There was a bar in Chalk Farm that Finn hadn't been to in ages. Years. It was called The Queen's Flag, but he had the idea that it had been named something else when he used to frequent it because he didn't remember it at all until they were inside. His memory was jogged by the shape of the bar. He never forgot a bar. He stood for a moment inside, shrugging out of his jacket. Yeah, he'd been here before, only back then, the stage was over the other side of the room. Phasma's band was playing here tonight.
Her loyal friends, Finn and Hux, had come along to show their support.
"I reckon I've been here before," Hux said, pausing with his coat half off and his arms still inside. Then he tugged them free.
Finn nodded. "Yeah. The stage was - "
"Over there, right?"
"Yeah."
"What was this place called back then?"
Finn took a breath, held it for a few seconds and then released it with a shake of his head. "Couldn't tell you. Come on, let's get smashed."
He felt like crap. It had only been a few hours since he'd found, then lost, that ridiculous girl on the tube again. Both Phasma and Hux had figured something was up with him almost at once when he'd gotten back - he had turned down their offer of going out, which was highly out of character for him. Phasma had managed to talk him round into coming out with the old guilt trip ("but it's my gig!") but neither her or Hux had attempted to prise the issue out of him. Finn suspected that would likely change after a few beers had been down. And who knew - maybe he'd feel like discussing it, then.
Not that there was anything to discuss. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all.
By the time Phasma's band began their set it was a quarter to eleven and Hux and Finn were on their third pints. Finn suspected he was going to have one of those miserable nights where it didn't seem to matter what you put away, you never felt drunk enough, not until your body suddenly fell down. He wanted to be upbeat. This was Saturday night, there was good music but it just wasn't happening, and he loathed that it was because of a face he didn't even know.
Hux leaned toward him, eyes on the band. Phasma was playing lead guitar and singing. He almost had to yell over the music.
"Is it about the photography?"
Finn was about to take a drink; he put his half-empty pint glass down instead. "What? No. Why does everyone always assume when I'm mad it's about that?"
"Because it always is."
"What?"
"Because it always is." Hux repeated, louder. "So you're pissed off."
"Bit."
"Couldn't tell if you were pissed off or just being moody and enigmatic."
"What?" Finn squinted at him, leaning closer.
"I said, is it about a girl?" Hux waited for Finn to answer and when his friend just took a drink instead, he grinned. "Who is she?"
"I don't know," Finn answered.
"What?"
"I said I don't know! Can we have this conversation later, this is getting on my fucking tits."
Hux nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. A few seconds later, Finn's vibrated in his and he rolled his eyes as he pulled it out and read Hux's message:
"did u get laid?"
Finn glanced up toward the stage, gave Hux a level stare, and put his phone away.
But it didn't end there. No, that would be too easy. Phasma's band took a break after that song ended. They received a good round of applause - they'd found themselves a sound following in the last few months - and Phasma pulled the guitar strap off from around her shoulders. She picked up her own pint sitting beside the amp and picked her way through the crowd to join her friends.
"Good set," Finn congratulated her, and was pleased to find that he had been concentrating enough to remember what had been played, and mean it. "Hot little band, you are."
"Cheers," Phasma replied, chinking her glass to both of theirs. She looked at Hux. "Have you talked about what's pissing Finn off yet?"
"It's a girl," Hux answered over Finn's groan. He pulled a tenner out of his pocket and handed it to Phasma.
Finn looked between them. "Oh no wait, what? You were laying bets?" He frowned at Hux. "And you lost? You didn't think it was a girl?"
Hux shrugged. "I thought you were being weird and artistic."
"Who's the girl?" Phasma pressed. "Come on, I have to finish this, piss, then go back on. Don't have long."
Finn leaned back, defeated. He threw up his hands. "I don't know who she is, all right."
"Is she on the telly?"
Both Phasma and Finn looked at Hux this time. "What?"
"Well... you know... if you don't know who she is, maybe you saw her on the telly."
"And work myself into a state over it?"
Hux hesitated, then shrugged.
Finn tipped himself further back on the chair. His shirt hiked up to show a line of skin from hip to hip as he ran his hands through his hair. "I've seen her on the tube. Twice. And I don't know, there was just this thing. I don't know how to explain it."
"What's her name?" Phasma asked. "Oh no ... you haven't even talked to her, have you."
Finn rolled his eyes at himself and folded his hands on top of his head. "No. I saw her the first time like, months ago and there was this Thing. We were just looking at each other, I don't know. And then I saw her again today and she saw me, and she was happy to see me. She remembered me too, you know, but then the train just kept going."
What he'd said finally sank in. She had remembered him. Months on, and she had definitely remembered his face as well as he had hers. And she had smiled. She had even tried to leave the train... his spirits lifted. All day he'd been so miserable that he hadn't even given that any thought.
"A Thing," Phasma said, breaking Finn's train of thought.
"Yeah. A Thing," Finn answered a little warily. He was aware of how ridiculous it sounded and if either of them laughed now but neither of his friends did. They were respecting the Thing. Or at least, they were respecting how worked up over it he was, and he was really grateful to them both.
They each offered the most unhelpful advice. Keep looking. Ride the tube the times of day you saw her. Blah blah. None of it was anything he hadn't already considered. The sad fact was that he only knew one thing about her. She used the Central Line, both on weekend and weekday. The chances of meeting her once were tiny. The second time had been a complete fluke. A third meeting was just so incredibly unlikely.
Fortunately for Finn, the conversation soon moved on. Phasma came back to the table just before she was about to go on for the second half of her set.
"Oh. There's something I haven't told you two."
"You're a lesbian."
