Chapter 9 #2
It was a low blow. In fact, it was downright manipulative, and while Leo had a point, Joshua wouldn’t be played like this. He stood up straight and glared at Leo. “I would never. That doesn’t mean I have to let you into my flat.”
“Well,” Leo said, tilting up his chin. “But things would be much easier if you and I agreed to a truce, don’t you think so?”
No. No, Joshua did not think so.
He was about to say just that when Mo’s laughter drifted out of the living room, mingling with the sound from the telly, with Tristan’s shout and Ed’s bright voice, then a chuckle from Nate.
The words died in Joshua’s throat. For a long second he merely stared at Leo, his skin stretched too tight over his bones.
“Why are you here?” Joshua asked eventually.
“To talk to you. And to watch the game, but mainly to talk to you.” Leo’s answer came out low and sincere, and Joshua didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“So you’re not just here for Ed?”
Leo’s brows pulled together. “Ed?”
“Ed Sheeran.”
“Shit, he’s here?” Leo released a rush of air, then shook his head. “No, that’s not—that’s cool, but it’s not why I’m here.”
While Leo was a good actor, his reaction had seemed genuine. God, this was all just so… stupid. So messed up and tangled, and Joshua didn’t know; he just didn’t know.
“I’m not ready to talk to you.”
Leo glanced away and shifted his weight, tugging at the hem of his jersey. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “Then I’ll stay out of your way until you are. But please don’t make our friends choose.”
Manipulative bastard. Why did he care so much about Joshua letting him in?
Was it really just so he wouldn’t miss out on a football night with friends, or was he serious about his need to talk to Joshua?
Was he desperate enough to use Mo and Nate as an excuse to stay in Joshua’s life?
Joshua swallowed against the sour taste in his mouth.
“Don’t talk to me,” he said, the words rough and scraping over his palate. “Not unless I talk to you first.”
He didn’t wait for Leo’s reply. Just turned and left the door open, didn’t look over his shoulder as he made his way back to the others. He imagined he could feel Leo’s gaze lingering on the nape of his neck—like a phantom touch, like cobwebs brushing over his skin.
* * *
So this would be every bit as difficult as Leo had feared.
Lingering in the dimly lit entryway, he took his time toeing off his trainers and told himself he had no right to feel hurt.
Really, he should be grateful Joshua had let him in at all, even though it had taken Leo using their friends as a weapon to make it happen.
Jesus fuck, how was Leo supposed to undo the hurt he’d caused without giving away too much?
How could he convey what was at stake—for both of them—without telling Joshua the worst of his past?
The pretty apology Leo had wanted to offer seemed painfully inadequate after he’d had to fight dirty just to get inside the flat.
He’d figure it out. He’d have to.
Shoulders squared, he moved towards the light spilling out of the living room.
On the threshold, he took in the scene—the flicker of Joshua’s enormous telly, Mo and Nate sprawled on the floor, Joshua on the sofa, squished in between Tristan and Ed Sheeran.
Holy shit, Ed Sheeran. Three weeks ago, Leo would have had a heart attack.
Now, the spark of excitement was blanketed by cold dread weighing down his stomach.
It took three thundering seconds before Mo glanced over, noticed Leo, and sat up sharply. The narrow-eyed surprise proved Joshua hadn’t bothered to announce Leo’s presence. “The fuck are you doing here?” Mo asked, the question slicing through the chatter of the TV.
Almost in sync, Tristan and Ed looked over, while Joshua stared fixedly at the line-up of the Italian players. Nate blinked and turned to frown at Mo. “Hey, please don’t.”
Everything was awful.
“I take it that’s Leo?” Ed asked, carefully neutral, so he was obviously aware of the story. Of course he was; Joshua didn’t hold back with his friends, did he? Maybe Leo should take a leaf out of his book.
With measured strides, Leo went to offer his hand for a shake and worked up a smile. “I’m Leo, yes. Pleasure to meet you. Big fan.”
Christ, he sounded like an idiot. If he’d bothered picturing a meeting with one of his favourite musicians, it would have started with Leo saying something witty, Ed laughing at it and offering to buy him a pint, and they’d be best mates by the end of the night.
The way Ed accepted Leo’s hand for a curt shake and said “Ed” in a cool voice, no trace of the easy-going smile he sported in most pictures…
Yeah, this wasn’t that fantasy.
“Pleasure,” Leo repeated, quite uselessly. He glanced at Joshua just long enough to memorise the clean cut of his profile and the way his hair curled against his temple, then forced himself to turn away and sit down on the floor, close to Nate.
