Page 54 of Open Water

He has a perfect attendance record. He isneversick. Yet, today, he didn’t even have to fake it, his voice thick with the flu. Well, it’s not flu. He is lovesick. Stuck in some imbecilic daydream in his head that if he can just get on the road and see Tom, his life will just magically be different.

Yeah. It will be different all right. He will look like an idiot, and he will take one look at Tom and remember that he fucking hates the guy.

Which is a lie. Because Tom is still the most beautiful man Lukas has ever seen, and if his fucked-up brain would just work a little better, he might remember that he also kisses like a movie star.

Lukas wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Because Lukas remembers more from that summer’s night years ago than he actually wants to admit to himself. He remembers hands stroking his skin. He remembers the terrified look on Tom's face as Lukas had climbed onto his lap. Pressed his body against Tom's who was now stuck against the creaking wood of the beach hut behind them. His hands had been around Tom's neck, fingers pressed hard against the sweat under his tousled hair, that felt damp against his own skin.

He had only meant to tease, to do his usual party trick. Frighten him with intimacy until Tom ran off, rattled and confused.

Instead, he can remember hearing his own pulse in his ears. Desire surging through him like poison invading his veins. It had been unstoppable. He couldn't have fought it even if he had tried. Because it was late, and the sun was warm on his skin, and Tom had smelt so damn fine. Like the sea and grass and summer and happiness.

Tom had been right. For a little while, it had been bloody perfect. His lips on Tom's, soft tongue pressing against his own. His hips grinding in circles over Tom's stomach, his knees aching with the effort of holding himself up, pressing harder against the body underneath him. Moving. Jerking. Pulling and tugging at that damn hair in his grip. Kissing the damn guy like he would die if he didn't.

If he hadn't been so drunk, he would have taken it further and seduced the fuck out of him. Pulled the damn posh shirt he had been wearing over his shoulders in a few swift moves and sucked the plump nipples on Tom's, no doubt, perfect chest into his mouth. Tugged at them with his teeth. Licked and tasted his skin, still salty from the seawater, warmed up by the sun on their backs.

He would have had him naked and panting underneath him. Sucked his cock into his mouth whilst Tom begged. Begged and pleaded, his voice full of shame. Terrified of being discovered out in the open, lost to each other in a place where anyone could have seen them.

Not that it had happened. Instead, Lukas had kind of passed out at some point, still with Tom's lips on his own, hands stroking his hair and little words being whispered in his ear.

He can't remember what he said, but he knows he never wanted Tom to stop. He was held and loved and kissed and it was like some kind of fucked-up dream sequence in an arty-farty movie. And Lukas has probably made it all seem a hundred times more perfect in his head than it actually was. His memories are laced with alcohol and kind of shady. It was probably nothing like what Lukas thinks he remembers.

Lies again. He just can’t admit it to himself. The idea of being loved by someone. Having a relationship with someone who just adores you. Selflessly and flawlessly. A relationship that won’t be so full of drama and angst, if it is going to work out in the end.

Because Tom has said it out loud. He loves him. He wants to spend the rest of his life making Lukas smile.

And it’s just that it is so tempting, to just fall for it. Let it happen. And it makes Lukas want to cry. Because if he is very honest with himself, it is everything he has ever wanted. Just to feel safe and loved and cared for.

The sheer thought of curling up in Tom’s arms and letting him take everything away, well, that’s what he is doing. Probably.

And it is all going to end in a massive disaster. Because whilst Tom can seamlessly create magic and fairy tales with a few words, Lukas will stand there tongue-tied and make a complete spectacle of himself. Because his stomach is all tied up in knots, and he has been on the verge of tears for days.

He doesn’t want to be lonely. He doesn’t want all this. He wants to be loved and he wants a family and he wants someone to kiss him goodnight and he has always wanted… Tom.

Yes. He has actually said it to himself. And Tom loves him. So, in theory Lukas just has to turn up. Throw himself at the guy.

Which goes against everything that Lukas has promised himself that he would never do again.

He is going around in circles in his head, and his feet have just turned into the gravelled path up the road to number seven. A white wooden square box of a house. The style that might have seemed cool in the 1970s, but now just looks dull. There is some kind of veranda, and a patch of unkempt garden. An abandoned houseplant long dead carelessly thrown to the side by the steps up to the front door, and a childish sign nailed to the wooden mailbox. Tom and Max.

And Lukas wants to cry again. Because he doesn’t belong here. He never has. And he doesn’t understand how he ever thought he would.

It’s times like these that Lukas wishes he smoked. Just to have something to do with his hands instead of sitting here on the doorstep to a house he shouldn’t have gone anywhere near. Chewing on the hardened skin on the side of his thumb. Looking at his worn trainers. Wondering how things have come to this. Where he has completely lost his mind.

Tom Andersson Björklund is an unreliable human being with a reckless temper and a son who is an emotional wreck. Lukas Myrtengren is a stable, reasonable human being with a good job, his own flat, and he could easily go out and find a willing boyfriend. He doesn’t look that bad. He could turn on the charm if he wanted to. He just doesn’t want to.

Because to be honest, he is tired. He is so damn tired of searching. Looking. Finding and then being disappointed in both others and himself.

He’s still disappointed in himself.

And he doesn’t even know if Tom is home, or working, or doing something completely different.

He doesn’t know what he is doing here.

He shouldn’t be here.

This is just stupid. Wrong and stupid.

So, he stands up. Wipes the dirt off the back of his trousers.

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