Colin's Birthday
[happens two days before this, which makes it May 31st]
Last year on this day Hugh was in the middle of final exams, hiding behind his books in a deserted part of the library. It kept him busy, studying to finally be able to leave Princeton behind. It was all he could think about. Hugh had loved it there once: the freedom, the lectures, the fun he used to have, the love he had found there. Until the day he hastened back from New York to find Colin's room empty and all his belongings gone.
Today there are no studies to hide behind, so he kept his glass filled and his mouth working, afraid the moment he'd stop to think he'd remember why he didn't want to be alone tonight, with only the dark, empty house to keep him company. Hugh's long since lost track of what has tumbled from his lips in the course of this night. He’d rather act the drunken fool than revealing what's really plaguing his mind. So far he’s succeeded; the whiskey has taken the edge off, everything is pleasantly blurry. Hugh feels like he's wrapped in layers of cotton; nothing can reach him, no pointless regrets, and no memories which leave cuts and bruises in their wake. There is only a blissful alcohol-induced haze.
It's almost morning when Greg disposes of the dead weight formerly known as Mr Dancy. "Where’d you hide your keys?" he asks, palming Hugh's pockets.
"Keys," Hugh parrots with a grin, forehead leaning heavily against the front door, doing his best impression of “uncooperative obstacle“. Nice door, Hugh thinks, tracing the carvings in the dark wood. And nice Greg, staying with Hugh in his hour of need. Everybody should have a Greg. Hugh‘s head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the door. "You're a good friend, y'know," Hugh declares as earnestly as only the truly drunk can. He tries to straighten and stand without the help of the obliging door to give his words more impact, but the world goes upside-down and tilts sideways without prior warning, and Hugh bangs back against the door. "Ow," he complains miserably, rubbing his shoulder.
"Ah Christ," Greg mutters watching the pathetic display. "You lightweight." Finally, despite Hugh’s squirming, he locates the keys and drags Hugh stumbling after him inside the house.
It's pitch dark inside so Greg leans Hugh against the wall with a muttered, “don‘t move“, and goes to find a lamp. Greg's step is only slightly unsteady, not betraying the amount of alcohol also in his system.
Hugh’s eyes follow Greg’s silhouette until darkness swallows him. A car drives past, its light illuminating the hallway momentarily. Enough for Hugh to locate the stairs. Pride flares up in him: he doesn’t need Greg to baby him, he is certainly able to walk on his own. Hugh slowly feels his way along the wall, stumbling but managing a few remotely steady steps, before he slips and falls, arms flailing about. The sound of something shattering interrupts the nightly silence - “woops” - followed by coarse swearing from the next room that would make Hugh’s ears burn if he were sober.
Greg‘s head pokes around the corner. “What about ‘don’t move’ didn’t you get, eh? I hope whatever you just killed was expensive.” The light from the small lamp he's carrying illuminates Greg's face. For a split-second he looks like one of the saints from the paintings Hugh's mother had loved so much. Hugh blinks, then grimaces. Upon a second glance Greg looks more like a creature out of hell, scowling and red-faced.
Hugh blushes and attempts to stand, his cheek scraping along the wallpaper. It feels slightly scratchy but soft, like velvet. It feels nice, so Hugh does it again. He brushes a hand along the wallpaper, squinting in the twilight. His eyes follow the path his fingers trace. "Stars," Hugh whispers, excited and enchanted by his discovery.
Meanwhile, Greg looks around for a place to put the lamp. A distracted "huh?" is his only response.
Hugh doesn't look up, instead his eyes search the wall. "Stars, on the wallpaper. I never noticed." Just one of the many things in this house Hugh had never really paid attention to. If asked, he wouldn’t even be able to tell the décor.
Greg bends a little, bringing the lamp close to the wall. "It's a flower," he declares, matter-of-fact.
"No, no," Hugh protests. "'s a star." He points towards a spot to his right. "See."
Greg shrugs. "Fine, have it your way. It's a star." He straightens and walks over to a small chest of drawers, shoving a stack of books to the side to make place for the lamp.
Hugh pays no attention to Greg's dismissal. A million things tumble together in his mind, all the little facts Colin's head was filled to the brink with. Hugh remembers it all, and what he forgot he had learned anew. There was something he read in the newspaper some days ago… what was it again? Come on, think.
