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Chapter Text

It was just supposed to be a normal visit from Thomas, like any other. And yet Guy-Man was pacing nervously in anticipation. Why was he nervous? Thomas coming over to his Montmartre apartment certainly wasn’t an unusual event.

But it had been a while since Guy had seen him. Actually, it had been a while since Guy-Man had seen anyone, really. He’d mostly been keeping to himself lately, shunning potential collaborations, barely returning calls and only leaving his apartment to go for a run or to the market, or to take his French bulldog for a walk. Thomas had assured himself that this was normal at first; they were both busy with their own lives. It wasn’t like they were tied at the hip, they’d always had their own separate projects apart from each other. And besides, Guy was always a bit of a loner. 

But eventually, even he came to realize that they’d never gone this long without speaking before.

“I’m worried about Guy-Man,” a mutual friend had said to Thomas one day, pulling him aside. “He’s been isolating himself lately, even more than usual. 

“Yes, I know,” Thomas said uneasily.

“Between you and me, I think the divorce is still affecting him. He’s been having a hard time with it.” He took a drag from his cigarette. “Men tend to make impulsive decisions after a divorce. And you know how Guy is. He feels everything so intensely, but he keeps everything to himself.”

Thomas pondered this. Guy-Man, always the hopeless romantic, always lonely and sorrowful. Love just never seemed to last for him.

“Yes, I think perhaps you’re right.”

“Talk to him, man. You’re his closest friend, he listens to you. Hell, you’re probably one of the only people he listens to.”

“I’ve never been through a divorce,” Thomas responded. “I don’t know if there’s anything useful I would have to say to him.” 

“Just– check up on him, would you? At least try to get through to him. You know him best.”

So Thomas decided there was no better way to cheer up a heartbroken friend than with a spontaneous visit– and dinner, of course. 

They’d barely spoken in months outside of a few stray texts here and there, so Guy was surprised to wake up one morning to a message from Thomas:

“Are you doing anything Saturday night? I’d like to come to your place, it’s been a while.”

Guy smiled at the text.

“Yeah I’m free Saturday.”

 I’ll cook for us. There’s a recipe I want to try.”

“What’s the recipe?”

“Coq au Riesling. Like Coq au Vin, but with white wine, not red. More elegant, in my opinion.”

“Such a snob you are. I’ll get the ingredients.”

Guy-Man went to the market, cleaned his entire apartment until it was spotless, showered, shaved, and even put on a nicer shirt than usual. He felt like a teenager preparing for a date with a girl he liked. But this certainly was no date, just a casual friendly visit. So why was his heart pounding, his mind restless?

What made matters worse was that the weather wasn’t cooperative. Howling wind and a torrential downpour of rain, almost like a hurricane, came upon Paris at the exact time they’d planned to meet. Of course this would happen now, of all times, Guy-Man thought grumpily to himself. So he waited expectantly that Saturday evening, but when the time they’d agreed upon came, Thomas didn’t show up. He waited 10 minutes. Still no sign of him. That was alright, with the bad weather a delay was to be expected. It was absolutely pouring outside. Then a half hour had passed and Guy’s anxiety began to grow. He checked his phone for any texts or calls from Thomas. Nothing.

Just when Guy started to think he wasn’t coming, he finally heard a buzz from his phone. It was Thomas. He came up and knocked. Guy opened the door, and there Thomas stood. Tall, slender– and completely sopping wet. 

“I’m so-so sorry I’m late,” he stuttered, hanging his soaked raincoat. “The train was late, it-it was pouring rain, and-and-and-“

“That’s alright,” Guy cut him off. “I went to the market and got what you needed.”

“Ah,” Thomas looked over at the kitchen where the freshly-bought ingredients sat. “That’s good, that’s good– oh hello!” He reached down to pet Guy’s bulldog that ran up to greet him.

So the two cooked together, Thomas preparing the chicken and Guy cutting vegetables. Thomas went on a long speech as the chicken sizzled in the pan, about the movie score he was working on, some obscure films he saw, the forums he was browsing, and other random things no one but Thomas would ever speak so passionately about. Guy stood and listened, only giving the occasional nod, and thought how funny it was how they could go months without speaking then reunite and pick up where they left off like no time had passed at all.

