“You’re not going up there to check on them?” Ryan asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Daniel, no. Leave them alone,” Ryan insisted. He wanted to yank Ginger back, but he wasn’t quite

brave enough. “Let them enjoy their time.”

Ginger didn’t move. Ryan could hear how hard he was breathing, even over the distant strains of

music from the bar. His eye caught the mermaid tattoo peeping out under Ginger’s t-shirt, and Ryan

couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Daniel...” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He reached for Ginger’s hand. The contact of skin

was electric, and he threaded Ginger’s fingers with his own.

Cold air swept into the stairwell. Ryan glanced up, wondering if a window had blown open, but they

were all shut. A noise sounded above them; distant laughter.

Ginger pulled his hand away, shrugging him off. “Just leave it, Ryan.” He turned on the stairs,

grabbed his jacket from the bannisters, then stormed out through the side door to the street.

The door slammed closed, banging on its hinges. Ryan was still staring at it when Rachel came to

check on him.

“Ry?” she said quietly. “You okay?”

He nodded at her, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yeah, Rach...I’m fine.”

* * *

It was only late afternoon. Matt was clearing up in the kitchen before he re-opened again for the

evening run at six. Although, with the rain coming down in sheets, it wasn’t likely to be busy. He

should have been cleaning the ovens, getting them prepped along with the washing up yet, somehow,

he’d felt this odd compulsion to reorganise the pantry. He’d already hefted out two sacks of potatoes,

now he stared at them on the floor, not sure what he was doing.

Matt blamed it on the music, or rather, lack of it. His stereo had decided to stop working earlier

today. Matt was sorely tempted to nip out into town, and buy a new one. He couldn’t work without his

music. This day just got worse and worse.

Then he heard someone calling his name. Matt looked up, waiting for whoever it was to come in.

“Matt?” they called again.

“What?” he called back.

“Matt!”

“What!”

This time, there was only laughter. Matt frowned. Was that Sammy? What the hell did he want?

Matt had already seen more Sammy than he could handle. The fateful scene of that morning played

out in his mind’s eye. Him banging on the bathroom door, desperate for the only working loo, and

Sammy singing away to himself, no doubt taking his time in order to be annoying. Then the door

opened. Sammy sat naked in the tub, those wide eyes turned on him; shocked, accusing, then full of

mirth.

Matt hadn’t understood what happened. How had the door opened? Then Sammy had thrown his

head back into the bath’s glittery soap suds, crowing with laughter. Matt had stomped away to escape,

down to the bar. He’d use the damn gent’s. He didn’t need silly little brats making fun of him first

thing in the morning.

“Matthew!” the voice called him now.

“Never a minute’s peace,” Matt grumbled. He strode across his kitchen and made for the door.

“What is it?” he called, as he pushed the swing door open. It thudded into someone with a dull crack,

and they staggered back. Matt started in surprise, reaching out to steady the person. It was Sammy.

What the hell was he doing here? The voice had sounded far away –

Matt focussed on the matter in hand. “Sammy? Are you okay?”

“Shit,” Sammy mumbled. He swayed in Matt’s arms and his hand raised up, touching his forehead.

Matt’s stomach lurched. God, he’d injured Sammy again. Why did these things keep happening to

him?

“Sammy, sit down,” he ordered, guiding Sammy into the kitchen. Sammy didn’t resist, and let Matt

sit him on a stool. He leaned back against the window. “Does it hurt?” Matt asked.

Sammy scowled at him. “Yes, of course it hurts, you moron. You just slammed the door into my

head!”

Matt swallowed his anger. He had a growing panic that Sammy would call for Ginger, or the police.

“I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. What the fuck were you doing calling me, then standing behind the

swing door?”

“I didn’t call you,” Sammy said. “And I wasn’t just standing there. I was about to come in when

you barged through like a great, big...thing.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Look, stay there.”

Sammy grumbled a protest, but Matt ignored it. He picked up a clean tea towel from the shelf,

folded it neatly into halves, then quarters, and ran it under the cold tap. “Here,” he said, returning to

Sammy. He placed the wet towel on Sammy’s forehead, holding it there. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sammy muttered. His eyes were closed. “What is it with you and doors today? First

you burst in while I’m having a bath –”

“I didn’t!” Matt insisted. “You bloody opened the door.”

“How could I open the door when I was in the bath?”

“Well, maybe you didn’t lock it.”

Sammy snorted lightly. “Yes, Matthew. I spend all my time sitting around in the bath, waiting for

big, hairy chefs to leap in and perv on me.”

“Ugh.” Matt dropped the towel over Sammy’s face. “I did not open that door. For all I know, you

wanted me to see you in the bath.”

“What?” Sammy pulled the towel off his face, eyes fixed on Matt. “Why would I want you to see

me?”

“I don’t know.” Matt bristled, staring down at Sammy.

Those eyes, he thought. They were so big, staring up at him. Sammy blinked in confusion. A soft

pink tinge started to colour his cheeks. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Huh?” Matt felt heat rising in his own cheeks. “I – I’m not.”

“Weirdo.” Sammy threw the towel aside. He stood up, wobbling a little. “I don’t know what your

problem is.”

Matt reached out to steady Sammy’s shoulder, worried he was going to fall. Sammy grabbed Matt’s

wrist in an attempt to push it off. Matt held fast as Sammy glared at him, his green-blue eyes bright.

“I’m fine, Matthew.”

“Good.”

Sammy was still staring at him, still holding his wrist. Matt’s pulse beat loud in his ears, drowning

out his own thoughts. All he saw was Sammy, and something tugged inside him. Matt felt himself

move – almost like he was pushed – but before he could think about it, he leaned in, and grabbed

Sammy.

“What are you –”

Matt covered Sammy’s mouth with his, and kissed him. He gave into the urge to feel that slim body

against his, and warm, pliant lips under his own. Sammy gasped once, then he was kissing back as if

his life depended on it. His arms wound around Matt’s neck as they pressed their bodies together. The

stereo clicked on, and music filled the air. It had tuned itself into a radio station. There was a song

playing – some kind of ballad – not something Matt would normally listen to. He barely even noticed.

Chapter Twelve

Fizz hated pills. He’d been taking them on and off from the age of fourteen, for all the good it had

done. When he’d told his doctor that the pills made him feel sick, and often more miserable, he was

simply given a different prescription. Even the counselling was pretty useless. All they’d ever told

him was talk about how he felt yet, on three pills a day, Fizz couldn’t feel much at all. Apart from the

random bouts of nausea.

It had taken him years, but when Fizz finally decided, once and for all, that he’d rather feel crap

without pills than be a zombie on pills, he’d weaned himself off them without telling anyone. Down

from three pills a day to one, over several weeks, and his parent’s hadn’t even noticed.

As long as he stayed in his room and kept out of their way, they never asked him about it.