by Anna Martin
“I’m taking them off anyway,” Stan insisted. “I can’t believe I live here.”
“Want to see our room?”
Stan nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Tone said. “I’m gonna make some lunch.”
Ben took Stan’s hand again and led him up, and up, and up. Normally this many stairs wouldn’t be a problem, but Stan wasn’t exactly at full strength. By the time they reached the attic, he was almost out of breath.
“You okay?” Ben asked.
“Fine.” Stan waved it off, not wanting the attention.
“So, um, this is it,” Ben said as he pushed the door open. “I’ve kind of fixed it up a bit.”
The attic room was bigger than Stan was expecting. Ben had sort of told him a few things already, that he’d repainted and bought new blinds for the skylights. It didn’t seem to matter that the walls were a rich, navy blue; there was so much light pouring in from the windows at the front and skylights at the back, the room wasn’t dark at all.
The floors were all exposed wood, rich and textured, and their bed was a beautiful, antique-brass double. Ben had brought over the few pieces of furniture Stan had purchased: a lamp, the coffee table, a colourful textured rug. Some familiar things, to make it feel like home.
“The bathroom is back there,” Ben said, coming up behind Stan and wrapping one arm around his waist, dropping his chin to Stan’s shoulder. “All those cupboards at the back are wardrobes. I hung your stuff up, but you can reorganise it when you’re ready. Oh, and I didn’t want to set your dressing table up yet, because I wasn’t sure where it should go. It’s all here, though, when you’re ready for it.”
Stan turned in Ben’s embrace and wrapped his arms around Ben’s neck.
“This is amazing. Thank you.”
“Are you upset?”
Stan leaned back enough to look at Ben properly. “Why would I be upset?”
Ben shrugged. “You never got to say goodbye to the flat. I kind of did it all for you.”
“No,” Stan said slowly. “I’m not upset. I only lived there for… eight months? It was good, while it lasted, but this is better.”
“Good. That’s good. I just wanted us to have a space. You know. That’s ours. It’s not quite a home of our own, but it’s our little piece of the world.”
Stan tangled his fingers in Ben’s hair. “I love you so much.”
Ben rubbed their noses together. “Love you too.”
“Can we take a nap?”
“Yeah.” Ben grinned. “A nap sounds pretty good to me.”
Stan was woken by one of his alarms. They went off at regular intervals, to remind him to eat.
Ben was already awake, propped up on one elbow with a book between them.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
“Mm. I need one of my shakes.”
“Want me to get it for you?”
“I can do it,” Stan said, stretching. “I kind of want to see the rest of the house too.”
“Okay.”
Ben leaned over and kissed him very, very carefully. They hadn’t been alone like this since—fuck—since Manchester. That was a hell of a long time Ben had gone without sex. Stan tugged him down until Ben’s familiar, comforting weight was pressing Stan back into the bed. Ben flicked his tongue into Stan’s mouth, and, God, they needed this.
“I missed you,” Stan breathed over Ben’s lips. “So fucking much.”
Ben gave him a sad smile and brushed his thumb back and forth over Stan’s cheekbone. “You’re not cleared for ‘strenuous physical activity’ yet, love.”
“That’s okay. I’ll just lie here and you can do all the work.”
Ben hid his laugh in Stan’s shoulder. “Come on. You need your shake.”
“Fine,” Stan sighed.
Tone wanted a pizza party to celebrate Stan coming home. For a split second after he’d suggested it, Stan thought Ben might actually punch Tone in the nose. He didn’t, though, just explained in a tight voice that maybe it wasn’t the best idea.
Then Tone held a silent conversation with Ben where all the talking was done with their eyebrows. Stan didn’t have a clue what that was all about, but he thought the whole thing was hilarious. He sat at the wide kitchen island and watched, amused, as his new housemates emerged from different corners of the building to welcome him home.
He decided it wouldn’t take long for this to feel like home.
That night they all piled down into the basement for “band practice.” Stan wasn’t exactly sure what the rehearsal schedule for the band looked like any more, now that they all lived together.
Band practice was supposed to start at seven.
They didn’t even get instruments out until ten.
There was pizza, too much pizza for the six of them really, but Tone could easily eat one to himself, so they managed. Then there was beer, and Stan waved that away—a few bites of pizza he could just about stomach. Beer on top of that was out of the question.
Then there was weed, which Stan had never been a fan of before he met Ben. He’d smoked it some when he lived in the U.S. It wasn’t really as much of a thing in Italy. Italy was where he’d got addicted to cigarettes.
“Right!” Summer said, falling over herself laughing. “We need to work.”
“Should I go?” Stan asked. He stretched lazily, arms over his head, aware his shirt had ridden up only because of the look in Ben’s eyes.
Three different people said no at the same time, so he settled back into the beanbag.
This basement was a little smaller than the one they had been rehearsing in before, at Sherrie’s house. It was good for reasons Stan wasn’t able to explain. The dark, moody room with its low ceiling and excellent acoustics made for hell of a practice space.
Ben pulled out his acoustic guitar and shifted about on his big beanbag until he was comfortable. He’d ordered a whole bunch of custom guitar picks—Stan was finding them everywhere—and pulled one of them out of his back pocket.