When they’d finished cooking, Guy went to put on a record.

“Any requests?” He asked.

“Oh no, please, it’s your place, you pick.” Thomas insisted. So Guy settled on a record of old French love songs, just to have something mellow in the background. There was a strange atmosphere as they sat and ate the meal they’d cooked together, like an old married couple. A meal cooked with friends always tastes better than one cooked by yourself.

“So? What do you think?” Thomas looked at him expectantly as they took their first bites. 

“I have to admit I was skeptical at first,” Guy told him. “But I like it with the white.”

Thomas smiled, and continued his long monologue about his work, the new camera he was tinkering with, the state of modern French cinema, and so on.

Interviewers used to always get irritated at how little Guy-Man would speak when they asked questions. But why should he talk, he thought, when Thomas spoke so much more beautifully and elegantly than he ever could?

After they’d shared their meal and washed the dishes, Guy-Man found the bottle of Riesling still half full after they’d used the other half for cooking the chicken. He grabbed it and took a quick swig.

“It’s polite to use a glass, you know.” Thomas teased him, appearing from the dining room. Guy shamefully lowered the bottle, glaring. Thomas mercifully pulled two wine glasses out of the cabinet.

“I can pour it,” Guy insisted. Content, Thomas went into the living room and took off his glasses. Guy set the bottle down on the counter, and as he began to pour it into a glass he looked up and saw Thomas sitting by the windowsill, staring out into the Parisian cityscape.

It felt strange to see him like this again, looking just like he did when he was teenager sitting on the balcony of what was once his parents’ house, taking a break from their sessions of messing around with samplers. That gentle smile, the look in his eyes as he admired the nightlife. Guy-Man took in the familiarity of his features: his long face, his gangly legs, the curl of his lips. The mole on the side of his face that he always hated, but Guy thought was charming. Those thin shoulders underneath his suit, that aquiline nose, his large hands with those elegant fingers. 

He was losing more of his bushy hair, but he wore it well. Once he’d been a shy, nerdy student at the top of his class. Looked like it, too. Now he looked like a professor, in the depths of middle age. He’d aged so much over the years, even more so since the last time he’d seen him. But Guy didn’t care. He still thought he was handsome.

He began to feel something that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. A bittersweet reminder of a secret he’d buried away in the back of his mind years ago, that now threatened to bubble up at the surface once again. Coupled with it was the melancholic feeling of realizing how little remained from their youth together. The lines and wrinkles forming on Thomas’ skin broke Guy’s heart. Those subtle reminders of how little time had left untouched.

Their distance wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just Guy’s depression that kept them from speaking. Thomas’ interests had gradually begun to separate from his. Where once they’d been so in sync, like twins, their differences had grown over the years. At first he’d hoped this was just a temporary slump, and that soon it would all get better eventually and be like old times once more. But eventually he came to fear that they truly had grown apart, and that things were never going to be the way they used to be between them again. This was just how it was now. 

Well, he supposed it was bound to happen at some point. Plenty of friendships fizzled out after a while; it was only natural. But he’d never wanted his friendship with Thomas to be one of them. It was so painful; like watching the person you love most slowly fall out of love with you, and knowing there is nothing you can do. 

Nothing lasted forever, it seemed. Not even them.

He knew maybe he should be grateful that the dissipation of their relationship was amicable; that unlike other bands they hadn’t gotten into a big fight that had destroyed their friendship over money, or something stupid like that. But part of him almost wished that they had fought. Even fighting would be better than not communicating at all.

More often than not, Guy-Man found himself missing their youth together, when they’d see each other everyday after school, just hanging out watching movies and making music together. Back when everything was simpler, and their friendship was still close as ever.

Oh sure, they’d always still be friends. They’d spent too many years together for that to ever change. But that special connection, the intense bond they’d once had, seemed to have run its course. Maybe after all these years, they’d finally outgrown each other. Truthfully, Guy-Man didn't feel like he'd changed very much on the inside. He still felt like the same person he was when he was young. But Thomas, it seemed, had moved lightyears away from him.

