Chapter Text
I’m weirdly nervous. I haven’t been nervous before an event in years, especially not one where I don’t even have to do anything. I’m not handing out or receiving an award this year thank God. In fact, I’m probably only invited to make up the queer numbers. I kind of prefer it that way anyway if I’m honest. So, yeah, I’m not nervous or even particularly excited about the Attitude Awards. I’m nervous because Joe is going to be there.
I haven’t seen Joe for about five months this time around. We’ve both been working and he spends most of his down time at his flat in New York these days while I prefer staying around London. And after tonight we won’t see each other for even longer than that because I’m about to head back to Italy to film season two of my current show (I learned Italian for this role and everything. Really can’t wait for the internet to tell me I’ve butchered another beautiful language…) and God knows where Joe will end up over the coming months. His career is insane, as I always knew it would be, and he tends to be in a different country every year. Taking the world by storm like the badass he’s always been.
Anyway, the point is that it’s been a while since we’ve had any proper time together and despite him still, always, being one of my favourite people in the world, I’m kind of anxious to see him.
I check myself in the mirror one last time before I leave my hotel room for the car. Brady has done my hair a bit messy with the signature strand hanging down across my forehead that I never seem to get tired of. Or probably more realistically, the one I know that Joe never gets tired of. My hair is longer than it had been when Brady first started styling me because my character in my current show is pretty scruffy, but I think I prefer it this way now. It’s not long by any means, it’s just not quite the clipped neatness that was my Nick Nelson hair. It feels more like me this way.
I think I look alright. Along with the fashionably messy hair, Felicity has put me in all black tonight. It’s slightly tamer than some of the looks we’ve done recently but it feels good and it shows off my best bits. I’ve got on loose, high-waisted trousers that meet a waistcoat just above my belly button. The waistcoat cinches tightly in at my waist and comes down in a deep V at my chest and if I lift my arms up you can see a sliver of skin between the two pieces. I smirk at my reflection, knowing that the waist and the bare arms will get Joe’s attention because I always, even now, want Joe’s attention.
I’m on alert as soon as I arrive at the Roundhouse. I don’t think he’s here yet because I can usually tell. My body will know, as fucking weird as that sounds. We’ve always been so aware of each other; I know how it feels when we’re sharing space and this isn’t it. So I carry on and move along the red carpet and pose like I’m meant to, looking seriously down the lenses of dozens of cameras until it’s my turn to move on and then I thank the photographers with a smile and a nod.
I head inside with the crowds after that formality is done. The venue looks great and it’s already pretty full, so I catch up with a bunch of people I know from past projects or from crossing over at events like this and I shake hands with a couple of people I haven’t met before. I get handed a glass of champagne and I sip it distractedly as I cast my gaze around the room, waiting.
I hear him before I see him. I turn around at the sound of his laughter somewhere behind me and for fucks sake. If I wasn’t nervous before then I definitely am now. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him in a bright orange mesh knit cropped vest, bare arms on full display. That bastard knows how I feel about his arms. He’s got skintight black trousers on underneath and a slightly heeled boot that makes his legs look even fucking longer. God, those legs.
He must feel me looking at him because he turns too and he can’t seem to stop his grin. It never gets old to watch his whole face light up when he sees me. How did I get so lucky as to have this man as my best friend? 10/10, would recommend.
I watch as he excuses himself from the people he’s talking to and then he’s bouncing over to me. He rams into me hard but I’m ready for him, my arms wrapping around his waist as his feet lift off the ground.
Fuck, I missed him. I tell him that even though I know he’ll probably make fun of me for it.
As expected, his response is to pull back and roll his eyes at me. “We literally talked for two hours just a few days ago.”
He’s right of course. When he found out we were both attending tonight, he’d called me to scream excitedly down the phone at me. We did all the catching up about where we were and what we’d been up to so we didn’t have to waste our evening tonight with all that nonsense. It doesn’t happen as often as we want it to these days but when we do get to see each other, me and Joe tend to go down memory lane and enjoy reliving some of the shit we’d been through since our lives changed in a whirlwind eight years ago. We didn’t want to eat into any of that time with the ‘what are you working on’ or ‘are you seeing anyone’ questions so we got all that out of our systems on the phone the other day.
That wasn’t the same as actually being able to hug him in person though.
