It had been three years

by silentreadergil

JP's POV, three years after the airport-incident John Paul suddenly gets a phone call. JP/Craig. SLASH!

It had been three years. Three years since I had prevented myself from making the biggest mistake in my life and now he was suddenly standing in front of me again. Actually not that suddenly, because two days ago, he had called and asked for this meeting.

I have to admit that I was so shocked to hear his voice that I dropped the phone. When I had picked it up again my voice was still shaking. „C-Craig?"

„John Paul." God, how much I had missed his voice calling my name. I had to close my eyes and breathe deeply, because suddenly all the memories flooded back and I was drowned in a wave of happiness, sorrow, old love and, mostly, pain.

„John Paul?" Oh, Craig, damn you to hell.

„What is it?" My voice was barely a whisper.

„I-I am in town, and I…wanted to ask you if we can meet." Damn him to hell trice. His voice sounded exactly like then, when we were standing behind his house and he tried to make his mother accept her son being gay. I grinded my teeth. At that moment I had believed him. Really believed that he wanted to go out of the closet, wanted to be with me.

„I-I don't want to." I was over him. Dammit. I. was. Over. him. Had been for years really. I now led a great life, had a good job, new friends and even some old ones. I was happy. And that I hadn't had any relationship until then, was only because I had to study hard and therefore no time.

„John Paul, please!" It was his Pleading Voice again. Probably because he knew that it had made my guts squirm every time and still did. „I just…want to talk. Really. Please! John Paul!" No, no,no! There was no way I was going to…

„Alright, but not today. Have to work." ARGH! Where is my sense of self-preservation when I need it most?

„Thank you, thanks a lot!" He really did sound relieved. Damn him doing. Damn myself for caring. „Tomorrow then?"

„Same there. Not until Saturday." Two days until then. I wish it had been more, but I guess even another three years hadn't been enough.

And so we fixed it to 5 p.m. on Saturday at the Dog's. Home ground for him.

And here we sat now the furthest away possible on this little bench, the table both support and hide-out. I didn't say a word because I was concentrating to keep my face straight. Normally that worked quite well these days, but of course it would be different with him. My mind kept turning and turning around every little detail of all the time we had spent together, from the first meeting over how my feelings began to grow for him, the first kiss, the disaster at his engagement party to our departure at the airport. If I had opened my mouth, I probably would have started to scream or stutter or cry, perhaps even all together. So instead I settled on staring at him.

He had changed, but only someone who knew him well, would notice it, someone like me. His hair was still cut short, which was good, because it suited him. Or not so good, for the same reason. His built was also so the same. Lean, with faint muscles hinted under his shirt. Exactly the same type of shirt as then, by the way. He might have grown an inch or so, but so had I - no difference there as well. We were still almost the same size. The difference was not his outside. Something had changed in him and it was hinted in the way he was sitting just a little bit straighter with his shoulders square and, of course, in his eyes. Not that I kept looking at these details for too long. No, my glance was drifting and drifting over him, not stopping once, more like a hunted animal, looking for a loophole out, than caressing.

I jumped literally out of thoughts when he suddenly moved.

„Sorry, what was that?"

He looked at me, as if in real desperation.

„Look, can't we just go outside for a walk?" He wasn't a sitting thinker. Nothing had changed there, apparently, as well.

„What? Not afraid that people might see us and get the wrong impression?" Yeah, I know, probably not very nice and fair of me, but hey, even I am allowed to be nasty sarcastic sometimes.

For a moment he looked like he might explode, but then he gulped it down and shook his head with a wary expression.

„No, I'm not." He stood up and went out of the pub, leaving me no option but to follow him. Damn him.

Out on the street he turned towards me again. "Look, can't we just, for the next two hours, pretend to be friends again?"

At that I snapped. Ok, I admit it, apparently even after three years I was not over him. Not really. I might have pushed my feelings down and might have managed not to think about it most of the time, but really forgetting him, forgetting my feelings towards him, that was the one thing I never was able to. So yeah, now I snapped, just like I had then.

"Pretend?! Pretend!?! You mean pretend, like we pretended to be friends when you were still with Sarah? Like when you were engaged with her, but still fucking with me? Pretending like THAT?!" Yeah, I talked myself into rage. Like hell I care! "You know what? Fuck you! Fuck yourself! Because I won't do that anymore!"

And with that I walked, or more ran, away.

I did somehow manage to get back into the flat, I now owned, without being hit by a car or going back to strangle that git to death right then and there. Only after I had closed the door behind me, I allowed myself to scream in rage and go for my punching bag, imagining brown hair and light brown eyes with every punch.

