December 8: Silent Night, Confessions Night

Pairing: Thomas/Jimmy

Rating: T for language and brief talk of sex. Plus a drunk Jimmy.

At long last, Thomas was nearing the end of his shift. Despite being a popular waiter at the restaurant where he had been working for ten months and two days, he was eager to get off and have his time off.

Normally, when he was not working, he would make an effort to see Philip Crowborough: sometimes, when Thomas stepped out the door at the end of a shift, Philip was waiting for him right there, to take him someplace. They'd go out to a movie, maybe two, have a late dinner at a pub, creep into a bed together. That was what Thomas looked forward to when he was working through the drudgery of being a top-notch waiter: Philip's playful smile, and the promise of a warm bed.

That was no longer reality, however, but Thomas nevertheless was glad to be free. It was hard at first, expecting Philip to be there when he knew very well that that scenario would never happen again. But it wasn't as if Thomas couldn't find amusement for himself. He went to movies by himself and didn't have to worry about Philip's opinion on them clouding his own impression. Sometimes he just went for walks by himself through the small town, through the park where stood a statue with a name that could easily be forgotten. At times, the thought of meeting other single guys to distract him from Philip crossed his mind, but Thomas decided that, for now at least, was not in his best interest. Maybe he'd do that after the New Year.

Tonight, however, was to be a different sort of events. At six o'clock, Jimmy was going to pick him up and chauffeur him to the party that Jimmy had mentioned before. It was nothing too big, Jimmy had said, just something his cousin put together every year. Still, once he got home, Thomas searched for his nicest shirt and jacket, spending a long time making himself look presentable while smirking in front of the mirror.

While he waited for Jimmy to arrive, Thomas fiddled around with his mobile idly. It was completely devoid of any pictures containing Philips face. Thomas had spend a good afternoon and a half cleaning each and every photo of him on his social media sites, his computer, tossing the ones he had printed out as well. Maybe it was a bit radical, but it was better than seeing a stray picture of Philip's smile and making Thomas wish that they were still together. At least, that was his theory on recovering as quickly as possible.

About fifteen minutes after six o'clock, Jimmy finally drove up in front of the flat. Thomas jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat, locked the door, and went outside towards the car.

He had to hide his sour face when he saw Ivy, Jimmy's mouse girlfriend, sitting beside Jimmy in the passenger seat. Her face was caked in blusher, her mouth smeared with holly-red lipstick, and heavy chandelier earrings hanging from her earlobes. It was one thing to get dressed up for a party, in Thomas's mind, and another to look like some hundred-year-old china doll.

"You're looking good tonight, mate," Jimmy said. Thomas nodded curtly. "Thanks. You too."

Ivy shifted in her seat. "Let's just get there soon, okay?"

"Hold your horses, Ives," Jimmy said, "Thomas is our only rider." He craned his head backwards towards Thomas. "My cousin found this great art gallery to host the party at this year. It's ten minutes away, you've probably seen it before."

Jimmy drove through town while the radio softly played overrated Christmas pop songs. Listening, without input, to the talk between Ivy and Jimmy, Thomas caught wind that Alfred Nugent and Daisy Robinson would also be there. As a couple, though? Another waiter at the restaurant where Thomas worked once dated Daisy Robinson. It was William Mason, according to Thomas's memory that didn't seem to take good care of remembering faces and couples.

The art gallery, as fate churned out the evening, was one that Thomas had been to before. With Philip, naturally. Back in April, the art gallery was showcasing a collection of photographs, supposedly dictating the intimacy and genuineness of male love. To Thomas, it was crude: the photos were certainly staged, highly stylized in their content. He didn't recall what Philip had said. Thankfully, that show had ended late in the spring: it would be a nightmare to see how some Christmas drunk reacted to a black-and-white photo of two men French kissing.

Inside, there was perhaps fifty people clustered inside a dimly lit square room, illuminated only by flashing colored lights that would induce photosensitive epilepsy in anyone. The pictures on the walls were, obviously, holiday-themed, with one symbol of Christmas or Chanukah occupying each frame: a red ornament in that one, a blue dreidel next to that one.

"Nice place, eh?" Jimmy said, throwing one arm around Thomas's shoulders. "Go find someone to chat up. I'll buy you a drink."

"Hey – Jimmy, I …"

Thomas was left standing alone as Jimmy shot off towards the bar. He looked around at the throng surrounding him, mingling and dancing. There were mostly opposite sex couples here; he did hate knowing he was the odd one out. That was the issue with parties, and it was so easy to make a total fool of oneself, especially when adding alcohol to the mix. Which Jimmy was about to add to his mix, incidentally.

He found himself standing rigidly, unmoving like a suit of armor on display. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, but he could see Ivy standing next to Daisy and Alfred. Alfred nodded to Thomas politely when he saw him (neither considered each other to be as cordial as friends, but they look at each other without a punch to the mouth), and Daisy (who had a one-time unrequited crush on Thomas) waved at him with the hand not holding the cosmopolitan. But wherever Jimmy was at the moment, he wasn't where he needed to be, which was handing Thomas a colourful mystery drink. How long was he going to be expected to wait for a drink? If the waiting period was going to be more than half an hour, he'd have to get the drink himself and search for Jimmy.

