, not when Cook starts moving his palm again, jerking Freddie off with firm, precise movements.
Freddie starts to shake. He can feel tension start to build and he rips his mouth from Cook’s and leans back against the tree. Cook is staring at him, brow furrowed in intense concentration, and he’s taking everything so seriously it’s unnerving. Freddie never thought he’d take sex so seriously.
(Then again, Cook always thought sex was his biggest asset, so maybe he took it seriously all along)
“C-Cook.”
Cook ignores him and increases his pace, the tight, hot friction making Freddie moan. He grips Cook’s arm and squeezes.
“Cook. Please.”
Freddie feels himself nearing the edge, his whole cock throbs in Cook’s hand. His head falls forward and rests on Cook’s shoulder, whose body is shaking; Freddie can feel the vibrations from the vigorous movements of Cook’s arm.
“Cook,” Freddie whispers. “Look at me.”
Cook pulls back, his eyes glistening. Cook’s so near, so present; it feels the closest they’ve been for a long time. It’s what brings Freddie closer to the edge, feeling himself unravel under his oldest friend’s hands. He pulls Cook against him, clumsily finding his mouth but he doesn’t care, kissing sloppily, filthily. Cook moans back and the kiss is mutual, and it’s a fucking turn on. It shouldn’t be, but it is. When the pressure from Cook’s hand becomes too much he bites down on Cook’s lip, and emits a strangled groan, and let’s himself topple over the precipice, coming in several long, steady spurts.
His body jerks stiffly and then stills after he comes. Their breathing is ragged and short, and very loud in the silent night.
Freddie closes his eyes, feeling sated and warm and oddly...safe. Which is the height of absurdity after what they’ve done. Nothing is safe now. He’s not sure if it’s his usual post orgasm vulnerability or something else, more troubling, more exhilarating, which makes him hold Cook tightly.
“You’re never going to lose me, mate.”
As soon as Freddie says it, Cook makes a soft, choked cry, and Freddie instinctively knows that sound, and grips Cook firmly, sensing he’s going to push him away. Freddie’s firm and won’t let Cook go, buoyed by this tenuous connection between them. But it’s fragile, and won’t last, and Freddie isn’t prepared to relent just yet. He fumbles for Cook’s belt. He feels a bulge underneath Cook’s pants, and smiles in vindication.
Without any hesitation he unzips Cook’s fly. He’s never felt another guy like this before. Cook feels large and bulky underneath his hand. A faint smell of sweaty musk seeps into the air. Cook twitches, and makes a small, guttural grunt which sounds so desperate Freddie feels like he has no choice but to grip his friend tighter massaging his shaft more forcefully.
Sex has always been a bit farcical to Freddie. Bits of naked bodies rubbing up against each other, yearning for the right amount of tension, contorting themselves in all sorts of ways just for a momentary physical release. And Freddie knows all about that, fucking any random girl who’ll take him this summer. But it’s different now when it’s Cook whose mouth is hanging limply open in a silent plea, writhing underneath his hand. It’s Cook who feels so solid underneath him, eyes wide open, looking at him unflinchingly.
It’s too much. It’s too much. It reminds him too much of...
“Freds...”
Freddie can hear Cook’s question so he answers it, kissing him firmly and sweetly. Cook runs his fingers through Freddie’s hair, tugging slightly, thrusting his hips forward towards Freddie’s hand. They stay like this; Freddie transfixed by the rising crescendo of Cook’s moans becoming more and more drawn out until it is one continuous groan as he comes with a final flourish, spurting on Freddie’s hand and the damp grass below.
Cook’s whole body sags. He leans on Freddie’s shoulder, completely spent. Their breathing is so loud that Freddie almost misses it...
“I love you.”
Just like that, it’s out in the open.
Cook’s told him that many times, of course, but he’s never sounded so small, so broken. It makes Freddie’s throat constrict, and he pulls Cook a bit closer to him.
“Yeah, Cook. Me too.”
They stay like this for a long, serene moment, in a kind of suspended animation until reality finally sinks in and Cook pushes Freddie away with a loud sob.
“Cook!”
Cook whirls around and punches Freddie square in the stomach. His fist connects hard into Freddie and he feels his whole body stiffen with shock. His knees give out and he collapses to the ground with a loud wheeze, trying to suck air into his lungs. Cook glowers, his eyes glistening under the dull streetlight, and turns on his heels and runs.
“Cook. Cook!”
Freddie watches as Cook bolts, shrinking in the distance until Freddie can no longer see him in the gloom.
Freddie doesn’t bother to hold back the sobs he feels building in his throat.
~~~~
They don’t talk. Nothing is resolved. The final days of summer blur together until finally they dribble into one, indistinguishable mess.
One thing Freddie knows for sure, though, is whatever truce he had with Cook is gone. It’s awful. And time isn’t making the feelings go away
He whittles away his days in a haze of pot and microwave meals. JJ visited once but not again. He can’t blame him, Freddie could barely make the effort to say hello.
(They’ve finally ruined him).
For the hundredth time Freddie restlessly fingers his phone. He’s rubbish at expressing himself at the best of time, but for this he is completely ill-equipped. What would he possibly say to Cook? How could he explain to him his eagerness when he kissed him? How he moaned when he touched his cock? Why he came looking directly into Cook’s eyes?
A part of him is certain though; if he ever told Effy what happened she’d smile and tell him it’s fucking hot.