Next day was Sunday, and every Sunday I visit my mother. I definitely wouldn't break that habit just because some damned-to-hell bastard came back after three years of no correspondence. So I crawled out of the bed and went a very cold shower to wash away the rest of the alcohol clinging to me and perhaps even a bit of that terrible, terrible hang-over that was flooding my whole system.

2 Aspirins and huge cup of coffee later, I was able to face the world again. Or at least a world that only contained my mother, the wonderful food, she was always cooking for me these days, perhaps even my sisters but definitely no Craig.

But apparently that world didn't exist because as soon as I had eaten up my pudding, she fixed me with her No-Nonsense Stare and simply asked: "And?"

I at least tried to wiggle out and put on an innocent face. "And what?"

"Craig." Damn. No chance there. My innocent façade fell.

"How did you know?"

"News travel fast here." Yeah, that's what living in a small town is like. Nothing compared to London. Or Dublin my useless brain offered.

As I didn't answer for a while my mother poked on.

"So, what was it now, with yourself and Craig?"

My anger was boiling again. "Nothing. It is nothing!"

"You seem pretty upset for "nothing"." Damn mothers and their observational skills.

"He called, we went to the Dog's, we went out of the Dog's, I went home."

I don't know if it was because of my stoic voice, something in my facial expression or another of these mother-things, but her only answer to that was holding up her arms and inviting my into a hug. Which I gladly accepted.

After a minute or so, I once again got myself under control and was even able to stop the uncontrollable shaking of my body. I didn't cry though. In fact I hadn't cried for more than one and a half years - one year and 10 month to be exactly, because until then I shed so much tears, I must have wasted my life-amount.

Nothing to be proud of, I know, especially as a guy, but I always tried to be at least true to myself. Unlike some other people. That is why I could admit – in bits and only to myself – that I was still feeling something for the biggest prat on earth, and that this was not only hate.

It was sometime later, when my mother was putting the plates into the dish-washing machine that my control was shaken again.

I was sitting on the couch when she turned towards me and let out a sigh.

"You didn't really talk yesterday, right?"

I simply shook my head.

She gave me the "Thought-so" look and then said in a casual tone: "He's standing out there, you know?"

If I had hold anything at that moment I would have let it drop. Why? Why couldn't that idiot just leave me alone?

"You want to talk to him?"

I shook my head a second time. She nodded.

"You want to see the photos I told you of, on the phone?"

We spent the rest of the afternoon inside, looking at photos, watching one of those awful daily soaps, my mother loved so much, drank tea and ate muffins.

It was already dark when I finally went home. A glance out of the kitchen-window told me that Craig had had enough and gone home. The coast was clear.

I took my jacket, hugged my mother one last time and then left, my hands thrusted in my pockets. My thoughts were going everywhere and nowhere, but mostly they were avoiding that one black hole that a phone call three days ago had caused. Damn him, damn him, damn him to hell.

"John Paul!" Oh no, no ,no, no! I pretended I hadn't heard anything. It was only a few streets to my flat, so I prayed to God, to please let me reach it, before he reaches me!

"John Paul! Wait!" So much for praying.

Breathing deeply once, I stopped and then almost in slow motion turned around.

Craig came running the last few steps towards me. He was breathing heavily. He must have run quite a bit. He stopped in front of me, bending down to catch his breath.

"Finally!" he said. "I thought you didn't hear me."

I shook my head. "I heard you. What do you want?" I kept my voice icy as I didn't want him to know any of the turmoil inside me. He looked up at me, and gave me an almost-puppy-look. His shoulders where now hunched like they used to be, but his eyes still betrayed him. He had changed and I was almost curious to know what.

"I want to talk to you, is that too much to ask of you?"

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply once again, and looked at him insignefant.

"Alright. Talk!"

"Here? C-Can't we just go to your flat?"

I only stared at him more.

"Alright, alright," he said defensively, "It's just that I've waited the whole afternoon in front of your Mum's, and it's getting really freezing, right now. Please, just let us go somewhere where I won't freeze to death the next second." The look on his face almost made me laugh, but I caught myself soon enough. I kept my face straight and summoned up all the desperation that was still inside of me to hold control.

I looked him into the eye, once, and then bowed my head.

"Alright. Come in."

And then I turned towards my flat not once looking back, because I knew he'd follow. After all this was what he had wanted all along.

