Redemption's A Bitch - 8. Can't Want To Just Be Friends

Kieran lay on the sofa in the chapel, flicking up and down the contact list on his phone. Each time his thumb only let him scroll from M through to T, and the reel of tiny icons was almost soothing in the smoothness of its motion. Of course, he had been putting off calling Robin for well over an hour. He couldn’t bear to be ignored again, and yet he dreaded Robin picking up the phone angry and hanging up on him. Kieran had no idea what he would say to the young man, even if he could say anything at all. It was a relief though to sprawl in his own house without being interrupted by bridesmaids, tailors, wedding planners, caterers, or anyone else who had anything to do with the Great Big White Wedding. The icon for the damn event sat blinking at him from his schedule, drawing closer every day.

“Hi Kieran!”

Kieran bit the inside of his mouth to avoid swearing, his brain had voiced his thought too soon.

“Hi Becca.” Kieran shut off his phone and dropped it onto his chest. “I thought you were back at the flat.”

“I was, but I forgot some things here. We’re going over the table decorations tomorrow with the florist and I wanted to make sure I had all the pictures to show her.”

“Er…” Kieran sat up, frowning. “I’m fairly certain the florist has been already. Shas paid her.”

“He didn’t!” Rebecca sounded mortified, “he keeps on doing that. Just as long as Daddy doesn’t find out,” she smiled. “I just want to check on the exact arrangement for the flowers, I found some new ideas that I want to incorporate.”

“Seriously? Fuck’s sake Becca, they’re flowers. There’s only so many ways you can combine and arrange two dozen pink roses.”

“There is the gardenia as well,” Becca patronised, “it’s not as easy as you think it is. Everything in the wedding needs to be considered. It’s important.”

Kieran rocked up from the sofa.

“It might be important to you, but it certainly isn’t important to Shas. The only important things are you and him and the fact that you love each other. Everything else is just… fluff. What do you want exactly? A marriage? Or a wedding?”

Rebecca sneered at him.

“Because the city’s biggest playboy is such an expert on love and commitment. Stick to what you’re good at Kieran.”

Kieran bit back his reply, and brushed past her. He almost walked smack bang into Shastan coming the other way.

“Hey-” Shastan began.

“Hope you have an iron clad pre-nup, Cus,” Kieran growled before he vanished.

It took him all of two minutes on auto-pilot to shrug into his sheepskin collared leather jacket, find gloves and pull on boots, pick a helmet and a motorbike. He pulled out of the driveway on the Honda before he’d even decided to actually go for a drive. He didn’t want to drive into town, though his steering had automatically taken him that way, and so Kieran kept the Honda’s engine at a low rumble and slipped down backstreets and around silly sideways diversions in order to exit the city. On the dual carriageway, he opened up the throttle, and let loose the reins on all hundred and seventy eight horses. The weather was good, there was hardly anyone out on the roads, and it was safe but intoxicating to whip along the tarmac like a streak of fire. He let the engine scream through the tunnel, then dimmed the speed as he entered town. Without realising it, he was back within a three mile vicinity of Robin’s house.

Kieran wanted, desperately wanted, to go and see him. The force pulling him in the direction of the house was like a harpoon set between his ribs and hauled on by a dozen burly sailors. But Kieran knew, with a clarity which left an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth, that to show up on Robin’s doorstep, again uninvited, would push him so far down the little Sparrow’s estimation that he would never be able to crawl out of that gutter in an hundred years. So he deliberately went the other way, wove through the twisty streets, gunning the engine down fifty yard straight sections and resisting the temptation to treat the entire town like a race track. Because of the overly complex one-way system, he ended up doing the same stretch of road three times before he found himself on the main street through town.