“Where do you want to start?” Geordie asked, thumbing a few notes on his bass.
The boys all looked to Summer, who rolled her eyes. “Why am I always the one who organises you all?”
“Because you’re so good at it, darling,” Geordie told her.
She snorted. “Okay, well I want to run ‘London,’ so let’s start there.”
To Stan’s right, Jez exhaled and passed him the blunt so he could pick up his guitar and plug it into the amp. Stan nodded his thanks and took a long drag on it, making the end smoulder.
“Stan,” Ben said softly and Stan turned to him, smiling. “You’re hilarious when you’re high.”
“You’re….”
Stan couldn’t finish that sentence. Tone had already started banging out the intro to the song on his bongos, which were apparently his rehearsal and song-writing drums of choice.
It wasn’t a proper run-through of the songs, more like a way to remind everyone what their musical parts and harmonies were. Proper rehearsals happened with the band playing their instruments all plugged in. Stan had been privy to enough of these sessions to know how they’d work: Summer would pick some songs she thought were rusty, pull a keyboard onto her lap, and nudge them through a few run-throughs.
The house was quiet, apart from their little underground space. They’d rehearsed until about two in the morning, not seriously, just messing around with old songs and new. Getting high. Making out. Teaching Stan the kazoo part to “No Politics, Please.” Ben had laughed until he complained his sides were hurting, and it felt like the world was recalibrating. Like they were finding a way through everything that had happened over the past few months.
When they fell into bed, Ben pressed a familiar black bunny rabbit into Stan’s hand.
“I don’t need him anymore,” Ben said, his voice husky from the weed. “I can hold you tonight.”
“And tomorrow,” Stan said.
“Yeah. And tomorrow.”
/> Chapter Seventeen
The new routine meant Stan was often up, out of bed, dressed, and almost done with breakfast by the time Ben emerged from their room. They exchanged kisses while Ben made coffee, and then Stan skipped out for his outpatient appointment.
Depending on what day of the week it was, he spent between an hour and four at the hospital, meeting with different therapists, doctors, and nutritionists. He had good days and bad days; days when the very last thing he wanted to do was choke down another high-calorie shake and smell the tangy antiseptic of the hospital corridors, others when he ate toast and coffee with Leslie in the cafeteria after meeting with Dr Caldwell.
In the afternoons, when Ben wasn’t working at the bar or tutoring, they curled up on the couch in their room and closed the rest of the world out. Just for an hour, maybe two, sometimes to make love, other times to have some quiet space with just the two of them.
It was almost like being back in the flat at Bow Quarter. Only a few months had passed, but to Stan it felt like a lifetime ago.
“So, my dad got in touch.”
Stan looked up, surprised. “Yeah?”
He’d been curled up on the sofa, watching Antiques Roadshow, with his feet on Ben’s lap.
“Yeah. He’s, uh….” Ben pushed his hand through his hair. “He’s getting married in a couple of weeks. Someplace in the south of France.”
“That’s a long way from New Zealand,” Stan said with a small laugh.
“I know. His girlfriend is from Italy, and apparently her parents own this villa. Anyway, he wants me to go.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I’m really sorry. Can I go? Will you be okay?”
“How long for?” Stan asked.
“I think I’m going to be gone for about a week.”
Stan’s stomach clenched at the thought of being away from Ben again, especially for so long, but he forced his face into a mask and nodded in what he hoped was reassurance. “That’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Tone is going to hang out with you. I already spoke to him about it.”
“Ben.” Stan forced himself to unclench his jaw and shifted off Ben’s lap to look at him properly. “I am a grown man. I do not need a babysitter.”
“Did I say you did? Tone’s not your keeper. He’s your friend, Stan. I know you don’t like it when people take care of you, but we do it because we love you. Okay?”
Stan blew out a hard breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Ben murmured, pulling Stan back onto his lap. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”
“Don’t do that. It’s your dad. You should be there.”
“Yeah. Thing is, he left a long time ago. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.” He thumbed over the ring Stan had taken to wearing again, now he was out of hospital.
“Are you going to tell him about me?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I wish I could take you with me,” Ben said, just gently groping at Stan’s arse. “The next family thing though. You’ll come, right?”
“Of course. I want to meet your triplets.”
Ben hid his grin in Stan’s hair. “They’ll adore you. Oh my God. You’ll have to prepare yourself. I swear they won’t put you down.”
“Your mum too.”
“Everyone,” Ben said.
“Okay. Good.”
Tone had said Ben needed to get away. Insisted on it, in fact. Stan was getting better; they could all see that. He fit into the rhythm of the house like he was meant to be there, or even more than that, like they needed him to complete the symphony. Summer liked having another “girl” around. Tone and Stan got on like a house on fire. Jez and Geordie pulled Stan in with no questions, no hesitations. He was one of them.
Ben knew he hovered, and he definitely knew how much it drove Stan crazy when he did. He wasn’t doing it on purpose. The thought of maybe losing Stan again was more than a little terrifying, and Ben wanted to keep him safe.
Okay, he really did need to get away.