My flat was not exactly something you could call luxurious, but it was enough room for myself and my LP-collection. Furthermore I had decorated it just like I wanted to and so I really liked spending time there. At least if there wasn't a Craig in as well.

While he inspected the flat I spent the time keeping my personal space clear and went to make some tea, which of course I remembered being his favourite. But at this late hour even I didn't drink coffee.

I placed the kettle down onto the sitting-room-table and sat myself into the armchair, leaving the sofa on the other side of the table to him. No, I wasn't afraid of him, it was just that – I was afraid of the reaction he might cause in me.

He sat down and poured tea in both cups and pushed one in my direction. As I remained leaned back with my arms crossed and didn't touch it, he just took his own, sipped once and then pierced myself with a glare.

I faked non-chalance and simply asked: "So?"

He looked at me bewildered.

"So, what?"

I leaned towards him looking straight into his face. The anger was once up, so I let it flow through me and took strength from it.

"So, you wanted to talk. Now, do it! Talk!"

He looked at me again with those brown eyes and I felt reminded of an animal that had been shot and couldn't believe his fate. Then he looked down and the moment was gone.

"I'm… I'm sorry."

I kept my stare.

"I…after you went…that day…I almost turned – but I couldn't. Because the plane was leaving and it always had been my dream to study abroad…"

"How many times did you have to repeat that in your head to actually believe it?" I interrupted. Seemed that nowadays there were only two ways how to deal with the topic "Craig" – mourning and anger.

He looked hurt again. I tried to tell myself that it served him right but only a part believed that.

"Well," he started once again. "it may not have been the primary reason but it was one of them."

His voice was gaining strength with every word and he continued.

"I can only imagine how much I hurt you, but you must know that I'm really, really sorry. You were right with what you said. I couldn't stand the fact to be openly gay."

I couldn't believe my ears. Craig Dean apologizing sincerely? And was that a "couldn't" – past tense?

"In fact when I came to Dublin, I had learned nothing. I started dating another guy, but told me it was only because he reminded me of you – well, he was blond. We kissed and soon enough slept with each other, but I didn't meet him outside the house." He laughed to himself and I had to gulp. How dare he?

"Could you please stop to talk about your sex-life in front of me?" I asked without voice.

"What?" He even had the guts to look astonished. "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry."

That again. I breathed deeply once and then gave him a sign to continue, because he surely wouldn't leave me alone before story-time was over. He nodded once, then resumed his position, his head slightly bowed, not directly looking at me and with his hands around the now empty cup.

"Well, sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes. Well, we – that guy and I – were dating and it went well for about two month or something. But then he wanted us to meet at the outside and I simply couldn't, so we fought and he said to me exactly the same as you did. Only that his words were more rude and brutal and much, much louder. All this happened in a supermarket, so all these people were looking at us, and I couldn't do it. I ran away that day, and told him to get lost the next time we met."

He pulled some more tea, once again frowning at my cup that had remained untouched the entire time.

"After that, I tried it with a girl, several girls to be exactly, but it never really worked. There was always something missing and that was not the…sorry. Well, I mean, it didn't feel right."

At that point I was really glad about all the years of training to remain a calm surface, because once again I couldn't believe my ears. All that I had heard of him before he went, was that he loved me differently than Sarah, but never that he didn't like girl's anymore. I couldn't think properly anymore, so instead I settled on listening again.

"It didn't go well with the girls. No one lasted more than few weeks. After the fourth or fifth breakup I really did realize that this wasn't working. With no girl. But I still couldn't accept it properly. So one evening I got completely drunk, and somehow ended up in the Dublin gay scene. I had real fun there and continued to go there."

He took a sip of tea and by this moment I must have been staring openly, because he looked at me worried.

"Everything okay? Take some tea, please."

I was only able to nod and finally took the long-abandoned cup in my hands. I didn't drink though, because I might have puked it all out again. I felt like I had stood in front of a big black abyss the whole day and now I was falling and falling and the ground was nowhere in sight.

He took my quietness as a clue to continue and did so.

"It was on one of those trips that I met Stanley. He was guy about 3 inches bigger than me with curly brown hair and blue eyes. I really liked him. A lot. So when he asked me out, I immediately said yes, and when he asked me to meet in a very popular park, I told myself that I could make a mistake once, twice even, but not trice. I guess this was my real outing, but it felt really good. From there on we often met, I noticed that there really wasn't anything about being gay.