There was a pub, with black and gold signage and a little old fashioned gas-style lamp over the doorway, and Kieran couldn’t think of a reason not to stop in a place where nobody knew him. He parked up the bike, chained it to the nearest lamppost, enabled the alarm and put his helmet under his arm as he ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t braided it, and Kieran knew he would pay later in hours of brushing out tangles. The Rights of Man was a proper traditional drinking spot. Kieran ordered a coke, smiled at the girl behind the bar when he had to pay with actual money, and took a seat in a dark wooden bench-booth which from the looks of the bare stone wall and the size, had once been a horse stall. Kieran knew, because local history was something he had spent one summer immersed in when he was seventeen for want of a better hobby that all the buildings around here had originally been built to serve the now-ruined castle of the hill. That the pub had once housed a large number of horses, grooms, hay, and possibly knights in armour, made logical sense, and it was nice to think that where Kieran was sitting now feeling slightly sorry for himself, someone had once stood and chatted amiably to a horse. Kieran stroked the smooth worn surface of the table, and wondered if the groom had confided in the steed about someone he desired and lusted after. On the other hand, it would be a cold day in hell before Kieran Tristan Toyne was caught talking to a table.

“Aww, c’mon Rob, you can front me a twenty,” the boy speaking walked in backwards through the door, ahead of his friends, “even one drink?”

“Fine, one. Get a proper job Sam.”

Kieran blinked, looking up from his drink as his body went ridged. He would know that voice anywhere. It made logistical sense that Robin might be here, it was his hometown after all, but Kieran could have kicked himself. He knew the exact moment when Robin saw him, because the laughter and joking around with his gang of friends ceased.

“Rob?”

“Go ahead. I just gotta speak to somebody.”

Kieran half watched him walk towards the booth. Robin was wearing straight leg jeans and brightly coloured tennis shoes and a navy t-shirt with a stylishly faded graphic of a motorbike racer on the front. The sight of him made Kieran’s stomach lurch in a manner that he wasn’t sure he enjoyed.

“What are you doing here?” Robin knuckled the table, “are you following me?”

“No,” Kieran folded his arms across the surface, “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Kieran blinked, very slowly, “I’ll go.”

“No!” Kieran glanced up at Robin’s panicked tone. “I mean, don’t. Its fine,” he paused for a long moment, “are you OK?”

Kieran considered the question. Ordinarily, he would be trying to impress Robin, impress anyone. He would sit upright, or lounge confidently, he would project a demeanour: cocky or sincere, strong, sultry or intelligent. He would be doing something to control the situation. And no one who ever asked really wanted a proper answer, not in some bar or club or hangout. All anyone wanted was platitudes.

“Yeah, sure…” Kieran glanced at him ruefully, “I’m fine.” They were both distracted by a noise and a half call from the table in the back that Robin’s friend’s had settled at. “You’re friends are missing you.”

“They’ll live,” Robin smiled, and made to sit down, “can I buy you a drink?” He gestured to Kieran’s near empty glass.

“Um… sure,” Kieran shrugged, “why not? I’m on the bike,” he muttered as Robin walked away. He returned with his own bottle of cider, the flavour and brand one of Kieran’s favourites, and a pint glass filled with ice, fruit slices and orange liquid. “What is that?”

“House specialty, Orange juice, lime cordial, a dash of cranberry and lemonade, totally non-alcoholic, I swear,” he smirked, “we couldn’t have you ruining that beautiful machine you’ve got out there, could we now?”

Kieran sipped his drink, and then clinked his glass with Robin’s bottle.

“Cheers. So your friends call you ‘Rob’?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a hangover from school. I didn’t like my name when I was little, people used to make jokes about it. You know red breast and home for the winter kind of things. I like it now though,” he glanced over at his friends, “most people are back to calling me Robin, except them, and you.”

“Sorry.”

Robin shrugged, head titled like one of the dogs when they were asked a question. He almost began to say something, his lips forming the beginning of a word that Kieran couldn’t make out.

“So, c’mon, how come you’re here?” Robin swigged his drink. “And why did you come to a town with ten pubs per square mile without the ability to drink? Big mistake! Cheers.”

“Your sister invaded my house again.” Kieran took a long draught of his drink, and was quietly impressed by the light and refreshing fruitiness. He could well imagine that, with a headache from the night before, it would be the perfect pick-me-up. “I swear the planning for this wedding has taken longer than the entire rebuild of our house.”

“When did you remodel?” Robin smiled when he asked the question, and Kieran was shocked to see the expression directed at him.

“The year I moved in. I was fifteen. Took six months to get the whole house finished.” Robin was still smiling at him, seemingly interested in what he had to say. “The garage is all new, not that you’d know it, Shas had work done on the pro kitchen, and I had the whole top floor remodelled.”

