mcfly-slash ... December
hellooooooooo … i am back from touring, as you can guess. i've actually been back for a while now but it always takes a bit until i'm used to germany after i've been to uk (because germany sucks, uk doesn't and i'm just well weird)
in case you're wondering how the tour was. can you say wicked? i've met the boys, had an actual conversation with mister poynter and went to three pamazing gigs. apart from a bit of a downer in sheffield i really had the time of my life. pictures can be seen here.
so now i bring you my christmas-harry's birthday-fic.
Title: December
Author: the Grinch … no, not really, it’s Scrooge … no seriously, it’s me
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Poynter/Judd
Summary: Harry doesn’t like December
Disclaimer: this isn’t true … I guess.
Dedication: EVERYONE! who's read my stuff over the past year.
Author’s note: Alright, this would be my Christmas-fic. Quite remarkable, seeing that I don’t even like Christmas. But I dunno, been gone for a while, haven’t I? I need to have you lot know I’m still alive and didn’t run off into the sunset with the Poynter himself. Also, I am so bored after the tour. After-tour-blues … I hate it. How dare they to not tour, seriously?
It’s December, again. Even more so, it’s approaching December, 23rd awfully fast. And I am nowhere near happy about that.
A lot of people get crazy in December, I suppose. Well, I know actually since my own bandmate, dearest Thomas Michael Fletcher, seems to be one of those people. But all this craziness over Christmas, it’s always been a bit beyond me. Or … not really beyond me, I guess. It was just … can you call it jealousy? I think that’s it, actually.
As soon as December is around, people go all mental. They start decorating their houses with lights and as the month passes on, you see the first places that sell Christmas trees and all that stuff. The streets and shops fill with people armed with their credit cards and lists of presents they need to buy which will cause said credit cards’ limits to max to the heavens.
With everyone being so wrapped up in the holiday itself, one thing always tends to be forgotten.
December, 23rd. The day before Christmas Eve. Which so happens to be the day when, now 22 years ago, I decided it was time to pay the world a visit. A visit that should be celebrated every year because that’s what you do when birthdays come around, don’t you? I mean, if a huge part of the world’s population is celebrating the birth of some guy who existed in the Bible, I think I don’t ask for too much if I want my brithday celebrated as well. I don’t even need the world to break out in joy because I was born, but you know, the people closest to me being happy about my birthday would be nice.
However, with my birthday basically crashing into Christmas it was apparently agreed upon that both joyful occurences should be celebrated together. And not even that is happening. It’s still Christmas that’s celebrated and not my birthday. Everyone is receiving presents, that’s one thing. My birthday dinner is turkey. When it’s any other birthday, the birthday girl or boy is getting their favorite food. But instead of Spag Bol, all I seem to get is turkey. I mean, my mum is an amazing cook but I’ve never liked turkey so much that I’d request for it. But I still get turkey because it’s Christmas. The children are all centre of attention which is natural for Christmas but shouldn’t I get at least a little bit more of attention? Because hello, Jesus is dead (if he was alive in the first place, well, that’s not on me to decide) and we’re still celebrating his birthday. I am still on the planet and no one seems to care.
So yeah, I am jealous, sue me. I am jealous of Christmas and Jesus because they get the attention I want to have, the attention I think I deserve. And it’s not like I can change it either, can I? I mean, usually, when you’re jealous of something someone else has you can at least work to make yourself come out on top, make yourself look better. But how are you supposed to compete with a day that is celebrated all around the world? You can’t, not a chance.
So here I am, sitting in what used to be my bedroom in my parents’ house, bored stupid and a slightly pissed off. My mum and my sister are in the kitchen, fussing over final preparations for the big Christmas dinner or wrapping up the last presents, I don’t really know. My dad and my brother are in the living room, setting up the Christmas tree, which, in good old Judd family tradition, seems to be bigger and harder to handle than the tree last year.
And no one seems to care about me. As per.
A faint buzzing sound is pulling me out of my reverie. It’s my phone which is skitting over the surface of my desk. I don’t really want to answer it. Who could it be anyway?
The whole McFly-management team called already this morning, leaving messages on the voicemail since I wasn’t even awake at that time. It was the usual birthday-wish, say hi to your family, we’ll see you next year, have some relaxing days and Merry Christmas. The standard basically.
Tom called some time before noon, putting his phone on speaker so the whole Fletcher-family could scream their ‘Happy Birthday’ at me while they’re on some tropical island to escape the cold weather. And then I passed my phone to my mum while Tom passed his phone to his mum so the two women could swap Christmas dinner recipes.
Danny called next, passing his phone to each and every member of his family while they were all gathered in the Jones’ residence in Bolton, everyone of them wishing me something along the lines of ‘Ave a good ‘un, son. Don’t be cheeky or ya won’t get anythin’ from Santa, eh?’ And Danny said he was gonna have a drink on me tonight … or afternoon, more like it. Cos that’s what Christmas is good for, isn’t it? Three days of drinking, wahey!
