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It is already getting dark as he walks out of the building after having been waiting in front of the closed door to Phil's apartment for about half an hour. The first ten minutes he has tried to make him open the door by calling his name, almost begging him to fucking open it, accompanied by knocking. The next ten minutes he has been sitting beside the door, calling the other man's name every once in a while. The last ten minute now he has just been sitting there in silence. Thinking.
And all the time he has been waiting. Hoping. For something that is will not happen. He understands it now, how naïve he has been.
Slowly he walks down the stairs to the sidewalk where he comes to stand. His holdall slip from his fingers, dropping to the ground with a thud and with something between a sigh and a groan he scrubs his hands through his face, before his hands fall to his sides again, clenching to fists for a seconds before they simply hang lifelessly there. His shoulders slump, while his mind races and his eyes stare down the street, yet into nothing.
Defeated. It is how he feels. It is what he actually is, because Phil is up there in his apartment, locking himself away from the shit he has kicked off and maybe it's the heavy disappointment that speaks now, but Stephen thinks that it is so very much like Phil to do this, be like this. At least the Phil he has known all those years.
And maybe, just mabye the disappointment he feels is so heavy because after that night, after he has seen something in the depths of those green eyes, he has been sure there is another Phil hidden behind all this.
And now? A good question, isn't it? Now what? Now… nothing. Time to go.
Gazing from the street up to the sky, he thinks that he should get the next taxi and head for the airport, make sure he'll be on the next flight home or at least get himself a hotel room for the night. He should. But somehow his feet refuse to move and his mind still does futile somersaults to find a goddamn way to coax Phil out of his shell and his heart… his heart tells him that he can't leave now, because it wants to stay. It's as simple as that. His heart wants to stay here.
Closing his eyes he dips his head forward with a bitter sigh, feeling fucking helpless, because he has no idea what to do now.
"One night."
The sudden voice close behind him causes his eyes to snap open again. He knows this is Phil standing there, but he actually can't believe it. Ridiculously enough he is scared that if he moves now, Phil might retreat again or… whatever… but he wills himself to straighten up again, keeping his gaze fixed on the street. And while he does that, Phil appears beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. From the corner of his eye he sees the other man gaze down the street.
"One night, Farrelly," Phil repeats as he turns his head back to gaze at the street right in front of them, his voice carefully neutral. "Under my terms. You don't touch me and if I tell you to shut up, you gonna shut up and if you piss me off, I'm gonna kick you out, no matter if it's in one hour or in the middle of the night. I want you out tomorrow by noon. I'm not going to discuss about this."
In the following silence Stephen tries hard to keep on breathing as the words sink into his racing mind, along with the fact that Phil is really standing there, beside him.
Phil is here.
He knows his hands are trembling, but he can't stop it. Just as he can't stop his heart from jumping in his chest. One night. After all the pushing, biting him away, Phil really agrees to let him stay…
He feels an odd tingle at the base of his skull as Phil turns his head again, this time gazing at him and after a second of hesitation, Stephen dares to meet his gaze and the tingle intensifies as he finds a calm, neutral face but those eyes, they are filled with emotions but here on the street is neither the right place, nor the right moment to try reading them. He tries himself on a smile, but it dies before it can be called one.
"Thanks, Phil," Stephen finally replies quietly and watches as the other man's lips tighten to a thin line.
Phil looks at him like this for a long moment, before he turns away and starts walking up the stairs, his arms dropping to his side and maybe Stephen is just imagining things, but he could swear Phil's hands are trembling, too.
"I'm not sure if this is something you should thank me for," Phil says with the same neutral voice as before, not gazing back nor waiting if Stephen actually follows.
But Stephen does follow him and with every step his heart pounds harder against his chest…
Not even ten minutes later he stands beside the couch in Phil's living room, arranging a pillow and a blanket on it which Phil has handed him silently. In fact Phil hasn't said a word since the moment in front of the building. Letting his eyes roam the room, he is surprised that it doesn't seem to be as chaotic as he would have expected it to be. It's sparsley furnished and clearly arranged, with only a few Baseball items on the wall and some comics neatly lying on a low sideboard. Just enough to see whose apartment this is, but not too much.
A little indecisive… or rather a little scared… he walks over to a window, gazing down on the slowly darkening, yet colorful illuminated city and as he takes in the lively image, he thinks that it's still unbelievable that he is really here with Phil. He's not sure how to approach the subject though, if he should just say what lies heavy on his heart or… Well, Phil has allowed him to stay for a night but that doesn't automatically mean that he'll agree to talk things out.
Whatever. He's here now and he has only one night to… do something.