“Don’t care. Still missed you.”
He softens at my words and squeezes his arms around my shoulders even tighter. “Missed you too, you pathetic little loser.”
We get about three more minutes of conversation in before we're ushered to our seats. I hate that we have to go and put our Famous People Masks on and not just hide in a corner dishing about all the people in the room we have dirt on. Collectively we’ve probably slept with more people in here than we’d be comfortable admitting out loud and we need to fucking gossip about that, thank you very much.
Joe looks at me questioningly when I huff out a laugh at the thought and I shake my head, silently letting him know that I’ll tell him later. He narrows his eyes at me in annoyance but he’s smiling like he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him so I’m not too mad about it.
We’re on separate tables and I almost want to swap out my place card for someone on his but instead I give him a withering look as we both take our seats. Our tables are close enough to be able to look at each other but not close enough that I scoot my chair over to talk to him which is quite frankly homophobic. I’m looking forward to being able to shoot faked panicked looks at each other when our various previous conquests get too close though. I shake that thought off and do the polite thing instead, introducing myself to the rest of my own table.
The ceremony itself is pretty boring. These things tend to be pretty dull when you go every year. The venue looks great and there’s definitely some cool people here that I want to talk to, but none more than Joe. It’s stupid, really. We’re both in London at the moment, though he only got back from New York a few days ago, so it’s not like we can’t go and catch up whenever we want. It’s just that we’re both so busy all the time and on the rare occasions we do get to go to the same parties or whatever, I want to go somewhere quiet and catch up with him instead of bothering with the rest of it all.
I probably want to do more than catch up with him this time but I’m trying not to think about that too much. We haven’t been together like that in so long now, almost four years. The last time we fucked was the same as all the times before; fun and exhilarating and so fucking good, but it hurt more than it used to when we were together more regularly. I knew by that point how I felt about him and how very much he didn’t feel about me, and it had kind of pushed me to try and find something more serious with someone else so I could just not hurt for a little bit. I did that very thing soon after and we haven’t both been single at the same time again since then.
Until now. We haven’t seen each other in person since his last relationship ended and now we’re both here tonight. Both single.
I’m trying so hard not to put any pressure on that so as not to be too disappointed if it doesn’t happen, but the more I look at him the more resolve I lose.
See, to me, Joe will always be the person who carries all my what ifs in his pocket. What if we hadn’t caved to the pressure of being in the spotlight? What if I had said all the things I felt out loud instead of just trying to fuck them into him? What if we’d given us an actual chance instead of letting it go like it had never meant anything? I’ve always figured it’s not the end of the world that we didn’t work out romantically; he’s still my best friend and that is always the most important thing with us. The what ifs could have led to me losing that forever and nothing would ever be worth that loss.
I don’t know though. Something feels different tonight. I feel like I’m on fire as I pretend to listen to whoever is giving an acceptance speech on the stage but really I’m just trying not to look over at Joe for the 2647th time in the past minute. My skin feels electric and my fingertips are aching to touch him and see if his is too. The same chemistry that has haunted us for our entire friendship is there thrumming under the surface even now, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.
I’m kind of used to that, but the problem is that every time I do give in and look at him, I meet his eye. He’s looking back every time. He smirks at me the third time it happens and his tongue peeks through his teeth as he looks down into his wine glass. It’s hard to tell in the light but I’m pretty sure he’s blushing. It sets the electricity off all over again.
Fucking hell. I guess it’s true that once you’ve had someone like that your body doesn’t forget how it feels. Mine wants him now. Still. Always. I’m pretty sure it wants him enough that I can switch my brain off for the night and deal with the painful consequences once I’ve left the country in a few days.
The next time I look up at him he has his phone out in his lap and his thumbs are moving swiftly across the screen. I roll my eyes and get ready to tease him yet again for being addicted to screens but then I feel my own phone buzz in my trousers pocket and my stomach swoops.
Joe Locke: Pay attention to the nice people, Kittycat x
I don’t reply but I wait for him to look at me again and then I flip him off. He sticks his tongue out at me in return. Sometimes it’s like we’re still teenagers.