Last to call me was Dougie who was in a mad rush. As usual, he overslept and so he had only two hours to get his lizards over to their holiday-home, pack his things together, go on a walk with Flea and get his (and Flea’s) arse into his car to make his way over the packed motorway to get home. Basically, all I got was ‘Another year over and you’re still together. It’s not always easy but you seem to live forever. Happy birthday, you bum! Overslept, must hurry, call you later.’ and the dialling tone.
I have to admit, Dougie’s call brought my mood down a bit further. Fair enough, we never make a big fuss out of each other’s birthdays but no matter what we’re doing, touring or not touring, Dougie and I always make each other’s birthdays a bit more special. Nothing major, just little things. He’d buy me a new videogame and we’d be the first to play it all night long before Tom and Danny would get their hands on it, just him and me. I’d get him a new skateboard and he’d drag me outside in the middle of the night, and in freezing cold, to watch him while he just skated up and down the street, before we’d get back in and he’d complain to me that he’s cold. And we’d always spent the night of our birthdays talking, in person or on the phone, reflecting on what had changed in our lives since the last birthday.
This is mine and Dougie’s birthday-tradition. And I love this birthday-tradition. Okay, I love Dougie in general (and I mean that in the ‘love that leads to kinky stuff in the bedroom’ way not in the ‘best friend’ way) but that’s beside the point. Point is, that he broke the birthday-tradition when he knows exactly I’m never in my best mood at this time of year. Usually, he’s the only one who makes me smile during the holiday-season, this year he seemed too busy to do that. And he didn’t even seem to care about my feelings either.
The buzzing, that still hadn’t stopped, pulled me out of my thoughts again. Realising it wouldn’t make much sense to ignore the call since the other person would try again and again until I answered, I got up from the bed to pick up.
“Hello?”
“I. Hate. Motorways. Wish I never would’ve gotten my stupid license. I still could get Mum or Paul or Jazzie to come get me which in turn wouldn’t make me oversleep and manage everything on time.”
It’s Dougie. And just the sound of him complaining through the phoneline and I’m not feeling so bad anymore.
“You only just got in?”
“Yep. Was stuck in traffic for bloody ages. Tom could’ve written a whole album while I barely moved a fucking yard. My family says hi by the way. But they’re all busy fussing over whatever at the moment. When I got in, Mum gave me a kiss on the cheek before she disappeared into the kitchen again. I felt like, ‘Yeah, hello dearest family, I missed you too’.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Your mum as well?”
“Mine … every mother on the planet, I suppose.”
“Got anything fancy?”
“Not until tomorrow evening.”
“What, you mean you haven’t unpacked yet?”
“Couldn’t be arsed.”
“And here I was thinking you’d punish me for the call earlier by not talking to me.” He chuckles.
“Could you get any clearer? I’ve aged another year, thinking gets harder these days.”
“I managed to squeeze a little something into your bag. By the way, in case you’re wondering where that light blue button-up is … I took it out and I plan to burn it.”
“I have you know that it was dead expensive.”
“And I have you know that it’s dead ugly. And now open your fucking bag.”
Sighing, I do as he orders and get to my bag. I clutch the phone between my ear and shoulder (which isn’t that easy with those tiny mobiles these days) and open my bag. And right on top a bright green package is literally screaming at me.
“What’s your obsession with green these days?”
“It’s the colour of nature.”
“Nature in neon light, more like it. This is hurting my eyes.”
“Then do yourself a favour and open it.”
Again, I do as he says. Which isn’t easy. Dougie isn’t exactly gifted when it comes to wrapping presents. It’s basically a lot of wrapping paper and a lot more tape. Finally I get through all the layers that seem to hold my present. And what I hold in my hands now are … He’s got to be joking.
“What is that?”
“Drumsticks, you dolt!”
“I know it’s drumsticks. But I have a fair amount of them, in case you failed to notice. No need to give me another pair.”
“You haven’t got those though. They are special.”
“In what way?”
“They glow in the dark, how freaking cool is that? And they’re made of titanium or metal or steel or something like that so they don’t break. I’ve got another four pairs at home for you. The guy in the shop told me they’re brand new on the market, built to last, so the five pairs I got you will last ages. And there’s also glow-in-the-dark-plectrums. I bought a package for me and one for each Tom and Danny cos I’m just that nice. I’ve been told Tommy Lee ordered a box of those drumsticks too. Bet’cha he uses them as sextoys or something freaky like that. Does he actually drum still?”
“Dougie?” I interrupt his rambling.
“What?”
I smile into the phone. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But don’t you dare use them before you get back. Don’t mess with the tradition.”
“I never would.”
“Good boy. And that actually brings me to Present Number Two.”
“Present Number Two?”
“What are you doing on the 27th?”
“Lay in bed and curse the season? Throw up all the food I’ve eaten over the holidays? Be the first one to load up on booze for New Year’s?”
“Think you can squeeze in a visit to mine?”
“‘Yours’ as in?”
“My flat.”
