A Ballad of Confetti, Cake and Catastrophes

by Helen Juliet

  “But despite the many catastrophes,” Danielle said, and Nicholas prayed to the heavens above that this might signal they were coming to the end. “Clara beat the odds and found someone to fall madly in love with her.” At least that was sweet. Sort of.

  Nicholas checked his phone for what felt like the thousandth time. Fynn still hadn’t read his message. He resisted the urge to growl in frustration. As strong as his feelings were for him, this complete inability to use a bloody phone was utterly infuriating.

  He was fidgeting so badly by the twentieth photo of Clara and Peter together, his Aunt Sally leant over and told him if he needed to pee, he should pee, because it was starting to look scarily like there was no end in sight. But Nicholas felt they had to be getting there soon, they just had to be. In any case, even if he was bursting, he knew that if he popped out now, he wouldn’t stop until he got a hold of Fynn. Even if that meant going over to his damn house. So he felt it best to stay put.

  Danielle, who was growing hoarse, finally took mercy on them, and clicked on the closing slide of a genuinely charming photo of her and Clara hugging a few years ago. “So I’d like to make a toast,” she said lifting her full glass. Most of the other guests had a mouthful or so still left to raise at least. “To my best friend, the beautiful bride – Clara!”

  “To Clara!”

  She handed the microphone over the best man George as people cheered. Although Nicholas suspected they were clapping for the fact that the ordeal was over as much as they were being polite.

  He was sorely tempted to pretend he couldn’t hold his bladder any longer and do a runner. But what kind of tool skipped out on the best man’s speech? Besides, George was a nice guy, and he was looking extremely wary at the prospect of holding people’s attention after Danielle’s epic saga.

  “Um, hello,” he said. The feedback squeal made him jump as much as the rest of the room, and he winced. “I think this thing wants to get to the bar as much as the rest of us,” he joked. But the laugh he received was bigger than anything Danielle had had in her whole forty-five minutes, and he visibly relaxed in front of the crowd. “I’ll do my best to keep this short.”

  Nicholas seriously considered giving him a kiss if he could live up to that promise.

  There was no way that Fynn had stuck around for this long, so now Nicholas was thinking his best plan would be to call him. The worst he could do would be to not pick up, but hopefully he would. That way they could maybe talk, and Nicholas wouldn’t have to abandon the wedding. He was burning to get answers to his questions, and knew he would be distracted until he did.

  Thankfully, George was talking for less than ten minutes. He managed a few more laughs, but mostly he just talked about how brilliant his best friend was, and how much cooler than George he was, and how much better his World of Warcraft scores were. It wasn’t going to go down in history as the best speech ever, but it was sweet and heartfelt, and Nicholas felt that was worth more than all the jokes in the world.

  He felt like weeping when the final toast came. “To the happy couple,” George cried.

  “The happy couple!”

  And then that was it. They were free to leave.

  Nicholas bolted.

  He really did nip to the loo first, as he didn’t want to have any distractions while he was on the phone. He also took a moment to splash cold water on his face and neck, then looked at his reflection in the mirror. He took a deep breath, then let it out again.

  “You can do this,” he urged himself.

  He needed to find himself a quiet spot where he could talk and not be interrupted. Despite his earlier, rash, thoughts, he was adamant that he wasn’t going to ditch the wedding reception entirely. However, he figured it was probably okay to pop outside for a bit and maybe wander down the road. If he got Fynn on the phone. Otherwise, he needed to prepare what he was going to say to the voicemail.

  He made his way back into the foyer, where people were mingling as the staff worked their magic again, disappearing the tables as fast as they had arrived. A bunch of the uni lot were at the bar ordering a startling amount of shots while the DJ got warmed up, and the new evening guests began mingling with those that had been there all day.

  If he was going to be talking to Fynn (or leaving a half coherent voicemail) he thought it would probably be best to have a drink to refresh himself. So he eased his way up to the bar, declined the shot he was offered, and got himself a pint of water.