It always felt like he was the one being left behind.

And perhaps it was because of this separation that was making Guy feel this way again. Absence making the heart grow fonder, and all that. Having been so long without him, now he was remembering all of the little things about Thomas that he loved about him. Those old pangs of longing were all coming back to him. Like wine, some things grew only more desirable with time.

Speaking of wine, Guy-Man was so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed he’d been staring distractedly and poured way too much– until he heard the liquid overflow and spill out of the glass, onto the table.

“Merde!” He hissed. Thomas looked up, concerned.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Guy answered embarrassed, trying to hide the mess from his view. He mopped up the spill with paper towels and hastily tried to pour wine from the full glass into the other, only to spill it again.

Acting naturally, Guy brought Thomas one of the glasses and sat on the couch across from him.

“Merci,” Thomas whispered, lifting it to his lips. He stopped and gave a puzzled look at his glass, still over-filled. “This is a lot of wine,” he observed in an amused tone, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me drunk or something?”

“Now why would I do that?” Guy responded in his familiar, mischievous voice. Thomas grinned into his glass, taking a sip. Then he turned his gaze back out the window as it continued to pour outside.

“So, how have you been?” Thomas asked, running his finger along the rim of his glass as Guy settled into his drink.

“I’ve been doing alright,” he said between sips. Thomas looked doubtful. It was obvious he hadn’t been feeling very well.

“Are you still seeing a therapist?”

Guy peeked up from his glass and nodded. 

“And how has that been going?” Thomas asked cautiously. Guy paused.

When he went his therapist would try to get him to open up, which he wouldn't do, and then gave him advice, which he didn't take. He'd sit in the office disassociating, pretending to pay attention, hearing words but barely registering them. Sometimes the therapist would ask him questions about why he didn’t like speaking to people. He would simply shrug.

“Because I have nothing to say.” 

And that would be the end of it.

Guy gave a curt response.

“It’s been fine.”

Sensing that he didn’t want to dwell on the topic, Thomas changed the subject.

“Your place looks different since I was last here, did you renovate or something?”

“Mmm, renovate? Not exactly. Just moved some things around, got some new furniture.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.” 

“Does it get lonely here?” Thomas asked, looking around the place where Guy lived by himself.

“Sometimes,” Guy-Man stared out the window awkwardly. Why was it suddenly so difficult to speak to him? They’d never really had to do small talk before, not with each other. Small talk was for acquaintances, and awkward introductions. But them? They’d always just been able to understand each other, without words.

"How long has it been? Since the last time we spoke like this, just you and me?" Thomas asked.

"No idea, I've lost track," Guy mumbled into his drink.

The song that began playing in the background didn’t help. The lyrics made his face flush for reasons he thought Thomas would never be able to understand.

J’ai compris ta détresse,

Cher amoureux,

“What’s all this?” Thomas wandered over to an assortment of crystals on the shelf.

“Oh, I’ve, euh, just been collecting those,” Guy stumbled. He’d gotten into it a while ago. He liked how they looked, but also the spiritual aspect. How they were said to promote healing, cleansing, and could calm negative emotions.

He’d find them anywhere: from gift shops, odd little marketplaces, or sometimes he’d simply find an interesting looking rock on the ground and take it with him. Something about just holding them made him feel better.

Et je cède à tes vux:

Fais de moi ta maîtresse.

“I hear crystal healing has become quite popular recently,” Thomas quipped. “Is that what these are for?”

Guy-Man knew Thomas didn’t buy into any of that new-age stuff. He shrugged.

“I meditate with them sometimes. They help me get over my creative blocks.”

“Ohhhh…” Thomas said, humoring him. 

He looked at the quartz crystals. 

“I got some of those when I went to Mont Saint-Michel for my birthday,” Guy recalled. 

“How was that?” Thomas asked softly.

“It was lovely. The rocks there have a beautiful color from the quartz and feldspar. I wish you could have seen it,” Guy smiled. 

