A Ballad of Confetti, Cake and Catastrophes

by Helen Juliet

  Fynn leant back, pausing. He let the silence hang between them as he stared down at some point between him and the end of the bed. Then he inhaled gently.

  “Like a plane, in the sky, you got me so high. Make me la la la, make me la la la.” The words were a little nonsensical, but they sent a shiver down Nicholas’s back nonetheless. “In the darkest of nights, boy come be my light. Make me la la la, make me la la la.”

  Not for the first time, Nicholas noticed that Fynn didn’t change pronouns. Or, at least, he assumed he hadn’t deviated from the original, seeing as he’d chosen to say ‘boy’.

  And, oh, boy, did that do something deep within him.

  Fynn didn’t play the whole song. He stopped after he finished the first chorus, and raised his eyebrows at Nicholas. “What did you think?”

  It took Nicholas off guard, as he’d been expecting another couple of minutes to formulate his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Really pretty.” Oh shit, should boys say ‘pretty’? Probably not to each other. “You, know, nice, like, good for a wedding. Who sings it? The artist I mean.” Who else would he mean? Urgh.

  Fynn didn’t seem too bothered though. If his smile was anything to go by, he didn’t mind Nicholas’s prattling if it meant he liked his suggestion. “It’s the acoustic version of a Melodifestivalen entry from a couple of years ago. The singer’s called Dinah Nah. She has pink hair.” Fynn ruffled his own, short dreads, and his eyes twinkled as he looked over at Nicholas.

  “Oh,” he said. But he could feel himself frowning. “What’s Melody-thingamajig?”

  Fynn shrugged, and dragged his pick down the guitar strings. “The Swedish competition for selecting their Eurovision entry. It’s generally much better than the rest of Eurovision though,” he added with a laugh.

  “Well, yeah,” scoffed Nicholas. “That’s not hard, is it?”

  Fynn frowned, and he realised he might have put his foot in it. Again. “Not a fan of that either, I take it?”

  There was no stopping the heat rising into his cheeks this time, but he still rubbed them quickly regardless. “Erm, well, who is?” he asked meekly. “Eurovision is just so…”

  “Gay?”

  Nicholas spluttered. Ice flew through his body and made his fingers tingle. “No, I mean – well yeah, it’s got a reputation for gay guys liking it I guess, I mean it is pretty camp. But I was, uh, I was going to say…” He trailed off. Which was more offensive? “Lame,” he finally added, deciding he’d rather be a bit insulting to the show rather than come across as flat-out homophobic.

  Fynn however chuckled, and shook his head. “Some of it is lame, really lame,” he agreed, and the tension in Nicholas’s chest eased a smidgen. “The UK is particularly bad at sending decent entries. But a lot of other countries take it very seriously, and there’s a huge number of great songs that have come out of it over the past decade or so.” He began playing the same tune again, this time quieter and looser around the rhythm. “Sweden is the top dog though. Maybe I could show you some of their better entries some time?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” Nicholas quickly agreed, keen to endear himself. Then he stopped to process what Fynn had actually said. ‘Some time’ sort of sounded like he wanted to hang out another day. Even though Fynn had just implied he might object to something – or someone – who was gay. “So, um,” he began asking before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “Are you, um, you know?”

  “What?” Fynn prompted patiently while Nicholas struggled to get the word out. He’d stopped playing again, and Nicholas was acutely aware of the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

  “Gay?” As soon as he said it though, he regretted it. “Oh god, sorry. That’s totally none of my business, forget I asked.” He bit his lip, wondering if it was time to clamp his tongue between his teeth yet. “It’s just, if you were, and I’d implied that I didn’t like gay things, like Eurovision, that would be shitty. And not true!” he added, his voice almost a shout. He reached forward, his hand moving seemingly of its own accord. What did it hope to do? Grab Fynn’s vest from six feet away? “I don’t have a problem with you being gay, if you are. It’s, like, a not issue. I shouldn’t even ask you that though, sorry. It’s not like you’re asking me if I’m straight.” He laughed weakly, then pressed his lips firmly shut.