He got the train out to the airport to fly to Toulouse, leaving Stan in bed with warm, sleepy kisses. Maybe that would be the worst part of it; not being able to sleep with Stan against his chest for a whole week. They’d only just gotten that back; it was hard to think of losing it again.
France was hot enough to make Ben irritable, and full of relatives he only knew in the vaguest of terms. It was awkward, being reintroduced to cousins he hadn’t seen in almost fifteen years. They looked at him like he was some strange creature, a hunched vampire in black clothes while they breezed around in summer dresses and khaki shorts and baseball caps.
Ben bought a baseball cap from a little tourist shop in the town. It was black.
At least he had his own room.
All the cousins were sharing, but Ben got to stay in the nice-ish hotel next door to the villa because there wasn’t enough room for everyone. His drunk uncle was down the hall, and a few of his soon-to-be stepmother’s family and friends. The hotel was small, family owned, and had probably once been a privately owned villa too.
He left the terrace doors open to tempt a breeze in while he kicked back on the bed and connected to Wi-Fi.
“Ben.”
Hearing Stan’s voice was pretty much all Ben needed. He grinned and waved at his iPad, feeling stupid and not caring.
“Hey. How are you?”
“Good.” Stan smiled, and there was a new kind of light in his eyes. He seemed to be a younger, more carefree person than the one Ben had met back at the beginning of the year. “Tone is cooking tonight. Kirsty’s coming over too, but they keep saying it’s not a date.”
“Oh, God. The last thing you need is food poisoning.”
Stan laughed and pushed his fingers through his hair. “He’s making TFC.”
“TFC?”
“Tone’s Fried Chicken.”
Ben huffed a laugh and shook his head. “What are you going to eat, then?”
“I might try some.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I’ve been working with Amrita on trying new things. Tone says I’m addicted to chocolate now.”
Amrita was Stan’s therapist. He’d just gone from four sessions a week to two and seemed to be coping well. Ben found himself starting to relax and smiled at the serene expression on Stan’s face.
“I’ve only been gone a few days. What happened to you?”
Stan reached out and touched the screen of his iPad from the other side. “I missed you.”
“Missed you too. My stepmum said to pass on her love.”
“Bless her. Tell her I said thank you.”
Ben leaned back in the deck chair next to the pool and caught Stan up on everything that had been happening. It was a warm day in Toulouse, balmy and breezy, so Ben had huddled himself under a large deck umbrella to stop his skin from burning. He’d done that already—burned—on the day he’d arrived, and now his skin was gross and peeling.
The wedding had happened the day before, but people were hanging around for a few more days before going back to wherever they’d come from. It was years since Ben had seen his dad and uncle, and the two of them had got rip-roaringly drunk early on in the trip.
At the bar, Ben had decided it would be a good time to come out.
His dad had been confused, his eyes, so like Ben’s, glazed over from the alcohol.
“You’re gay? Like a poofter?”
“Cheers, Dad,” Ben had muttered and ducked his head, hiding behind his hair.
He’d explained about Stan in the best way that his father would understand—that Stan wasn’t exactly a masculine sort of guy, that he danced to his own tune, and fuck anyone who didn’t like it. Maybe he could blame the French wine, or the late hour, or the fact they hadn’t seen each other in so long, but Ben’s inhibitions were practically non-existent, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket to show his dad pictures of the two of them t
ogether.
“That’s a bloke?” Ben’s uncle had asked, incredulous. He made the picture of Stan bigger, then continued swiping through the photos. “He doesn’t look like a bloody bloke to me.”
“I told you. Stan is different.”
Ben’s dad had shaken his head, pushing the phone away. “Do you love him, Ben?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Then nothing else matters.”
Ben repeated those words back to Stan, loving the soft blush that rose in his cheeks.
“I have your father’s approval, then?”
“I guess so. Not that you needed it.”
“Oh, I know. It’s still nice.”
“Yeah. I’ll be home in a couple of days. You’re going to be okay until then?”
“Of course. Tone’s looking after me.”
“I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
It had been hard for Ben to keep his mind away from the last time he’d come home to Stan, when his boyfriend wasn’t at home and everything went to shit. He’d called Stan twice since he landed back at Gatwick and had fiddled with his phone the whole time he was on the Underground, annoyed that he had no signal to text Stan again.
He had to force himself not to run down the road to the house, even though a light, misty rain was falling and no one would probably have paid any attention to him.
Finally, finally, he was shoving his key into the lock on the blue door and shouting out for Stan.
“Hi,” Stan said, stepping out of the kitchen at the back of the house.
Ben dropped his bag, pushed the door closed, and grinned.
Stan was wearing black jeans and a baggy T-shirt Ben thought might be one of his own. His hair was loose around his shoulders, and he looked good. Stan paused for a moment, his hand on the doorframe, then ran down the hall and launched himself into Ben’s arms.
“You like doing that, don’t you?” Ben murmured against Stan’s neck, appreciating the quick, hard laugh Stan gave him in response. He cupped Stan’s ass in both hands and turned them both around, then pressed Stan back against the wall so he could kiss him.
“You’ve been gone too long,” Stan said, his lips brushing against Ben’s. “I put on three pounds and masturbated twice.”
