Chapter Text
Chapter 1
“HANN!”
Sound of running water followed by what appeared to be… a sob? I pressed my ear against the door. Inside the bathroom, Hann let out a snot-clogged cough. Yep, he’s definitely crying. Unfortunately for Hann, I didn’t have time for his latest emotional breakdown right now.
“HANN!” I knocked on the door again, more aggressively this time. I was getting desperate.
No answer.
“Oh fuck this,” I muttered and tried the handle, swallowing a frustrated scream when I realised it was locked.
“HANN! FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” I slapped at the door, but Hann continued to ignore me. He blew his nose loudly - his way of telling me to fuck off.
I felt bad about Hann’s current condition, I truly did, but the crying was par for the course at this stage and I physically couldn’t wait any longer. I was so desperate for a piss that I felt like I was about to explode. I made a high-pitched noise as the urgency peaked horribly inside me and then I ran down the stairs and tried the downstairs bathroom one more time.
“Still occupied,” George’s voice rumbled through the plywood.
I collapsed against the door dramatically and let out a pathetic mewl:
“I have to piss so badly!”
I heard George sigh inside the downstairs bathroom. He was quite for a few seconds, as if he was weighing up his options, and then he responded:
“I love you, but there are certain… bodily functions that need to remain private between us.”
George and I shared every other aspect of our lives, but it was so utterly George to draw the line when it came to sharing a bathroom.
“You could easily let me in so I can piss between your legs while you’re sat there,” I responded.
“Absolutely not,” came George’s panicked reply.
I tried the door handle again hoping it had magically unlocked itself. It hadn’t.
“I’m going to die from an exploded bladder if you don’t fucking hurry up,” I snapped, kicking the door this time for emphasis.
Could you die from an exploded bladder? It sure felt like it was something you could die from.
George sighed again:
“Would you just go in the garden or something if you’re that desperate?”
I gasped at that: ME? Go in the garden??? Who did he think I was?
“George, I’m not a fucking pleb. It’s not the 16 th century. We have bathrooms for a reason. I’m not going to get my cock out in our garden.”
“Not get your cock out in the garden?” George let out an exasperated laugh. “I have literally borne witness to your bare cock in our garden approximately five hundred times since the pandemic started!”
I smirked at that as I remembered last summer. At the height of the Covid-19 pandemic George had insisted on buying one of those wanky garden gazebo things from IKEA. Initially intended to be a “nice place where we can chill outside and smoke spliff” as George intended, I had turned it into my own personal outdoor wank station and, occasionally, sex den when George could be tempted to fuck outdoors. I had enjoyed so many orgasms (solo and partnered) under that gazebo and, George was right, I had gotten my cock out approximately five hundred times. Fun memories.
My happy memories were immediately marred by a sharp, stabbing pain in my bladder. I yelped.
“George please! Hann is crying in the upstairs bathroom and won’t get the fuck out. I just have to go. I’m bloody desperate!” I was hopping from one foot to the other now.
“Sorry love, but things are now in motion that cannot be undone,” came George’s reply.
I rolled my eyes at the Lord of the Rings reference. Hann had been living here for too long. I swear, if I had to watch him cry over Fellowship of the Ring one more time I would lose whatever shit I still had left. It had been… a trying few weeks.
“You’re fucking useless and I hate you!” I kicked the bathroom door again in frustration as my urge to pee overpowered me.
I wasn’t going to piss in the garden like an animal though. I was, for all intents and purposes, a lady and because I was a lady I was going to preserve my dignity by pissing in the kitchen sink instead.
I ran into the kitchen and quickly removed the dirty dishes from the sink, stood on my tip-toes, unzipped and let out a long, deep sigh of relief as I finally eased the pressure in my bladder. It felt fucking orgasmic.
“Oh my GOD this feels amaaaazing ,” I practically moaned.
In the hall behind me, the toilet in the downstairs bathroom finally flushed, the tap ran and then the creaky old door opened.
“Babe, the bathroom is free if you wa – are you seriously pissing in the fucking SINK?” George paused in the doorway. “Matthew, what the fuck? That’s so unhygienic! Would you please stop?!”
I glanced over my shoulder:
“Sorry love, but things are now in motion that cannot be undone.”