Mo was still glaring at him, and a quick look confirmed that Tristan didn’t look pleased either.
Well, Leo had known they’d be irrevocably on Joshua’s side.
He’d expected it, felt grateful for it even, because Joshua deserved friends like that.
It hurt all the same, just a little. Pulling his legs up to his chest, Leo tried to make himself as small as possible.
“You haven’t answered my fucking question,” Mo said. He shot Nate a look. “I told you not to bring him.”
On the telly the teams lined up for the national anthems, and Leo’s chest hurt with the need for air. He was about to come up with some kind of reply, justification, anything, when Tristan spoke up.
“You got some bloody fucking nerve, Grammy. Not cool.” He didn’t look quite as murderous as Mo, but there was a clear message in the way he draped an arm around Joshua’s shoulders to pull him close.
Joshua came easily, naturally—just the way he’d used to sink into Leo’s embrace.
If Leo could touch Joshua just a little, run his fingertips along the instep of Joshua’s foot and up his bare calves…
He wrestled his gaze away and stayed silent.
What could he have said, anyway? It’s all a misunderstanding?
No, it wasn’t; it hadn’t been. Not really.
Leo could have corrected Joshua as soon as he’d realised how he’d misread that tiny bit of truth Leo had offered—only he hadn’t, because it had seemed like as good an excuse as any for why he and Joshua could never work out.
He’d need to come up with a better reason, something that didn’t make Joshua feel quite so used.
Or maybe he needed to stop lying.
“Look, everyone,” Nate began. “I know this isn’t ideal, but—”
“The match is about to start,” Joshua interrupted, uncommonly rude for his standards.
“I’d rather not spend it watching my friends fight, which does include you, Nate.
” The way Joshua refused to so much as glance in Leo’s direction clearly excluded him from the term.
“Let’s just declare a truce, all right?”
A truce. Just what Leo had suggested. So Joshua still paid attention to him, still listened. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Leo felt the tension in his spine loosen slightly, and then a little more when Tristan agreed, Mo grunting his assent a moment later. The kick-off whistle couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.
Throughout the first half, Leo’s gaze kept straying to Joshua. Not once did he find Joshua looking back.
Tucked in between Tristan and Ed, with Mo leaning against his legs, Joshua was more out of reach than he’d ever been.
He kept chewing on his bottom lip, clutching his drink and twisting the fabric of a red jersey that matched the ones Mo, Ed and Leo himself wore.
His eyes were fixed on the game, and each time Italy so much as crossed the centre line, he tensed up, gripping Ed’s thigh.
Leo needed to slow down on the gin and tonic.
When Italy drew ahead half an hour in, Joshua sagged into himself and released a long breath. Leo wanted to kiss him so much that he almost missed Sturridge evening the score two minutes later.
Jumping to his feet a second later than the others, Leo found himself in the middle of a celebratory huddle that included Nate and Tristan, Mo bumping into them.
Then Ed and Joshua were there as well, elbows knocking together, Tristan yelling about English bastards and their goddamn luck while Joshua laughed, free and open and beautiful.
Leo had never wanted anyone like this. He didn’t think he ever would again.
There was a moment of awkwardness when they all separated, Joshua’s grin flickering as he caught Leo’s eye.
He turned away quickly, pointedly, and Leo was left with his heart beating in the very tips of his fingers.
All he could do was sit back down on the floor and watch as Joshua leaned into Ed’s side and gave him a kiss on the cheek, received a smile in return.
Their interaction was easy and friendly. Casual.
Frowning, Leo turned to look back at the telly.
Nothing about Joshua and Ed suggested an undercurrent of sexual tension.
Even if it had, Leo had no right to be upset.
Really, they were friends, just like Joshua and Tristan, Joshua and Mo—although that was probably the wrong parallel to draw, fuck.
Either way, there was no reason why this was in any way different.
Except for how Ed was an outsider to the bubble the rest of them had formed while planning Joshua’s coming out; Ed was a reminder that Joshua was slipping away. A reminder that Leo had never been meant to keep him.
Not that Leo hadn’t known that already. It was just… God. The gin bubbling in his veins made him feel restless.
He shot another glance at Joshua, and this time he was looking back. As soon as their eyes met, Joshua’s mouth drew tight and he faced away. Leo kept watching him for several seconds longer, but Joshua’s gaze never strayed from the telly again.