Loin de nous la sagesse,

Plus de tristesse,

“I would have texted you pictures, if you weren’t still using that primitive piece of junk.” He taunted Thomas for still using an old flip phone that could only send texts and calls, and couldn’t even receive images.

“You know I have no use for smartphones! They’re a waste of time. It’s an addiction,” Thomas sniffed. “I’m perfectly happy with my ‘primitive piece of junk’, thank you. It’s much simpler.”

“You are such an old man, how do your kids put up with you?” Guy teased.

“Yes, they grow weary of me,” Thomas smiled.

J’aspire à l’instant précieux 

Où nous serons heureux:

Thomas took an interest in a pinkish-colored rock on his shelf. “May I?”

“Sure.”

He picked it up. It was a rose quartz; the stone of unconditional love. The irony, Guy thought.

“They’re very pretty.” Thomas traced it delicately with his finger. It stirred something in Guy. “You certainly have an eye for beauty.”

Right now, Guy only had eyes for him. 

Je te veux.

As the night progressed, the two found themselves talking about fond memories, reliving old experiences they’d shared together over the years.

Like the trip to Pompeii they took when they were 12. Or when they went to Ibiza together in high school, and Thomas had insisted on playing nothing but the Talking Heads for the entire trip.

“Thomas,” his father had groaned over Houses in Motion. “Nothing against the Talking Heads, but we have been listening to them for hours on end. May I please put on something else?” And Thomas looked up in dismay from the pile of cassette tapes he’d brought with him.

“Remember that time in the 90s when we went to some guy’s house party, and you got so drunk you passed out on his floor?” Thomas was giddy on wine, giggling into his glass.

“Yeah, I remember,” Guy smiled. Thomas had found him, out cold. He’d dragged him into a guest room and tucked him in. Thomas always looked out for him. Always fretting over his clothes, checking on him when he was sick, covering for him when he got in trouble in school. Once he’d defended him against a teacher, who was losing patience with Guy’s refusal to participate in class.

“That’s just because he’s shy! Not because he’s lazy!” He’d pleaded.

Like an older brother, he always cared for him that way, despite being the younger between them. 

“If I don’t take that glass away from you, I think you might pass out on my floor.” Guy quipped. That made Thomas laugh even harder. 

“You were always falling asleep during interviews too, instead of talking. I used to get so annoyed,” he reminisced.

“Why all the sudden nostalgia?” Guy eyed him, asking himself that question as much as he was asking him. Thomas shrugged. 

“You were right, I’m turning into an old man,” he sighed.

“Well, you’re not that old,” Guy retorted.

“I’m not young.” 

Guy couldn’t argue with that. And of course, that meant he certainly wasn’t young anymore either, being a year his senior.

“Well I did talk, sometimes, when I felt like it,” Guy insisted.

“You mostly just liked to talk about how you made music to get girls,” Thomas teased. “You were always saying that.”

Guy looked down at his hands.

“You know that was all bullshit, right?”

Thomas looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

Guy hesitated for a moment. Then he laughed, almost bitterly into his glass.

“I didn’t really make music to impress girls,” he said finally. “I made it to impress you.” 

And it was true. Even from the first mixtape he’d made for him when they were in school together. The one he made and hastily scribbled “Pour Thomas” on. Thomas, the new, popular boy from a privileged upbringing, who could buy himself a brand new record whenever he wanted. Who was so smart he’d moved up a grade and was class president. Thomas, the well behaved, preppy, nerdy kid that everyone liked. 

And then there was Guy-Manuel, the delinquent. The shy, quiet, moody kid with greasy hair and bad grades. He had little luck in making friends, and even worse luck in getting girls. It seemed like they had absolutely nothing in common. And yet they liked the same music, and the same movies. He found out they’d been to the same Bruce Springsteen concert a few years ago, and hadn’t even realized it. Guy felt like he'd always known him, before they'd even met; like fate had connected them from their infancy. 

He wanted Thomas’ approval; wanted so badly to capture his attention. He liked Thomas.

He was so surprised to find that Thomas liked him, too.

He’d looked in shock when Thomas told him he loved the mixtape, and asked him if he wanted to go see a movie together. A date, he’d jokingly called it. A late night showing of The Lost Boys, his treat.

