Jonathon stared at the concrete pavement, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. They had stepped on two hundred and thirty paving slabs since they’d left the restaurant. He’d counted each one with meticulous care. Anything to distract him from the awkward silence that was steadily growing between him and Michael walking beside him.
Jonathon’s fists clenched as he searched his mind for something, anything, to talk about.
It had been nearly a full half-hour since the restaurant on Grafton Street kicked them out for closing. Their bellies full of “authentic” Indian cuisine prepared by a lanky white man from north of Clare. They had already exhausted the limits of pleasant comments on Tikka Masala and Naan bread twenty minutes ago, fifteen minutes ago they had finished talking about how miserable the weather was, and it had been five minutes since they’d both explained in depth their plans for the weekend. Since then, crushing and absolute silence. Five minutes of eternity.
It’s amazing what the human mind thinks about in five minutes of uncomfortable silence. First, confidence; “this is going well, a brief lull in the conversation then we’ll be back on track.” Second, humour; “things have been quiet for a while, maybe I should crack a cheesy joke to break the ice.” Third, panic; “Oh god, oh god, oh god, what do I do? He’s going to think I’m a fucking weirdo if I don’t say something.” Fourth, anger; “why should I be the one to say something? He’s on a date too. He’s the fucking weirdo not saying anything.” And fifth, resolution; “no, if I want this date to go well I have to be proactive. I’ll just say the first thing that comes to mind.” The five stages of awkward silence, and Jonathon had gone through all of them in five minutes.
“So,” Jonathon said, fully expecting the words to flow like a tap. It seemed, however, that there was a blockage in the drain.
“So,” said Michael. He had jumped at Jonathon breaking the silence, his green eyes widening eagerly at the opportunity for conversation. A grin ghosted the edge of his lips sending Jonathon’s heart aflutter. Michael’s eyes soon dulled with disappointment as the opening stretched further.
“So.” Jonathon winced, shame rouging his cheeks like a pantomime dame. What on earth was he thinking? He must be the biggest idiot in Dublin. The whole of Ireland, even. Michael’s going to assume he’s a right twat and never want to speak to him again.
“I bet you’re eager to get home,” Michael said. A wry grin spread across his lips.
“Fuck off,” Jonathon laughed. The punch he gave Michael was soft and playful, his laugh caused pillars of steam to shoot from his mouth like a dragon’s breath in the cold winter air. Michael’s smile widened at the sound of his laugh.
“What? Don’t you love living with Victoria? And her boke in the flower pot?”
Jonathon rolled his eyes, “You’d better stop. She might think you’re bullying her.”
“Oh yes, you’re such a vicious little bully. You should really be locked up, you’re worse than Hitler really, a right dictator.”
“Well with my height I’ve got the Napoleon complex to match,” Jonathon said. He bit his lip as they continued their walk past the terraced houses, gradually becoming less and less extravagant with more gaps between the functioning streetlamps. This was good, he thought, they were having fun, maybe the date wasn’t a complete disaster after all.
“Bloody freezing this,” Michael said, as he rubbed his arms through a thin burgundy pea coat for warmth.
“Oh fuck! Would you like my scarf?” Jonathon said as unwound the item from his neck like an Egyptian mummy.
Michael raised his hands in protest. “Oh no, that’s really not necessary.”
“Please,” came the reply. Jonathon wrapped the scarf around Michael’s neck, delicately knotting it. In doing so, he had unwittingly pulled their bodies together.
Jonathon looked up, his dark brown eyes met green. Was this his chance? What was the etiquette? Should he just lean forward and make the kiss? His throat felt dry, very dry. Maybe he should wait for the next chance. He’d had garlic, his breath probably stunk. Jonathon’s eyes widened, suddenly self-conscious.
Michael gently grasped Jonathon’s elbows. Closing his eyes, he leant in with parted lips.
Panicked, Jonathon patted the scarf and jerked away from Michael. “There you go. Nice and warm like,” he squeaked. With hands shoved deep into his pockets so that he could pinch himself, Jonathon left Michael standing with a dazed look on his face and walked briskly away. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” Jonathon hissed, “Why can’t I just kiss the guy?”
“Hey, John,” Michael said once he finally caught up. His breathing came out heavy and Jonathon felt a pang of guilt for running off like that.
“Yes Michael,” Jonathon replied, with exaggerated indifference.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure Michael.”
