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Author: UC
Rating: M
Disclaimer: None of this happened, I made it up with my mind.
The same doctor had come back, to check Paul again, smiled at Tim sleeping by his side, but said nothing. “How are you feeling?”
“Ok. Could I get...maybe a pencil, some paper?”
“You want to...?” the doctor was confused.
“I need to draw...can’t just sit here.”
“Your family is still out there. Do you want to see them?”
Paul shook his head. “Tim needs to rest. They’ll only wake him, he’s such a light sleeper sometimes.”
The doctor smiled. “Of course. I’ll see what I can rustle up for you.” He closed the door again, had a few quiet words with the ensemble outside, explained that they needed a bit more time, and made his way to the psychiatric ward, where he knew they kept art supplies, for therapy.
Paul, left alone with his thoughts and no means to express them, was a dangerous thing and he found himself replaying the words he had muttered to the doctor, only a minute ago. It sounded like he and Tim were...and they weren’t.
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Paul’s mum sighed heavily, leaning against her husband and he automatically wound his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. “It’s alright, love. He’s ok now.” She closed her eyes, to keep tears at bay, thankful he knew what she needed to hear. Richie smiled at them, adoring their relationship, hoping one day he would have the exact same thing, because although he knew they had their ups and downs, their commitment to each other was impenetrable. Nothing overrode their love, their compassion for each other, and it made him ache. His own parents struggled through possible break ups from time to time, questioning their faith in each other and their marriage, and he knew they would, until they either died, or split up.
“Can I get you anything? Gonna get a drink,” he said quietly.
“We might join you...give those two time...Tim looked shell-shocked,” Paul’s mum smiled. And Richie thought it was a knowing smile, although he wondered if she knew what he knew, what he felt sometimes, being around ‘those two’. He listened quietly as his parents discussed the possible implications of such a trauma on their intensely dark and sensitive son.
“He’ll be questioning his whole life now.”
“I know, love, but he’ll get through it.”
“He might...make some changes.”
“Yes love. But they’ll be good ones.”
“What if he...can’t cope with...the decisions he makes?”
“Then we’ll be here...Richie will be here... Tim will...” but he stopped then, as he realised what he was saying.
Richie stared at them.
Paul’s mum turned to him, smiled and realised he had been left completely out of the loop. “Sorry, dear. It’s just that... well, we’ve had...concerns about Paul, for quite some time. You know...with girls.”
Richie felt his eyes widen, and he choked on his mouthful of Coke. “What?”
“Does he ever...see girls?”
“Yeah, course he does,” Richie answered, although he struggled to remember the last one. “You think he’s gay?”
Well, Richie thought, it would explain the ‘thing’ he and Tim had. The connection that was untold, unmentioned. But never unnoticed.
He sighed.
“Well, not entirely gay, but...maybe he likes boys as well as girls?” Paul’s dad suggested quietly. After all, they were in the hospital cafeteria, with strangers milling about, and they were a private family. Nobody needed to hear the details of their personal life.
“Oh, god...that’s why they...why they’re like that,” Richie breathed. “Do you think they know? Cos they don’t act like it...I mean, nothing’s happened. Nothing that I know of, and I would know...I live with them, surely I’d hear if they...” and then he trailed off, blushing madly at the idea of discussing this with Paul’s parents, but neither of them showed any reaction, instead his mum nodded.
“Well... maybe we should be prepared for...it.” she smiled at the thought of Paul being happy, although in her conscious mind, she wasn’t aware of how automatic her expectation was, of him being happy with Tim. She just knew, saw a twinkle in his eyes when Tim was around, and a smile that rarely came to visit.
-------------------
Paul heard a gentle knock on the door, and folded his paper over, not ready to share his unfinished work yet, as usual. “Yeah?” he tried to be quiet, not to disturb Tim, who was still sleeping, sitting in his chair, with his head resting on the side of the bed, so close, and Paul had done little else besides draw, and glance down at him, smiling each time. It was happening. He thought it would. And if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t pinpoint when it had begun, so he suspected it had been a while ago.
The door opened and Tim shifted a little, sensing the change in air flow or something, so Paul put his hand out instinctively and rested it on that shoulder again, without thinking, without considering how it looked to Richie.
“Umm...everything ok?” Richie whispered.
Paul nodded, looked down at Tim and then gave Richie a look. A look of confusion and imminent confession. “He just needs to sleep, he’s so tired. I’ve put him through hell. You too”
“Wasn’t your fault, mate.”
“I know, but...I feel bad. I want him to rest. Have you slept?”
“I’m fine... we’re all gonna go now... I’ll take them home and we’ll all be back later.”
“Ok. I might send Tim home when he wakes up.”
“I think he’ll want to stay, Paul.” Richie smiled warmly and closed the door.
The gentle click made Tim stir and he lifted his head, rubbing at stinging eyes, and looked up blearily at Paul. “Who was that?”
“Rich. They’re all going home...you can go if you like,” Paul offered meekly, hoping Tim would say he wanted to stay.
“No. I’m ok.” He stretched his long arms up, over his head, and Paul couldn’t help the squirm in his stomach at the sight of that body, lean and firm, the t shirt lifting to reveal Tim’s belly, with that line of hair that snaked down, into his jeans. He couldn’t take his eyes off it, actually, and Tim noticed, as he lowered his arms, had watched Paul subconsciously lick his lips, and his own belly flipped in response.
“Umm...you want anything?” It did not come out right, had sounded suggestive, with the sleepy croak in Tim’s voice, and he looked down, hiding the rhubarb that filled his cheeks. “I mean... a drink or...something to eat?”
Paul nodded his head. “Oh, actually...maybe a cuppa?”
Tim smiled. Of course Paul would want tea. He stood, needing to get out of the room, get some fresh air, maybe he would step outside for a minute or two, clear his mind of these insane thoughts he was having right now. “Gonna get some air, then I’ll grab your tea, ok?”
“Sure, take your time.” Paul shuffled the paper on his lap, keen to get back to it, and it was then that Tim noticed it.
“What you working on?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing... just scribbling. Got bored, waiting for sleeping beauty to wake up. Thought a kiss’d be a little too forward.”
Tim forced a laugh from his rapidly closing throat.
He closed the door hurriedly and almost ran to the exit, narrowly missing an incoming wheelchair, carrying a lady in labour. “Sorry,” he grunted and stopped himself quickly, pressing the entire length of the back of himself against the cool brick wall, his hands feeling the bumps and lumps of the gravelly texture, catching his breath and swallowing thickly.
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