It began a lifelong friendship. Perhaps the first real friendship Guy had ever known. Most of his childhood had been lonely, with friendships fleeting as they all outgrew him, one by one. But Thomas didn’t mind his quirks, didn’t care when other kids would question why he was hanging out with “that weird kid”. He liked him just the way he was. And ever since then every note, every melody Guy had ever created was made with the secret, tiny hope that Thomas would be enchanted. Thomas made him want to be a better artist; a better person.

“What do you mean, we’re not interested in girls??” He’d cried when Thomas told an interviewer they weren’t interested in the celebrity lifestyle. He never passed up an opportunity to talk about how they quit their rock band for electro because the girls at raves were prettier, or how unfair it was that Thomas got better girls than him, or that they made music to get ladies, only to later be forced to admit that he didn’t have much success with women.

“Do girls ever ask you ‘voulez-vous coucher avec moi?’ after a show?” A reporter probed him on one such occasion.

“Non,” Guy grumbled.

“Would you stop that?” Thomas huffed afterwards.

“Stop what?”

“That egotistical macho-man act you keep doing all the time in front of interviewers. It’s starting to get on my nerves.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guy replied defensively. “I just said I liked girls, what’s the big deal?”

He was overcompensating, and he knew it looked pathetic. But it was easier to let Thomas think he was just insecure because he couldn’t get a girlfriend than to admit the truth of what he really felt.

Guy-Man stared down, having finished his wine, completely lost in thought. It wasn’t until he finally looked up again that noticed Thomas staring at him intensely. It startled him so much he felt prompted to say something.

“What?”

Thomas’ eyes shifted, staying silent a while longer. Then he finally spoke.

“Is that supposed to mean what I think it means?”

Guy turned bright red and his heart slammed in his chest, realizing he may have just revealed much more than he thought he had.

Chapter Text

“A gossip columnist insinuates that your relationship is no longer purely professional. There is something deeper going on between the two of you. Would that alarm you? How would you react?”

It was in sly questions from interviewers. Jokes from friends when they’d call him “Thomas’ girlfriend” because of his long hair. Even suspicions from his own parents when they found out Thomas was taking him to gay clubs.

“We just like the music there,” he’d explained to their dubious faces.

But the truth was that no, nothing romantic had ever happened between them. Outside of a few stray glances every now and then. Kisses on the cheek that lasted a bit too long. And one drug-fueled incident Guy-Man was sure Thomas didn’t even remember.

It happened in 1994, the night they learned that Kurt Cobain died– and the night Thomas finally convinced Guy to try ecstasy for the first time. 

“It makes you more sociable,” Thomas said. Guy, who was never known for being particularly sociable, felt doubtful. But he decided to throw caution to the wind and took the pill.

Thomas was right: he did feel strangely happy to be around others. He was talkative, almost chirpy. It was such a different experience from the usual parties where he’d kept to himself, barely saying a word to anyone the whole night. In fact, when they left the party his throat hurt, his vocal cords unfamiliar with being used so much.

The pair wandered out through the streets of Glasgow, heading to an afterparty. Thomas, high out of his mind, was singing and spinning around, and kept trying to dance with Guy-Man. He grabbed his hand, giggling, and pulled Guy towards him. Guy, also high but not as much, shoved him away, only to make Thomas laugh harder. Guy had insisted on taking a much smaller dose before the party.

“My tolerance isn’t as high as yours!” he’d complained to Thomas who had been taking ecstasy for an entire year at that point.

“Come on, Guy-Man!” Thomas called gleefully, hearing music playing somewhere off in the distance. “We’re almost there!” He skipped away towards the sound.

“Yeah, yeah, hang on a minute,” Guy mumbled as he rubbed his head, the drug making him bleary. He blinked and saw a bright light. Unsure if he was hallucinating, he watched the light separate into two. Quickly he realized what he was seeing: the headlights of an oncoming truck– headed straight for a completely oblivious Thomas.

“Thomas!!!” Guy shrieked and bolted towards him.

Everything seemed to happen in slow-motion.