"You already know that and -"
"You joined a lesbian cult."
"Piss off. No. I actually thought you both might say no to this so I deliberately waited until it was sort of too late. Sorry! Anyway, my friend Jakku is heading out of town for a week and she couldn't get anyone to look after her dog. I said you'd take him."
Hux glanced at Finn, who was by now too drunk to really give a shit, and then back to Phasma. "But our flat's No Pets Allowed!"
"It's only for a week! And he's not big. He's, I don't know, tiny."
"Kind of dog is he?" Finn asked.
"Some kind of weird name," Phasma was shaking her head, and scrolling though photos on her phone. "I asked her that when we had lunch today. It was a, uh," she snapped her fingers, trying to think. "A Griffonshire! Here you go."
Phasma turned the phone around, revealing a picture of a tiny, furry dog with a pushed-up nose and a sour look on its face. It was in a girl's embrace but all that was visible of her were her arms and striped shirt.
"Oh hell," Finn rolled his eyes. It was like a groomed rat. "Your responsibility mate. Your girlfriend, your responsibility, keep it out of my room."
"Actually, really cute," Hux snorted.
"Not my girlfriend," Phasma stressed. "Anyway, you've met her, haven't you?"
"Yeah I met her," Hux said, just as Finn shook his head.
Phasma continued. "Well, you will tomorrow morning when she drops Chewie off."
"Chewie?"
"Yeah, the dog's called Chewie."
Finn wasn't sure if that was the most hilarious or ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Yeah, can't wait," he said and thought he just might sleep through that.
The next morning Finn woke up with a hangover and hard-on. He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. His mouth felt like cotton wool. Fumbling for his phone he found it was just before ten, and the pale morning light peaked around the edges of the window blind. He tossed his phone aside and reached for the bottle of water on the bedside table. There were only a few mouthfuls left in the bottom and it tasted stale, but it was wet and better than nothing.
Finn lobbed the empty plastic bottle aside and flopped on to his back. He could hear somebody banging around in the kitchen through the paper-thin walls. Probably Hux. Finn was notorious for being able to sleep longer than anyone he knew, whereas Hux was always up early no matter what time he went to bed. It was unnatural.
He slid his hand beneath the sheet, over his hip and abdomen. His hand brushed against his cock and he sucked in a quick breath. Finn's fingers curled around his hard, smooth cock and drew them slowly back and forth, warming the rest of his body up to desire. For awhile, he tried to think about the girl in the beige dress, in the beanie, on the train. But his emotions where she was concerned were so mixed and frustrated that it worked against him. He stopped thinking about her legs and imagined a nameless girl whose face was in shadow instead. Her body was well proportioned and wet, she moaned for him, she rubbed her thighs together in desperation. Her hands were tied behind her back and she was moaning, perhaps into a pillow or behind a gag. Deprived of face and voice and touch, she could still be that girl; he was fooling his own mind.
His hand pumped himself steadily faster as he pictured her supple thighs parting for him. She was naked and swollen, pink and wet. Finn whimpered softly and twitched on the bed. He pictured sinking his cock inside of her, tight and hot around him, the sounds she would make! Finn came in his hand, spilling his come across his stomach and sheet and as he climaxed, the face of the girl he imagined came into view. Her dark brown hair was loose and bright. He'd found her again.
While he was cleaning himself up and contemplating the order of breakfast and showering, he heard the door knock. He frowned in the direction of the other room and listened as Hux opened the door and greeted his guest. The walls were so thin that he could always hear who was talking, pitch and mood, but usually not words. He stayed where he was, propped up on his elbows. Hux was letting in a woman. They were chatting back and forth cheerfully. He didn't recognise the woman's voice. She spoke very quickly and, he thought, excitedly.
Then he remembered. Phasma's friend - not girlfriend - Jakku. And her dog. That's who it yawned at the door and willed her to leave the dog and go. His hangover was starting to claim him and the last thing he wanted to do was meet somebody new. He presumed his hair was sweaty and his eyes bloodshot or ringed with black bags. Maybe both. He could meet Phasma's mate Jakku when she came back for her bloody dog.
Actually, Finn didn't know why he was so set against the creature - Chewie - in the first place. He liked dogs. He figured it was just him being subconsciously difficult because he was so pissed off about that shit with the girl from the train. Finn rubbed his hair and kicked back the covers. Time to stop being an ass. Meet Phasma's mate Jakku and her dog. He could still hear their muffled voices.
He heard her leave before he pulled his jeans on. Oh. Well so much for that. He worked a N.W.A t-shirt over his head and stepped out into the living room. Hux was standing alone with a ridiculous tan dog in his arms. It had black fur all around its nose and mouth, giving it a preposterous beard. It immediately began sniffing the air as soon as Finn made himself known.
"Morning."
"Hey, you just missed Jakku. But this is Chewie! Say hi, Chewie." Hux picked up one of the dainty little paws and waved it at Finn. There was a big plastic tote bag on the floor with a little pet bed sticking out of it and all of Chewie's other things for its big adventure.
"Hi Chewie," Finn dutifully replied. He poured himself a glass of water and flicked on the kettle. He took a few gulps and came over to meet flatmate number four. "Boy or girl?"
"Um." Hux lifted Chewie in his arms to inspect. "Eunuch."
They both winced. Finn held out his fingers for Chewie to sniff and the dog decided he was all right, and soon he was able to scratch behind Chewie's ears. "How long have we got you for, then?"
"Until Friday."
"I was talking to Chewie."
"Chewie doesn't talk to strangers."
"Well, we'll have to fix that," Finn said decisively. "Dog's all right. You're still doing everything, though."