“Thought you were staying with the family til New Year’s.”
“Change of plans. You’re coming?”
“What for?”
“I’m not telling. Yes or no, Judd. Your family or my company?”
“I think I’m gonna go with your company.”
“That’s my boy. I’ll see you at mine then, yes? Be there in the afternoon. Say, four, five-ish?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, good. And now tell me, how does it feel to be so old? 22 … when do we need to get you a wheelchair, man?”
And the rest of the night is spend talking on the phone to Dougie, re-living the past year. Dwelling in tour-memories, making fun of bandmates and useless interviewers, critisising my haircuts.
Just Dougie and me and our birthday-tradition.
While our phone call I try to pry out of Dougie what part two of my present entails of but, unlike him, he keeps it all a secret, refusing to even give me a tiny hint, no matter how often I ask him.
The call with Dougie was enough to make me smile for days. I wasn’t bothered about my little cousins shrieking about who would open their present first, every male member of my family arguing over the best parts of the turkey or the chatter of the females discussing everything in the universe. All I thought about was Dougie and our call and what he had planned.
On the night from the 26th to the 27th I could barely sleep because I was so excited. On the actual 27th I jumped out of bed when the first bit of light appeared in the morning sky. I showered, splashed on my best aftershave and made sure I looked extra nice. Just in case, of course. If he made an effort, I should do as well. If he made an effort, that is.
I left my parents’ house earlier than I probably should but I didn’t want to be late. Besides, if the streets were as packed as before Christmas, I’d better be prepared and leave early enough.
When I reached our street, it was just a quarter to four. The streets had been fairly empty so I stuck to the speed limit, avoided any shortcuts and spent some good time inside a supermarket. I wanted to be a good guest and bring something for Dougie. Only that I had no idea what. In the end I settled for the classic - a sixpack of Corona. I had no idea what Dougie had planned but beer is never going to waste anyway.
I thought that 15 minutes early couldn’t hurt much so I just marched right off to Dougie’s place. Outside the door of his flat I stopped. On his doorframe he had tucked several balloons, stating ‘Birthday Boy’ and on his doormat he had placed a big white cardbord box and a birthday card with my name on it.
Chuckling, I knelt down and picked up the card.
Open the package, do what’s required and come in. IN THAT ORDER, no cheating. xxx
Dougie Poynter is a strange individual, a very strange individual. But how can you not love this weirdo, seriously.
I lifted the lid of the package. Inside I found a party hat, a badge that matched the balloons on the door and a folded t-shirt which read ‘Special Delivery’ on the front and had my name and a 22 on the back. Laughing, I put on the t-shirt before attaching the badge to it and placing the hat on my head. I’m sure I looked absolutely ridiculous but anything for Dougie and his surprises, I suppose.
I proceeded to knock on the door when I noticed that it was open already. Carefully I pushed it open.
The flat was only dimly lit and as soon as I entered I picked up the smell of … is that … Spag Bol?
“Dougie?” I called out.
“Go through.” came his voice from somewhere.
I opened the door to his living room and let’s just say, I was well impressed. The room was decorated like for a kids’ birthday party. Balloons were all over the room, sweets and party crackers were scattered everywhere. The coffee table had been moved further towards the kitchen and in its place stood the drumkit we usually had in the studio upstairs. Dougie must have taken it apart, brought it down here and put it back together.
Only … the man himself wasn’t seen anywhere.
As if on cue a voice sounded behind me, whispering right into my ear, making me jump.
“Like it?”
I turned around and there stood Dougie who had apparently been in his bedroom getting ready. And remember I told you about not knowing if he made an effort? Well, he did. His hair was flat down against his forehead, he wore jeans, a t-shirt and a loose navy blue button-up above it. He wore one of those silly party hats as well but it did nothing to damage the breathtaking sight of him.
I blinked at him. “Wow.” I gasped, leaving it out in the open if I meant him or the way his living room was decorated. But between you and me, the second I saw him, I pretty much forgot that there was a living room in the first place.
He smiled. “I hope you brought those drumsticks. You gotta christen them later.” He motioned towards the drumkit.
“When did you do all that?”
“I brought the kit down the day before I left. The rest … today. I left home at the crack of dawn.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. Come on, wanna keep standing in the doorway? Get in.”
He ushered me into the room, taking the sixpack of beer from my grasp. Upon entering fully, the smell of Spag Bol intesified. And it smelled absoltuely delicious. No trace of anything burnt or stuff like that.
“You didn’t cook, did you?”
“Why I did, birthday boy.”
“Have you tried the result?”
“That too. And I’m still alive and all that so I guess it’s actually decent. I have no idea where we should eat though. The coffee table gave up its place for your drumkit.”
“We’ll just eat on the floor then.”
“You can’t sit on the floor at your birthday party, Harry.”
“Well, it’s my birthday, isn’t it? Can’t I do whatever I want and sit wherever I want?”
He shrugged. “I suppose …”
“Enough said, then.”
I sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the sofa while Dougie went back over into the kitchen.
