-Lifeboats-

Desmond pulled his hood lower over his eyes and shoved his hands back in his pockets. Fucking London and its constant fucking drizzle.

Loneliness was a funny thing.

Yusuf was always chattering away, sometimes following Desmond from room to room as he talked. And being a bartender was always about talking—meeting people, talking to strangers, being friendly. Desmond was glad he didn't need to be cheerful, but he couldn't be an asshole. And the amount of times he got asked where he was from and how he ended up in London—well, he told Shaun in an email that he was considering printing up little cards with his life story on them. They could double as coasters. And he could stop answering the same fucking questions over and over. Shaun had approved of the idea. He even offered to edit the story for grammar.

But even with all of that chatter at work and at home, Desmond felt alone most of the time.

Shaun was, in a way, like a little lifeboat. It was a dumb analogy, but it was the most accurate thing Desmond could think of. The messages from him, regardless of how mundane, reminded him that he was not entirely alone in this city. And that helped him keep his head above water.

He liked Shaun. Impeccably dressed, cynical and snarky, historian Shaun.

But, unlike Desmond who had no one else to talk to besides his slightly crazy Turkish flatmate and the various strangers he had to socialize with at work, Shaun was not lonely. Shaun had friends. A job that was more interesting and more important than mixing drinks. Unlike Shaun, Desmond didn't have a whole lot other than Shaun. He knew that. He understood.

So he did not invite Shaun for pizza. Or a pint. Or another football match. No matter how tempted he was to do just that. Instead, he sent a note each day, replied to anything Shaun sent him, and frowned at his phone a lot whenever Shaun didn't reply back—because maybe, just maybe, it was the phone's fault.

About a two weeks after the football match, Shaun showed up at Desmond's bar during a lunch shift. To get a drink. To say hello. To give Desmond a hard time. And to meet a woman named Rebecca to whom he introduced Desmond.

Desmond watched them from the corner of his eye. To keep their drinks filled, but also to watch them. Shaun was, of course, impeccably dressed as always. That was Shaun. Desmond glanced down at himself and frowned. Shaun was flat-front slacks and button-up shirts. He was v-neck sweaters and shiny loafers. The man wore loafers for fuck's sake. Desmond was just jeans and t-shirts and the same white hoodie every day. He had never worn a pair of loafers in his life. He didn't want to either.

And he watched as the woman laughed loudly, too loudly for Desmond's taste, at something Shaun said. And Shaun's responding grin was just a little smug. She saw Desmond looking. And winked. Desmond ignored her. But they stayed for a long time, longer than what was left of Desmond's shift. And when Desmond cleared his register and passed his duties off to his replacement, he gave Shaun a half-hearted wave and stepped out into the drizzly afternoon.

Almost immediately, he got a text message from Shaun. Because somewhere along the way, they had graduated from email to text. And Shaun wanted to know why he took off so quickly. Desmond replied that he didn't want to interrupt. And shoved his phone back in his pocket and trudged towards the tube station.

But he didn't really want to go back to his shitty room in his shitty flat. It really only made the things worse. The half-empty room was just a reminder that it wasn't home. It was London. Full of wet, grey London air and constant fucking drizzle. So he walked past the tube station and kept going.

Some days, Desmond felt like he was living someone else's life. And maybe it was someone who had purpose, who was doing important things. But Desmond felt like he was just there—like he was crouched in the back of this other person's mind, watching his memories and reliving his movements. Because if it was Desmond's life, surely he wouldn't have chosen to trudge around aimlessly in the fucking drizzle.

Desmond ended up at the Thames. It was an accident that happened to him more often than not, like the whole world revolved around the Thames and no matter how far he walked or which direction he turned, he would always end up back there. He stopped and leaned his elbows on a railing, watched the water, and considered moving back to New York.

But he knew he couldn't. Somehow, he just knew he needed to stay. To keep doing what he was doing.

Maybe he didn't want to admit to his father that running off like he did had been a mistake. Or maybe he couldn't let go of the idea that there was something in London for him. Yusuf had said one night that maybe Desmond had ended up in London for a reason, and Desmond kind of wanted to believe that. He just had no idea what that reason might be.

He turned his head and looked towards the sound of someone laughing. And wasn't it funny that there, just next to where'd he'd accidentally ended up, was the fucking lifeboat pier?

If Desmond was going to suffer through this drizzly city because of some crazy notion he'd ended up there for a reason, he'd better pay attention to obvious signs like that. He shook his head and pulled his phone back out.

And invited Shaun to meet him for a pint.

They were two-three-four pints into the evening, and Shaun had been on some rant about America's Founding Fathers and laws against sodomy and the Treaty of Tripoli. And Desmond just listened and watched Shaun's face, cheeks pink from the alcohol and excitement, and his stomach had been doing that thing again.

"Really, Desmond, I know this stuff already. Pay attention, would you?"

Desmond shook his head. "I was listening."

But his lapse in attention had apparently killed Shaun's interest in whatever conspiracy he was on about. So they left the pub, and now they were standing in the fucking drizzle just outside.

"Thanks for coming out," Desmond said. He doubted the single syllable of gratitude really got at what he was grateful for. Because how did you thank someone for not letting you drown?

Shaun waved a hand dismissively. "You needed to get out."

"Yeah," Desmond said, half-smiling. "I did."

Shaun frowned at him for a moment. Then shook his head. "Rebecca's having a party next weekend. It's her birthday. You should come."

Desmond blinked. And nodded. And as Shaun headed off in one direction, Desmond shoved his hands in his pockets and turned the opposite way, waking back to his flat through London's drizzly, grey streets.