This Is Not The End

*

It was a cold day in the middle of November when it happened. When you kissed another guy for the first time in your thirty one years. You never imagined that you'd do that; you know, kiss another man. But you did. And you liked it. And you wanted more. And you felt something that you'd never, ever felt before when you'd kissed anyone.

And you wanted him like you'd never wanted anyone before.

Mike.

*

It was two weeks later when you saw him next. Not just because it felt awkward. More because he was busy and you were busy and time just didn't seem to want to stop for anything, no matter how important it was. You crept around his house, waiting for him to show up, because Mike was always late. Even though this was his house.

The rest of the band were scattered about the studio. Brad lying on the floor with one of the dogs and Phoenix notably morose as he sprawled across the couch. You fiddled nervously with the pen you'd picked up and clicked it on and off, watching the hands on the clock spin round.

So when he came in, smile on his face, boxes of pizza in his arms and barely glanced your way, well, you felt a bit crushed. Felt like wanting the ground to swallow you whole. But you kept your cool. Kept your mouth shut and your eyes trained to the ground.

*

Another two weeks and it was getting beyond a joke. You'd relented and left him a voice message. Some shaky, stuttering words about how you were just calling to see if he was okay. No reply. So, you'd sent a few text messages, just the usual, 'hey, how's it going' banter.

And you were fast realising that you hated being given the fucking cold shoulder.

That's why at eleven o'clock at night, you'd grabbed your jacket and your car keys and driven over to his house. Because all this lack of contact from a guy you'd spent the good part of the past ten years falling in love with, well, it was making you sick to the stomach.

Two hours. Two whole hours had passed, whilst you'd sat in the car, staring blankly at the door.

And now, at just after one am, your phone was ringing and you were patting down your pockets, pulling it out and answering it without even glancing at the caller id.

"Hello?"

"Chester? Dude, are you coming inside or are you just going to sit there all night?"

You frowned. Smiled. Glanced down the driveway, locked eyes with Mike who was standing in the window to his lounge.

"I don't know," You found yourself saying, "Do you want me to come in?"

Static fell down the phone but Mike was nodding his head.

*

The walk, just from your car, to Mike's door, it took forever. Or, longer than it normally took. Because normally it was done with a skip in your step, or rushing to get out of the rain, or stumbling because you were drunk. But a gut full of apprehension weighed you down, made your legs shake as you locked your car and headed up the driveway.

"Hi."

He was waiting for you at the door, standing a little to one side, gap just wide enough for you to slide between. Just small enough for your arm to brush against his as he closed the door.

Mike's house was as warm and welcoming as ever. The heating turned up, the TV playing loudly in the lounge, even if it was the middle of the night. Light on in the kitchen, something cooking in the oven.

"So," Mike turned to face you, clasping his hands together.

You smiled, "So..."

"I'm sorry."

You blinked at him. Sorry for kissing you? Or sorry for ignoring you? You stepped back, gazing around the hallway, shuffling off your jacket.

"If you mean for blanking me when I came over with the rest of the guys..."

"Yeah," Mike cleared his throat, "Amongst other things."

"Like?"

Mike didn't answer. Not right away. He rubbed his hands together, nervously, you noted.

"Look... What happened between us Mike. It happened. And I wish I could ignore it, but I can't."

Mike smiled. An understanding smile, perhaps?

"I just. Fuck it, I'll say it. I can't stand not having you around, okay? These past two weeks, I've felt so sick and just on edge and..."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I don't want you to apologise. I just, I just need to know what's what. We kissed Mike. We fucking kissed."

Mike flinched. He bit his lip and slowly nodded his head, like this news was only just registering with him. You could almost see the cogs spinning around in his head.

"Mike?"

"I know," He nodded, "I know."

"So what now?"

He shrugged.

"Look, I'll say it, shall I?"

And he nodded.

"We either carry on like this didn't happen or we, we do something about it. Either way, I cannot lose you Mike. I don't want to."

Silence fell. Thick and fast. Even the sound from TV seemed to have died down if by some kind of magic. You sighed and started to tug your coat back on. Well, at least the words you so desperately wanted to say weren't churning inside every crook and crevice of you anymore. At least you'd gotten something out.

"I guess I'll be going then."

"No," Mike stepped forward, "No."

You lowered your jacket. Mike came to a halt just before you, eyes blinking, looking everywhere but at you.

"Mike?"

"Sorry," He sighed, "I am sorry, okay?"

"What for?"

"For being an asshole and ignoring your calls?"

"So you were getting them, then?"