The blare of the horn, the rush of the air around him as he jumped, the impact in his chest as he slammed into Thomas, his foot brushing the truck just barely missing it.

The pair tumbled off the side of the road, hitting the ground with a thud. Guy lay on top of Thomas gasping for breath, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Thomas came to his senses for a moment and realized what had just happened. They stared at each other in shock for a long time, horrified.

When they had finally collected themselves and continued their walk, the mood shifted completely. 

“Is your foot ok?” Thomas asked shakily.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

They shuffled along in humbled silence for a while. Until Thomas, whether from nerves or still being high or some other inexplicable reason, started howling with laughter. Guy-Man gaped at him, exasperated.

“We-we-we almost died!” Thomas gasped, still laughing. 

“It’s not funny!” Guy punched him in the arm.

“You-you saved my life!” 

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t an idiot! You scared the shit out of me!” Guy stormed off in a huff, hot tears welling up in his eyes. Thomas followed.

“You… saved my life,” he repeated, slowly and more thoughtfully this time, like it was truly beginning to dawn on him what had happened. “If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way–“

“Shut up!” Guy hissed. “I don’t want to think about it.”

Thomas wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Guy-Man,” he babbled, gazing down dreamily at his savior. “I love you.” Before Guy could even react, Thomas leaned his head in and kissed him, square on the mouth.

Guy-Man made a sound of surprise and his eyes shot open, like he’d been shocked. He is high as a fucking kite, he thought to himself. He gasped, stunned as Thomas pushed his tongue into his mouth and squeezed him even tighter. Guy, still a little high himself and not knowing what else to do, kissed him back. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and a small part of his mind slowly decided that he liked kissing Thomas, even though his breath was hot and gross from their night out. He liked how soft his lips were, liked the way they felt against his, liked the feeling of Thomas’ arms wrapping around him, pulling him in so close, and Guy began to wrap his arms around Thomas too, and–

“Hey!”

An abrupt voice pulled Guy-Man out of his daze. They separated to see who it was, Guy still resting his head against Thomas’ shoulder. A group of rowdy Scottish youths had passed them and saw their public display of affection.

“Get that fucking fag shit out of here!” One of them shouted. Guy would have been offended, but was just thankful that at least he wasn’t being mistaken for a girl this time.

“No, it’s ok! We’re not gay, we’re just French!” Thomas called, in a playful voice. “This is how men say hello in France. Come, let me give you a kiss!” He started towards them. The boy who yelled backed away, revolted. The rest of the group was cackling at him. Guy-Man pulled Thomas away by the back of his shirt, giggling.

“I hate ‘em fuckin’ Frogs,” they heard as they walked away, which made them double over with laughter. 

When they got back from the afterparty to the place they were staying, Thomas crept into Guy’s room.

“Can I stay with you?” He asked in barely more than a hushed whisper.

“Yeah, sure.”

Thomas peeled off his shirt but couldn’t be bothered to remove his pants, and collapsed face down on the bed. Guy-Man helped tuck him in under the covers, and felt a pair of slender arms wrap around him and clutch him tightly. Thomas pulled Guy in and pressed his head against his chest. The comedown from the ecstasy was finally starting to set in, combining with the traumatic memories of his near-death experience which gave Thomas a terrible bout of anxiety.

After Kurt Cobain, they'd had enough death for one day.

“Are you alright?” Guy asked gently. Thomas nodded against his chest, wordlessly. The two stayed like that the whole night, Guy’s fingers lightly brushing Thomas’ shoulder, lulling the curly-haired boy to sleep. Guy stared puzzled into the night, thinking about the kiss, and how much he’d liked it, and tried to figure out what it meant, or if it even meant anything at all, until exhaustion overcame him and finally he too, fell into a dreamless slumber.

The next morning Guy-Man woke before Thomas, which was a first. Usually Thomas woke bright and early and had to drag a grumbling Guy out of bed. The drug must’ve really done a number on him, Guy thought.

He stumbled into the bathroom and smeared some toothpaste on his brush, trying to scrub the foul taste out of his mouth. When he was done combing his hair and making himself somewhat presentable, he snuck back into his room.