  Fynn was surely either going to flip out either way now. He’d properly put his foot in it. His expression was on the calmer side of neutral though, so Nicholas prayed he hadn’t done irrevocable damage.

  “Are you?” was all he asked.

  Nicholas blinked. “Huh?”

  Fynn chuckled again, lifting Nicholas’s spirits somewhat. “Are you straight?”

  Nicholas’s mouth opened to say ‘of course’. But all that came out was an “Uhhh” noise.

  He had been avoiding answering that rather simple question for the past few days. Ever since he’d met Fynn in fact. But it had been on his mind for longer than that, he knew. Surely, he should just be able to dredge up a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Hearing it out loud was very different to have it flit over the peripheral edge of his thoughts though.

  Before the Christmas break, he and some of the girls from his hall had ventured into the Queenshilling for a drag show in town. He’d had no shortage of boys around him there who had tested his sexual uncertainty quite thoroughly. Particularly that cute Politics student, who had bought him a pint and, when they’d drunkenly stumbled into a dark corner away from his friends’ prying eyes, had given him an extremely sweet kiss.

  He had tried to tell himself in the few months between then and now that it was just a bit of inebriated fun. At the time, he’d just giggled shyly at the boy, and said thank you, but he was straight. But, if he was really honest, it had made him smile fondly many times when he’d been alone, and it might have also tentatively fuelled one or two of his more adventurous wank fantasies. More than a kiss with any girl had for sure.

  Was he straight?

  “I’m just messing with you,” Fynn said once the silence had stretched on just a fraction too long. “Yes, I’m gay. So I hope that isn’t a problem?”

  “It’s the twenty-first century,” Nicholas snapped automatically, parroting his middle sister Lauren from one of her many outbursts. “Anyone who has a problem with people being gay is a moron.”

  That much, he was absolutely certain of. It was just whether or not he included himself in that category, he wasn’t sure.

  But Fynn was. He was gay and not afraid to tell someone he hardly knew. Admittedly, Nicholas probably didn’t come across as much of a threat, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think it was easy to announce something so personal about yourself to a near stranger.

  How did he feel about that? The being gay thing? He was honest enough to admit he had become a bit infatuated with Fynn over the past couple of days. And to now know that Fynn himself was attracted to men…

  Nicholas wasn’t sure how to unpick that just yet, so he stowed it away for later.

  Fynn raised his eyebrows again, and nodded at Nicholas’s firm stance on homophobia. “Fair enough. You want to hear some more stuff?”

  If he was willing to brush the whole, awkward exchange off, Nicholas was eager to jump on board. “Totally,” he enthused. “Classics, or more unusual modern ones?”

  Fynn gave him some samples of lesser known tracks that Nicholas was happy to approve of. He also strummed his way through a couple of ‘90s singer-songwriters like Tori Amos, Alanis Morissette and Sarah McLachlan, who he knew thanks to his mum’s mild obsession with Lilith Fair. When he mentioned this, Fynn went on to play another few artists famous from the festival, and then a pretty awesome mash up of ‘Tom’s Diner’ and ‘Centuries’.

  “Bloody hell,” said Nicholas, shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “You know so many tracks. I didn’t need to worry at all, did I?”

  He gave a short laugh, and was inordinately pleased that
Fynn smiled along with him. “It’s important to me to get the best selection of songs though,” he assured him. “It takes a while to get to know someone’s tastes.”

  Nicholas hoped he was remembering his sister’s tastes enough when making all these decisions. He wasn’t half as sure about Peter’s musical inclinations, but on the whole, if Clara was happy, then so was her husband-to-be.

  “Hey, do you know this one?” Fynn asked.

  He bent the first note, and Nicholas’s heart all but leapt out of his chest.

  Fynn didn’t stop playing, but he watched as Nicholas’s feet seemed to move of their own accord. Before he really knew what he was doing he had crawled onto the foot of the bed, and was sat cross-legged opposite Fynn, his eyes wide with astonishment.

  “You know ‘Boys of Summer’,” he whispered.

  He was graced with a full smile, rather than the usual half, as Fynn carried on playing the introduction. “We’ve found what you’re a fan of, huh?”