“You know, I’ve only been in your house that one time. Rebecca kinda boasts about it though, but she never mentioned the garage.”

“She’s never been in. I don’t have visitors in my part of the house. I don’t think anyone apart from Shas and the dogs have been upstairs in years.”

“You mean,” Robin looked perplexed, “you don’t take your dates there?”

“Hell no! I tell them the builders are in. I’m smart enough not to just let complete strangers into my home.”

“You let me in,” Robin pointed out.

“Yeah, um…” Kieran blushed, and stared into his drink. There was a wedge of lime taunting him, so he fished it out and ate it for good measure.

“Hey, Kieran?” Robin leant across the table conspiratorially, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.” Kieran’s stomach did a weird little flip, and his throat tightened like a fist. Robin was going to confide something in him, and Kieran knew that as far as his luck with the boy went, it would probably be some confession of unrequited love for one of his old school friends. They were all sitting around a big table, a half dozen or so, carrying on without him.

“I fucking hate this wedding too.”

Kieran blinked.

“Huh?”

“Seriously, I’m only glad that at least she’s my sister, so I don’t have to be the best man. Even so, Rebecca is trying her damnedest to get me into the wedding party. Has your cousin mentioned anything about ushers to you?”

“No…?” Kieran was suddenly worried. He was the best man, and while he always recognised that he was not doing a great job at it, he had at least hoped that he was staying on top of the staffing arrangements for the big day.

“Thank fuck for that. Shastan must have talked her out of it.” Robin drank like a man dying of thirst and over-exposure to chiffon and table place settings. “I heard mum lamenting that if only I was a bit younger I could be a page boy. I’m sick of this wedding.”

“Two more weeks, and it’ll all be over.” Kieran smiled at him.

“Yup, and then all of mum’s attention will be on me to find someone decent and settle down. Unless Rebecca announces that she’s pregnant. Jesus,” he necked the bottle, “please tell me your cousin wants kids? Mum has to have grandchildren soon or she’ll spontaneously combust; and lord knows I ain’t providing them for her.”

Kieran laughed.

“I swear, the upside of having parents who support you when you come out,” Robin had finished his cider by now and was peeling off the label delicately, “Is that they expect all the same things of you. Mum wants me to graduate, find a decent job, and meet a nice guy and get married. Buy a house and a dog and live a quiet suburban life. Just like my sister.”

“Your sister would never get a dog.”

“Point,” Robin agreed.

“So, you don’t want those things?” Kieran sipped the very last of his drink with a smile. “Sounds kind of nice to me.”

“Of course I want those things.” Robin relaxed back into the booth, his posture speaking very much of a man who wasn’t going back to hang out with his friends anytime soon. “It’s just no fun to be told that you have to have them. Don’t you ever get that?”

“No one tells me what I should do.” Kieran shrugged. “Not because I don’t listen. There’s just no one out there who cares what I do in the long run. It’s not like I’m going to change the world or anything.” Kieran stroked the leather of his riding gloves where they lay over his helmet. Once upon a time, people had cared. Hayley and Brian had cared, and he was going to change the face of modern racing. But it was not to be. “So tell me, what is it that you want to do?”

“I want to be an architect,” Robin sighed wistfully, “I want to design spaces that people never want to leave. Modern houses can be so boring, all square edges and cream interiors: I want everything to look soft and sinuous, like the building is growing along with the world outside. I love the idea of living in a circular room. I mean, why don’t we?” Robin smiled as he spoke, and his hand gestures became rounded and soft. “When I was a kid I wanted to live in a pumpkin. It just seems like such a good idea to have a house that’s with the landscape rather than imposed on it.”

“You must know the work of Roger Dean then.” Kieran smiled. “Sixties prog rock album artist-” Robin cut him off.

“Who first drew the floating islands? Of course, I studied him last year. I didn’t know he was an architect too.”

“Mostly theoretical. There was supposed to be a hotel in Spain, but it never got financial backing. You should talk to him about his work, he’s a lovely guy.”

“You know him?”

“Well sure. ” Kieran felt warmth spreading through his stomach. He finally had something that Robin wanted. “He lives in town. He’s a resident here.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

Robin folded his arms on the table and leant across, smiling sweetly.

“So how do you know him?”