George shot me a disgusted look as he came in and folded himself into one of the rickety old chairs at the kitchen table:
“We seriously need to speak about this current living situation. You’re pissing in the sink, Hann is unstable and if I have to sit through Fellowship of the Ring one more time I am going to have some kind of breakdown – it’s just not working anymore.”
“But what are we supposed to do? He needs us,” I said, finally finishing my epic piss and zipping up my pants.
I washed my hands and grabbed a bottle of disinfectant spray from the counter. George watched me as I pumped a few sprays into the sink.
“See? Good as new. You can’t even tell that I pissed in it,” I grinned, pleased with my domesticity. It was a relatively new trait that I had picked up in the last two years when George had been away for work and it suddenly dawned on me that if George wasn’t here, the dirty dishes I kept putting in the sink just stayed dirty and didn’t miraculously cleanse themselves. Rude.
I turned back around, my grin falling when I saw that George wasn’t as happy about my display of amazing housewifery. Sensing a Serious Relationship Conversation™ was incoming, I put the kettle on.
“Brew?” I asked and he nodded.
I made two cups of tea (purposely picking George’s favourite mug in the hopes that it would make him lighten up a bit) and then sat down across from him in my usual seat. I slid his tea down to him and watched as he took a small sip. He crossed his legs and sat back in his chair. Ugh, Serious Relationship Conversation time. Bad vibes.
“I know you love Hann,” George began and I resisted the urge to just peace out and go upstairs and lock myself in my old coffin room. I hated Serious Relationship Conversations. They always ended with George and I both having to do shit that we didn’t want to do. Like agree to go to someone’s wedding or mind his sister’s kids or visit my parents.
“I love Hann too,” George continued, “You know this. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, we’re babying him a bit too much?”
George paused and waited for my reaction.
I frowned.
Okay, so maybe I had been pandering to Hann ever-so-slightly in recent weeks, but that was just because he needed me right now. And I sort of owed him to be honest. Hann had been there for me so much over the years. Hell, Hann was the reason why I ended up living back in 36C and meeting George. I sort of felt that it was my moral duty to take care of (and, alright, slightly baby) Hann right now in his moment of need. Even if he hogged the bathroom and didn’t pay rent or clean or buy food and made us watch Lord of the Rings on repeat and hold his hand as he howled every time Frodo appeared on screen (he was working through some… stuff).
“I know it’s hard, but it’s just been a little while,” I said.
“It’s been two months,” George responded.
Had it really been two full months already? I blinked. I thought about the night that Hann had arrived on our doorstep, his eyes all red from crying and his belongings in a black bin bag. He had been a sorry sight.
Things with Sexy Frodo had imploded during lockdown, a combination (Hann said) of being forced to spend every single waking moment together and the sobering realisation that they both wanted different things for the future. Hann wanted a house in the countryside and two baby Hobbits running around the place. Sexy Frodo wanted a sleek apartment in the city, to climb the corporate ladder at Mordor and eventually become the Sauron of Digital Marketing, minus the annoying baby Hobbits that would, she said, only slow her Nazgûl down.
My frown deepened. I was even THINKING in Lord of the Rings references now. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Look, all I’m saying is that maybe we should give Hann a little push,” said George.
I watched him take another sip of his tea – his large hands making the mug look weirdly tiny and delicate. George had been living here for ages now but he still looked out of place. He didn’t just inhabit 36C, he filled it but awkwardly, like a giant trying to hide in a wardrobe.
I sighed through my nose as I tried to think of a way to accurately convey the inner-workings of Hann to George.
“What you need to understand G is that Hann is sensible. That’s his thing. He’s been a grown-up ever since I first met him,” I said.
“Didn’t you meet him when you were like ten?” George asked.
“Yes, but in Hann years being ten is like being fifty and having a mortgage and six kids. He’s that kind of person. Responsible. Organised. He’s had a solid life plan for decades and right now? Right now that plan has exploded. So what you’re witnessing currently is a Hann without a plan and a Hann without a plan is a terrified Hann. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He’s crying over Hobbits for fuck’s sake. Hobbits George,” I waved my hands around madly.
“He’s freaking out and he just needs to get this,” I gestured towards the door of the kitchen, in the direction of Hann’s old bedroom, “whatever this is out of his system and then he’ll calm down and get a new plan. He will pull himself together.”
I immediately stopped talking as I heard movement in the hall and Hann shuffled glumly into the kitchen a few seconds later.
George let out a low cough that sounded like “debateable” in reference to my last sentence as Hann silently grabbed my box of Coco Pops off the kitchen counter and made his way to the table.
“Morning Hann,” I said cheerfully as he sat down beside me and opened the cereal.
He looked like shit. Like utter shit. He was wearing a disgusting pair of ratty old boxers, his hair was damp and his eyes were swollen and red. He had that vacant, empty look on his face that had been a worrying constant ever since he had arrived back in 36C all those weeks ago.
“Do… Do you, uh, want some milk for that mate?” I asked tentatively as Hann shoved his hand into the box and started eating dry cereal.
He just shook his head.
I glanced at George as he cleared his throat and sensing what was about to happen, I gave him a silent message: Don’t.
But George was on a mission:
“Hann, mate,” he began, quickly anticipating the fact that I was going to kick him under the table. He gave me a small smirk as he moved his lanky leg out of my reach just in time. “We love having you here, but I’m wondering if maybe it might be time for you to… start looking for a new job?”
I gave George a death glare.
As well as going through a crappy break-up, Hann had also recently gotten the sack from his job at the pharmacy. Old Mr Grayson’s son, the one who initially fucked off to become a travel influencer two years ago leaving Hann in charge of the family business, had returned to the UK earlier this year as things were starting to reopen. And he had returned flat broke. So broke, in fact, that he had sold the pharmacy and it was currently being turned into a Starbucks. Hann was heartbroken and financially broken. It was not a good time to be Adam Hann.
“What do you think mate?” George pressed when Hann didn’t respond with joy at the prospect of getting a new job (I didn’t blame him to be honest).
Hann sighed and gave me a look that said: “Is your stupidly handsome boyfriend seriously giving me this shit right now?” And desperate not to get drawn into a stupidly handsome boyfriend versus depressed best friend scenario, I just shrugged helplessly.
“I’m just saying, maybe it’s time that you saw this as an opportunity. You know, you can’t see it right now but sometimes things fall apart so better things can fall together,” George gave Hann one of this best ‘I am handsome, trust me’ smiles (he used them on me all the time and they always fucking worked). But Hann remained stoic and immune to George’s charms.
He finished chewing the mouthful of Coco Pops he was munching on and then he turned to George.
“No offence G, but I liked you better when you were a weird loner who didn’t talk to us,” Hann said, his voice flat.
George rolled his eyes as Hann sat back in his chair, throwing another mouthful of Coco Pops into his gob.
“I’m just trying to be positive,” George muttered. He grabbed his mug of tea and went over to the sink, fussing with the dirty dishes.
“Any plans for today then?” I asked Hann, desperately trying to lift the mood and change the subject.
“Lay on the sofa and contemplate how shit everything is?” Hann deadpanned.
I reached out a hand and gave his shoulder a squeeze:
“It’s shit right now, but it will get better mate. I promise. I mean how many times have you said the same to me over the years in this very kitchen?”
And there it was: his mouth flickered into a small smile for half a second.
I squeezed his shoulder tighter:
“You’re Adam fucking Hann – you’ll be okay.”
“Thanks mate,” he said quietly.
George made a point of loudly clinking two glasses together, making Hann and I look in his direction. He was hunched over the kitchen sink, clearly stress cleaning.
“Duty calls,” I said.
I got to my feet and headed over to George, pausing at the flower pot that was sitting on the counter by the back door. I poured out a little of my tea onto the soil by the tiny cross that George had made out of lollipop sticks.
“You’re going to kill that plant if you keep pouring shit on it,” George mumbled.
“George it’s tradition – you have to pour one out for the fallen homies,” I said.
“Pete was a spider mate,” George said.
“Yeah but he was my trusted friend and confidant when you were being a dickhead,” I said.
George shook his head, but smiled all the same. Pete had, tragically, met his end when George and I had been hotboxing our bedroom one night. One of the many conversations that George and I had when we first started hanging out was if a spider could get high. Turns out the answer is yes, but it would die pretty soon after that. Naturally I had been inconsolable for about a week after Pete’s untimely passing and had insisted on holding a funeral, where I got absolutely trashed on red wine in the middle of the day, which was horribly awkward for all the people I had invited - even more so than the awkwardness that ensued when they found out the funeral was for a spider and not, y’know, an actual person. Waughy had not been impressed with me. Mostly because I had puked some crimson-coloured vomit directly onto his shoes when he was offering me his condolences.
“I love you. And I love Hann. Can’t we just give him a few more weeks to get his shit together?” I said quietly now, pulling myself up onto the counter so I was eye-level with George. “I will talk to him about everything, I promise.”
George considered this for a moment and then sighed and threw his eyes up towards the ceiling:
“Fine. But I’m not watching Fellowship of the Ring again,” he said.
I grabbed the front of his t-shirt and pulled him into a kiss.
“You are the best.”
“I know.”
“You’re both fucking disgusting,” said Hann, behind us.
I picked up a soggy dishcloth and lobbed it in his direction. It landed on the table in front of him and he picked it up with a grimace:
“Fuck’s sake Matty, it’s all wet!”
He was about to retaliate when I said:
“There’s a good chance that’s covered in piss by the way – I had to go in the sink because someone was hogging the upstairs bathroom.”
Hann immediately dropped the dishcloth while George and I laughed. I stopped laughing and frowned when I heard a noise in the hall:
“Did you just hear the front door - ”
Before I could finish my sentence, there was the sound of glass breaking. George stopped laughing.
“Did someone just come in?” Hann asked.
“ FUCK! ”
I recognised the voice immediately. I slipped off the counter and went into the hall to investigate.
Ross was halfway through the front door, a huge box in his arms. A broken lava lamp was leaking questionable chemicals all over the front step.
He glanced up as he heard me approach:
“Are you just going to stand there like a twat or are you going to help me?”
I frowned, not really understanding what was happening.
Ross sighed frustratedly:
“For fuck’s sake Matty – I need my old room back.”
******
“So what’s your deal then?” I asked, opening the door to our spare room/sex dungeon/Ross’s old bedroom as he struggled with his belongings.
He walked into the room, his eyes darting around and then finally landing on the sex swing that was hanging in the corner.
“What in the actual fuck is that?” He grimaced, nodding his head towards the swing. He dropped all his stuff onto the bed and in the gesture of someone truly defeated, he sank down onto the mattress beside it and let out a long sigh.
“What? I told you we were going to turn this into a sex dungeon. That’s literally one of the last things I said to you the day you moved out,” I shrugged.
“Ugh, have you two just been fucking like rabbits in here?” Ross wrinkled his nose in disgust. Then his face scrunched up in abject anguish: “Have you fucked in my bed?!”
“Have I fucked in your bed?” I scoffed. “No love. Not in it. Just on it. And beside it,” – I waved my hand around in a circle – “And in the general vicinity of it. But never IN it. That’s just bad manners.”
I smirked while Ross grimaced again, but he said nothing which was sus in and of itself.
“What? No scathing remark about my sexual prowess? No insult?” I frowned. The very fact that Ross hadn’t immediately said something offensive worried me.
“Your cock is tiny. Surprised anyone wants to fuck you to be honest,” he said.
I shook my head.
“I expected better from you on this, the day of our glorious reunion in 36C.” I spread my arms wide open.
“Glorious reunion? I saw you last week,” Ross deadpanned. “I was here for dinner. George made that pasta thing. It was delicious.”
Another perk of living with George was the fact that as well as doing the dishes and stress cleaning, he was also an amazing cook and one of those weird people who found cooking relaxing . Absurd.
“So are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
I wandered over and sat in the sex swing, smiling to myself as I remembered the time George had slipped and sprained his wrist.
To be honest, the sex swing was one of those fantasies that was epic in theory but not so much in practice. Both of us had been injured by this thing. I had gotten a concussion last summer when George, in a fit of excitement, had thrust a little too hard and I had swung backwards, hit the wall and couldn’t remember what day it was. It had been an interesting experience trying to explain THAT to a doctor in the emergency department.
Ross sighed glumly.
“Okay, that’s fair… am I allowed to ask about Waughy?” I tried a different tactic.
“No,” Ross grunted.
“What about your new book?”
“Also no.”
Ross’s first book had come out towards the end of last year (after several Covid-19 related delays). It had done pretty well too. He even got reviewed in the culture section of The Times . Although I still maintain that the critic was drunk when they wrote their review because they said that Ross had – and I quote – “an eloquence that doesn’t fit with his youthful age.” I had never heard Ross say anything remotely eloquent in my life. I had heard him use the word “cunt” 2.5 billion times in the space of a single breath but eloquent? Really?
Anyway, because his book had done so well he had been signed up for another and was currently deep in the writing process.
I twisted the sex swing in a circle a few times and then lifted my feet off the ground so it spun me around. Ross didn’t want to talk. Which was cool. But I was curious. I decided to just come out with it:
“So I can’t ask about what happened or Waughy or the book… can I ask why the fuck you’re here then?”
“Need a place to stay, don’t I?” Ross snapped.
“And that’s totally fine but you have cash now. Actual, proper cash. Why haven’t you just checked into a fancy hotel or a swish Airbnb? I hate to ruin your day, but if you got a black light out in here you’d be traumatised. There’s literally cum stains all over this room mate. And that damp problem over the window? It’s still here.”
Ross’s look of general disgust at his present circumstances took on a more passionate expression at my mention of cum. He scratched at his beard and said quietly:
“I didn’t want to go anywhere else because I knew Hann was here and I just…”
“Yes?” I stopped my spinning.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Ross rubbed at his left eye.
“Out with it…”
“I just wanted my mates, alright? Jesus. ”
I jumped out of the sex swing, stumbling slightly (I was a bit dizzy). A huge grin took over my face. Ross looked at me, slightly panicked, and pointed at my face:
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, I think I do dare!”
“ MATTY! ” Ross yelped as I bounded across the room and flung myself on top of him.
“Get OFF me Matty!” he struggled against me, but I still managed to place a big, wet kiss on his cheek.
“You missed us!” I sang.
“Fuck OFF! ”
We wrestled for a few minutes and then Ross succeeded in throwing me off him. We lay side by side on our backs, staring at the ceiling.
“You’re such a fucking twat. I hate you,” said Ross.
“I hate you too, you ball bag.”
“Well, can I stay then?” Ross glanced at me.
“Of course.”
He leaned over then, gave me a tiny kiss on my forehead and mumbled a quiet: “Thanks.”
He lay back down and squinted at the ceiling.
“What the fuck is that?”
I followed his finger as it pointed upwards and my eyes landed on the weird, grey splodge directly over the bed.
“That? Oh, George came on the ceiling one night – we had a sex dungeon malfunction. It left a weird stain.”
Ross sighed unhappily.
******
“Ugh, it hasn’t changed at all in here,” Ross grumbled as his eyes swept around the pub.
We were sitting at what was once our usual table in our old local. I hadn’t been in here much since the boys moved out – it wasn’t really George’s scene. He liked nightclubs where the music was so loud it rattled my brain around inside my skull. I glanced around our table. The pub did look exactly the same, albeit slightly more tired and grimy then I remembered, but it was oddly comforting that it hadn’t changed really. I had enjoyed some pretty good nights in this pub over the years. I had fucked so many people in the toilets back when I had been single and mingling it up. Like so many.
“I think it’s alright. It’s quaint, innit? Lived in. Your problem is since you became an artsy power gay, you’ve been going to all those wanky artisan places in the city. The ones that are full of fucking models and PR people,” I said throwing a handful of crisps into my mouth.
“I’m not a power gay,” Ross snorted.
“You wrote a book and you get invited to wanky parties hosted by literary people and you know journalists and PR people – power gay,” I waggled my finger at him.
He rolled his eyes.
Hann was being suspiciously quiet. I poked him with my foot:
“You alright?”
He was looking around the pub, a forlorn expression on his face. I poked him again.
“Hann? Hello?”
His tired eyes landed on me:
“Does anyone else feel like the past two years haven’t happened and we’re just picking back up where we left off?” he asked. “Only now I’m Matty and Ross is also Matty and Matty is, inexplicably, the only successful adult out of the three of us. Jesus Christ .”
Hann put his face in his hands and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be offended or not but then I realised something very important:
“Holy SHIT . I’m the only one here that’s in a healthy, functioning relationship. Oh my god!” I sat back in my chair, stunned and a bit giddy. “That has NEVER happened!”
Ross and Hann groaned in unison, but I was ignoring them both:
“You know what this means? I am literally better at relationships than the two of you!”
“Oh shut up you twat. We all know you’d fuck an inanimate object if you were horny enough. You just got lucky with George,” said Ross. “Speaking of, where is he? Has he regressed like the rest of us? Is he at home locked in his room and talking to his weird internet girlfriend?”
“No,” I rolled my eyes petulantly at Ross. “If you must know he’s at home being a sexy, successful Producer. He had a work Zoom with someone who knows Beyoncé.”
“Well, at least George is doing okay,” said Ross. He took a swig of his drink and nudged Hann, who was now staring blankly into his pint.
“What’s your deal?” Ross asked.
Hann let out a long sigh:
“The gist of it is that Sexy Frodo doesn’t want to get married or buy a house or have kids. I also lost my job and I’m back living in my old bedroom in a fucking glorified student house even though I’m in my thirties, everything sucks and Matty is now a better fucking adult than I am. What’s your deal?”
Ross just shook his head:
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
A depressing silence fell over the three of us and I didn’t do well with depressing silences so I did the only thing I knew how to do which was this:
“Right, fuck this. Let’s get hammered then.”
******
“I AM SO GOOD AT RELATIONSHIPS!” I declared loudly as I fell through my bedroom door approximately three hours later.
George looked up from his laptop as I staggered around, trying to take off my top. He pulled off his headphones.
“I AM KILLING IT! Fucking relationship LEGEND . Get in!” I succeeded in ripping off my top and dunked it on the floor, throwing both my hands up in victory.
“How much have you had to drink?” George sighed.
I smirked at him and wiggled my eyebrows:
“Yes.”
George’s mouth twitched into a smile.
I went to approach him, but tripped over my own feet. I started laughing as I landed on the bed.
“I really need you to stop being so cute right now,” George said as he put his laptop down on his bedside table.
“God George, you’re so obsessed with me,” I slurred, unbuckling my belt.
“Me? You’re the one who launched a year-long campaign that involved trying to fuck me,” he said.
I gave up trying to take off my pants as his big hands found my zipper. He wiggled the pants down my legs and threw them in the direction of the laundry basket.
“Look, all I’m saying is that you need to chill the fuck out mate. But I understand why you’re so obsessed. I mean I am gorgeous and I’m also amazing at relationships,” I said, rising up onto my elbows to look at George as he took off my socks.
“Is that so?” he hummed and I nodded vigorously.
“Hann and Ross have cocked things up but look at me. I have my shit together and have you SEEN your fucking face lately?”
George winced as I smushed my hand directly into his face:
“It’s spectacular! Fuck me, you’re so sexy. Your face is so hot it hurts my eyes. I can’t even LOOK at you half the time.”
“Alright Romeo, time for you to go to sleep,” George said. He released my feet and leaned across the bed, pulling down the corner of the duvet.
“Do you fancy a shag?” I asked.
“You’re so drunk that would be morally questionable,” said George, smiling as I crawled up the bed and slipped under the covers beside him.
“What about a blowjob?”
“Go to sleep Matthew.”
Suddenly tired now that I was in bed, I didn’t bother to fight. I just shrugged and rolled over while George turned out the light. He settled down into the mattress and I sighed happily as I felt him wrap his large body around me. I loved being the little spoon.
Inebriated as I was, a memory formed in my mind – the first night I had met George in this very bedroom. I had stumbled in, absolutely twisted and slipped into this very bed beside him and scared the shit out of him. And now look at us.
Things may have been falling apart for Adam and Ross, but for Matty everything was going great.
A little too great actually.
My eyes snapped open as a bolt of fear ran through me.
“What are you doing?!” George jumped as I reached around and touched his dick.
“Touching wood so I don’t jinx things!”
“Go to sleep Matthew. Jesus Christ .”
******