“Where’s Flea?” I wondered.
“Left him at Mum’s. Jazzie’s gonna bring him when she comes over for the New Year’s party. Oh by the way, take a look behind you, will you?”
I did and noticed a wrapped item on the sofa. I reached for it and looked at it from all angles and even shook it and held my ear against it.
“It’s not gonna explode.” Dougie commented.
“That for me?”
“Well, duh! Who of us is the birthday boy?”
“Is that Birthday Present Number Two then?”
“Nope. That’s Present One-And-Three-Quarters. Present One-And-A-Quarter is the meal, Present One-And-A-Half is the party.”
“It’s not really a party though, isn’t it? It’s just you and me.”
“Are you disappointed? I thought you’d like it like that, just the two of us. It’s the tradition.” He sounded hurt.
“No, I do like it like that. Very much actually.”
He smiled. “Good. And now open the present. And before you ask … Mum wrapped it.”
“I figured.”
I carefully untied the red bow before fingering away the tape that kept the silver wrapping paper closed. When I had the package unwrapped, I looked down at a folded grey item. I unfolded it and looked down at a Zoo York hoodie. I had seen it in a shop ages ago but didn’t buy it back then because it had seemed too expensive at the time. I had changed my mind a few days later and, as luck would have it, it had been sold out. And now I was holding that exact hoodie in my hands.
Without saying a word, I got up from the floor and went over to Dougie who was busy stirring the sauce on the cooker. I enveloped him in a tight hug from behind.
“Thanks so much, Doug.”
He giggled. “I gather you like it then.”
“I love it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. How’d you get it? It was sold out so fast.”
“Danny told me you’d fallen for it when you were out shopping with him. I thought it’d be great as a birthday present so I went and got it the next day. That was obviously before I had the drumsticks. But I figured two presents wouldn’t hurt much anyway.”
“But … all the money …”
“Shut up Harry. It’s not like I can’t afford it. And now try it on, I wanna see how it looks on you.”
“After dinner, don’t wanna get it dirty with pasta sauce. Besides, my arms are kinda full at the moment.” Which was because I still held tightly onto him. He didn’t seem to mind though, he actually seemed oddly comfortable.
“Well, you have to let go. Dinner’s ready.” He turned his head and smiled at me.
Slowly I unwrapped my arms from around him. He turned around and smiled at me before grabbing two plates he had already set next to him and filled them with the food. In the meantime I took two of the beers I had brought and made my way back to my ‘seat’. Dougie followed shortly after and sat down right next to me.
Much to my surprise, the food was really good. And it surprised me even more when Dougie brought out a birthday cake for dessert. Okay, it was basically Christmas Fruit Cake from Tesco’s but he had put 22 candles on it. He had really thought of everything, it seemed. Only … there was still no trace of Birthday Present Number Two.
“You wanna get Present Number Two, don’t you?” he grinned around a mouthful of cake.
“Can you blame me? You’ve given me the perfect birthday-party with the perfect food and the perfect presents. This is the first time in my life that someone completely ignored Christmas and focussed on my birthday entirely. It’s not so much that I wanna know what Present Number Two is, I’m just curious how you wanna make all this even better than it already is.”
“Okay then.” He put his plate aside. “Sit down on the sofa and close your eyes.”
“This is not gonna … hurt, is it?”
He looked at me funny. “Well, I sure hope it won’t hurt. But we won’t find out if you don’t do it, will we?” He winked.
“Alright then.”
I moved up onto the sofa behind me. I didn’t know what to do with my arms so I just folded them losely in front of my chest. I looked at Dougie one last time and when he gave me a reassuring smile, I finally closed my eyes.
With my vision now blocked, my other senses seemed to work harder. I tried to smell something new but there wasn’t anything. My ears picked up but no sounds were heard. I almost reached out my hands to maybe grab for something that could be in front of me when pressure was applied on my thighs.
I was just about to re-open my eyes when I felt something on my lips. A light touch, not moving at all, just lingering on my lips. Was that … a kiss?
Whatever had been on my lips was removed again and seconds later Dougie whispered, “Open your eyes, Harry.”
Slowly, very slowly, I opened my eyes. I came face to face with Dougie. The weight on my thighs turned out to be him. He had shed himself of that button-up and now wore a t-shirt looking exactly like the one I had found on his doorstep earlier. And around his waist he had tied a big bow. Automatically I unfolded my arms and wrapped them around his waist while he snaked his arms around my neck.
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
“You … you’re Present Number Two?”
He nodded. “You’re not gonna … return it, are you?” he asked shyly.
I pulled him closer to me. “Not in a million years.”
I leaned up and let our lips connect once again in an actual kiss. Dougie let out a satisfied moan into my mouth and seemed to melt right into my arms. My hands slowly made their way to his front where I untied the bow of the best birthday present I had ever received.
The End
Comments are appreciated.
A/N 2: In case you're wondering who that Paul-guy is Dougie is talking about … that's his mum's boyfriend.