The music was too loud and too tasteless to tempt Thomas to dance, so he retreated to a more quiet corner of the gallery, far from the dancing and mindless gossip. He did not remember too much of the layout of the building from the last time he was here. He did remember there was an outdoor patio that overlooked a garden of overgrown ivy. The gallery was not at all large, and he found the glass double doors that led outside.

He was unflinchingly greeted by a blast if cold freezer air: it was in fact refreshing and a much better atmosphere than the humid party room. Thomas breathed in deeply, feeling some of his nerves blow away with the wind that whipped through his gel-smothered hair. He was glad there was a nice quiet sanctuary so he didn't have to spend the rest of the night in the outer circle of Dante's Inferno. There was only one person standing out here as well.

It just so happened to be Jimmy that was hunched over the railing, fingering the stem of a glass filled with something Thomas could not label.

"Jimmy," he called out, but not too loudly. Jimmy looked up: even though the strings of coloured lights did not shine very brightly, Thomas could not help but notice that the other man's face was a faint pink.

"Oh. Hey," Jimmy said dully. He turned to face Thomas and smiled weakly.

"Was the party too much for you?" Thomas said. He walked over to stand next to Jimmy.

Jimmy nodded. "Something like that."

"What's wrong? Do you feel sick?" Thomas asked with genuine concern. "I've got basic medical training, so if I can do anything for you, tell me."

"Hm. Thanks," was all that Jimmy said in reply.

"Jimmy Kent, if there's something wrong, just tell me. It won't do you good to keep quiet about it and sulk in your bed like I was doing."

Jimmy smiled a tad at that. His face hardened again into an expression that Thomas was actually quite familiar with.

"It's just ... I mean ... ugh, what's the point?" Jimmy groaned. His eyes looked very swollen, and along with his pink cheeks, Thomas deduced that he had been drinking nonstop since the party began. "I think I want to break up with Ivy."

"Oh," was all that Thomas could say as a first reaction. It was important not to slap Jimmy on the back and call him 'strong' for breaking up with a girl whom he was not compatible in the slightest with. "Maybe just take it easy on her. Remember how I reacted? Do it tomorrow, at home, or when neither of you are intoxicated."

Jimmy nodded, his head moving up and down erratically like a bobble-head. This transitioned to him shaking his head savagely, stray strands of hair flying across his forehead. "That not just what puts me off," he said, slurring his words slightly.

"What else?" Thomas asked.

"I dunno if … if I wanna date other girls again after Ivy," Jimmy said.

Thomas fell silent.

Jimmy let out a gravelly breath. "It's not that I don't like Ivy, I do, and she's a good friend, but she's not very good in bed."

"You shouldn't decide you don't like girls because Ivy is crap at sex."

"No, I didn't mean that! S-sorry, I wasn't thinking about pickin' and choosin' my words," Jimmy explained. "She … well, I don't really feel all that good when I'm with her. And with other girls, it's like this little voice in my head telling me, 'Jimmy, you can do so much better. Why are you wasting your time?'" He stopped to take a drink from his glass and swished it around his mouth. "Sometimes I think of how on bloody earth you and Philip have – had, sorry – sex, and then my head says, 'don't you wanna be happy like those two?' But isn't that mental? Is that normal at all?"

"Alright then, Jimmy," Thomas said. "Answer me this: are you dating girls because, even if you aren't really attracted to them, society expects you to because you are a relatively normal-looking guy who dresses like most other guys?"

Jimmy frowned in confusion at Thomas. "Wha – could you repeat that all?"

"Are you gay?"

Jimmy, at last, did not feel the need to answer with a long string of slurred words. His head fell, and Thomas wondered if he had been too direct, or it was too soon. Jimmy did seem a little out of his head. They should best continue this conversation …

"Maybe I am," Jimmy said. "Or maybe I'm bisexual with a ten-percent affinity for most girls. Either way … oh, I dunno."

"Well, that doesn't really matter right now, does it?" Thomas said. "You should be thinking how you are going to get home. I don't think you can see too well now. What the hell did you drink?"

"Can't remember," Jimmy said. "Something with vodka?"

"Oh shit," Thomas laughed. "Don't you ever think ahead?"

"Naw," Jimmy said. He pointed at Thomas. "Can you take me home. D'you remember where I live?"

"Sure," Thomas said. "I think I do. But I don't know where Ivy lives."

"She'll probably insist that she stay with me," Jimmy said, waving his hand lazily. He stopped, looking very seriously at Thomas. "Wait. I never got you that drink for you. Shit, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I can last a night without alcohol. Besides, I don't need it now. I'm your designated driver."

"Right. Thanks, mate," Jimmy said. "I can count on you to get me out of a rut."

"You did the same for me last week," Thomas reminded him. "What kind of a man doesn't help his friend out?"

This little episode is actually how one of my friends came out to his future boyfriend. The only thing I added was the alcohol. Because drunk Jimmy :).