  As much as Nicholas couldn’t seem to shut up when talking in person, and had almost zero impulse control when it came to texting, he really had a thing against speaking over the phone. The lack of body language to read people made him panic, and for most of his life, he’d hardly ever been able to get through a conversation without picturing the other person rolling their eyes at him. He almost never called people.

  But this was an emergency, he reasoned. as he downed half his water in one gulp.

  He turned so his back was to the bar and propped his elbows on it. He carried on drinking, determined to finish it all, and unlocked his phone with a flick of his thumb. It didn’t take him long to get Fynn’s contact details up, but he just stared at them with a growing sense of dread as he downed the last mouthful and put the glass down.

  “You can do this,” he mumbled again. He needed to remember what was at stake. As nervous as he was to tap the call icon, the alternative was not speaking to Fynn, not finding out why he had changed his mind, or what he’d done about the audition. He steeled himself, and placed the call.

  It was a good job he looked up as he put the phone to his ear. Otherwise, he might not have realised that Fynn was standing five feet away, waiting for Nicholas to notice him.

  Nicholas’s brain short-circuited. As he tried to mash out an expletive, the phone slipped from his grasp. He fumbled with both hands to catch it and stop it hitting the floor. He and Fynn looked at each other as he quickly pressed the disconnect button and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

  Christ, he was gorgeous. He was dressed simply in a black pair of trousers and shoes, and an extremely well cut white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone. Because Nicholas knew it was there, he could just about see the hickey he had given him by the collar. A pair of metallic grey suspender braces added to touch of flare to the outfit and also did something fizzy to Nicholas’s insides. His dreads were at their usual odd angles, but when juxtaposed with the clean, crispness of the suit, their unruliness had added appeal. Nicholas even wondered for a fleeting second if he’d put eyeliner on, but he couldn’t definitely tell, and it really wasn’t his prime concern in that moment.

  “You’re here,” he said stupidly.

  “Yeah,” said Fynn. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, and they just sort of stared at each other. There were people jostling around them, but Nicholas didn’t really notice. His whole world had reduced to Fynn, standing there before him.

  Nicholas wasn’t sure of what to say. He had a thousand things he wanted to know, but none of the questions were apparently willing to come out of his mouth. “You were great,” he blurted instead, nodding towards the corner in the now-darkened room where he’d played his set.

  “Yeah!” one of the passing uni lads agreed. He threw his arm around Fynn’s shoulders, sloshing his pint a little as he gave him a squeeze. “You should go on X-Factor or something dude. You’ve got serious talent!”

  Fynn only winced a little and gave him a half-smile. “Thanks man.”

  Luckily, the guy let go to follow his friends to the dance floor, leaving Fynn with Nicholas once more. He stepped closer to him, still not sure what he wanted to say, but knowing he needed more of Fynn in whatever capacity he could get. He was right there, and Nicholas couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

  “I thought you’d left,” he said.

  Fynn shook his head, his expression hard to read. “I couldn’t,” he said. Nicholas’s heart swelled with hope. “Um…” He stepped forward, and hooked his little fi
nger around Nicholas’s. “Could we maybe talk? Somewhere a bit quieter?”

  Nicholas was glad the lights had dimmed for the evening disco, as he could feel heat rising on his cheeks. He couldn’t fight the impulse to rub at his scars with his free hand, but then he inched closer to Fynn again, and laced their fingers together. “Talking sounds good,” he admitted.

  Please be a good talk, Nicholas begged silently as Fynn steered him through the crowd. He was in such a blurred state he wasn’t sure if anyone saw them holding hands. In that moment however, he couldn’t say he cared all that much, although it would be a terrible time to discover that Peter’s family were secretly a bunch of raging homophobes.

  They made it back out into the foyer though without incident. Nicholas assumed they would go outside, as that’s where he had intended to call Fynn. But instead they went back past the loos and through a different door.