Nodding to himself he takes a deep breath, exhaling it sharply in an attempt to breathe the tension he feels away. His heart though is still jumping, has the whole time, persistent enough that there is a good chance that he'll have a heart attack before the night is over.
His feet carry him over to the kitchen where Phil is, standing there in shirt and shorts and barefooted, wearing an apron and somehow he looks… cute. He's preparing the dinner in utter silence and lost in his thoughts, measured by the absentminded expression on his face, but as Stephen steps into the room, he stops briefly, tenses even, before he resumes his task.
"Vegetarian chili," Phil says then without looking up to him. "There are flyers over there on the table if you want something else. Asian and Italian food."
Stephen's slow approach ends two meters away from the other man.
"Vegetarian chili is perfect," he replies quietly and thinks that maybe he should try to defuse the tension between them a little, and thus the tension he feels himself, before bringing up the serious topics. "Uhm, can I help yer?"
Slowing his motions down, Phil takes a look around… carefully avoiding Stephen's eyes… shrugs his shoulders and wipes his hands on the apron before digging in a drawer to retrieve a chopping board and a knife.
"You can chop the peppers," he says while handing board and knife over to Stephen.
And finally Phil meets his gaze, those green eyes still brimming with emotions that still don't break through the calm, neutral expression, but as Stephen gives him a soft smile, he can see the shadow of a smile ghost aroung Phil's lips, too. It's nice. It feels good to see it, because although it's barely there, it's a real one.
For a while they work in silence, both lost in their thoughts. It's the loud clang of a knife falling to the tiled floor that causes him to flinch hard and the low, pained groan that follows which makes him close the distance to Phil with one big stride, makes him forget about the do-not-touch-me-term. He remembers it though the very moment he takes hold of the other man's bloody hand, because it's yanked away immediately.
"I said don't touch me, Farrelly!" Phil snaps, almost yells as he takes a step back.
There is blood on the counter, on the floor and runs in thin lines through the fingers which are tightly closed around the injured thumb, dripping from Phil's hands. With another pained groan Phil closes his eyes and holds his hands close to his body, slightly hunching forward. Nodding to himself, Stephen grabs a kitchen towel and steps up to Phil, again taking hold of the injured hand and this time he holds it too tight to be pulled away again.
"Take your paw off, you…"
Stephen loosens his hold a little, lifts the other man's hand gently and there is surprisingly few resistance as he does.
Holding the towel under it he murmurs: "Don't be ridiculous, Phil. Yer just chopped half of yer thumb off. Let me take care of tha."
A certain wariness is suddenly there, radiating from the other man in tiny, almost graspable waves as he stands there in a stiff go-away-fom-me-posture, although he isn't trying to pull his hand away again. At least not yet. And despite the stiff posture Stephen takes the fact that there is no yelling at him to leave as a rather good sign.
"Got something to fix tha up?" he asks, now loosening his hold completely to cradle the sore hand in his instead.
A barely noticable twitch in the other man's arms tells him that he's not quite comfortable with this kind of touch, yet the hand stays in his.
Good, he thinks, a first step.
"Bathroom," Phil replies eventually, quietly… shy almost… and the green eyes fix on some invisible spot on the floor.
They leave an unsteady track of red blotches on the floor on their way to the bathroom, where Stephen tells Phil to rinse his thumb, hearing muttered curses and hisses as the other man does how he's been told. While digging through the bathroom cabinet, his eyes fall on a bunch of herbal cold medicine which seems to be in use and as he turns back with dressing material in his hands, he's greeted by a seriously deep cut and a very pale Phil.
"Yer should let a doc have a look at this…" he says after clearing his throat, but Phil only shakes his head no, pointedly not looking at his ruined thumb.
"Just wrap some mull around it and I'll be fine."
Frowning Stephen watches as Phil sways a bit and leans on the sink for support and he wonders if it's because of filleted thumb or maybe because he's also hatching a cold. Gently he takes hold of an upper arm he knows he shouldn't touch, steering its slightly unwilling owner backwards to the tub.
"Sit down before yer keel over," he mutters, pushing Phil down gingerly until he sits on the rim and with an inaudible sigh he kneels down in front of the stubborn man.
Luckily the bleeding has lessened, he notices as he examines the sore hand and it is now that he feels a real, serious worry bubble in his chest as he wraps the thumb up in a thick layer of mull, very-very carefully so as not to cause Phil more pain. He's glancing up every once in a while, searching for any signs of increasing discomfort on the still pale face, but the level seems to stay the same.
"Yer having a cold?" he asks then quietly, receiving a raised eyebrow in answer. "The medicine." With his head he motions over to the bunch of medicine in the cabinet.
"None of you business, Farrelly."