  Nicholas nodded, his eyes glued to the guitar strings as Fyn coaxed the melodies out. How many nights had he laid in bed, playing the song through his earbuds until he fell asleep? It was his go-to soothing track, the one that would whisk him away from whatever troubles were on his mind. He’d never heard music that sounded more like a sunset to him. It gave him hope that love was out there, that it was strong, but most of all, that it was beautiful. Just like the song was.

  “Nobody on the road,” Fynn sang, and Nicholas couldn’t stop himself joining in in a murmur. But Fynn caught his eye, and nodded in encouragement, so he became a bit bolder. “Nobody on the beach. I feel it in the air, the summer’s out of reach.”

  It was easier to watch Fynn’s hands than his face, but Nicholas was happy anyway to keep his focus on those strong fingers as they worked the stings under their voices. It stirred something sensual in him, he realised with a jolt. Those hands could do anything.

  “Empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone. I’m driving by your house, but oh no, you’re not ho-ome!”

  Nicholas bounced as he belted out the chorus, his joy bubbling up from inside him.

  “But I can seeee you, your brown skin shining in the sun. You got your hair pulled back, and your sunglasses on, baby. I can tellll you, my love for you will still be strong. After the boys of summer have gone.”

  His glasses had slid down his nose in his exuberance, and he pushed them up again as he grinned at Fynn. He was a little taken aback to realised that Fynn was just watching him as he played, his smile still firmly in place. Nicholas had been singing alone.

  But Fynn nodded and raised his eyebrows. “Keep going,” he rasped, repeating the intro to the next verse to give Nicholas a chance to come in on time.

  “Oh,” he said. He rubbed his neck and felt awkward, but Fynn was waiting, expectantly.

  He knew the words off by heart, without hesitation, even though the lyrics in the chorus varied slightly every time. His skin was hot as this beautiful guy allowed him to serenade him about how he’d always love him, even after all the other boys had gone. His pulse raced, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Remember how you made me crazy? Remember how I made you scream?” He had to close his eyes to get through that lyric.

  He wasn’t sure if he hit all the notes, but whenever he glanced up to catch Fynn’s expression, he never found him wincing or scowling, so he hoped he wasn’t that bad.

  “You have a nice voice,” he told Nicholas as he wrapped up the end of the song, negating the fade-out from Don Henley’s original.

  Nicholas didn’t even try to quell the blush that blossomed on his face. “Nah,” he mumbled. “I just love that song – oh!” He turned and looked at the bedroom door in horror. “Your aunt’s on the phone, she was probably cursing my name!”

  “I’ve been singing for over an hour,” Fynn said, deadpan, and arched an eyebrow.

  Nicholas shrunk back again, his hands in his lap. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “But you’re really good.”

  “I liked it.” Fynn’s tone was dismissive as he looked at the time on his phone, and Nicholas guessed he’d irritated him. God, what had he been thinking, jumping in like that? He’d probably majorly embarrassed himself.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. But Fynn wasn’t listening.

  “Shit, is that the time?” Nicholas glanced over at the screen. It had been more like two hours they’d been playing for. “Sorry mate, I’ve got to get to work.”

  He hauled up the guitar case between them and Nicholas flinched at the thump it made on the bed. “Oh, sorry, right,” he said. He hopped off the bed and rubbed his arms. “I guess, um, do you need me to go then?”

  “Unfortunately, yeah,” said Fynn, shrugging and not looking up. He carefully placed the guitar in the soft velvet sheathing, and closed the case once more. “My shift starts in forty-five minutes, and I need to take a shower.”

  “No, no worries,” Nicholas assured him. He watched as Fynn darted past him into the en-suite. He snapped the now-dry umbrella down, and handed it back out to Nicholas without looking at him. “I think I heard enough, you know?” Nicholas babbled as Fynn got the water running. “Why don’t you send me a final set list, if you want?”

  “Sure, whatever,” said Fynn absently. He started peeling his t-shirt off, and Nicholas very much took that as his cue to leave.

  “Right, well, uh,” he said, backing away towards the door. “I’ll uh, talk to you later, maybe. And I’ll definitely see you at the wedding, so, um, yeah thanks. Text me if you have any questions.”