Mike smiled sheepishly, "Yeah... I just, I didn't know what the hell to say."

"It's okay," You shrugged, "I didn't either. I just, I figured it might come to me if you picked up the phone?" You murmured softly. It's not like you wanted to argue about this. You were past that. Past being angry at him; at yourself. You were just relieved that this was happening. That there was a right here and now which involved him acknowledging you.

"Do you want some lasagne? I couldn't sleep and was hungry," Mike shrugged with a smile, "It should be ready."

"Sure," You nodded and he smiled, reached out for your jacket and took it from you. You followed him into the kitchen, met by the aroma that was escaping from the oven.

"Sit down," He smiled, hanging your jacket over the back of a chair, "You want a drink?"

"Are you feeling okay?" You smiled, settling down at the table.

Mike frowned as he reached the fridge, "Why..."

"Normally I have to get my own drink."

Mike smiled, opened the door and stuck his head inside it, "Normally," He paused as he shut the door and placed a bottle of wine down on the counter, "You let yourself in with your key."

"Yeah well," You shrugged, "I guess we're even."

"No. I was an asshole," Mike's voice faded as he pulled two glasses from out of the dishwasher.

"Okay then," You nodded, "I'll be an asshole too. Then we'll be even?"

"That's more like it."

"Seriously though Mike. Are we going to actually talk about this?"

"We are talking," Mike shrugged, back turned to you as he uncorked the bottle of wine and began to pour it out.

You sighed. The buzzer on the oven rang out and Mike still stood there; back toward you.

"Mike?"

You pushed your chair back. Pulled the lasagne from the oven and placed it on top. Walked over to Mike and realised that yes, you were right; he was crying. You gulped. Mike hardly ever cried. Not because he was too man or too butch or didn't have a heart. He just wasn't one to cry. You bit your lip and slowly pressed your hand to his back. Which just made things worse then, because that's the point that he broke down and really started to cry.

"Hey," You uttered, "Mike? Hey, it's okay, it's okay," You murmured, sliding your arm around him and pulling into an embrace. That he wrapped his arms around you, it made the fact that he was sobbing and choking and shaking, strangely okay to cope with.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen," You told him, but when all you got in return were broken words, you figured holding him and staying quiet was going to be for the best for now.

*

It was three am and you were loading up Mike's dishwasher. He stood next to you, cradling his forth glass of wine. You had just finished your third. Clearly none of this was going to be spoken about without some kind of chemical encouragement. Final plate into the machine, Mike was yawning. But this wasn't something you could leave. Sleep could wait. This was way more important.

"I'm sorry I upset you," You sighed, flicking on the machine. The buzz and whirr were a welcome interruption to the uneasy silence that had cradled itself around you.

"It wasn't your fault," Mike shook his head, motioning for you to follow him as he walked away.

He led you into the lounge, TV still talking away as you sat down beside him on the couch.

"Do you want to forget it happened, Mike? Because that's okay. I don't mind either way."

Mike glanced up at you, "You don't mind?"

"Well," You shrugged, "I do. But whatever I feel for you, I don't want to make things awkward. I'm past caring if I make a fool out of myself here, but awkward, that's something I don't want to feel."

The wine, you noted as Mike downed his glass and placed it on the coffee table, was certainly helping. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and cleared his throat. The way he didn't lean back. The way he sat with his hands in his lap and his back scarily straight. It unnerved you.

"I don't know what to say. Where do I start?"

He glanced at you. Looking for reassurance? You weren't sure and you sincerely hoped not. You were the last person you'd look to for reassurance if needed. You shifted closer to him, leaning forward.

"Answer my question then. Do you want to forget it happened?"

Mike glanced at you again. Uncertain. Unsure. Clueless, to be precise.

"I don't know," He finally breathed out, "Do you?"

"That doesn't matter right now. I know what I want, Mike."

He nodded. Puffed out his cheeks and let the breath go in one, shaky sigh.

"I liked it," He murmured, "I really liked it. But for the sake of losing you, I could pretend I didn't."

You smiled. Bit your lip and tried to stop smiling. Mike slowly turned to face you, eyes still red from the tears, maybe from the wine too.

"You won't lose me," You told him, then added, "I liked it too. A lot."

"We're not really, y'know, meant to kiss one another though, are we?"

You shrugged, "What makes you say that?"

"Because you're my best friend?"

"There's that saying though..."

"Yeah, 'Best friends will become lovers in the end'?"

"Yeah."

"Is this what it feels like, then?"

"What?"

"Love? Like, is this how it feels? Scary, amazing, intimidating, mind blowing and fucking crazy, all at once?"

