"Won't be long," Ash said. He replaced the pan on the hob, seemingly oblivious to Fizz's gaze. "You're not supposed to drink it with milk or anything, but it might be a little strong for you. I can add milk if you want."
Fizz shook his head. "I'll be fine."
"Sure?" He glanced at him, and gave him a wink. "I won't tell."
"Y-yeah, sure."
"Okay. Cool." Ash tapped his spoon on the counter, fidgeting. "Cool," he said again. "So, um..." He smiled, then lowered his eyes. Fizz had come to recognise that expression as something Ash did when he was a little nervous. He was obviously building up to ask something.
Oh, God.
Fizz's throat suddenly felt too tight. His last mouthful of pastry was hard to swallow.
"So... I live up by Preston Circus, right?" Ash started. "There's this little cinema there; it's really old, actually. Because it's independent, they show art-house and more off-the-radar films. I brought a brochure along." Ash pointed with his spoon. "It's in the bottom of the bag. Take a look."
Fizz looked through the bag, his fingers trembling. He found the brochure, and stared at it. His mind instantly got carried away with images of him and Ash sitting in a darkened back row. He'd never even been to a cinema before, but he could guess what people did in the back row. Or wanted to do.
"Me and Ryan go sometimes," Ash said casually, leaning against the hob. He stirred his mixture in the pan. "It's real nice, and because it's not mainstream, it isn't full of loud, annoying morons. If you sit up on the balcony, you can buy alcohol, too."
Fizz wasn't a drinker. Perhaps Ash remembered this, as he added, "Or they sell tea and cake downstairs, and ice cream. That's more my taste. Anyway, check out the films."
He did as Ash asked, scanning through the pages. Fizz thought this would be exactly the kind of stuff his father would have hated; foreign films with subtitles. Films where you had to engage your brain. They even showed Japanese anime and late-night horror movies, by the looks of it. He wouldn't dare watch any of those in public, in case he freaked out.
Fizz scanned through the middle section, then spotted a headline. Bollywood Week. He stared at the page. The titles burned into his memory as he read them: Bride & Prejudice, Om Shanti Om, Monsoon Wedding, Devdas, Lage Raho Munnabhai, Slumdog Millionaire, Lagaan.
So that was what Ash had been getting at. Still, it felt there was a title missing.
"No Dhoom?" he asked.
"Hah!" Ash chuckled. "Yeah, that's what I said! I'm going to write a serious letter of complaint. Janesh is well excited 'cause they're playing Devdas. Shahrukh Khan is her favourite actor. He's like the Indian Tom Cruise."
The coffee in the pan was foaming, its spiced scent filled the room. Ash let it foam for a few moments, still chatting about various actors, then brought it off the boil. He turned off the hob and poured the mixture into two mugs.
"Here you go." He placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Fizz. "Indian coffee, as promised. It should be in little cups, but I'm an idiot and forgot to bring them."
"Don't worry." Fizz picked up his mug and stared into the drink. It looked and smelled like coffee, but more interesting. The smell was divine. "Thank you."
Ash sat down. He smiled nervously again, then continued chatting. "Om Shanti Om is pretty cool, by the way." He inched a little closer, under the pretence of peering at the cinema brochure, and pointed out the movie with his finger. "It's a fun flick, with lots of people in it. Like a who's who of Bollywood."
Fizz leaned away slightly, pushing the brochure towards Ash. Because he was a coward, he hid behind his coffee mug. He took a sip and burnt his tongue. "This is nice," he said weakly.
"Is it sweet enough?" Ash went to take a sip of his cup, then pulled a face. "It's hot, be careful. It's 'cause you're supposed to let it foam when you cook it, so it stays hot forever. Well, a long time, anyway."
"Mm. It's fine." Fizz sipped again. Well, he'd already burnt his mouth. The coffee was a hot treat burning down his throat.
"I live right by the picture-house," Ash continued. "Have you been that way? It's only at the end of London Road. Basically, if you take a left out of the pub, and keep walking, it's up the road. Ten minutes, tops. Really close."
Fizz's heart hammered. He could hear the unspoken invitation there, and the forced casual tone of Ash's voice. Or was he reading this all wrong? Was Ash just being friendly? But Ash had already invited him over for dinner with his family. Did friends do that? What was Fizz supposed to do?