"It didn't last more than half a year though, because Stanley had to go back to USA to his family. We decided that it would be better to break up and go on with our lives, than waste them by moping the whole day. After that I mostly concentrated on my study, though I did have some dates now and then – guys only, and now that I finished studying, I decided to go back here and tell you how sorry I am about what I did to you."

He stopped there and looked me directly in the eye. I was only able to stare back.

"I'm sorry." He said and in his eyes I could see that he finally understood how much he had hurt me back then, and that he was sincere with his apology.

"Please…please go." I whispered. Go on, call me a sissy, but any longer I would have started crying again.

"What?" he looked confused again. Yes he could do that well.

A whispered "Please." was everything I was able to say before my voice broke.

He still wouldn't move.

I had to get him out of there, out of sight, out of the flat before I started crying. I could feel the tears welling up already. "I…I call you or something, but please…"

"No, listen, you're supposed to say something, I don't know - make up with me, scream at me, but please don't make me go. My return ticket is booked for tomorrow evening."

I was just able to shake my head. "Go."

And this time he did. He stood up and walked out the door, of course not without turning around and saying "Call me, John-Paul." once more.

I spent the next few hours – the whole night actually – lying on my bed and deciding not to call him. Which was exactly why the next morning at eight o'clock sharp, I picked up my mobile and dialed a number I still knew by heart.

"It's me." Was the first thing I said, even before he could squeeze in a 'Hello?'.

"John-Paul! I'm so glad you called!" he really sounded relieved. "That's great, I'm happy now."

"Listen, Craig! I just – I just wanted to say that I accept your apology." And that I still love you like hell, but I wouldn't say that aloud.

For a moment he seemed taken aback, but then he started again. "Hey, what about I make up for it even more. I could treat you for lunch."

Seeing that he sounded sincere, and also was leaving for good this evening, I decided that it was safe to say yes. As safe as I could be with a Craig Dean.

So we fixed lunch at the M.O.B.. Afterwards when I had hung up, I felt like I had signed for doom, which I probably had, but I also felt like this one time I could dare to.

It was pure incident that I put on my best jumper and made sure my hair was alright that day. I couldn't hide the rings under my eyes and didn't plan to either.

Craig was already sitting there at one of the tables, a glass of orange juice in front of him. He smiled at me, one of these breath-taking smiles, when he spotted me at the entrance.

While eating the sandwiches he had picked from the menu, there actually wasn't the awkward silence, I had feared to be there. Instead I somehow ended up casually talking about university, my job and how I got my flat and it almost felt like it had then, when we were still mates. I didn't talk about my (non-existing) love-live though, but I had never been keen on that subject, now had I?

I also learned that Craig had finished university with grade B which was really great and about the room-mates he had shared a flat with the first one and a half years.

I felt like I was sitting in a bubble in which time flew by different then everywhere around. I soaked up every new detail I learned from him, completely forgetting that I was supposed to hate him.

It was two hours later with Craig's flight rushing nearer and nearer, that the dreaded question was asked. Of course only out of curiosity and purely innocent. "So, are you seeing anyone lately?"

I shook my head. I mean what's the sense of lying, when he was supposed to fly back to Dublin any time soon. And if that doesn't make any sense to you, blame it on the crack in the air.

"So, you're single then?" he asked, a second time. And I realize now, that this should have been a warning, but at that moment I just snapped.

"Well 'not seeing anyone' normally pretty well counts for being single. Why are you asking anyway?"

Ok, I might have provoked it, but there was no way I did foresee what Craig did next.

He stood up and walked around the table bending down so his face was the same level as mine was. "That is good." He said, a sly grin slowly spreading on his face. "Because it gives you no reason to stop me from doing this." And leaned further down, and in the middle of the crowded juice bar he kissed me on the lips. I might have made a little sound or something, but I can't tell, because my brain just stopped working and I just responded, like I always had to him: I kissed back.

We pulled away after some time, no clue how long it was, but it had given all the guests of the M.O.B. plus Stephanie enough time to completely fix their attention to the pair of us.

I honestly expected Craig to freak out again. Or maybe pull of a mask and say something like April's fool.

But I never expected him to stand up, square his shoulders and say with a voice loud enough for the whole room to hear: "I'm asking you, John Paul McQueen, to be my boyfriend. I know I'll be leaving in a few hours back to Dublin, but I wanted to ask you for forgiveness for what I have done to you three years ago. And also," here he took a breath and grinned his boyish grin at me, "I wanted to ask you for another chance."

And suddenly I felt like the black pitch I had fallen into, suddenly turned into a bed full of white feathers. Or something similar sappy. Like hell I care.