A curt reply and, well, Phil is back at calling him with his last name, like a verbal push. He knows Phil can push hard, much harder than just calling people by their last name and so he simply ignores it.
"I'm just worried, Phil."
A snort. He feels the hand he's holding being pulled back, but he doesn't let go. He's not done yet and after a moment he feels the pulling stop. He smoothes a crease out of the bandage, before continuing his task.
"Yer shouldn't run around barefooted and in shorts if yer are."
"Who are you? My mom?" Phil huffs.
Wrapping the last bit of mull around the other man's wrist, he secures the bandage with a tape, tilting his head a bit to the side as he meets the green eyes. The hand is still cradled in his own as he does. He doesn't want to let go, not yet.
"I meant it, Phil. I'm worried about yer."
He is worried, much, and he doesn't want hide it. In fact he wills it to show up on his face, to shine in his eyes. Even wills it through his touch. And then the situation shifts suddenly, slips and falls into the direction it was supposed to go anyway, but now Stephen isn't sure anymore if it is the right moment… now.
"Gosh, how naïve can a grown man be…? How can you be worried about me when you don't even know me? Stephen, you… I think you're misjudging the situation," Phil begins slowly and in his voice lies a heavy, held back sigh. "The attraction you feel isn't a real attraction. I mean, you've never been attracted to a man before, have you?"
Hesitantly Stephen shakes his head no, but adds: "But obviously it's different with yer. I've spent days telling meself tha I'm not gay but… maybe I've been wrong."
There, he has said it aloud and his heart does a double-step. And then, oddly enough… it calms down.
"Oh, yeah, right. You're gay." The sigh that has been held back now escaped Phil's lips, a heavy breath full of… helplessness. "No. No, you're not. You just think you're being attracted to me because you're… confused about what has happened, or curious maybe."
"Yeah, yer are right, I'm confused, but tha doesn't mean tha I'm imagining things," Stephen replies softly. "What about yer? What the hell makes yer come to me locker and…"
To Stephen's surprise Phil lays his good hand on his, not to peel it off but to… just to lie there and it makes him fall quiet. Or maybe it's the torn expression on the other man's face that takes his voice away from him.
"I felt an attraction, yeah. I couldn't file it, so I had to find out what it is. But I'm…" Phil begins, sighs then, before he looks him straight in the eyes. "It's not the first time I've been with a man. But you? I guess for you it has been the first time and it simply wasn't fair to you. I know that, but I can't make it undone. And when I said that I don't even know if I like you, I meant it. I don't know you and honestly, I don't want to change that, because if I find out that I like you, it will only complicate everything. And I don't want a complication like you in my life."
The last two sentences are like a slap to the face but he's stronger than that and he's not gonna back down because of some harsh words. Running his thumb over the inside of the bandaged wrist, he feels the tiniest of twitches again at the tender touch and again there is no yelling him to leave, no pulling the hand out of his hold. Only that tiny, so tiny twitch.
Go away he says… still there are signs, telling Stephen to stay here. And he decides to listen to those signs, not to the words.
"No, it wasn't fair. And really, I could have done without it, because yer turned me world upside down with it, but to be honest… I liked it." He can feel his cheeks begin to heat up, just as his ears and he knows that with the heat comes a certain red tinge, knows that, yes, it's already there because there is a brief shift in Phil's expression, giving way to traitorous, mild amusement and a nice softness, even it's gone as fast as it has come. Willing himself not to look away, he adds: "And I don't imagine tha attraction, it is there. I want to get to know yer better, Phil. I really do. And maybe yer don't know if yer like me, but at least yer don't hate me, or I wouldn't be here now, would I?"
Phil says nothing, just gazes at him.
"And, yer know… I am already a complication in yer life, so yer can as well give it a chance and find out if yer like me or not. All I ask for is a chance."
He wants to smile at the man in front of him, an encouraging, trustworthy smile, but it's wiped away the second it touches his lips as Phil draws his hands back and crosses his arms over his chest… or rather wraps them around himself defensively.
"A chance?" Phil barks, his lips stretching to a bitter smile. "What do you expect? A relationship? A happily ever after?"
"I don't expect anything, Phil," he replies just above a whisper. "But if yer ask me, then going out of this as friends wouldn't be tha bad, would it?"
Stephen's hands drop to his own legs uselessly. His heart sinks, because here he has thought it's going quite good, that Phil slowly stops pushing him away and now? With a sigh he nods, getting up from were he is kneeling, notices how the other man's eyes look everywhere else than at him and sometimes it is better to walk out of a standoff to save the situation and so it's what he does.
"I'm gonna go get the chili done," he mutters and leaves the bathroom, hoping that if Phil has some minutes on his own to breathe and come down, he might stick his head out of his shell again…