Oh yes. Hugh almost bounces off the stairs with excitement; he needs to share this with someone. "D'you know that when the moon is..." Hugh falls silent without finishing the sentence when he sees Greg's blank expression. A quiet sadness settles over him, realising that Greg cannot see what he sees. There’s no one here Hugh can share this with. The man with the insane obsession with anything astronomical isn't here.
Hugh glances away, heart heavy. He presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets, fighting down the burning behind his eyelids.
When Hugh looks back up Greg is by his side again, shaking his head and grabbing Hugh under the arms. "Come on, up with you."
This time Hugh follows Greg’s orders without complain; his mind too clouded with grief now that he has allowed himself to remember, if only for a moment. They manage the stairs without incident.
The alcohol is starting to wear off slowly, and embarrassment is beginning to take over. The happenings of the past night are a bit fuzzy around the edges; Hugh only hopes he didn’t do or say anything too stupid.
Greg doesn’t say any more, simply helps Hugh into the bedroom, sits him down on the bed and turns on the light.
Greg probably thinks him a complete idiot, Hugh thinks miserably, embarrassment burning hotly through him. Hugh's always prided himself on being pretty self-sufficient, but maybe he's been fooling himself all along. He needed Colin. It gave him strength, knowing that Colin was there, that he was loved. Hugh'd never known what to do with his heart, so when Colin asked, Hugh gave it to him, and more.
What a sentimental fool he is, drinking himself into a stupor to forget a lost love. It's been one and a half years, everyone else would've long since moved on. But no, not Hugh, he has to agonise over it for ever and ever, amen.
He watches Greg move around the room, touching things he isn‘t meant to touch, private things. Funnily enough, it reminds Hugh of Elijah; he did the same thing, in a way. But then again, maybe it's never even been about Elijah, he was just there when Hugh had needed someone. It could've been anyone clever enough to fool Hugh into thinking it meant anything at all. He would still have Colin if any of these romantic notions Hugh used to hold dear would be true. And you don't need to particularly care about the person you sleep with; it's just sex, nothing more. That's what Elijah taught him.
What reason is there for him to still feel bad about something that Elijah had probably forgotten the moment Hugh had closed the door behind himself? What was it to Elijah other than a night with some man he'd picked up at a club. Hugh isn't naive enough to believe Elijah hasn't done that before. He should acquire a thicker skin, that's all.
Greg snaps his fingers in front of Hugh‘s face. “Where’ve you disappeared to, eh? You’re not going to puke all over my shoes, are you?”
Hugh blinks. He wants Greg to leave, now. Alone, he needs to be alone. All Hugh wants is to fall asleep and dream of Colin, hear his voice in his head and remember a time when he didn‘t feel this lonely.
"What's got your panties in a twist anyway?" Greg asks casually, leafing through a book on Hugh‘s bedside drawer. “Did Daddy disown you? Did your girl let another fuck her?"
“Shut up,” Hugh snaps. A few quick, unsteady steps bring him to Greg’s side, plucking the book out of his grasp. “I think I can do on my own now.”
Greg doesn‘t even blink. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He crows in delight to have found out. “She spread her legs, the little slut.”
“There’s no girl.” Hugh puts the book back in its place.
“Ah, come on. You can tell old Greg. How’d you find out?”
“I told you, there is no girl,” Hugh says with growing irritation.
Greg grins and pokes Hugh in the chest. “Walk in on them, did you?”
To hell with you, Hugh thinks, yanking Greg close by the shirtfront and pressing his lips on Greg’s. “There is no girl,” he repeats slowly. “Happy now?”
For a second all Greg does is stare, before catching himself and snarling, “You fucking cocksucker.” He pushes Hugh away from him. ”What the fuck was that about?”
Hugh stumbles, dropping back onto the bed. “You wanted to know,” is all he says.
Greg’s hands are clenched into fists by his side. “Next time,“ he starts, then thinks better of it. ”No. There won’t be a next time.”
Hugh looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, coming back to himself slowly.
“And I hope you rot in hell,” Greg spits before slamming the door closed behind himself.