I try to focus more after that because I really can’t spend a whole night looking at Joe. I try to engage with the other people at my table so I can at least pretend to know what’s going on if I’m interviewed about it later. I just need to get through another thirty minutes of formal shit before the guests can all get up and mingle and I can finally have an actual conversation with Joe.
When the ceremony finally finishes, I’m sucked into a conversation with the person across from me who wants my opinion on something or other. I pretend I know what I’m talking about when I answer and when she finally gets bored of the conversation I sag back into my seat in relief. I look over to Joe’s table but he has already left it and I panic for a minute as my head whips around trying to find him. Eventually I spot him by the bar and he seems to notice my desperate energy because he laughs and then beckons me over with a jerk of his head.
I politely excuse myself from my table and make a b-line towards him, half collapsing against the bar when I reach him.
“Thought you’d fucking left, you shit.”
“You’re the shit,” Joe fires back quickly. “Of course I didn’t leave. We haven’t even talked about how shitty you know who looked when he got his award.”
I smirk. One of his more recent ex-flings won something or other and made a right tit of himself accepting the award. I don’t know what Joe sees in some of the idiots he’s been with, to be honest, and I definitely include myself in that. He’s too good for all of us.
“So shitty. And why the fuck has he done that to his hair?”
Joe grins and then turns to face the bartender when he comes up to us. He orders us both gin and tonics and I have to look away, ducking my head to stare blankly down at my shoes.
We don’t even like gin, neither of us ever have. It’s not about the drink, though. It’s a code.
It’s what we were drinking the first time we fucked and it sort of became a thing after that. Asking if the other fancied a gin and tonic meant it was time for us to leave. Together. Which means that Joe didn’t just come here to catch up and gossip about his exes looking shit either.
Joe came here to fuck. Or get fucked. I’m really not fussy, so long as this night ends up with us in one of our beds.
When our drinks are ready, he picks them both up despite me being able to reach mine. He hands me my glass and our fingers brush and I have to look away again. It’s so stupid blushing like a virgin in front of a man who has literally seen me in every position imaginable and has witnessed me in my most vulnerable states both physically and emotionally.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells me. He’s leaning one elbow on the bar with his head tilted to the side as he looks at me.
God I really am fucked, aren’t I? We haven’t even had a conversation yet and I can already feel my palms starting to sweat.
“What the fuck is this, by the way?” he asks as he reaches out to tug at the hem of my waistcoat. “You look like fucking Top Cat.”
“Fuck you,” I snap back, batting his hand away. “I’m actually wearing trousers, thank you very much.”
“Mm, shame,” he drawls.
I shake my head and give him my best shut the fuck up look. There’s no point trying to hide my blush, it’ll only make the teasing worse. Surprisingly though he doesn’t latch onto the pinkness of my cheeks and changes the subject instead.
“Do you know what I was thinking about the other day?”
“What?” I ask suspiciously. Half of me doesn’t even want to know. With the shit Joe comes out with sometimes, I’m 73% scared of his answer.
“DC.”
I frown at him. “DC?”
“Yeah, the first time we were there. For Pride, remember?”
Christ. That’s a blast from the past. I haven’t thought about that particular trip in a long time. Well, I’ve thought about some of it. I’m only human after all.
“I remember,” I tell him. “How come you were thinking about our teenage selves then?”
His smile turns a little wistful as he looks away, shrugging loosely. “I don’t know. I guess I was just feeling a bit nostalgic.”
There goes that electricity again, shooting through me like a lightning bolt. The way he’s looking at me is new. Well, not new. But there’s something different, something… off.
“You ok?” I ask. “It’s not like you to pine for the past.”
He laughs and then avoids answering by taking a long sip of his drink. He winces as he swallows it and I can’t help but watch as his Adam’s Apple bobs. “I was just missing you and it reminded me of that first time we were apart for this long, when I first went to Atlanta.”
And I definitely do still think about that sometimes. We may have been thrown together by chance but the friendship we had forged on the set of Heartstopper was something I’d never experienced before. After Season One was released and we had been thrown completely in the deep end, we were the only two people in the world who understood what we were going through. Sure, the rest of our friends in the cast were there too, but it wasn’t quite the same for them as it was for the two of us. We knew even then that the way it bonded us was for life. So when he had gotten a fucking Marvel role for his second ever professional TV job (who the fuck does that? I’m telling you, the guy is pure magic) and had flown off halfway around the world, it had fucking sucked. I lost one of the strongest parts of my support system and so much had happened in those six months he was gone that we really had needed each other.