So much for the pills helping his anxiety.
After a long, awkward silence, Ash changed the subject. "Er... what were your plans tonight?"
"I could do some glass-collecting, I guess."
"Oh. Have you already agreed to?"
"No, not yet."
"Okay, good. Come to the beach with me."
"H-huh?" Fizz almost dropped his mug. He set it down on the table, before he dropped it for real. "Um, why?"
"The sun's out." Ash's eyes were fixed on his mug as he ran a finger around the rim, wiping away a trace of coffee. "It's Solstice tonight, so there's loads of stuff happening. They do a parade of all these paper lanterns down the Steine, then everyone goes to the beach for barbeques, and bonfires. It's quite a sight. We could go check it out, or just walk around on our own, whatever you fancy."
Fizz felt fear grip him. The thought of being outside with other people was simply too terrifying, never mind in the midst of a parade. He'd never make it out of the front door.
"I can't, I—I'm sorry, I—"
"It's okay." Ash's hand found his and squeezed gently. The heat of that touch shot flames through Fizz's arm. "You can talk to me," Ash said. "I'm not gonna push you outside if you don't want to go. Would you tell me what puts you off going?"
Fizz stared back at him. Ash seemed like he genuinely wanted to know, and he was being so patient. Those calm words and his touch loosened Fizz's nerves enough to speak. "I just… I want to go, but I need to work myself up to it, you know?"
Ash smiled at him. Fizz felt him move his hand, fingers interlacing with his. Fizz couldn't tear his eyes away from that smiling, handsome face. "Okay," Ash said. "No worries. We'll do it some other time. We've got all the time you want."
"What a charmer."
Fizz tried to ignore that voice, even though it felt like the words were a mere breath from his ear. "Kiss him, then. Before I do it for you."
At those words, a possessive surge took hold of Fizz. He leant forward, his eyes open in surprise. He didn't know what he was doing, only that he wanted. Ash leaned in too, tilting his face. When they met, their lips brushed together, gentle at first. Fizz blinked his eyes, seeing only burnished skin, and dark, black eyelashes sweep closed. Ash's hand slid against Fizz's cheek, cupped the back of his head, guiding him.
Fizz closed his eyes and let Ash kiss him. His first kiss. And it was so much better than he'd ever imagined. The warm touch of lips, the faint scratch of Ash's stubble against his face, like tiny shards of glass. Fizz could taste the cardamom on Ash's lips. When he felt the slick wetness of Ash's tongue seek entry, he opened his mouth, and pulled him closer. He wanted to lose himself in this, to forget about everything.
The voice whispered in his ear, "Take him to your room."
Yes, that was what he wanted. Fizz felt like he watched himself in a dream as he stood, gripped Ash's hands, and pulled him from the kitchen.
"What's wrong?" Ash asked.
"Nothing." Fizz all but dragged him down the hall, into the stuffy haze of his bedroom. He pulled Ash against him, having to lean up on his toes to reach. Ash bent to meet his kiss, and Fizz wound his arms around Ash's neck, dragging him down with force.
They landed roughly on Fizz's bed, with Ash grunting in surprise. He pulled away, glancing over his shoulder at the doorway. "Er, Fizz... you don't have a door here, you know."
"No one will see." Fizz wasn't sure if he'd said that aloud, as the words seemed to come from all around him. He skimm
ed his hands over Ash's arms, marvelling at the feel of hard muscle under soft skin. Ash still looked pensive, so Fizz raked his nails down Ash's back, through the thin material of his T-shirt.
Ash shuddered against him, and Fizz slipped his hands under Ash's clothes. He ran his hands over bare skin, up to his shoulders, and pulled Ash lower. Closing his eyes, he sought Ash's mouth, craving his taste. Fizz's heart pounded in his ears. With each breath, he could smell more of Ash, all the spice and heat that sent his mind spiralling. It felt like a fire was burned inside him. Fizz's mind was in a daze, but his body was ravenous. He pressed himself against Ash, half-straddling his lap.
Ash broke the kiss. "Fizz, I think we should slow down."
