Page 48 of Someone Like You

There was an unmistakable‘0.0’indication on the front, right below the brand name.

“Why did you even buy it?”

Ian licked his lips and a couple of droplets off his beard, head tilting to one side. “For you. Why else would I buy this shite?”

“Son of a bitch.” A touched chuckle threatened to break Phil’s phoney tough facade.

It was just a beer. A stupid can of non-alcoholic beer that would’ve never found its way into Ian’s house if Phil hadn’t entered it first. He felt that throbbing ache in his chest again, the one he’d felt when Ian had held him through the panic attack and which had been growing out of control since.

In this very moment, ignoring everything that existed outside of this room, Phil felthappy. As he sat here, staring at the can of beerlike it was the greatest gift one could aspire to receive, bubbles of bliss were popping under his sternum, a funny tickling sensation he couldn’t seem to get accustomed to. He bit his lip, barely daring to peer up at Ian.

“You know,” he said with a nonchalance that didn’t match the sudden tightness in his chest, “this would be so much easier for me if you quit being so annoyingly wholesome.”

“What would?” asked Ian cluelessly.

“Pretending.”

Phil wanted to take it back the moment the word rolled out of his mouth, but it was too late. He couldn’t have held it in for much longer, anyway.

Ian said nothing, studying him instead, unreadable, the colour of his irises brought out by the bright blue of the hoodie he wore. Phil could smell his shower gel from where he was. He’d carried it on his own skin. It had infused in his clothes, in his hair. Washing it away had been like losing a comfort he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

A sudden thirst convinced him to finally open the can. He took a few swigs, relishing the bitter taste. Perhaps it’d been too long since he’d had a real beer, but he couldn’t find any difference. “Ah, that’s good.” He pointed a warning finger at Ian. “Don’t care what you think. I love it. Gimme ten more.”

For a moment Ian looked like he was about to turn back and actually pull out ten more cans from the fridge. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he had.

“At least I don’t have to worry about you getting drunk.”

“IwishI could get drunk,” said Phil sourly. “I could blame it on the alcohol. I could spew out all the things I’m holding back, get this crushing weight off my chest, and just brush it off as drunken nonsense, conscience clear. I could…” The can cracked in his hand. “I couldkiss youand pretend I don’t remember.”

He was startled by the deafening shriek of Ian’s chair getting shoved back as Ian sprang up to his feet, chest swelling with a sharp inhale — a reaction that was hard to interpret for Phil, who didn’teven know what his own feelings were doing. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat any more. A wet patina was blurring his sight. All he had was the silence and the mounting fear of having just ruined everything for good. At this point, it was go big or go home.

“Do you feel it, too?” he asked, his voice failing him mid sentence. Gazing up at Ian felt like pressing a blade against his own pulse, but he gulped, and said it anyway. “Is it killing you, too?”

Ian’s darkening face hurt, but not nearly as much as him turning away with hands clenched into fists.

“We can’t have this conversation, Phil.”

Phil’s eyebrows knit up. It was like a door had just slammed shut, but with so much violence that it had bounced back, wide open.

He rose to his feet and walked up to the broad wall of Ian’s back. His palms were sweating.

“Ian,” he whispered, a timid supplication. “I know it’s not just me.”

He could see the tension creeping into Ian’s posture, could feel it in how slowly Ian turned around and raised his eyes on him. A bewildering blend of anger and sadness shone in them.

“This can’t happen, Handsome.”

As if Phil needed a reminder.

“I know.”.

“You have a fiancée — a lovely one.”

“Iknow.”

The sadness in Ian’s eyes became unbearable. “Then stop lookin’ at me like that.”

Phil almost wanted to laugh. “I wish I could.” He took a bold step forward. Ian didn’t budge, like an injured animal who didn’t have the strength to run, and surveyed Phil with a grief-stricken expression.

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