A/N 3: I don't know if I like this piece actually. It seems a bit … un-balanced I think.
A/N 4:
in case you're wondering how the tour was. can you say wicked? i've met the boys, had an actual conversation with mister poynter and went to three pamazing gigs. apart from a bit of a downer in sheffield i really had the time of my life. pictures can be seen here.
so now i bring you my christmas-harry's birthday-fic.
Title: December
Author: the Grinch … no, not really, it’s Scrooge … no seriously, it’s me
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1/1 … Standalone
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Poynter/Judd
Summary: Harry doesn’t like December
Disclaimer: this isn’t true … I guess.
Dedication: EVERYONE! who's read my stuff over the past year.
Author’s note: Alright, this would be my Christmas-fic. Quite remarkable, seeing that I don’t even like Christmas. But I dunno, been gone for a while, haven’t I? I need to have you lot know I’m still alive and didn’t run off into the sunset with the Poynter himself. Also, I am so bored after the tour. After-tour-blues … I hate it. How dare they to not tour, seriously?
It’s December, again. Even more so, it’s approaching December, 23rd awfully fast. And I am nowhere near happy about that.
A lot of people get crazy in December, I suppose. Well, I know actually since my own bandmate, dearest Thomas Michael Fletcher, seems to be one of those people. But all this craziness over Christmas, it’s always been a bit beyond me. Or … not really beyond me, I guess. It was just … can you call it jealousy? I think that’s it, actually.
As soon as December is around, people go all mental. They start decorating their houses with lights and as the month passes on, you see the first places that sell Christmas trees and all that stuff. The streets and shops fill with people armed with their credit cards and lists of presents they need to buy which will cause said credit cards’ limits to max to the heavens.
With everyone being so wrapped up in the holiday itself, one thing always tends to be forgotten.
December, 23rd. The day before Christmas Eve. Which so happens to be the day when, now 22 years ago, I decided it was time to pay the world a visit. A visit that should be celebrated every year because that’s what you do when birthdays come around, don’t you? I mean, if a huge part of the world’s population is celebrating the birth of some guy who existed in the Bible, I think I don’t ask for too much if I want my brithday celebrated as well. I don’t even need the world to break out in joy because I was born, but you know, the people closest to me being happy about my birthday would be nice.
However, with my birthday basically crashing into Christmas it was apparently agreed upon that both joyful occurences should be celebrated together. And not even that is happening. It’s still Christmas that’s celebrated and not my birthday. Everyone is receiving presents, that’s one thing. My birthday dinner is turkey. When it’s any other birthday, the birthday girl or boy is getting their favorite food. But instead of Spag Bol, all I seem to get is turkey. I mean, my mum is an amazing cook but I’ve never liked turkey so much that I’d request for it. But I still get turkey because it’s Christmas. The children are all centre of attention which is natural for Christmas but shouldn’t I get at least a little bit more of attention? Because hello, Jesus is dead (if he was alive in the first place, well, that’s not on me to decide) and we’re still celebrating his birthday. I am still on the planet and no one seems to care.
So yeah, I am jealous, sue me. I am jealous of Christmas and Jesus because they get the attention I want to have, the attention I think I deserve. And it’s not like I can change it either, can I? I mean, usually, when you’re jealous of something someone else has you can at least work to make yourself come out on top, make yourself look better. But how are you supposed to compete with a day that is celebrated all around the world? You can’t, not a chance.
So here I am, sitting in what used to be my bedroom in my parents’ house, bored stupid and a slightly pissed off. My mum and my sister are in the kitchen, fussing over final preparations for the big Christmas dinner or wrapping up the last presents, I don’t really know. My dad and my brother are in the living room, setting up the Christmas tree, which, in good old Judd family tradition, seems to be bigger and harder to handle than the tree last year.
And no one seems to care about me. As per.
A faint buzzing sound is pulling me out of my reverie. It’s my phone which is skitting over the surface of my desk. I don’t really want to answer it. Who could it be anyway?
The whole McFly-management team called already this morning, leaving messages on the voicemail since I wasn’t even awake at that time. It was the usual birthday-wish, say hi to your family, we’ll see you next year, have some relaxing days and Merry Christmas. The standard basically.
Tom called some time before noon, putting his phone on speaker so the whole Fletcher-family could scream their ‘Happy Birthday’ at me while they’re on some tropical island to escape the cold weather. And then I passed my phone to my mum while Tom passed his phone to his mum so the two women could swap Christmas dinner recipes.
Danny called next, passing his phone to each and every member of his family while they were all gathered in the Jones’ residence in Bolton, everyone of them wishing me something along the lines of ‘Ave a good ‘un, son. Don’t be cheeky or ya won’t get anythin’ from Santa, eh?’ And Danny said he was gonna have a drink on me tonight … or afternoon, more like it. Cos that’s what Christmas is good for, isn’t it? Three days of drinking, wahey!