Thomas was still lying there, peacefully asleep, oblivious to the world around him. Despite his disheveled state, he looked pretty, Guy thought. Pretty. That was a new one. He never would have used that word to describe Thomas before. The morning light from the window dappled his bare back, making lovely patterns across his skin. His eyelashes cast shadows over his face, and his lips were parted ever so slightly. Probably drooling, Guy giggled to himself. He was the perfect image of peaceful slumber. 

Guy stared in wonder, and suddenly felt an irresistible urge to touch him. He laid his hand gently over his spine, barely making contact at first. Then slowly, slowly, he spread his fingers and brushed up his back, enjoying the sensation of soft, smooth skin under his fingertips, watching the light from the window ripple over his hand.

All of a sudden Thomas bolted up, startled from Guy’s touch. Guy jumped backwards in fright.

“Wha-huh?” Thomas asked stupidly, blinking himself awake.

“Nothing! I was just– trying to wake you up,” Guy shouted defensively, before realizing with a bit of relief that Thomas wasn’t fully aware of what he’d been doing.

“Oh,” Thomas rubbed his eyes. “What… what happened last night?”

“Well, you got high on ecstasy again and then you almost got hit by a truck.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah that I remember,” Thomas groaned. “I think I blacked out after that, or something.”

So he doesn’t remember the kiss? Guy wondered. Hopefully not.

Things seemed oddly normal between them when they went out for a late meal. Guy kept a wary eye on Thomas, looking for any signs of awkwardness; any indication that he remembered what happened between them. But Thomas was talkative and comfortable as usual with him. It seemed he truly had no recollection of their… experiment that took place the previous night.

“I think I’m going to stop doing ecstasy,” he said after staring into his glass of juice for a long while, still a bit disoriented.

“Why, did that truck finally knock some sense into you?” Guy stirred his coffee. Thomas shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“And why am I scolding you? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible one,” Guy continued, taking an angry sip from his mug, then wincing in pain from burning his tongue.

“I just don’t like the way it makes me feel, you know?” Thomas answered. “It makes me think all music sounds good, even the crappy stuff. It kills my critical judgment.”

“Well if there’s one thing you couldn’t bear to lose, it’s your critical judgment,” Guy said in a mocking tone. Thomas half-heartedly threw his crumpled-up napkin at him. “It took you a year to figure that out? I did it once and that was more than enough for me,” Guy snarled.

Thomas looked sadly at him for a moment.

“I really am sorry for getting us into so much trouble. I shouldn't have talked you into trying it.” Guy softened up at that. He couldn’t stay mad at him.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled. “Just as long as you promise we’ll never do it again.”

“Only if you promise you won’t tell my parents. If they found out I’ve been getting high for the past year they’d probably kill me.”

“Tell your parents? I’m not a snitch,” Guy smirked. “Like they would even believe me if I did.”

Chapter Text

That brought an end to the “truck incident”, as they would later call it. But the memory of what they’d done stuck with Guy-Man. It awakened something inside of him, planting a seed, and taking root were feelings that he wouldn’t fully understand for a long, long time. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, just some stupid thing they’d done under the influence, or just out of relief that they hadn’t died, and that they’d never talk about it again. He’d go on, pretending it never happened.

But in the years that followed, he began to notice Thomas differently. 

Sometimes the horrible thought would creep into Guy’s mind of what would have happened if he hadn’t saved him. It gave him nightmares. He didn’t know what he would have done. The thought of living the rest of his life without Thomas, never to hear his voice again, never to see his smile… it was unbearable. 

He would look at him, and think how grateful he was that he was still by his side; that he could still reach out to touch him, and he would be there. He felt protective of him, this beautiful boy, standing obliviously next to him by the sampler.

Sometimes it takes almost losing someone to realize how much you love them.

Every now and then, when they were alone together, whether working on music or just hanging out, Guy would have a flashback to that night, and to the kiss, and suddenly feel shy around him. Thomas would notice sometimes and wonder why. Guy-Man was usually shy around most people, but never around him.