Last year on this day Hugh was in the middle of final exams, hiding behind his books in a deserted part of the library. It kept him busy, studying to finally be able to leave Princeton behind. It was all he could think about. Hugh had loved it there once: the freedom, the lectures, the fun he used to have, the love he had found there. Until the day he hastened back from New York to find Colin's room empty and all his belongings gone.
Today there are no studies to hide behind, so he kept his glass filled and his mouth working, afraid the moment he'd stop to think he'd remember why he didn't want to be alone tonight, with only the dark, empty house to keep him company. Hugh's long since lost track of what has tumbled from his lips in the course of this night. He’d rather act the drunken fool than revealing what's really plaguing his mind. So far he’s succeeded; the whiskey has taken the edge off, everything is pleasantly blurry. Hugh feels like he's wrapped in layers of cotton; nothing can reach him, no pointless regrets, and no memories which leave cuts and bruises in their wake. There is only a blissful alcohol-induced haze.
It's almost morning when Greg disposes of the dead weight formerly known as Mr Dancy. "Where’d you hide your keys?" he asks, palming Hugh's pockets.
"Keys," Hugh parrots with a grin, forehead leaning heavily against the front door, doing his best impression of “uncooperative obstacle“. Nice door, Hugh thinks, tracing the carvings in the dark wood. And nice Greg, staying with Hugh in his hour of need. Everybody should have a Greg. Hugh‘s head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the door. "You're a good friend, y'know," Hugh declares as earnestly as only the truly drunk can. He tries to straighten and stand without the help of the obliging door to give his words more impact, but the world goes upside-down and tilts sideways without prior warning, and Hugh bangs back against the door. "Ow," he complains miserably, rubbing his shoulder.
"Ah Christ," Greg mutters watching the pathetic display. "You lightweight." Finally, despite Hugh’s squirming, he locates the keys and drags Hugh stumbling after him inside the house.
It's pitch dark inside so Greg leans Hugh against the wall with a muttered, “don‘t move“, and goes to find a lamp. Greg's step is only slightly unsteady, not betraying the amount of alcohol also in his system.
Hugh’s eyes follow Greg’s silhouette until darkness swallows him. A car drives past, its light illuminating the hallway momentarily. Enough for Hugh to locate the stairs. Pride flares up in him: he doesn’t need Greg to baby him, he is certainly able to walk on his own. Hugh slowly feels his way along the wall, stumbling but managing a few remotely steady steps, before he slips and falls, arms flailing about. The sound of something shattering interrupts the nightly silence - “woops” - followed by coarse swearing from the next room that would make Hugh’s ears burn if he were sober.
Greg‘s head pokes around the corner. “What about ‘don’t move’ didn’t you get, eh? I hope whatever you just killed was expensive.” The light from the small lamp he's carrying illuminates Greg's face. For a split-second he looks like one of the saints from the paintings Hugh's mother had loved so much. Hugh blinks, then grimaces. Upon a second glance Greg looks more like a creature out of hell, scowling and red-faced.
Hugh blushes and attempts to stand, his cheek scraping along the wallpaper. It feels slightly scratchy but soft, like velvet. It feels nice, so Hugh does it again. He brushes a hand along the wallpaper, squinting in the twilight. His eyes follow the path his fingers trace. "Stars," Hugh whispers, excited and enchanted by his discovery.
Meanwhile, Greg looks around for a place to put the lamp. A distracted "huh?" is his only response.
Hugh doesn't look up, instead his eyes search the wall. "Stars, on the wallpaper. I never noticed." Just one of the many things in this house Hugh had never really paid attention to. If asked, he wouldn’t even be able to tell the décor.
Greg bends a little, bringing the lamp close to the wall. "It's a flower," he declares, matter-of-fact.
"No, no," Hugh protests. "'s a star." He points towards a spot to his right. "See."
Greg shrugs. "Fine, have it your way. It's a star." He straightens and walks over to a small chest of drawers, shoving a stack of books to the side to make place for the lamp.
Hugh pays no attention to Greg's dismissal. A million things tumble together in his mind, all the little facts Colin's head was filled to the brink with. Hugh remembers it all, and what he forgot he had learned anew. There was something he read in the newspaper some days ago… what was it again? Come on, think.