  “Will do,” Fynn told him. He hung onto the door frame, but Nicholas could still see the corner of his naked chest. And then he winked. “See ya.”

  He shut the door with a bang, and Nicholas spun on his heels, back out into the flat. He was down the corridor in no time, and jammed his feet back into his still soggy trainers, making his socks damp again. He opened the front door without even checking to see where Fynn’s aunt was, or thinking about saying goodbye.

  He raced down the stairs and back out into the rain, as fast as his feet would carry him.

  Chapter Six

  (Four days to go…)

  It was precisely 02:17 when Nicholas sat bolt upright in bed, his forehead prickled with cold sweat.

  He fumbled for the phone that was plugged in and charging on his bedside table. He yanked it free of the cord so he could frantically unlock the security screen. He wasn’t sure if he’d dreamed up the realisation, or if reality had summoned something unholy to poke him in the soles of his feet to wake him up.

  ‘OMG!!! I LEFT THE TIES FOR MY SISTER’S WEDDING IN YOUR ROOM!!!’ He took a moment to inhale deeply, and not freak out completely. ‘At least I think I did??? PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I DID?!? If so, can I please come and get them back off you tomorrow. Or, sometime before Friday. Anytime. I’m in sooooo much trouble if my family find out. If they’re not there, I need to go back to several places in town, I just can’t remember – no, I’m sure I had them at yours. Gah, sorry, your probably asleep, so just text me in the am. THANK YOU!!’

  He smacked the send button, then read the long message back.

  ‘*You’re, not your. Urgh! Sorry. Sleep well x’

  He pressed send too quickly, again, and just stared at the kiss in dismay he’d added automatically in his sleepy state. Well, things could hardly get any worse. If Fynn hadn’t taken offense by now, a little kiss was hardly going to upset him. Unless it was the final straw, and he never wanted to speak to Nicholas again.

  He was being overly dramatic. Or, at least, he hoped he was. He’d done a pretty good job of embarrassing himself the day before, after all. He’d been too eager, blathering on like usual and then singing all over that song. He winced at the memory, and draped his arm over his forehead. The streetlight slipping between the slim gap in his curtains just about made the objects in his room visible despite the fact his glasses were on the table next to where the phone had been lying. He stared despondently at
the ceiling as he tried to calm his heart rate back down.

  The ties were bound to be in Fynn’s room, he was almost certain of it. He remembered bringing them in with the umbrella, making sure they stayed dry. Had he left them on the bed or the desk? It had to be one of the two.

  He squeezed the locked phone in his fist. Why did he have to be such a disaster? He’d never stood a chance of impressing somebody as talented and cool as Fynn. He just seemed so together. Nicholas was just an idiot who he was probably looking forward to getting rid of.

  What did Nicholas expect, really? That they could ever be friends? That was laughable, they didn’t have anything in common, except that maybe they were both guys.

  Could they ever be boyfriends, then? a voice in the back of his head whispered.

  So, Fynn was gay. The thought kept sneaking up on him, no matter how hard he tried to dispel the notion that it might be of some significance to him. Somehow knowing that was the case made a difference. Nicholas kept thinking that if he maybe did want to kiss Fynn, there was now a possibility Fynn might want to kiss him back.

  “Urgh,” he said to himself. That was ridiculous, Fynn would never be interested in someone like him. Just because they both might be that way inclined.

  But was he? Was Nicholas gay? Or maybe bi? Two-thirty on a Tuesday morning seemed about as good as any time to finally think about it.

  When boys at school had gone mental over Gigi Hadid, Emma Stone and Ariana Grande, he’d always just assumed he was picky. Or that he needed to meet the right girl, in person, before he could really feel that spark.

  But he needed to be honest with himself. Thinking about that kiss in the Queenshilling, and especially the way Fynn was occupying his thoughts; maybe he just needed to meet the right boy. When his mates had been gushing about how much they wanked over that dragon chick from Game of Thrones, he agreed as much just to fit in. But how did that compare to the flair of excitement he’d always felt at seeing Hunter Ford saunter into a classroom?