Fizz looked up into Ryan’s sweet, smiling face. This small act of kindness made Fizz feel so guilty

and awful, and coupled with the events of that morning, he couldn’t stop the emotions from

overwhelming him. In an instant, he was crying again.

Ryan stared at him, confused. Fizz couldn’t bear to be looked at. He covered his face with his hands

as he sobbed. “Hey, what’s up?” Ryan asked, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

Fizz wished it was okay. He would give anything for okay. He didn’t care about happy, he only

wanted to be normal, like everyone else. Okay would be amazing. Ryan probably didn’t realise he was

only making things worse by being nice. Fizz couldn’t stand being comforted, it made him feel worse

for inconveniencing someone else.

So pathetic.

As he tried to curb the sobs, he wished he could curl in on himself and disappear. But not being in

his own home – not that he had one any more – he didn’t have his own space to hide away. He

considered running to the bathroom and locking himself in there, but that just seemed rude. So he sat

there, stifling his sobs, cringing every time Ryan touched him.

Eventually, Ginger returned. “I don’t know what to do,” Ryan told him quietly. “He just started

crying.”

“Don’t worry,” Ginger said. He took hold of Fizz’s upper arm, urging him to stand. Fizz tried to

blink away the tears and let Ginger guide him. Ginger wasn’t one for emotional displays. He’d always

been a quiet, reserved sort of man. He was at least a decade older than Fizz, too. He wasn’t

judgemental like Fizz’s parents, he was simply quiet, and – thankfully – he never made a fuss. Fizz

found himself in Ginger’s room, and offered his bed.

“Hang out here for a bit,” Ginger said. “I’m gonna sort you out a room.”

Nodding his head, Fizz tried to say thank you, but it was all choked sobs. He kicked off his shoes,

and crawled onto the unmade bed. An enticing, musky smell of cologne rose from the sheets when he

disturbed them. Burying his face in a pillow, Fizz worked hard to stop his crying. He heard Ginger

move around the room, and a rustle of what sounded like clothing.

“I’ll be along the hall if you want me,” Ginger said. The door shut, and he was gone.

* * *

Ryan tipped his plate at the bin, chucking away his now stone cold toast. Today was going to be one

of those days. First, he’d been woken up in the night by Sammy, who clearly thought that three in the

morning was a perfectly acceptable time to blast out Lady Gaga at full volume. As soon as the quiet

returned, Ryan had heard those heavy footsteps again, stomping down the hall. He’d actually got out

of bed to tell Sammy, or whoever it was, to shut the hell up.

Except no one had been there.

More than a little bit spooked, Ryan had run back to bed and bundled himself under his duvet until

it was time to get up. Now, with the sun shining in through the greasy kitchen windows, Ryan didn’t

feel quite so scared, just slightly creeped out. On top of that, it was a chore to be awake. He didn’t

have a choice; it was his turn to open the pub today.

The entire building was silent. Mid-morning was about the only time it ever was, with all the live-in

staff having gone to bed or passed out drunk by now. Ryan had been the only one awake, fixing his

breakfast, trying not to make too much noise. It was then Ryan had heard footsteps on the stairs, and

seen Ginger fly past the doorway, half dressed, which was always a sight worth noticing, Ryan

thought. And just as he’d been about to eat his breakfast, Ginger had returned with a young, gothylooking

kid in tow.

As soon as Ryan had spotted the kid’s sorrowful expression and the bundle of bags Ginger was

carrying, he knew something was up. Looked like whoever this kid was, he was coming to stay. Ryan

had a hard time biting back his initial jealousy. When Ginger had introduced the kid as his cousin, he

relaxed slightly.

Ryan’s deep seated fantasy of Ginger actually dating guys was at odds with the panic that if he did,

there was no guarantee Ginger would fancy him. Ryan wasn’t sure if he could take rejection like that.

He’d been in love with Ginger for years, ever since the older man had arrived in Brighton. Everyone

loved fresh meat, especially in a small town, but Ginger didn’t date anyone. He wasn’t short of

admirers though. The guy looked like a rock star; he was tall and lean, with beautifully tattooed arms,

and quite possibly the best hair Ryan had ever seen on a man.

The joke was, Ginger wasn’t actually ginger. His name was Daniel, and his natural hair colour was

pale blonde. He dyed his long hair all shades of red and magenta. The constant mess he left in their

bathroom was evidence of that. The shower looked like a bloody scene out of Psycho. Ryan didn’t

mind, the end result was worth the mess. He loved Ginger’s hair. When Ginger styled it, he looked like

he should be starring in some glam rock video. Sometimes he braided small sections, and threaded in

beads shaped like little skulls.

Ryan sighed to himself. He knew he spent far too much time obsessing over Ginger. There were

times when he worried that moving into the pub to live and work with Ginger would possibly tip their

friendship over the edge. Ryan knew he was close to saying something. He felt like he might blow at

any moment, and blurt out his feelings.

God.

That incident last week, with the late night Sambuca shots and the almost confession, had Ryan in a

panic. He didn’t know what he’d do if Ginger turned him down. He’d have to move out. The

awkwardness would be unbearable otherwise. Then he’d need a new job, and those weren’t easy to

come by, especially in Brighton.

Ryan gazed out of the window, and at the only visible section of the beer garden way down below.

This pub wasn’t just a job, this was his home now. His colleagues – as irritating as some of them could

be – were his family. He couldn’t bear to leave. No, Ryan told himself for the hundredth time. Best

keep quiet. Don’t ruin a good thing. Just stay friends, and keep your mouth shut.

He absently cleared up plates, lost in his thoughts, when Ginger returned. He was still in his wife

beater, but the pyjamas were gone. Now he wore snug, faded jeans and his leopard print Converse

shoes. Ginger looked amazing – as always – and Ryan tried not to stare too much.

“So, er...how’s it going?”

“Hn.” Ginger shrugged. “I’ve had better mornings.” He spotted the untouched mug of tea Ryan was

about to clear away. “I’ll have that, if it’s going spare.”

“Oh, sure!” Ryan was only too pleased to hand the tea over. His fingers brushed against Ginger’s,

accidentally on purpose. “Is your cousin okay?”

Ginger sipped his tea. “He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine. He’s depressed, but aside from that, he’s

fine.”

“Ah.” Ryan nodded. “Like the Aerosmith song, right?”

“Huh? Oh, F.I.N.E.” Ginger smiled. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

His golden brown eyes sparkled when he smiled. At least, that’s what Ryan thought. As Ginger

turned away, Ryan tried not to watch him too closely. The lean figure on display, clad in tight jeans,

was too irresistible. Holding his mug in one hand, Ginger used his other to run through his long hair,

flicking it over his shoulder. Ryan loved it when he did that. He loved tracing his eyes over the lines of

Ginger’s body. From the curves of his toned upper arms, down to the sweeping line of his back, and

more tattoos that peeked out from under his vest.

It was enough to give Ryan the beginnings of a hard on if he stared too long. He followed Ginger