Last to call me was Dougie who was in a mad rush. As usual, he overslept and so he had only two hours to get his lizards over to their holiday-home, pack his things together, go on a walk with Flea and get his (and Flea’s) arse into his car to make his way over the packed motorway to get home. Basically, all I got was ‘Another year over and you’re still together. It’s not always easy but you seem to live forever. Happy birthday, you bum! Overslept, must hurry, call you later.’ and the dialling tone.
I have to admit, Dougie’s call brought my mood down a bit further. Fair enough, we never make a big fuss out of each other’s birthdays but no matter what we’re doing, touring or not touring, Dougie and I always make each other’s birthdays a bit more special. Nothing major, just little things. He’d buy me a new videogame and we’d be the first to play it all night long before Tom and Danny would get their hands on it, just him and me. I’d get him a new skateboard and he’d drag me outside in the middle of the night, and in freezing cold, to watch him while he just skated up and down the street, before we’d get back in and he’d complain to me that he’s cold. And we’d always spent the night of our birthdays talking, in person or on the phone, reflecting on what had changed in our lives since the last birthday.
This is mine and Dougie’s birthday-tradition. And I love this birthday-tradition. Okay, I love Dougie in general (and I mean that in the ‘love that leads to kinky stuff in the bedroom’ way not in the ‘best friend’ way) but that’s beside the point. Point is, that he broke the birthday-tradition when he knows exactly I’m never in my best mood at this time of year. Usually, he’s the only one who makes me smile during the holiday-season, this year he seemed too busy to do that. And he didn’t even seem to care about my feelings either.
The buzzing, that still hadn’t stopped, pulled me out of my thoughts again. Realising it wouldn’t make much sense to ignore the call since the other person would try again and again until I answered, I got up from the bed to pick up.
“Hello?”
“I. Hate. Motorways. Wish I never would’ve gotten my stupid license. I still could get Mum or Paul or Jazzie to come get me which in turn wouldn’t make me oversleep and manage everything on time.”
It’s Dougie. And just the sound of him complaining through the phoneline and I’m not feeling so bad anymore.
“You only just got in?”
“Yep. Was stuck in traffic for bloody ages. Tom could’ve written a whole album while I barely moved a fucking yard. My family says hi by the way. But they’re all busy fussing over whatever at the moment. When I got in, Mum gave me a kiss on the cheek before she disappeared into the kitchen again. I felt like, ‘Yeah, hello dearest family, I missed you too’.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Your mum as well?”
“Mine … every mother on the planet, I suppose.”
“Got anything fancy?”
“Not until tomorrow evening.”
“What, you mean you haven’t unpacked yet?”
“Couldn’t be arsed.”
“And here I was thinking you’d punish me for the call earlier by not talking to me.” He chuckles.
“Could you get any clearer? I’ve aged another year, thinking gets harder these days.”
“I managed to squeeze a little something into your bag. By the way, in case you’re wondering where that light blue button-up is … I took it out and I plan to burn it.”
“I have you know that it was dead expensive.”
“And I have you know that it’s dead ugly. And now open your fucking bag.”
Sighing, I do as he orders and get to my bag. I clutch the phone between my ear and shoulder (which isn’t that easy with those tiny mobiles these days) and open my bag. And right on top a bright green package is literally screaming at me.
“What’s your obsession with green these days?”
“It’s the colour of nature.”
“Nature in neon light, more like it. This is hurting my eyes.”
“Then do yourself a favour and open it.”
Again, I do as he says. Which isn’t easy. Dougie isn’t exactly gifted when it comes to wrapping presents. It’s basically a lot of wrapping paper and a lot more tape. Finally I get through all the layers that seem to hold my present. And what I hold in my hands now are … He’s got to be joking.
“What is that?”
“Drumsticks, you dolt!”
“I know it’s drumsticks. But I have a fair amount of them, in case you failed to notice. No need to give me another pair.”
“You haven’t got those though. They are special.”
“In what way?”
“They glow in the dark, how freaking cool is that? And they’re made of titanium or metal or steel or something like that so they don’t break. I’ve got another four pairs at home for you. The guy in the shop told me they’re brand new on the market, built to last, so the five pairs I got you will last ages. And there’s also glow-in-the-dark-plectrums. I bought a package for me and one for each Tom and Danny cos I’m just that nice. I’ve been told Tommy Lee ordered a box of those drumsticks too. Bet’cha he uses them as sextoys or something freaky like that. Does he actually drum still?”
“Dougie?” I interrupt his rambling.
“What?”
I smile into the phone. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But don’t you dare use them before you get back. Don’t mess with the tradition.”
“I never would.”
“Good boy. And that actually brings me to Present Number Two.”
“Present Number Two?”
“What are you doing on the 27th?”
“Lay in bed and curse the season? Throw up all the food I’ve eaten over the holidays? Be the first one to load up on booze for New Year’s?”
“Think you can squeeze in a visit to mine?”
“‘Yours’ as in?”
“My flat.”
“Thought you were staying with the family til New Year’s.”
“Change of plans. You’re coming?”
“What for?”