“Have you been on a date before?”
“What sorta question is that? Course I have.”
Michael grabbed Jonathon’s arms and spun him, forcing them eye-to-eye. “Jonathon.”
Jonathon tried to resist Michael’s stare at first. But those eyes seemed able to topple any barrier he put up against them. He sighed, “Alright, no I haven’t. But what’s that got to do with anything?”
Michael shrugged, “Nothing. It’s just you seem nervous. Relax… I won’t bite.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, it’s just all new to me. There isn’t much of a gay scene where I’m from,” Jonathon said with a sheepish grin.
“I can imagine,” Michael replied. He smiled back.
“What about you, like? Who was your last boyfriend?” Jonathon asked, wincing as the words came out of his mouth and he realised how dangerous the question was.
Michael frowned and his eyebrows furrowed. “He was this guy from near the border. Mean old bastard. Don’t know why I stuck around so long.”
“How long?” Jonathon asked, morbid curiosity overcoming his sense of propriety.
“Three years.”
“Three years?” Jonathon said, “That's a hell of a time.”
“Yeah, it seemed that every time I made a move to leave he managed to convince me to stay. Had a way with words like that. Could always convince me that it was only because he loved me, that I made him do it, that he’d get better. Never did.”
“Do you mind me asking, how’d you leave him? In the end like.”
“I waited for him to leave for work, packed all my shit, and left without a word.”
“That must have been rough.”
Michael wiped a hand across his face, the skin beneath his eye was wet with the single tear he’d dabbed away. “It’s fine, ancient history. I’ve never looked back.” He forced a smile. “Tell me more of you though, how’d a farm boy from Carlow end up in dreary old Dublin?”
Jonathon shrugged, “There’s not much to tell really. Nothing I haven’t told you at least. I realised I was gay, knew my parents would never accept me, they’d still love me, but they wouldn’t accept me. Love the sinner hate the sin like. I’d die in a place like that so I had to get out. Applied for college here and did as much as I could to distance them all.”
“So your parents don’t know then?”
“They probably have ideas like. I’ve never told them but they probably have ideas.”
Michael nodded, he understood how Jonathon felt.
“I suppose that explains why a handsome lad like you hasn’t been snatched up yet,” he said, smiling.
Jonathon blushed a smile spread across his face, brightening the shadowy street with his joy. “Aw, give over. Me? Handsome? You’re taking the piss.”
“No, I’m not. I mean it. You’re a hell of a guy. Good looking, smart, sense of humour, you’re the full package.”
Jonathon turned a deep crimson. His heart was beating a mile a minute, like a car engine. “God Michael, you do know how to make a man feel special don’t you?”
Michael smiled, “I have my moments.”
Jonathon laughed, “Yeah you do.”
They continued down the street until they came up to a large block of flats. The architecture wasn’t much to look at, a large concrete block with yellow squares to indicate windows. Even just looking at it made you feel miserable. To some, it was home.
“That’s my building,” Michael said and Jonathon’s heart sank.
“Cheery place.”
Michael shrugged. “It’s not exactly homely, but it keeps the rain out.”
Jonathon smiled sadly, only half registering what Michael had said. “I wish this night could last forever.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a good time like.”
“So have I.”
The pair carried on walking, this time the silence was comfortable. Neither felt the need to fill it with meaningless nothings. Their mutual warmth shielded them both from the cold winter air.
They stayed silent until they reached the gate to the building’s courtyard.
“Well, this is me,” Michael said.
“Yeah,” Jonathon replied as a shadow formed over him.
“What’s wrong Jonathon?”
“It’s nothing.”
Michael placed a gentle hand on Jonathon’s shoulder. “Doesn’t seem like nothing, you’re all glum all of a sudden. Tell me.” That touch sent shockwaves through Jonathon’s body and forced him to meet Michael’s gaze, once again taking his breath away.
“It’s just, I feel like you’re going to regret this like.”
“What? Why would I regret it, Jonathon?”
“Because you’re so… you,” Jonathon said, indicating Michael’s entire being. “And I’m so, me.”
“Jonathon, I like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Michael said. He cupped Jonathon’s face in his hands. Jonathon shivered at their cold touch but didn’t pull away. “Why can’t you believe that?”