So yeah, I suppose there was something special about DC. I can’t really blame him for remembering it fondly. I suppose I try not to think about it too often now because of how different we were then, how turbulent our lives were. It’s hard to think about some things that happened when we were younger, especially considering how much our time in DC changed for us and our friendship.
“It’s weird to think about, isn’t it?” Joe says with an almost melancholic smile. “Like, that trip was so fucking confusing. And we’ve never really talked about it.”
“And you… want to talk about it here? Now?” I ask incredulously.
He shrugs again. Fucking hell. I had expected that maybe I’d get off tonight and remember how it felt to fuck or be fucked by Joe for a nice little trip down memory lane. I hadn’t expected us to lay everything out on the table and talk about all the ways our relationship got complicated after DC. Not much of a Big Gay Night Out Surrounded By B-List Celebs Eyeing Us Hungrily topic of conversation, Joseph.
“I’m just… tired, I think?” he explains, though it doesn’t actually explain much.
I feel like I’ve got whiplash. I’ve gone from thirsting over the way his fingers look wrapped around his glass and the way his eyes darken when I lick by bottom lip to suddenly being confronted with every fucking feeling I’ve shoved so deep inside me that they just feel like part of my wiring now.
“Tired of what?”
Joe opens his mouth to answer, snaps it shut again, takes another sip of his gin. Gin. Why the fuck did he order us gins if he wants to, like, really elaborately reject my feelings? Again?
I wince at the thought. I hate thinking about that night. I can’t stand who I was and I can’t stand the pity I saw in his eyes when he told me to let him go. Fucking hell.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask before he can answer my previous question.
He sighs. “Kit, I’m not trying to, like, piss you off or upset you. But aren’t you tired of not addressing things? Don’t you feel like there’s always something hanging over us?”
“And you really thought this public event was the best time to bring it up?”
“Well it’s not like I ever get to see you outside of parties and shit these days, is it?” he bites. He takes a deep breath after he’s said it and his expression softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, obviously that isn’t your fault. I think I’ve just built tonight up in my head a bit because I was so fucking excited to hang out with you, I really was, but my heads been all over the place recently. I think I need to, like, clear some stuff up with you so we can just… be. Does that make any sense?”
I’m frowning into my gin and tonic like some aging housewife watching Corrie and trying to figure out who stabbed the landlady or whatever the fuck happens in soaps. I do understand what he’s saying, I think. As much as we’ve moved on from when we used to fuck regularly and as much as our friendship is still brilliant, there are so many things we haven’t talked about. There are so many important moments from our past that we’d probably feel much better about if we only understood what the other was thinking.
“Kit,” he prompts, sliding a hand along the top of the bar until it reaches my elbow. He tabs two fingers against my bare skin. “We don’t have to. The important thing is that we finally get a chance to catch up and if you want to use that time to do that then that’s ok too. It’s just that ever since we spoke the other day and you said you were going away next week, I’ve been so aware that we’re about to be apart for so long again. And my therapist is trying to get me to, like, be a better person or some shit. Figure out why I’ve done some of the things I regret or whatever.”
I see the opening for what it is and I plaster on a smirk, reaching out with one foot to nudge his ankle with the side of my shoe. “Oh, I get it. I’m therapy homework.”
He glares at me but then he’s smiling again and I think I’m starting to get my head around the unexpected change of direction. I tap his ankle again.
“We can talk if that’s what you want. You kind of caught me off guard. We’ve never… we’ve never even, like, hinted before that we’d ever drudge this stuff up.”
He cringes a bit at that. “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t mean to, like, abruptly drop that on you. But come on you utter piece of shit; you show up dressed like that and expect me to act normal?”
I bark out a bit of a surprised laugh at that and mutter under my breath for him to fuck off.
“I’m kidding. But you know I’m also serious, right? Like, I needed to get it out quickly because the longer I look at you the more I want to ask you to take me home. And I really would rather we talked first?”
I swallow thickly. First. He’d rather we talked first. Ok, so sex is still on the table. I just have to get through a possibly excruciating, life-altering and incredibly awkward conversation first. No big deal.
Fuck me.