  It was the cloakroom, which surprised Nicholas so much he stopped walking. It was populated with a number of the guests’ coats and bigger bags, and in the corner, he spotted a familiar guitar case nestled under a faux fur wrap and a combat jacket. He turned and faced Fynn and he closed the door behind them. There was enough room for them to stand comfortably and not be squashed, but there was no contesting that the setting was intimate.

  Nicholas’s apprehension must have shown on his face, because Fynn gave him a warm smile and took booth of his hands in his own. “I thought some privacy might be a good idea.”

  “Right, sure,” Nicholas agreed, a little breathlessly. “So, um, what did you want to talk about?” He was so nervous he could barely hear his own voice over the thud of his pulse in his ears. “You didn’t text.” Not that that was very shocking. “To say you’d be here. It was a surprise – a good surprise, but, um, yeah…”

  Fynn shook his head and exhaled. “I didn’t know what to say. If you were still mad at me.” he said. “But now…I thought I’d start by apologising.”

  Nicholas was stunned. “What?” he cried. He pulled their hands up so they were resting on his chest, by his heart. “Why would you apologise? I’m the one who blew it all out of proportion! I was selfish, and now you’ve ruined your big chance with Storm-Pilot-Whatshisface.” He sighed and rubbed his thumbs against Fynn’s skin. “Seeing you here was the best thing ever, but was it really worth it?”

  He searched Fynn’s expression for the resentment he thought he would inevitably see creep in. But instead, he was graced with a full smile, the one Nicholas liked to think was reserved just for when Fynn was truly happy. When he was with him.

  “I need to apologise, because I should have tried harder for you.”

  “You just totally knocked everyone’s socks off,” Nicholas reminded him, jerking his head back in the direction of the wedding reception.

  Fynn shook his head again. “But I should have been more considerate of you.”

  His words were making Nicholas feel all tingly, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with him taking all the blame. “Well I should have been more respectful of your chance with the music producer. You threw that all away, for me?”

  Fynn kissed the top of Nicholas’s knuckles. It was simple and chaste, but it managed to make Nicholas’s knees go weak all the same. “As much a you’re worth doing that for,” he said, kissing the knuckles on his other hand, “who says I threw anything away?”

  “Huh?” said Nicholas. “But – you’re here. You’re not in London.”

  Fynn grinned. “Someone much cleverer than I am suggested I just ask to audition at a different time.”

  Nicholas looked at him, reading the happiness behind his eyes. This, this was why he hadn’t wanted to talk over the phone. “And?” he rasped.

  “And,” said Fynn with a sigh, “I saw him nine o’clock this morning. He loved me.”

  Nicholas didn’t even try to hold back the scream. He flung his armed around Fynn’s neck, which meant standing on his tiptoes, but he didn’t care. “Really?” he squeaked.

  “Well,” said Fynn, easing him back so they could look at each other. But he kept his hands on Nicholas’s waist, which felt comforting and delicious provocative at the same time. “He liked my demo, but he asked if I could play him something there and then. I think he wanted to see what I’d be like live, feel the energy, you know?” Nicholas wasn’t sure he did, but he nodded anyway.

  “And you dazzled him.”

  “Actually,” said Fynn. He ran his hand over his hair, then cupped the side of Nicholas’s jaw. “As soon as I started the first song, I could feel I wasn’t really ‘dazzling’ him. I guess he wanted something he hadn’t heard on the CD.” He brushed his thumb against the same scar that Nicholas had a particular habit of worrying. From Fynn though, the action was caring, not self-deprecating.

  “I thought he liked the CD?” Nicholas asked, not quite following.

  “He did,” Fynn said quickly. “But he probably gets a lot of great demos through his door. I think he was looking for something special.”

  “The X-Factor,” Nicholas quipped, thinking of Peter’s friend earlier. Fynn grinned and nodded. His warm palm felt so perfect against Nicholas’s cheek. He could get used to that. “So, what did you give him?”

  Fynn bit his lip, and looked down at Nicholas’s mouth. It sent a shiver straight down his spine. “I gave him you.”