You smiled, "That's how you feel?"

"I don't know... Yes... No... I don't... I'm scared Chester. I am so fucking scared right now."

You nodded. You were scared too. Scared Mike would slam the door in your face. Scared he would call you names and just not be cool with any of this at all. Was this real? Was he really saying these things? Or had you had too much to drink? We're you dreaming?

"Say something, Chester?"

"I've... I've got a fucking crush on you, okay?" You winced, because that didn't sound right, "I mean, I'm in love with you and I..."

"You are?"

"Yes," You nodded, "Yes! I've tried to not feel this way but... I can't. And I'm sorry. If you don't feel the same, I'll try my best to stop feeling this way. I don't want to lose you Mike. You're the coolest friend I've ever had."

Mike was smiling.

"What?!"

"You called me cool. No one has ever called me cool before."

"Yeah well," You grinned, "Maybe no one knows you the way I do."

Mike blushed, "I think that's true," He murmured, "I'm sorry I ignored you. I just, I needed time to get my head around a few things. And I guess I could have done it in a better way?"

"It's okay. You do that. I should have remembered. Like that time Brad said he was leaving the band? You guys argued for hours. And then we didn't see you for, like, eight whole days? You just needed space to think."

"I hated that," Mike paused, "I hated him."

"What about me?"

"This was different. I was running away because I didn't know how I felt. With Brad I knew I was angry. And upset. And scared. I knew that's how I felt. These past few weeks, I've felt everything and at the same time, nothing," Mike stopped and looked right at you, "If I could go back to that moment. I would."

"In the rain?"

"Yes," Mike smiled, "That moment in the rain. You. Me," He gulped.

"Okay," You stood up, held your hand out.

"What?"

"Come on."

Hesitantly, Mike got to his feet, his clammy hand slipping into yours.

"We'll have to pretend it's raining out there. And that's it's a Thursday. Because it happened on a Thursday."

Mike smiled, "I know..."

"And we went upstairs," You grinned, tugging him, feeling him relax as it started to click in his mind.

"Yeah," He breathed out, letting you pull him out into the hallway.

"You took your shirt off here."

"Here?" Mike raised his eyebrows, "No way," He smiled, moving toward the stair case, "It was here," He nodded.

"So," You motioned with your hands, feeling your stomach flutter as he blushed.

Mike paused. His hands slid to the hem of his shirt.

"You said you wanted to go back to that moment."

He smiled. Shook his head and in one fluid motion, his shirt was gone; dropped to the floor.

"Then you went up," You nodded, "And I followed," You told him, pulling off your sweater and discarding it next to Mike's shirt; bolts of excitement shooting through you as you followed him up the stairs.

"We went into my room," He spoke, his shoulders relaxing as he opened the door, "And you were out of your pants already," He glanced over his shoulder as you obediently unbuckled your belt and allowed the jeans you were wearing to slink to the floor.

"And you were saying how it always rains when you wear those pants," He called out from behind the door. You kicked away your pants, stepping inside the room, realising that this was four weeks later; yet everything looked the same.

"And you were not wearing these," You pointed toward Mike's black jeans, "When I came in."

Mike nodded, "True," He shrugged, sliding his hand toward the belt, but stopping when you reached out and brushed your hand against his.

"Wait," You murmured, your eyes tracing up and down his pale torso; the tiny scars above his hips and the trail of darker hair dancing below his belly button.

"Okay," You shrugged with a smirk.

Mike narrowed his eyes, but undid his jeans nonetheless. And pretty soon you were both standing there staring at one another; breathless; scared; elated. You closed your eyes for the briefest of seconds, and Mike was there in front of you, soaking wet from the rain and grinning at you. His hands were moving forward, gently clamping onto your shoulders and his smiling was getting wider. He swung his head; once; twice; three times, showering your body with the droplets of rain that clung to his hair.

"Chester?"

Your eyes snapped open. He was there. Dry. Biting his lip. Nervous.

"Can we skip to the part where you had me pinned to the floor?" He asked, gulping as the words spilled from his lips.

"As long as you're okay with that?"

Shyly, he nodded his head.

You took his hand, pulled him down to the floor with you. The floorboards creaked beneath you as you stretched out, placed your legs over his and felt his heart pounding against your chest. You could barely breathe. Something danced down your spine. His fingers. You closed your eyes and the gap between your noses. Felt his breath hitching; hitting your lips. Pressed your mouth against his. Swallowed hard. Felt him murmur something. Slid your hands down to his waist.

Kissed him.

END.