"No." Fizz pressed his weight into Ash, trapping him beneath. "Ash, please," he gasped, grinding his hips down. His cock was hard, so hard, and the warm body beneath him felt too good. Ash glanced down, like he was momentarily stunned. His lips were parted, and glistened wet.
"Ash." Fizz moved again, pressing down harder. The sensations were tearing him apart. Ash moved his hands, gripping Fizz's hips. He thrust up as he held Fizz in place, grinding them together. Fizz heard the moan on his own lips, and the voice in his ear whisper, "Kiss him."
He held onto Ash and kissed him hungrily, melding their mouths together. Footsteps sounded in the room. Fizz broke away, panicked, and looked to the door, but no one was there. The air felt humid, and Ash pulled him down again, seeking his mouth. They kissed hard, their tongues duelling.
"Finlay, stop it."
"Stop what?" Fizz breathed against Ash's lips.
"Huh?" Ash said, breathless.
"You..." Fizz pulled back, frowning. "You asked me to stop?"
"Yes, stop."
"No! Shut up, you fool!"
Fizz stilled.
"Are you okay?" Ash asked.
"This isn't right," a gruff voice stated.
A low laugh echoed through the room in reply. "You're spoiling my fun."
Fizz clutched his head, an instinctual reaction to keep himself together. This is it, he thought. He'd actually cracked. What the hell am I doing?
Awareness washed over him, like icy cold water. The heat left his body, and his erection flagged, as shame and embarrassment set in. Fizz scrambled away from Ash and, in his haste, fell off the bed, sprawling over the bare floorboards.
Ash reached for him. "Hey, you all right?"
Fizz couldn't bear Ash's concern. "I'm fine." He hurried to right himself, sitting back on the mattress. The air was filled with the sound of their breathing. "I—I'm sorry," Fizz said.
"Hey, it's okay." Ash reached for his hand, but Fizz jerked away, screwing his eyes shut so he didn't have to look at him.
"Please go."
"What? Why?"
"Please leave me alone."
"But Fizz, I—"
"Go, Ash."
Ash was breathing hard. Fizz could hear it, but he still wouldn't face Ash. He heard Ash suck in a breath, then he said, "Fine." The mattress moved as he stood up.
Fizz kept his eyes closed, even covered them with his hands. He sought refuge in the blackness; he didn't want to see anything. He heard Ash walk out of the room then heard two sets of footsteps stomp away down the hall.
Well, it was official, then; he was nuts.
"Shit," he muttered, feeling his eyes prick with tears. "Shit, shit, sh—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake," a voice interrupted. "Get a hold of yourself."
Fizz looked up, his vision bleary from pressing his hands over his eyes. He'd thought the room was empty, but he was wrong. His gaze settled on a young man, sitting almost directly across from him. Fizz blinked, and stared. The man wasn't exactly sitting, he was levitating—or sitting on an invisible chair, it seemed—with one leg crossed over the other.
Weird. Fizz wondered absently how strong his subconscious must be to create such a detailed image. The vision was wearing an outfit; Fizz didn't even know what style it was, only that it looked like a vintage suit. The last rays of the setting sun from the window tinted everything orange, turning the man's clothes a burnt tan colour. His skin was pale, and his body slight. He didn't look all that old, either. His face was thin and effeminate, especially with that artful flop of hazel brown hair, clipped short at the sides, left long on top. Everything about his style was vintage yet, ironically, also in fashion.
Maybe Fizz remembered him from a movie poster or something? Was that where he'd conjured this vision from? The young man stared at him, his mouth slanting up in a smile. His eyes darkened and suddenly Fizz felt fear replace his curiosity.
That smile wasn't friendly, and those eyes were too dark. A black vapour seeped out from their corners, rising in the air around him. Fizz blinked his eyes to focus, and noticed more things about the man: there were bruises on his face, a cut on his lower lip. His clothes were torn in places, like he'd been in a fight.
Fizz's heart, which had slowed only moments ago, started beating fast.
"Ahh," the vision said. He showed a flash of white teeth as he smiled wider. "Now you worry."
Fizz willed himself to stay calm. He was asleep, that was all, and this was a nightmare. The counsellors had told him for years if he knew he was in a dream, he could guide and control his way out of it. This in mind, he swallowed hard, and said, "H-hello."
