But he does remember the kissing. The tentative slow movements. Trying each other out. Tom’s arms around his neck. He remembers the kissing alright. He remembers the little moans. The sloppy tongue flicking against his own. The desperation. He remembers climbing onto Tom’s lap. He remembers being fucking gone.
There are some glimmers of clarity. Some vague pictures that pop up in his head. Lying on his side on the hard decking with Tom’s jacket under their heads. Lazy kisses and laughter.
He doesn’t remember them talking. Just kissing.
He remembers fingers stroking his hair. He remembers someone talking to him when he was too far gone to care.
He remembers falling asleep feeling loved. Safe.
He remembers thinking that this was probably what people thought about when they talked about love. Of happiness and peace and joy and all that shit.
He also remembers waking up on the backseat of his friend’s car, curled up with a hoodie he didn’t recognise draped over his shoulders. There was a piece of paper in his hand with a phone number on it.
Tom must have run off in shame and horror at finding himself anywhere near Lukas. Fuck him.
The number remained unused. He had luckily had some backbone and pride in himself and never texted him. Just crumpled the number up and shoved it in his pocket.
His first kiss. He had been too drunk to really take it all in. But he knew it had been spectacular, because the second time he hooked up with someone it was pretty awful. Awkward and clumsy. The third time a bit better. Fourth was nothing to write home about. He might have been drunk, but he never got that feeling again. The flutters in his stomach and the primal need in his guts that if he didn’t keep clinging to the person in his arms, he would probably die.
Yet it had been nothing to Tom. He had probably just done it for a dare. Got a kick out of experimenting or something. Fed his inner ego. Tom had kissed a boy and probably boasted high and low about it, as his friends had cackled with laughter at the pathetic gay boy finally getting some.
He had never worn his graduate hat again. He bets, if he went up in his storage loft and looked, the piece of paper would still be stuffed under the lining of the damn thing. Dirt stains and dust. Sand in the folds around the top. A time capsule of a misspent youth if anything.
He never saw Tom again. In September, he moved down south. And life was never the same.
TOM: Good Morning Lukas! I hope your head is ok? Lovely photographic skills. I can recommend some filters that would improve the definition. And thank you for your help last night, I have two very happy boys on my sofa eating waffles and watching something that involves zombies. Matteo is a nice kid. He also has a job delivering pizzas for a place called Pizza Heaven in Aspudden. That was interesting to hear. He mentioned you are one of his frequent customers.
FROM: [email protected]
RE: Privacy
Hi Matteo. I know this is an awkward request but can I ask that you please protect my privacy, same as I would protect yours? I hope you are having an awesome weekend.
Lukas
FROM [email protected]
RE: Privacy
Dude. WTF? I have no idea what you are on about. See you for Queer Group on Tuesday.
Matteo
LUKAS: Tom, can we talk? When you have a minute? I understand my behaviour was completely and inexcusably out of order last night and I just want to apologise and make sure we are fine. Can we please forget that yesterday happened? Delete and forget?
TOM: We seem to be doing a lot of that lately, apologising. Nothing to apologise for. You were drunk, and you made me laugh. It’s fine, Lukas. That’s what friends do.
Lukas should be replying with his usual crap. It’s just that he can’t bring himself to do it. He just sits there. Staring at the phone like it’s supposed to tell him what to do. He doesn’t know why he did it. Maybe he was angry, and it had probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to make Tom feel small and pathetic. Unsure of himself. Embarrassed.
Instead he picks up the phone when it rings, not even realising who is calling until the voice rings out in his ear.
“Lukas?” It’s Tom. Of course, it is.
“Hi,” he croaks out. Pathetic Lukas. Fucking. Pathetic.
“How’s your head?”
“You’re the doctor. You can picture the state of me.” Lukas doesn’t know why he is being honest. Why his heart is beating so fast in his chest.
“Take two Ipren tablets and drink a litre of water, then go back to sleep for an hour. Top tip from Doctor Tom.”
Lukas smiles. He doesn’t want to, but Tom is a funny bastard. Sometimes. When he’s not an arse.
“Yeah,” he says. Good conversation.
“Good conversation.” Tom smiles. He can hear it in his voice. The laughter.
“Look. Tom. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to send that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I think you did, but I told you, it’s fine.”
“Can you please delete the picture, and kind of forget that last night ever happened?”
“It’s a nice picture.” Tom is fucking taunting him. He’s obviously enjoying this. A lot.
“Tom,” Lukas whines.
“Lukas,” Tom states. Firmly.
And Lukas feels very small. Tiny. Childish and stupid.
“Lukas, I start work at 8 tonight. I’m at the Sergel Emergency room this week, down town. You know the one. Just come down there and ask for me at the reception, and I will hand you my phone. You can delete the picture and check my photo albums and make sure it is gone. Would that make you feel better?”
“Maybe?” Lukas is hopeless. Lukas needs to stop stalling and start talking. “Thank you. If it’s okay with you, that would make me feel better. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have sent it. I know that and it was wrong. Totally wrong.”
“Yeah… Good,” Tom says, “So… I will see you tonight? Any time after 8. If I am not busy, I will come out and see you straight away. If I’m busy, just take a seat and I will be with you as soon as I can. Okay?”
“Thank you,” Lukas whispers. He is relieved. He hopes. Even though his gut feeling is punching him in the stomach, screaming that he shouldn’t fucking trust Tom Andersson Björklund. That he can’t be relied on. That Tom Andersson Björklund is a lying backstabbing homophobic bastard whose life should have gone to shit.
Karma is a beautiful thing. Fuck Karma.
TOM
Tom’s head has been spinning most of the day. He’s seeing Lukas tonight, and somehow his heart has been racing all afternoon when he should be in bed having a nap making sure he is bright and clearheaded for his shift overnight.
Instead, he has been sitting on the sofa until far too late with the boys watching lame zombie movies and laughing at their juvenile banter. He just couldn’t leave. Couldn’t make himself snap out of the idea of this being his life. Having these two brilliant rays of sunshine in his living room, laughter filling the air and his son smiling like he has no worries in the world.