“I’m not telling. Yes or no, Judd. Your family or my company?”
“I think I’m gonna go with your company.”
“That’s my boy. I’ll see you at mine then, yes? Be there in the afternoon. Say, four, five-ish?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, good. And now tell me, how does it feel to be so old? 22 … when do we need to get you a wheelchair, man?”
And the rest of the night is spend talking on the phone to Dougie, re-living the past year. Dwelling in tour-memories, making fun of bandmates and useless interviewers, critisising my haircuts.
Just Dougie and me and our birthday-tradition.
While our phone call I try to pry out of Dougie what part two of my present entails of but, unlike him, he keeps it all a secret, refusing to even give me a tiny hint, no matter how often I ask him.
The call with Dougie was enough to make me smile for days. I wasn’t bothered about my little cousins shrieking about who would open their present first, every male member of my family arguing over the best parts of the turkey or the chatter of the females discussing everything in the universe. All I thought about was Dougie and our call and what he had planned.
On the night from the 26th to the 27th I could barely sleep because I was so excited. On the actual 27th I jumped out of bed when the first bit of light appeared in the morning sky. I showered, splashed on my best aftershave and made sure I looked extra nice. Just in case, of course. If he made an effort, I should do as well. If he made an effort, that is.
I left my parents’ house earlier than I probably should but I didn’t want to be late. Besides, if the streets were as packed as before Christmas, I’d better be prepared and leave early enough.
When I reached our street, it was just a quarter to four. The streets had been fairly empty so I stuck to the speed limit, avoided any shortcuts and spent some good time inside a supermarket. I wanted to be a good guest and bring something for Dougie. Only that I had no idea what. In the end I settled for the classic - a sixpack of Corona. I had no idea what Dougie had planned but beer is never going to waste anyway.
I thought that 15 minutes early couldn’t hurt much so I just marched right off to Dougie’s place. Outside the door of his flat I stopped. On his doorframe he had tucked several balloons, stating ‘Birthday Boy’ and on his doormat he had placed a big white cardbord box and a birthday card with my name on it.
Chuckling, I knelt down and picked up the card.
Open the package, do what’s required and come in. IN THAT ORDER, no cheating. xxx
Dougie Poynter is a strange individual, a very strange individual. But how can you not love this weirdo, seriously.
I lifted the lid of the package. Inside I found a party hat, a badge that matched the balloons on the door and a folded t-shirt which read ‘Special Delivery’ on the front and had my name and a 22 on the back. Laughing, I put on the t-shirt before attaching the badge to it and placing the hat on my head. I’m sure I looked absolutely ridiculous but anything for Dougie and his surprises, I suppose.
I proceeded to knock on the door when I noticed that it was open already. Carefully I pushed it open.
The flat was only dimly lit and as soon as I entered I picked up the smell of … is that … Spag Bol?
“Dougie?” I called out.
“Go through.” came his voice from somewhere.
I opened the door to his living room and let’s just say, I was well impressed. The room was decorated like for a kids’ birthday party. Balloons were all over the room, sweets and party crackers were scattered everywhere. The coffee table had been moved further towards the kitchen and in its place stood the drumkit we usually had in the studio upstairs. Dougie must have taken it apart, brought it down here and put it back together.
Only … the man himself wasn’t seen anywhere.
As if on cue a voice sounded behind me, whispering right into my ear, making me jump.
“Like it?”
I turned around and there stood Dougie who had apparently been in his bedroom getting ready. And remember I told you about not knowing if he made an effort? Well, he did. His hair was flat down against his forehead, he wore jeans, a t-shirt and a loose navy blue button-up above it. He wore one of those silly party hats as well but it did nothing to damage the breathtaking sight of him.
I blinked at him. “Wow.” I gasped, leaving it out in the open if I meant him or the way his living room was decorated. But between you and me, the second I saw him, I pretty much forgot that there was a living room in the first place.
He smiled. “I hope you brought those drumsticks. You gotta christen them later.” He motioned towards the drumkit.
“When did you do all that?”
“I brought the kit down the day before I left. The rest … today. I left home at the crack of dawn.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. Come on, wanna keep standing in the doorway? Get in.”
He ushered me into the room, taking the sixpack of beer from my grasp. Upon entering fully, the smell of Spag Bol intesified. And it smelled absoltuely delicious. No trace of anything burnt or stuff like that.
“You didn’t cook, did you?”
“Why I did, birthday boy.”
“Have you tried the result?”
“That too. And I’m still alive and all that so I guess it’s actually decent. I have no idea where we should eat though. The coffee table gave up its place for your drumkit.”
“We’ll just eat on the floor then.”
“You can’t sit on the floor at your birthday party, Harry.”
“Well, it’s my birthday, isn’t it? Can’t I do whatever I want and sit wherever I want?”
He shrugged. “I suppose …”
“Enough said, then.”
I sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the sofa while Dougie went back over into the kitchen.
“Where’s Flea?” I wondered.