The young man threw his head back and laughed heartily. The black vapour spilling from his eyes was momentarily dispersed, like smoke. He stretched his legs out as he laughed, leaning back on thin air as comfortably as if he sat on a lounger.
"Um, who are you?" Fizz asked.
The laughing stopped. The young man straightened in his seat and stared at Fizz. "Surely, dear boy, the question is, who are you?"
Fizz was confused. "N-no, I know who I am."
The man looked as though he were about to start laughing again. "Do you now? So tell me, are you Jamie, or are you Fizz?"
Fizz thought about this, then voiced his first answer. "I guess... I'm both."
"Indeed."
"So, who are you?"
"Maybe I am you."
Fizz didn't think that was right. "You don't look anything like me."
"No," the man sighed. "More's the pity. What I could have done with your looks!"
Fizz felt his cheeks heat up. Why on earth would he dream up a hallucination that complimented him? Was this his way of coping with Ash? Or more accurately, without Ash? Fizz's eyes stung with tears at the thought. He didn't want to think about Ash.
"So, who are you?" he asked again.
"He's an old pervert, that's who," said a new voice. Fizz looked to the door, seeing the figure of a much taller, broader man. Fizz knew instantly that his was the same gruff voice that had spoken before, and this vision was even stranger. He was in some kind of uniform, like a soldier. Fizz didn't know what era the uniform was from: the jacket was dark green and dusty, with brass buttons over it. The soldier was definitely older in appearance, his face worn and haggard. He was also scowling hard.
"Oh, Martin, you're such a bore," the young man told him. "I'm going to banish you from my room now."
"You need to stop this," the soldier said.
"Pish!" The young man stood from his invisible chair and appeared to dust himself down. Fine bursts of dust motes dispersed through the air at his action, and Fizz could smell something sharp and acrid tickle his nose. He watched the two visions, intrigued more than scared.
"You'll get in trouble again," the soldier said. "They'll put you in the wall."
"Never." Black vapour seeped from the young man's eyes, clouding them completely. "Leave, Martin." He held out his hand, palm spread up. Fizz next looked for the soldier, but he had disappeared. Vanished completely.
"Where did—" Fizz paused. He heard footsteps echo down the hall, hurrying away. So, at least the soldier was all right, Fizz thought. Trust him to have a crazy hallucination. He frowned in thought, a memory from earlier pushing to the front of his mind. "You... you're Finl
ay, aren't you?"
"Well, upon my soul!" the young man said snidely. "Not a complete fool, then."
Fizz looked up at him. Reality tried to catch up with his pill-fogged senses. There was something about this man that seemed familiar, something that made a shiver break out over his skin. The cool, chiding tone of that voice sounded like those whispers in his ear. The chill that ran over his skin was the same icy touch that had tickled his neck many times before, and that sense of being watched...
Fizz gasped. "You're real?"
"As real as I can be." His lips curved up in a mean smile. "Thanks to you."
"You're real," Fizz repeated. "I'm not mad?"
Finlay shuddered, and disappeared. Fizz stared at the empty space, then jumped at the words spoken directly into his ear. "Who can say?" Finlay crouched next to him. Fizz scrabbled away in fright, knocking his head against the wall. There was nowhere to run. Cold sweat broke over his skin as his heart resumed its pounding.
Finlay smiled lazily, half closing his eyes. He drew in a languorous breath like he was scenting the air, and let it out with a sigh. Fizz could feel the cold breath blow right through him, and recognised the smell as sulphur.
"You feed me."
"Wha—what?"
Finlay opened his eyes, pools of black vapour seeping out of them. "Feed me. I need more. You have everything, while I'm trapped in here."
"Please," Fizz whispered. "Don't—"
"It won't hurt." His voice was soft, soothing. "I've been stealing your energy since you woke me. Carefully, carefully. This is my room, little boy. My place." He glanced away, wistful. "We all have our place."
"I didn't mean to," Fizz said. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, but I'm so pleased you did." Those black eyes fixed on him. Through the vapour, Fizz could see their true colour was a soft hazel.
The Haunted Pub Page 15
