Chapter Text
He found the bar along a narrow side-street that smelled of piss and sex, a tangerine and metal scent that hung heavy in the air only to settle on his jacket and on the skin of his wrists. Chris held his breath as he passed a couple necking in a shadowy doorway. It was a Friday evening in London. He had learned to expect this kind of thing. He was used to it. But the dislike that coiled in his chest wasn’t from the locals—most of them pleasantly buzzed and finally confident, stripped of the exasperating quiet and impolitic politeness they wore like armor. No, it wasn’t them.
At a beep, Chris checked his phone. It was Kenneth, checking in: Well?
Yes, found it. I’ll get him.
Good.
Shut it, Kenneth, I didn’t sign up for this.
Text later with updates.
Like Fuck I will.
Hey. I got the girl.
Shut it.
See you tomorrow, Thor. 5AM.
He pushed the mobile deep into his pocket. Normally, Chris enjoyed places like this, where there were no bright lights; the neon sliced into the darkness without revealing anything or anyone. Chris shivered and turned his collar up. He stood outside the bar, hesitant to enter. A couple or two stared at him while he walked back and forth in front of the pub door, shivering in the cold. Shaking his head, Chris berated himself, “fuck me!” and walked through the door.
He had been in the pub before and he was familiar, already, with the low brown tables and the bar at the back but the disquiet that unsettled him rose to his chest the minute he lifted his eyes and found Tom hunched over a pint of beer, a long finger on the rim of his glass.
“There you are,” Chris said, pulling a seat opposite. Tom had chosen a table farthest from the bar and his sweating mug of beer had lost most of its head.
Tom smiled. Despite the anxiety and the exhaustion he wore on a daily basis from the shoot, his eyes were warm. “Glad you came.”
“Of course. You had something on your mind?” Chris took the mug, sniffed the beer, and grimaced.
“Kat,” Tom said warily. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “She broke it off this afternoon.”
“We know,” Chris shook his head slowly, frowning. For a second, Tom looked angry. Eyes hard, he lifted his chin and his nostrils flared as he took a breath.
“Oh.”
“Kat told Kenneth,” Chris said, by way of explanation, his voice even. Fuck Kenneth. Couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. A vice tightened in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve said that.
“It was never serious,” Tom said. “It just sort of—“ he waved his hand, “happened. As things do.” Shaking his head, Tom chuckled. “God. I’m too old for this.” He took a giant gulp of his drink. “Christ, that’s bad.”
“You don’t even drink beer, Tom,” Chris said, smiling.
“Ehe, but I do.” Tom took another gulp, forcing it down. “At least, I know I did. I used to.”
Chris pulled the mug to him. “Tell you what. I’ll finish this.” He took a sip. It wasn’t bad, only not nearly cold enough. He wanted something salty, a plate of chips. “What about we go out for some coffee after I finish after. Clear your mind. This place doesn’t suit you.”
“Oh?”
Chris nodded.
“Kat said that, too.”
Oh.
“Well, she was right.” Chris frowned.
“That she was. Right about a lot of things.”
“Come on, Tom. Talk to me.” Chris had friends work through break-ups before and between them and his two brothers, he was reasonably well-supplied with a cachet of wisdom. Tom already believably played his brother onscreen. There was nothing different. But something didn’t feel right and he couldn’t bring himself to play-act, couldn’t bring himself to shake, loosen, erode the deep hush of Tom’s disappointment.
“Tom, come on.”
With a rakish grin—cold but not without some pleasure—Tom took the tankard and drank. He plunked the empty mug on the table with a satisfying thud.
“All done. Do you want to--?” Chris made to get up but Tom shook his head slowly, eyes on his hands. He burped, apologized, and laughed at himself.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Give me a minute.” He held a fist up to his lips, eyes shut.
“Hey,” he continued. Tom wasn’t laconic. Sometimes, in fact, the man wouldn’t shut up. He was exuberant, boisterous, unnervingly cheerful. Here was new territory, at last. “You said it wasn’t serious.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“And?”
“And I’d like another beer, Chris.”
Chris’ eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. Tom caught a waitress as she passed by, a tray under her arm. “Two more,” he pointed at the mug. “Anything for you?” Eyes narrowed into slits as a challenge. Tom looked and acted like a snake rearing up to strike.
“Two for me as well, thanks,” he said to the waitress. When she moved off, Chris removed his jacket. “You have something in mind, Tom?”
“Get me drunk,” Tom said, his voice flat. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back, beaming. There was no mirth in him but there was purpose. He shone almost silver in the dimness. The pub around them thrummed happily, the old wooden beams on the ceiling seemed miles away. Something was going to happen.
“Oh, come on.”
“You sound almost disappointed.”
I am.
“I always thought you were a stickler for sobriety.”
Tom laughed when their drinks arrived. “I remembered why I stopped drinking beer. Abysmal tolerance.” He downed half of his first pint.
Fuck Kenneth, fuck. Chris looked at his watch and made a show of tucking his jacket behind him.
“I’m glad you’re here, you came.”
“Oh?”
Tom took another long pull. “Yes, yes. Kat said you would come.” He had a wicked grin and he jabbed a finger into his own chest. “Kat said you would come.” He smiled, triumphant, the grin firmly in place.