Emily visited yesterday. JJ probably said something to her. He had wanted to gouge her eyes out when she came into the shed, with her perky smile and cheerful demeanour. He sulked and scowled until Emily started talking about how amazing tits are and for the first time in a long time he felt himself laughing alongside someone. Emily eventually cajoled him into teaching her some moves on the skateboard. She was atrocious but became marginally better after forty minutes of his tutelage.
“You know, Freds,” she said, eyeing him caressing the battered wheels of his skateboard. “If I waited for Naomi to do anything we never would have gotten anywhere.”
“Emily...”
“I know, I know, you don’t like talking about it. But I used to wait for things to happen too. And with Naomi, I was waiting for years.”
“Did it get better, after a while? The waiting?”
“Fuck no. It got much worse.” She looked at him pointedly. Her hair is still that vivid candy red she’s always had but it’s grown much longer. It’s finally stopped cluttering her face. It suits her.
“Some things need to be said, you get that, right?”
He did get it. Freddie stares at that picture, taken two years ago at the Bristol city council fair of him, JJ and Cook dressed up as the three musketeers.
(Some things need to be said)
He dials Cook’s number and hears his phone ring. Freddie freezes, unable to figure out where the sound is coming from.
He hears a knock on the shed door and sure enough, there’s Cook, phone in hand. He lets it ring out as they stare at each other across the gulf between them.
“Read your mind,” Cook finally says.
“Yeah. Yeah. You going to come in?”
Cook sits down cautiously, as far away from Freddie as possible. It stings, to see Cook so distant and so wary, but it steels him for what he needs to say.
“Had a little red-headed birdie in my ear this morning, telling me to come around and see you. Reckon though she just wanted some alone time with her lady. Freds, you have no idea how tops it is, staying at Naomio’s place. Almost caught them in the act once, it was amazing. Fucking fit birds, aren’t they? I’d get in between...”
“Cook, stop. Stop. That’s not what we should be talking about.”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“Stop it, Cook. Please.”
“I’m not gay,” Cook blurts out. A strawberry red flush blooms all over his face. He rubs his neck.
“And I am? We’re both not gay, Cook.”
“Right, so then we never need to talk about...”
“And we both love Effy. Right?”
Cook pauses, looking at him incredulously. When he sees that Freddie is not going to back down he hangs his head and nods sadly, looking as though someone was about to drag him to the gallows.
“Did you mean it, what you said, last week? That you loved me, too?”
“Freddie, man.... why bring this...why are you doing this?”
“Because I meant it.” He clutches his courage to his chest and looks Cook in the eye. “I love you too.”
“Freds,” Cook’s sounds like he’s holding back tears, but Freddie can’t backtrack, not when they’ve already ruined everything that’s come before.
“All I know is, I love you and I love Effy. I don’t know what it means. I know that I might have just ruined everything but...I think even if I never said anything things would have gone to shit anyway.”
Freddie gets up and broaches the distance between them until he’s in front of Cook on the tattered weathered couch on the other side of the shed. That couch has beared witness to so many memories. It’s about to witness another now.
He sits next to him and senses Cook tense but Freddie knows, understands in that intuitive way which ten years of friendship has built, that Cook isn’t going to lash out.
“Cook...”
He reaches over, brushes his hand over Cook’s. He doesn’t look at Freddie but he doesn’t move away either. It’s sometimes an achievement just to keep Cook still.
“Cook...are you going to say something or what?”
“We can’t share her, though, can we?” Cook finally asks his voice thin and croaky. “That’s what you said, remember, right, on my dad’s boat.”
“Things change. And I think maybe we should ask her first. If she’s ever coming back.”
“She’s coming back Freds. She can’t stay away from the mess she’s made. You know that.”
“Yeah,” he squeezes Cook’s hand, briefly and tentatively.
Freddie swallows. His throat is parched and sore, but he forces out the question he needs to know.
“Are we... are we good, mate?”
Cook looks at him, his expression inscrutable. It makes Freddie momentarily panic, because he always could read him with ease. But this...whatever has manifested between them might have smashed what they had forever.
But Cook’s face relaxes into an affectionate smile and Freddie feels his heart pulse with happiness.
“Yeah...I think so.”
Cook turns to leave, and Freddie is too dumbstruck to say anything. But then he turns and a familiar leer is on his face, and Freddie feels something tighten in his gut, just seeing it.
“Just so we’re clear though; I totally won the shagging competition. Right?”
“Oh my god, yes, fine, you won. Tosser.” Freddie chuckles. “I’m fucking billing you for my Chlamydia medication, you prick.”
Cook laughs, that familiar, unhinged, hyena-styled laugh that Freddie’s known forever. It makes him chuckle just hearing it.
“Cook...Emily...Emily said we should go to Thomas’s gig tomorrow night. It’s the last one before college goes back and she said...she said everybody is going to be there. Everybody. So...”
Cook smiles softly at him. He reaches for the shed door and pulls it open gently.
“Yeah Freddie, I’ll go. Just say when and I’ll be there.”
~~~~
It’s not how he pictured his summer ending, squashed against a tide of people in this tiny club. He sees JJ a few metres to his left. JJ shoots him a wide, braces clad smile, the happiest Freddie’s seen him for a while. Panda’s right next to him, blushing and waving exuberantly at him. Katie’s dancing with some burly bloke and Emily....well, she and Naomi look much too preoccupied with each other; snogging each other’s faces off on a dingy stairwell above him.
He’s not like them. Not yet. He hasn’t got everything he’s ever wanted. But, when he sees Cook pushing his way through the crowd, drink in hand and big grin, he thinks yeah.
Yeah.
It’s not a bad start.