  Nicholas went from feeling turned on to completely confused. “Me?” he questioned. “What can I do?”

  Fynn’s grey eyes were sparkling, and even though he was thrown, Nicholas felt encouraged.

  “You inspire me. Remember?” He rested their foreheads together. “Take your troubles out to fly, give me a wink as I pass by. And never let the sun stop shining on you.”

  Nicholas went a little slack with shock. “You – you played him that?”

  Fynn nodded, but only fractionally as they were still resting against each other. “He loved it. He started waving his hands around and making notes, right there and then.”

  Nicholas felt tears prick behind his eyes. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Fynn, I’m so happy for you. You deserve this. I’m so glad you could make it work, to get your audition and still find time to come back for the wedding.”

  Fynn’s expression became serious. “I want to make time for you Nicholas,” he insisted. Nicholas remembered when he’d said his name at the doughnut store had felt claustrophobic. Hearing him use it now though made him feel freed. “God, I’m so sorry. I should have just tried to do that in the first place. You were right. I never meant to make you feel unimportant.”

  He reached up and ran his fingertips through Nicholas’s hair, and made his whole body shiver. Get a grip, Nicholas hissed silently. He had to keep his head right now.

  “I’m sorry too,” he said, maintaining his composure. “I wanted you to take this opportunity, I really did. I just – it felt too easy to just think you’d want to leave. But,” he added hastily, trying to put his point across coherently. He placed the palms of his hands on Fynn’s chest. “I don’t want you to leave. I know I’m supposed to play it cool or hard to get or whatever. But, I like you. I really like you, and I don’t want to stand in your way, but, well, liking you kind of means I want you around. A lot. So, um…”

  Blissfully, Fynn leant down and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Nicholas thought that morning he’d never get to kiss him again. It was over too soon, but the tingle stayed with him after they parted.

  “You’re not standing in my way,” Fynn said, with a tinge of exasperation. “You’re lifting me up. Didn’t you listen to the damn lyrics?”

  Nicholas laughed. “Sort of,” he mumbled. “I’m still sorry though. For fighting when we didn’t really need to.”

  Fynn kissed him again, just a sweet pressing of lips together. “That’s alright,” he said. “All couples have fights, don’t they?”

  Nicholas felt the world shift underneath him. A few hours ago, he’d been convinced he was never going to see Fynn again. And now…
r />   “Couple?” he squeaked.

  Fynn bit his bee-stung lip. “If that’s what you want?”

  Nicholas crashed into him so hard he smashed his back into the wall and dislodged several coats. He hoped the fierceness of his kisses conveyed how he felt about that.

  They couldn’t spend forever hiding in a cupboard, even though Nicholas was sorely tempted. So before he got too dishevelled, he pulled back and straightened Fynn’s collar. “I’d want that very much,” he mumbled, in case he hadn’t been clear enough. He ran his fingers down the suspender belts and resisted the urge to snap them against his chest.

  He didn’t understand why Fynn was rubbing his fingers gently over his cheeks, until he realised he’d started crying. Nicholas hastily stepped back, wiping his own face and choking out a laugh.

  “Fuck, that’s embarrassing,” he coughed out. “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologising,” Fynn retorted automatically. He pulled Nicholas back to him. “Although maybe I should try apologising again, if I really hurt you that much?”

  Nicholas shook his head though. “No, these aren’t from that.” He was not going to admit how much he’d cried into his pillow last night. “I’m just so happy you’re still here. I assumed you’d have left when the speeches started,” he explained.

  Fynn looked stunned. “Why on Earth would I leave?”

  “You didn’t read my messages,” said Nicholas.

  Fynn frowned. “You messaged me?”

  Nicholas swatted his firm chest. “Hello, have you met me?” he cried. But it lacked rancour. “Of course I did, you’re lucky there weren’t ten times as many.” He inhaled and got a bit of composure. “I asked you to stay. I hoped we could talk. But the ticks showed you hadn’t looked at it.”