“Yeah, now you do,” Jonathon replied, tears welled in his eyes, “but what happens when you wake up tomorrow, realise I’m not worth it, and never talk to me again?”
“Well, for one thing, we work together so it’d be a little hard for us not to talk to each other,” Michael laughed. He traced the outline of Jonathon’s cheek, feeling the slight traces of stubble under his thumb. For a moment he stood there, caressing Jonathon’s face, in contemplative silence. “I’ll tell you what,” he whispered, “how about I give you something that will prove that I like you?”
Jonathon gulped, hopeful suspicions raised. “What would that be?”
As this was being said, if they were listening, they would hear tyres skid on the frosty road.
“A kiss,” Michael said.
Jonathon’s mind entered overdrive, oh god how he wanted to say yes. But he’d never kissed a guy before. What if he didn’t know how? Does he bring in tongue? Is it too early for tongue? When’s the right time for tongue? Is there too much tongue? How does he know if there’s too much tongue?
He must have taken long to answer because Michael soon asked with concern on his face, “Well?”
“Yes,” Jonathon blurted then clamped his lips shut lest he say anything else stupid.
Sliding wheels sped forward.
Michael smiled, “Ok.” He leant in. They closed their eyes, lost in the moment, as the universe closed in around them. Jonathon felt the warmth of Michael’s face coming closer.
They were flung back to reality just a moment before their lips would finally touch by a car screeching past. “FAGGOTS!” screamed a faceless voice as a missile flew from the car, hurtling towards the couple. This icy harbinger of disaster, foretelling destruction, dropped from this Peugeot Enola Gay, purchased from a local coffee shop spun in almost slow motion toward the unsuspecting couple.
Jonathon was frozen in horror of what was coming. Unable to stop the iced coffee from reaping its cold, caffeinated, chaos, he could do nought but watch as the cup hit him and spilled its contents all over his right leg.
“Shit!”
Michael chased after the car that was skidding around a corner away. “What the fuck man? Fuck you!”
“Shit, my jeans,” Jonathon said as he wiped at the stained denim. The iced coffee seeped down his legs to his shoes.
Michael spun on his heels and rushed to his date’s aid. “Fuck Jonathon, are you ok?”
“Yeah I’m fine, fuck me. Those arseholes just ruined my new jeans.” All thoughts of the fact that they had nearly kissed, what Jonathon had been looking forward to the whole night, slipped his mind.
“What the fuck was up with those guys? Jonathon I’m so sorry that happened.”
“It’s fine, really.”
“Your trousers, they’re fucked.”
“Yeah they’re fucked,” Jonathon agreed, then, he couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Because of this, Michael began laughing too. “They’re pretty fucked.”
“Do you want to come up to my flat and get them washed?” Michael asked between bouts of laughter.
Jonathon stopped laughing. “You… want me to go to your flat?”
Michael nodded, “Well yeah, to wash your trousers. I can’t have you walking home like tha,t not in this weather.”
Jonathon looked down at the ruined denim. It certainly wouldn’t be a comfortable walk. He raised his chin and looked into Michael’s welcoming green eyes. It was just to wash his jeans, what was there to be afraid of? “Yeah, alright. I’d like that.”
Michael grinned, “Excellent.” Rummaging in his pockets, he moved to the concrete building. “Come on then.”
Jonathon followed until they came to a large glass door with red framing. Michael thumbed through a set of keys and keychains. With a satisfied chirp, he settled on one and knelt to slide it in the hole. The key turned and the door opened.
Michael put one foot forward but didn’t enter. For a moment, Jonathon was worried he’d changed his mind, that he’d seen him in a new light and was regretting his offer. These doubts were dispelled when Michael turned around with a mischievous grin on his face.
“I forgot something,” he said before grabbing Jonathon by the lapels of his coat and pulling him into a kiss. Jonathon stood stunned, unsure of what to do, but soon melted into the sweet taste of cherry lip balm and wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist. Michael’s hand glided up Jonathon’s chest, feeling his defined shoulders and neck as the other held Jonathon’s head in place, his fingers kneading his skull as their kiss deepened.
Finally, Michael pulled away. Neither spoke, neither moved, lest the magic be broken by the mundanity of anything they could say. They stared at each other, beaming and breathing heavily. Then Michael looked away and said, “Alright, come on in,” before he stepped into the building with bolstered bravado.
Jonathon blushed, following him inside.