After eleven, Ryan went back upstairs. He stopped in on Matt in his kitchen, who was busy getting

everything cooked. Ryan noticed Matt was a little distracted, and decided to leave him be. He seemed

to be making a desert, which was strange, as the pub menu rarely had deserts.

On the second floor, Ryan went into the domestic kitchen. He disposed of his untouched coffee, and

set the kettle to boil anew. It felt calm in here, and not stuffy, which was a blessed relief. All the

windows were open, as it was a muggy day, and the breeze from outside blew in, fresh and sweet.

Ryan could hear the odd footfall on floorboards above, but he felt almost certain that was Fizz.

Nothing seemed to feel...creepy any more.

What a relief.

No one was awake though, besides Fizz and Matt. If the pub was going to open, they only had about

an hour to do so on time. As the kettle boiled, Ryan strolled out to the hall. He flicked a wary glance

left, at the pigeon loft. The door was shut; bolted and locked, with an official notice on it from the gas

board, deeming it safe, but still under further inspection.

Ryan hoped the damn place stayed shut. He tore his eyes away, and walked up the three steps, past

the bathroom – which smelt warm and freshly scented after Fizz’s shower – toward the living room.

Since being discharged from hospital, and having the pigeon loft shut, Ginger had insisted that Fizz

have his bedroom. Last night, Fizz had slept in Ginger’s room, and Ginger had slept in the living

room.

All while Ryan had slept alone in his double bed. It seemed like such a waste. The living room was

right next to his bedroom, and Ryan had stared at the wall for much of the night, wondering if Ginger

was asleep, or awake.

Peeping his head in the living room, he looked to the couch. The curtains were drawn, but sunlight

found its way in. Ginger was sprawled on the couch, one arm flung out, red hair all a mess and

hanging over the armrest. He wore a white vest, and his pyjama bottoms were visible, as he’d kicked

away the covers in his sleep. He snored quietly, from being in the likely uncomfortable position.

Ryan wasn’t sure what to do. He was less afraid of waking Ginger than he was of waking Pete, but

if Ginger needed the sleep, maybe he should leave him be? They’d just have to open the pub late, if at

all. Sighing to himself, Ryan left the room. This was Ginger’s first night home since leaving the

hospital, and a small part of Ryan worried that he might not wake at all.

In the kitchen once again, Ryan made a new cafetiere of fresh coffee. While it brewed, he turned on

the TV and tuned into a morning chat show. He just needed some bland and inoffensive chatter to

wash over him, make him stop thinking.

* * *

Using a rolling pin, Matt pounded the crap out of a packet of biscuits. It was a good way to release

some pent up frustration. He’d planned to make banoffie pie. It was Sammy’s favourite, or it was last

Matt knew of it. He hoped it still was. If he hurried, it would be ready in time for when Sammy came

back this afternoon.

His stereo played in the background. Matt couldn’t bear to listen to the radio right now, it seemed

too jolly, too inane. He’d forgone his usual loud black metal though, and picked out a CD of slower,

chilled-out music.

Biscuits thoroughly crushed, Matt threw down his pin, and set to shaking out the biscuit crumbs

into a dish. He’d already made the cake mixture from scratch, using bananas he’d bought that

morning, and melting the toffee fudge he’d bought especially from the sweet shop. He’d gone all out

with the double cream as well. Matt wasn’t usually into making deserts, as he didn’t have a sweet

tooth, but today, he felt a real passion for it.

This was going to be the best banoffie pie ever.

* * *

Tomorrow night, the text read. Meet me at Pavilion gate after your shift. I’m taking you to the pier

;p x

The winking face and kiss at the end of the text were enough to make Fizz almost pass out from

happiness. He simply couldn’t recall ever feeling like this, like he was walking on air, or not so much

walking as....soaring. Soaring with happy.

The pier. With Ash, like a date. Fizz waited for the anxiety to hit him, but...nothing. Small

butterflies in his stomach, yet they weren’t quite the same. He didn’t even mind feeling them, they

were so light. His heart thudded in anticipation of seeing Ash again. One whole day! How could he

possibly wait that long?

* * *

Pressing down on the plunger, the aromatic scent of coffee wafted up, hitting Ryan’s nose. Nothing

could beat fresh coffee in the morning. He poured some of the hot liquid into his favourite

Transformers mug.

Footsteps creaked along the hall, and Ryan heard the bathroom door shut. He wondered who that

was. Ginger, maybe? If it had been Fizz or Pete, surely he would have heard them coming down the

stairs first? Well, he’d find out soon enough. Ryan heaped two spoonful’s of sugar into his mug, then

added milk. He stirred, watching the coffee swirl from darkest brown to golden. The scent was rich,

and a little sweet.

The toilet in the bathroom flushed. No pipes rattled, however. Not a honk to be heard. Even when

the water rushed through the pipes behind the walls, it all sounded normal. Ryan breathed in relief. No

more foghorns, no more creepy laughing.

Footsteps approached the kitchen, creaking on the floorboards. Ryan’s heart pounded. He tried to

act casual. Just as he went to take his first sip of coffee, Ginger appeared in the doorway, looking all

sleep mussed and sexy. Ryan’s fingers trembled, so he lowered his mug to the counter. “Hey,” he said

quietly. “You, um, want some coffee?”

Ginger shook his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He strode into the kitchen, somewhat

dazed, and headed for the fridge.

“Or, um, tea?” Ryan offered weakly. He watched Ginger pull on the fridge door. Bottles clinked

together as the door was yanked, and Ginger left it open as he uncapped the litre bottle of lemonade,

and gulped straight from the bottle. His long hair hung down his back, sunlight catching all the

different shades of red. Ryan’s eyes roved over him, so relieved that Ginger was here, awake. His eyes

fell to Ginger’s hips, to those low-slung pyjama bottoms that hugged his figure so well.

Oh.

Ryan tried not to notice, then couldn’t help but stare at the tell-tale bulge of morning wood under

thin pyjamas. Oh, God. Ryan tore his eyes away, facing the counter and his coffee. Torture me, why

don’t you? His cock stirred as his mind raced away with images of Ginger naked. He tried to rein

himself in. It’s just morning wood. It wasn’t like he came in here to see me.

The fridge door slammed shut. Ryan dared a glance back, trying to keep his eyes aimed up, out of

the danger zone. He failed. As Ginger walked toward him, Ryan’s gaze skimmed over the man’s

figure, appreciating everything he saw. Belatedly, Ryan realised Ginger was headed straight for him.

Was he in the way? Maybe Ginger did want coffee after all.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not quite sure what Ginger needed at the counter. Ryan went to side step.

Ginger’s hand shot out and gripped his wrist, holding him still. Ryan froze, panicking. His eyes fixed

on Ginger’s arm, to the all too familiar tattoos there. Ginger came closer, pressing his body into

Ryan’s.

Ryan tried not to glance down, but couldn’t help himself. That bulge was beautifully obscene; how

he wanted to dip his hands into those cotton pyjamas and trail his fingers over the sharp hip bones just