“I bought a very large painting from him a few years back, we got chatting and became acquaintances. He did some sketches for me in his artist portfolio books. You’re welcome to come investigate at the house, if you want to.”

“Of course I want to. That’s so cool.” Robin bit his lip and grinned. He was like an excited child before Christmas. “You have any more famous friends to drop casually into conversation then?”

“Not as many as you’d like to think.” Kieran smiled softly. “If you know too many famous people, then you risk becoming famous yourself.”

“You don’t want to be famous?” Robin sounded surprised, “everyone wants to be famous, don’t they?”

“No,” Kieran shrugged. “C’mon Sparrow, what would I be famous for? Being rich? That’s not enough.”

“You never wanted to go pro with your bikes? I know at least one of those things has track credentials.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I went to design school.” Robin raised both eyebrows. “That blue bike had a bunch of other logos on. It is a racing model right?”

“The Honda has old sponsorship badges too,” Kieran conceded, “good spot. Most people are too busy being enchanted by the Kawasaki.” He sucked air through his teeth, “I gave up racing. You want another drink?”

“No, I’m gonna head home. I have a lecture in the morning.”

“Sorry to have kept you from your friends.”

“It’s alright. I had fun.” Robin smiled at him, and Kieran felt his stomach do something funny and warm. “See you at the wedding?”

“You’re gonna make me wait that long?” Kieran grinned.

Robin stood, half turned, and sighed.

“You were so close.”

“Huh?” Kieran glanced up at him, “what’d I do?”

“You had to go and be a smarmy bastard again. Is it a general compulsion or do you only do it around me?”

“Um…” Kieran almost never found himself lost for words: and that did seem to be something which only occurred in Robin’s presence.

“Oh, you’re way too easy!” Robin was grinning, thumbs hooked into his front pockets. “Have fun Kieran, drive safe.”

Kieran watched him go. Robin walked away like a young man without a care in the world, and Kieran could tell, from the back, that he was still grinning. Somehow, Robin on home turf was a lot stronger than Kieran had anticipated.

And he doesn’t hate you. He might not like you, but he doesn’t hate you.

Kieran hushed his inner voice by thinking of how good Robin looked from behind in his fitted jeans.

He wouldn’t want you doing that. You’re going to just be his friend now, aren’t you?

Kieran swallowed audibly, and dashed out of the pub. Part of him shouted in his head, because what he was going to do could ruin everything, but he just couldn’t let Robin walk away like that. Everything he’d discovered about the boy over the last hour had simply made the strange hot sensation in his gut stronger. His picture of who Robin was, as a person rather than a potential date, was infinitely clearer, but that didn’t mean that Kieran didn’t still want to know what those lips felt like again. And preferably, lots of times. While his brain was still pondering the ideas that he might want to sleep with the same person more than once, his mouth caught up with Robin.

“Sparrow!”

Robin turned, frowning.

“Sorry.” Kieran caught him up, resisted the urge to touch him, and panted for two seconds with his hands on his knees, even though he wasn’t out of breath, purely to buy himself some time. He could hardly believe what he was about to say. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah?” Robin’s tone was faintly perplexed.

“I can’t just be your friend,” Kieran took a deep breath, and stalled Robin’s response mid-syllable, “I want to be friends with you, I do. I think you’re a nice guy and you’re interested in architecture and prog rock artists and those sorts of things are generally pretty high up the list of cool hobbies.”

“So the problem is…?”

“It’s not a secret that I fancy you rotten,” Kieran looked him dead-on as he spoke, “so I can’t just be your friend. I am going to want to try and kiss you again. And I’m probably, no definitely, going to think about you naked. I just er…” Your mouth is running away with you kiddo, “…thought I’d let you know.”

“Um… OK? Thanks?” Robin was no longer smiling quite as much as he had been earlier, “night Kieran.”

“Good night Robin.”

“Sparrow.” Kieran turned back to look at him in surprise. “You can call me Sparrow.” Robin turned, and waved him off and he walked. Kieran stared after him.

Somewhere in the middle distance, the barman was calling out to him that he had left his helmet and gloves in the booth, but Kieran barely heard him. Apparently the only time he wasn’t trying to make an impression on the boy was the only time it had worked.

You might win this one after all.