Oh yes. Hugh almost bounces off the stairs with excitement; he needs to share this with someone. "D'you know that when the moon is..." Hugh falls silent without finishing the sentence when he sees Greg's blank expression. A quiet sadness settles over him, realising that Greg cannot see what he sees. There’s no one here Hugh can share this with. The man with the insane obsession with anything astronomical isn't here.
Hugh glances away, heart heavy. He presses the heels of his hands against his eye sockets, fighting down the burning behind his eyelids.
When Hugh looks back up Greg is by his side again, shaking his head and grabbing Hugh under the arms. "Come on, up with you."
This time Hugh follows Greg’s orders without complain; his mind too clouded with grief now that he has allowed himself to remember, if only for a moment. They manage the stairs without incident.
The alcohol is starting to wear off slowly, and embarrassment is beginning to take over. The happenings of the past night are a bit fuzzy around the edges; Hugh only hopes he didn’t do or say anything too stupid.
Greg doesn’t say any more, simply helps Hugh into the bedroom, sits him down on the bed and turns on the light.
Greg probably thinks him a complete idiot, Hugh thinks miserably, embarrassment burning hotly through him. Hugh's always prided himself on being pretty self-sufficient, but maybe he's been fooling himself all along. He needed Colin. It gave him strength, knowing that Colin was there, that he was loved. Hugh'd never known what to do with his heart, so when Colin asked, Hugh gave it to him, and more.
What a sentimental fool he is, drinking himself into a stupor to forget a lost love. It's been one and a half years, everyone else would've long since moved on. But no, not Hugh, he has to agonise over it for ever and ever, amen.
He watches Greg move around the room, touching things he isn‘t meant to touch, private things. Funnily enough, it reminds Hugh of Elijah; he did the same thing, in a way. But then again, maybe it's never even been about Elijah, he was just there when Hugh had needed someone. It could've been anyone clever enough to fool Hugh into thinking it meant anything at all. He would still have Colin if any of these romantic notions Hugh used to hold dear would be true. And you don't need to particularly care about the person you sleep with; it's just sex, nothing more. That's what Elijah taught him.
What reason is there for him to still feel bad about something that Elijah had probably forgotten the moment Hugh had closed the door behind himself? What was it to Elijah other than a night with some man he'd picked up at a club. Hugh isn't naive enough to believe Elijah hasn't done that before. He should acquire a thicker skin, that's all.
Greg snaps his fingers in front of Hugh‘s face. “Where’ve you disappeared to, eh? You’re not going to puke all over my shoes, are you?”
Hugh blinks. He wants Greg to leave, now. Alone, he needs to be alone. All Hugh wants is to fall asleep and dream of Colin, hear his voice in his head and remember a time when he didn‘t feel this lonely.
"What's got your panties in a twist anyway?" Greg asks casually, leafing through a book on Hugh‘s bedside drawer. “Did Daddy disown you? Did your girl let another fuck her?"
“Shut up,” Hugh snaps. A few quick, unsteady steps bring him to Greg’s side, plucking the book out of his grasp. “I think I can do on my own now.”
Greg doesn‘t even blink. “That’s it, isn’t it?” He crows in delight to have found out. “She spread her legs, the little slut.”
“There’s no girl.” Hugh puts the book back in its place.
“Ah, come on. You can tell old Greg. How’d you find out?”
“I told you, there is no girl,” Hugh says with growing irritation.
Greg grins and pokes Hugh in the chest. “Walk in on them, did you?”
To hell with you, Hugh thinks, yanking Greg close by the shirtfront and pressing his lips on Greg’s. “There is no girl,” he repeats slowly. “Happy now?”
For a second all Greg does is stare, before catching himself and snarling, “You fucking cocksucker.” He pushes Hugh away from him. ”What the fuck was that about?”
Hugh stumbles, dropping back onto the bed. “You wanted to know,” is all he says.
Greg’s hands are clenched into fists by his side. “Next time,“ he starts, then thinks better of it. ”No. There won’t be a next time.”
Hugh looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, coming back to himself slowly.
“And I hope you rot in hell,” Greg spits before slamming the door closed behind himself.