“Left him at Mum’s. Jazzie’s gonna bring him when she comes over for the New Year’s party. Oh by the way, take a look behind you, will you?”
I did and noticed a wrapped item on the sofa. I reached for it and looked at it from all angles and even shook it and held my ear against it.
“It’s not gonna explode.” Dougie commented.
“That for me?”
“Well, duh! Who of us is the birthday boy?”
“Is that Birthday Present Number Two then?”
“Nope. That’s Present One-And-Three-Quarters. Present One-And-A-Quarter is the meal, Present One-And-A-Half is the party.”
“It’s not really a party though, isn’t it? It’s just you and me.”
“Are you disappointed? I thought you’d like it like that, just the two of us. It’s the tradition.” He sounded hurt.
“No, I do like it like that. Very much actually.”
He smiled. “Good. And now open the present. And before you ask … Mum wrapped it.”
“I figured.”
I carefully untied the red bow before fingering away the tape that kept the silver wrapping paper closed. When I had the package unwrapped, I looked down at a folded grey item. I unfolded it and looked down at a Zoo York hoodie. I had seen it in a shop ages ago but didn’t buy it back then because it had seemed too expensive at the time. I had changed my mind a few days later and, as luck would have it, it had been sold out. And now I was holding that exact hoodie in my hands.
Without saying a word, I got up from the floor and went over to Dougie who was busy stirring the sauce on the cooker. I enveloped him in a tight hug from behind.
“Thanks so much, Doug.”
He giggled. “I gather you like it then.”
“I love it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. How’d you get it? It was sold out so fast.”
“Danny told me you’d fallen for it when you were out shopping with him. I thought it’d be great as a birthday present so I went and got it the next day. That was obviously before I had the drumsticks. But I figured two presents wouldn’t hurt much anyway.”
“But … all the money …”
“Shut up Harry. It’s not like I can’t afford it. And now try it on, I wanna see how it looks on you.”
“After dinner, don’t wanna get it dirty with pasta sauce. Besides, my arms are kinda full at the moment.” Which was because I still held tightly onto him. He didn’t seem to mind though, he actually seemed oddly comfortable.
“Well, you have to let go. Dinner’s ready.” He turned his head and smiled at me.
Slowly I unwrapped my arms from around him. He turned around and smiled at me before grabbing two plates he had already set next to him and filled them with the food. In the meantime I took two of the beers I had brought and made my way back to my ‘seat’. Dougie followed shortly after and sat down right next to me.
Much to my surprise, the food was really good. And it surprised me even more when Dougie brought out a birthday cake for dessert. Okay, it was basically Christmas Fruit Cake from Tesco’s but he had put 22 candles on it. He had really thought of everything, it seemed. Only … there was still no trace of Birthday Present Number Two.
“You wanna get Present Number Two, don’t you?” he grinned around a mouthful of cake.
“Can you blame me? You’ve given me the perfect birthday-party with the perfect food and the perfect presents. This is the first time in my life that someone completely ignored Christmas and focussed on my birthday entirely. It’s not so much that I wanna know what Present Number Two is, I’m just curious how you wanna make all this even better than it already is.”
“Okay then.” He put his plate aside. “Sit down on the sofa and close your eyes.”
“This is not gonna … hurt, is it?”
He looked at me funny. “Well, I sure hope it won’t hurt. But we won’t find out if you don’t do it, will we?” He winked.
“Alright then.”
I moved up onto the sofa behind me. I didn’t know what to do with my arms so I just folded them losely in front of my chest. I looked at Dougie one last time and when he gave me a reassuring smile, I finally closed my eyes.
With my vision now blocked, my other senses seemed to work harder. I tried to smell something new but there wasn’t anything. My ears picked up but no sounds were heard. I almost reached out my hands to maybe grab for something that could be in front of me when pressure was applied on my thighs.
I was just about to re-open my eyes when I felt something on my lips. A light touch, not moving at all, just lingering on my lips. Was that … a kiss?
Whatever had been on my lips was removed again and seconds later Dougie whispered, “Open your eyes, Harry.”
Slowly, very slowly, I opened my eyes. I came face to face with Dougie. The weight on my thighs turned out to be him. He had shed himself of that button-up and now wore a t-shirt looking exactly like the one I had found on his doorstep earlier. And around his waist he had tied a big bow. Automatically I unfolded my arms and wrapped them around his waist while he snaked his arms around my neck.
“Happy birthday, Harry.”
“You … you’re Present Number Two?”
He nodded. “You’re not gonna … return it, are you?” he asked shyly.
I pulled him closer to me. “Not in a million years.”
I leaned up and let our lips connect once again in an actual kiss. Dougie let out a satisfied moan into my mouth and seemed to melt right into my arms. My hands slowly made their way to his front where I untied the bow of the best birthday present I had ever received.
The End
Comments are appreciated.
A/N 2: In case you're wondering who that Paul-guy is Dougie is talking about … that's his mum's boyfriend.
A/N 3: I don't know if I like this piece actually. It seems a bit … un-balanced I think.
A/N 4: