What Remains

by Garrett Leigh

  Jodi turned the hob down and went to the intercom. He buzzed the exterior door open, put the front door on the latch, and returned to the kitchen. Rupert’s shadow appeared in the doorway a few moments later.

  “Bloody hell. Are you trying to kill me?”

  Jodi laid bacon rashers on slices of thickly buttered white toast without looking up. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those gym freaks who only eats nuts and organic spinach smoothies?”

  “Fuck no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you—” Jodi’s words died on his lips as he turned around to find Rupert leaning on the doorframe, dressed in softly worn tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie—a far cry from the all-black bouncer attire he’d been sporting last time—and totally fucking gorgeous. “What did you mean?”

  Rupert stepped forward and touched Jodi’s damp hair. “I meant you. I’ve spent the last week or so trying to convince myself you weren’t as fit as I remembered. Then I find you like this.” Rupert shook his head. “Not cool, mate. Not cool.”

  Jodi snorted. “I never claimed to be cool, but if it’s any consolation, you’re pretty fit yourself.”

  Rupert flushed and looked away. The bloke was beautiful, but it was clear he wasn’t used to people—to men—telling him so. Jodi took pity on him and let it go. “Wanna bacon sarnie, then? And I bought a box of PG Tips the other day. It’s around here somewhere.”

  “Sounds great. Can I help?”

  “You can put the kettle on.” Jodi rummaged in the cupboards for the tea bags while Rupert filled the kettle and flicked the switch. They didn’t speak, but the silence was comfortable, familiar, like they’d muddled through such domesticity a thousand times over.

  Jodi put two plates on the breakfast bar. Rupert placed two mugs beside them and folded his tall frame onto a stool.

  “So tell me,” he said. “What are you doing tucked up in your PJs on a Saturday night? Thought you were a raver?”

  Jodi yawned. “Not this weekend. I had to work. And in my defence, you caught me on a particularly mad one when we met.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Here. I’m a web designer.”

  “Nice,” Rupert said. “What does that involve? All that coding and shit?”

  “Yup. That’s me. Keeps me out of trouble.”

  Rupert grinned. “I don’t believe that, but it’s nice to see you sober. You were right the other way last time I saw you.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t usually get that wasted. Just get a little cabin fever crazy when I’ve been stuck indoors working too much.”

  Rupert picked up his sandwich. His silence told Jodi he knew exactly how hard Jodi had partied that night and that he perhaps didn’t approve. And he had a point. Jodi had given up party drugs years ago, and the week-long comedown he’d endured after his Boxing Day blowout had reminded him why.

  Time for a subject change. “So how was work for you tonight? Was the club busy?”

  “I wasn’t at the club. I was at my real job.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m a firefighter.”

  Jodi choked on his tea. “Seriously? You’re a fireman?”

  “Aye.”

  Something about the way Rupert’s gentle Irish brogue wrapped around that word made Jodi feel warm all over, but it was nothing compared to the image of Rupert decked out in full fireman’s kit. Jesus. If he hadn’t fancied the arse off Rupert before . . . “What were you doing at that wanky club, then? Moonlighting?”

  “Something like that, though it’s not called moonlighting anymore. We’re allowed second jobs now. They prefer it to paying us properly.”

  Jodi swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and reached for his tea. “How the hell do you find the time? Don’t you work shifts?”

  “Four days on, four days off. Working at the club helps me keep my sleep cycle when I’m on nights. Besides, I need the cash.”

  “Why?”

  Rupert sighed. “Because firefighter pay is shite, especially when you have London rent to pay and an ex-wife crawling up your arse for maintenance.”

  Jodi blinked. “Whoa. There’s a backstory if I ever heard one. You have kids?”

  “A daughter, Indie.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Three. I split up with her mum last year.”

  Jodi tried to picture a miniature, feminine version of Rupert. “Does she look like you?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Rupert retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and held up a photo of a tiny, fair-haired toddler. Jodi wasn’t much for screaming kids, but he had to admit the little girl was beautiful. “Sounds like her mum gives you grief.”

  “Whenever she can,” Rupert said. “She’s never forgiven me for leaving her, which is ironic, because she never wanted me in the first place.”

  “Ah, one of those.” Jodi stood and dumped their empty plates in the sink. “Let me guess: she kept you in a box and kicked you every time you tried to get out?”

  “Kinda. She had a way of making me believe everything was my fault because she said so.”

  Jodi touched Rupert’s arm. Hearing about his ex wasn’t easy, but it was plain to see that it wasn’t something he talked about often. That it still hurt. “My first-ever girlfriend cheated on me . . . like, not just physically, she had another boyfriend up north where her dad lived. Everyone knew, except me.”

  Rupert winced. “Girlfriend? Bet that was messy.”

  “Not in the way you’re probably thinking. I bounce both ways. It’s just taken me a while to figure out that’s as valid as being straight or gay. My other ex-girlfriend is my best mate. I love her to bits.”

  “Then you’re lucky. Jen is a bitch. I’ve tried not to hate her, but it’s hard when she does everything she can to make my life miserable. Shit, why am I even talking about this?”

  Rupert covered Jodi’s hand with his own, and, like the first time they’d been alone in Jodi’s flat like this, their fingers entwined with little conscious thought, on Jodi’s part at least. Something about Rupert made Jodi want to wrap himself around him and hold him tight until the hurt in his eyes went away.

  “Do you want to come through to the living room?”

  “Hmm?” Rupert’s distant gaze refocussed. “Oh, what time is it?”

  “A little after three.”

  “Damn. I should chip off home, then. I’m back on shift at eight.”

  Disappointment flickered through Jodi. “Where do you live? I remember something about a bedsit.”

  Rupert snorted. “I’m surprised you remember me at all, considering your eyes were pointing in different directions, but yeah, I’ve got a bedsit in Harringay.”

  Jodi frowned. Harringay was a half hour night-bus journey, and Rupert seemed exhausted. “Kip here, if you want? Where’s your fire station?”

  “Brixton, so it’s about the same whichever way you look at it. But, as much as I’d love to stay with you, couch or otherwise, my stuff is at home.”

  Couch or otherwise. Jodi’s breath caught in his throat, but Rupert was already getting ready to leave.

  Jodi walked him to the door. “It was really nice to see you again.”

  “Yeah? Even though I chewed your ear off about my ex-wife?”

  “Of course. Seriously, mate. I don’t mind. Just wish you hadn’t had to go through all that.”

  Rupert smiled, and the fatigue in his face seemed to fade. “You’re the first person to give a shit in quite some time. Question is: why do you?”

  Jodi shrugged. “Dunno. I just do.”

  And it was true. Rupert had been on his mind a lot since they’d first met. Their second meeting had proved nothing like his dirty, late-night fantasies, but in the dim light of the hallway, it felt right. Perhaps they’d never revisit that fuck-hot kiss, perhaps they weren’t meant to, but Jodi could live with being friends—

  Jodi’s back hit the door. He sucked in a breath and suddenly found himself caged i
n Rupert’s arms, their faces—like that night—inches apart. They stared at each other, teetering on the precipice of something explosive, until Jodi remembered the distress in Rupert’s gaze when he’d accidentally shoved Jodi to the floor.

  Slow. Don’t push him. Even if I think he wants me to.

  Yeah, ’cause some days even Jodi was still learning. He took Rupert’s face in his hands and kissed him, lightly at first, but then deep . . . slow and deep, like he could calm his own hammering heart with the brush of his lips against Rupert’s. Like he didn’t know better. Like he didn’t know that Rupert’s touch, however hesitant, would light him on fire.

  Rupert gasped and pressed his body into Jodi’s. Jodi lifted his leg and hooked it over Rupert’s hip, grinding them together until his every nerve was ready to combust. Pull away, pull away. But he couldn’t. Backed against the door, he had nowhere to go, nowhere he wanted to go, and his good intentions edged toward the proverbial window, ready to jump.

  Just one more kiss . . .

  Rupert withdrew. He laid his forehead against Jodi’s and inhaled a deep, shaky breath. “Jesus Christ, you get under my skin.”

  Jodi shuddered and closed his eyes, absorbing the warmth of Rupert’s body, which was still keeping him upright. “Come back soon, yeah? We can get under the duvet instead.”

  September 26, 2014

  Turned out Rupert hadn’t imagined the twitch in Jodi’s hand. After that first time, it happened every day, but the neurologist had flatly confirmed it was nothing more than a muscle spasm. Rupert absorbed the news with little emotion. Jodi had been in a coma for weeks, and he’d grown used to any sign of recovery turning out to be a symptom of Jodi’s prolonged vegetative state.

  Vegetative state. Jesus fucking Christ. It was a term Rupert had only seen on TV before, and despite the doctor’s reassurances that it wasn’t necessarily permanent, the phrase haunted him as he kept his vigil at Jodi’s bedside, went to work, and lay awake at home, counting the hours until the hospital let him in again.

  The only break in the torture was when the physical therapist came in to manipulate Jodi’s body to combat the muscle wastage ravaging his already slight frame. Rupert liked to think Jodi enjoyed the young Asian man’s attention. The therapist was good-looking with the kind of easy smile Jodi loved, and the thought of Jodi opening his eyes to that grin was oddly comforting. It was a shame the therapist hadn’t smiled today, a week after Jodi’s hand first moved. Instead, he’d discovered a blood clot in Jodi’s injured arm and alerted the ICU doctors. Jodi had been rushed to surgery in the blink of an eye, and he’d yet to return.

  Rupert stood and walked to the waiting room’s wide window. Outside, the hospital car park seemed to go on forever. He counted every car he could see—sixty-eight—and wondered if the window’s placement had been deliberate in the hospital’s design. If the architects had known the distraction of counting cars would be far more soothing than the blandness of some pretty flowers.

  “Rupert?”

  Rupert turned. Caz, Jodi’s primary nurse, stood in the doorway. “He’s back. You can come and see him now.”

  “Thank you.” Rupert followed Caz to Jodi’s bedside. She scribbled on the fat wad of notes at the end of the bed, touched Rupert’s arm, and disappeared, leaving Rupert alone with Jodi.

  He took in Jodi’s prone form—the wires, the tubes—then peered closer at his pale face, losing himself in the dark circles under Jodi’s eyes. How was it possible for him to look so tired when he’d done nothing but sleep for sixty-three days? As Rupert claimed Jodi’s hand and dropped into a chair, it struck him darkly ironic that Jodi had spent the day pumped full of anaesthetic when he was already so deeply unconscious that he was practically dead.

  Stop it.

  Rupert silenced the demon on his shoulder, the harsh adversary that kept him awake almost as much as his constant fear that Jodi would never come back to him. He squeezed Jodi’s good hand. There was no response. Defeated, he closed his eyes and let his head drop, breathing in the stale antiseptic scent of the hospital. The ICU ward was stifling and claustrophobic and in the harsh light of the early morning, it was unbearable. His heart quickened, his skin prickled, and for the first time in the four years since he’d met Jodi, he felt uncomfortable in his own skin, a feeling that was exacerbated by the creeping sensation of someone watching him.

  Seriously? Rupert beat his irritation back and pressed his fist into his forehead, but it wouldn’t quit. He sighed and opened his eyes. Madness had threatened to overcome him so often since Jodi’s accident that it had begun to feel like an old friend, like a droll antidote to the pessimistic monster in his mind. Sometimes he welcomed the distraction, but not today. Today he craved the distressing gravity of his reality, something—anything—to tie him down to the world. He returned his attention to Jodi, seeking out the bitter reassurance of his serene, sleeping face. Instead, an unseeing dark gaze staring back nearly sent him to his knees.

  February 26, 2010

  Are you working tonight?

  10-10, but maybe later if something goes tits up

  Fancy a drink after? At Dorothy’s?

  I’ll do my best — R x

  Jodi slipped in the side door of Dorothy’s and scanned the faces already sitting at the bar. None were Rupert, and he tried to reason with the wave of disappointment that tickled his belly. I’ll do my best, Rupert had said. Chances were he wouldn’t make it at all, let alone be waiting for Jodi an hour before his shift finished.

  In need of distraction, Jodi got himself a pint of stupidly pricey hipster ale and took a seat at the end of the bar, half an eye on the West Ham game replaying on the big screen. Not that he cared much who was winning. Football was for overpaid douche bags and lagered-up wankers. His first pint slipped down like a dream. He bought another two while he scrolled through a few stock sites on his phone, searching for vectors to use on his current project—a full rebrand for a tattoo studio. The shop was an old-school ink parlour, awash with flaming skulls and biker paraphernalia, but it had been recently bought out by a younger artist, and Jodi was hoping she’d be game for something a little more modern.

  He bookmarked some images and logged out just as the lights dimmed to signal that the bar was about to get hot and heady. A bottle of WKD appeared beside his empty glass. He glanced up to find a thirtyish redhead grinning at him.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Jodi smirked. “Looks like you already have.”

  “Nah, I bought it for the twink over there, but he turned me down.”

  Jodi followed the man’s gaze to a slinky young figure tearing up the dance floor. “That’s a woman.”

  “Really?” The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Fuck. You’d never tell.”

  Dick. Jodi started to turn away.

  “I was only joking, mate. I bought it for you.”

  Jodi regarded the man and considered his options. Boozy pop wasn’t his bag, but Rupert’s shift had ended ages ago and it appeared he wasn’t coming. Fuck it. Jodi lifted the bottle to his lips. He felt like another drink, or three, and the sickeningly sweet WKD was the closest thing, even if he had to make small talk with an idiot who was clearly after a cloak-and-dagger handjob in a nearby alley.

  On cue, the man leaned closer. “Have you been here before? I’ve never seen you. I’m Dean, by the way, in case you were wondering?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jodi.”

  “Jodi, eh? Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

  “If you say so.” Jodi rolled his eyes. Like he hadn’t heard that before. Like he gave a shit that his name made people assume he was either a girl or a little bit gay. Besides, they were half right. He was a little bit gay, perhaps gay enough, drunk enough, and stupid enough to give Dean the Dick a second glance.

  At least until Dean encroached too far into Jodi’s personal space and belched stale smoke-laced beer breath across his face. “Want to ditch this place and
come back to mine?”

  Fuck no. Jodi downed the WKD and slid the empty bottle along the bar. “Nice try, mate, but if you’re after a shag, it’ll take more than a bottle of pop and some shite small talk. See ya.”

  Jodi left Dean to it and wandered through the crowded bar. A few blokes made eye contact, but he didn’t stop. By his body clock, it was early, but despite Rupert’s warning that he might not make it to the Tottenham bar, Jodi had counted on seeing him and him alone. Didn’t seem much point staying out.

  He edged around the dance floor and headed for the side door, his mind on the bottle of Sailor Jerry and teensy bag of weed he had stashed at home. A few shots and a jazz fag would mellow him enough to sleep—

  “Leaving already?”

  Jodi jumped and stumbled into the tall frame blocking his path.

  Rupert steadied him. “Whoa. Easy now. Didn’t think you’d be falling over your feet just yet.”

  Jodi stared at Rupert’s hands on his arms. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Isn’t much that would keep me away.” Rupert put two fingers under Jodi’s chin and tilted his face until their eyes met. Jodi’s world narrowed to Rupert’s tired grin, his warm, gold-flecked gaze, and the crazy heat blooming where they touched. “Do you want to get a drink?”

  “No. I want to go back to mine.”

  Rupert didn’t take much persuading. They ditched the bar and walked to Jodi’s flat. Before long, they were camped out on the couch with tumblers of spiced rum and Nutella on toast, a late-night snack that seemed to make Rupert’s day.

  “I make this with bananas for Indie. It’s her special treat when she stays with me.”

  Jodi licked chocolate off his fingers. “How often is that?”

  “Once a month if I’m lucky. My ex likes me to babysit, but she’s not keen on my place. Says it’s minging.”

  “She really does sound like a bitch.” Jodi sipped his rum. “She must know you wouldn’t let Indie come to any harm. You’re a fireman, for God’s sake. How much more responsible can you be?”