I just sit for a while. Not thinking about anything. There isn't a single thought which will make me feel better about my situation.
It's his flat, his safe space, and it's filled with CDs, plaid shirts and post-it notes with his handwriting on them. That's his and mine, and wherever I end up, I'll always be reminded of how I ruined everything.
I'm on the floor for I don't know how long. Could be half an hour, could be a year. I could go back, explain myself to Anjali and Georgia, get drunk and seek refuge at Sylvie and Clary's place, pass out and never wake up again, but that wouldn't be fair to people around me. I was never suicidal, and I don't intend on being now, but wouldn't it make things easier?
It wouldn't, I decide finally. It would only make me more selfish than I already am. Because I still want him to come back.
I need to do something. Get up, go home, and let go. I don't think I can.
I take out my phone, before I could second-guess myself, and dial a number which I hadn't called in a long time.
"Hello?"
"Hi, dad."
"Frank? Is everything okay?"
It hurts, because dad knows I only call him when something's wrong, because I don't want to bother mum with such things, and when I call mum, the news inevitably reaches dad, as well.
"No", I say, and my voice comes out as unstable. I inhale to steady myself and continued. "I messed up. I messed up realy bad."
"What happened?"
"Remember… Remember J.J.? My friend from high school?"
"Yes?"
"He… I… Dad, we were together. Dating."
Silence, and I feel empty. We kept it a secret for years, and now it was out in the wild. Seventeen-year-old me would think present me is a fucking idiot. Come to think of it, present me doesn't think much of present me either.
"And… now you're not?"
A breath escales me, fleeing from my lungs at alarming speed, wheezing against my teeth. Not the reaction I was expecting, perhaps the one I wanted.
"No. Because of me. I did a bad thing and he can't possibly forgive me. I know he can't."
"How do you know, if you haven't asked him?"
I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Sometimes—most of the time—people around me have better life skills than I do.
"Um. How do you know I haven't asked him?"
"You're my son", dad laughs, and it's a comforting sound. "I know you better than you may think."
"Um."
"Go. Call me later, when you stop avoiding dealing with things. Bye, Frank."
They knew. Or maybe they didn't. I don't care anymore. The weight on my chest is slightly lighter, and maybe, just maybe… No. I can't afford to think like that.
I press January's name in my contacts and call him. It rings for a while and then I hear Wonderwall's chorus. It's his phone. He left it here. I let it play for a while and I hang up. All hope is lost. The lyrics echo in my head, and I'm clinging onto them because I might cry, and I've already cried enough over this. Will it ever be enough?
There's footsteps, and it's probably Ezra. Sacha is very heavy-handed when it comes to emotions, while Ezra is perfectly content with sitting in silence, letting it boil away, and he wouldn't let Sacha in, not after January stormed off like that.
The footsteps stammer. I raise my head.
"You still there?" A soft voice, but one that I used to fall asleep to, wake up to.
I somehow managed to get to my feet. He's standing in the doorframe, hunched over, his hand just hanging uselessly by his side.
"I'm… I'll leave you now", I say, and wait for him to move from the door, because I can't stand being so close to him. He doesn't move.
"You're so stubborn", he says. I let out a humourless laugh. "You grab onto something and you can't let go."
"I don't understand."
"I knew all those things from day one", he looks at me with an apologetic smile. "From the moment you wouldn't let me stay on the street."
There is no air. Oxygen escapes me, I can't breathe, because I either don't understand what's going on, or I'm living through a miracle. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I don't know what to say.
"I guess it's partially my fault. I should've ran after you, explain the situation… I don't blame you for comprehending things like that, Frank."
I can't hold myself back, not anymore. I will my legs into moving, running towards him. I'm in his arms before I can process what I'm doing, and Lord, he's hugging me back.
For the first time in fifteen years, I'm hugging him truly, with no guilt, and it still feels as good. He'll forgive me, I realise, because he's a better person than I'll ever be.
"I just can't believe that you thought even for a moment that I didn't love you", he whispers into my neck.
"I'm sorry."
He pulls away, only for a second, and I want his warmth back immediately.
"I'm telling you now. I love you."
Maybe we'll be okay, because the storm has passed. Maybe we won't. But now I know that my past wasn't a lie, and I won't feel guilty being myself. I won't wince every time I find him in my music, handwriting, jokes and dreams. The past can't change, but our perception of it can.
I know just the way our friends will react. Sylvie will smack me over the head with a nearest object that can fit into her hand. Clary will give us a massive hug, while Sacha and Ezra will prepare a party, or any other excuse to get drunk. Anjali will jokingly apologise to January for faux-dating me, and Georgia will claim that she called it all those years back.
Or they won't do any of those things. I've already proved I know nothing.
Nothing, but one thing. I know that right now, in this moment, he's hugging me. And that's all that matters.
Home 