Thomas had more success with girls than Guy. They liked to go up and talk to him after a DJ set, or at a party. Thomas was tall, charming and cute, and it seemed he had little trouble finding a girlfriend. Guy-Man on the other hand, had a reputation for being stand-offish, and never seemed to attract ladies the same way.

“Those girls aren’t worth it anyways,” he’d say to his friends, brushing it off. “I’m only going to date models.”

“How are you going to date models when they’re all taller than you?” They’d tease him.

A strange, bitter sensation would brew in his stomach whenever he saw Thomas put his arm around his girlfriend, whoever it was at the time. Seeing Thomas happy with a girl upset him. Weren’t guys supposed to be happy for their other male friends when they were successful in getting women? Like how men would clap their friends on the back and congratulate them when they told them they’d scored with a pretty girl. Wasn’t that how he should be? Getting angry certainly wasn’t normal, was it?

He knew exactly what the emotion was: jealousy. It brimmed in his fingers and toes; it sat deep in his stomach, making him feel sick. He tried to convince himself at first that he was jealous of Thomas, and just frustrated at his own inability to attract a girlfriend, when it was so easy for him. That’s what he told his friends and interviewers, anyways.

“Thomas always gets more girls than me,” he’d complain. It seemed like a perfectly plausible explanation. But deep down, it didn’t feel right.

One day, lying in his bed alone, he was finally forced to consider the alternative: that maybe it wasn’t Thomas he was jealous of. He imagined something he’d never allowed himself to think of before: what if he was the object of Thomas’ affections, if he was the one Thomas held hands with and wrapped his arm around and kissed. Just like the night they’d kissed in Glasgow. 

Instantly it all clicked in his mind. Why he felt so gloomy all the time. Why he was so mad when he saw Thomas with a girl. Not because he wanted to be in his place, but because he wanted to be in hers. Because when he’d see her stroke his arm, or run her fingers through his hair, or kiss him, a tiny part of him wished that he could do those things. And if that was true, that could only mean one thing…

He shook his head. No, no, no, that couldn’t be it. Thomas was his childhood best friend, almost like a brother. They had always been especially close. They hung out all the time, they stole each other’s clothes, they finished each other’s sentences when they spoke. But he wasn’t supposed to feel like… that about him. Fantasizing about him that way, that was off limits. Forbidden. 

There had to be another reason. Was he actually in love with him? Or did he just want to be him? Maybe he really was just jealous of Thomas. After all, he’d always secretly been a bit envious of how Thomas always seemed to have it all together, and he never did.

Or maybe he was so lonely and desperate for love he’d be willing to accept it from anyone. But then again, he didn’t feel like this about any of his other friends. No, Thomas was special in his eyes. 

Perhaps enjoying the thought of kissing was one thing, but surely that didn’t mean he wanted to go further than that. The idea of them ever becoming sexual– that was where he would draw the line, wasn’t it? 

But no, Guy made the alarming revelation that even the thought of going all the way with Thomas didn’t disgust him like he thought it would. It was intriguing, exciting even. It made his face tingle, and his mouth go dry. He’d had sex before, in those lucky times where he did have a girl.

But sex with Thomas? That would be very, very different.

One time, he’d seen Thomas standing naked in the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. The door was left slightly ajar, and he could see a dripping wet Thomas burying his face in a fluffy white towel, leaving everything else completely exposed. Guy’s heart raced and he felt his face get hot. The sudden, disturbing thought appeared in his mind: he wanted it inside of him. 

Feeling sick, he turned away quickly before Thomas could see that he’d been looking. He doubted he even would have minded. They’d seen each other naked before, being together so often. It wasn’t that odd of an occurrence; they were comfortable around each other. But this time felt different somehow. Guy couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t get the image out of his head.

Maybe what he wanted from Thomas was a kind of intimacy that was deeper, beyond even sex, and he was simply mistaking his feelings in his search to be satiated, when in reality what he truly wanted was something much more meaningful, more important. Mere sexual attraction seemed too crude and simplistic to describe what he felt for him; surely it had to be something else, didn’t it? He didn’t know what it was, but he’d never felt this way about anyone before, man or woman.

Maybe this was all just some weird, silly phase he was going through. Whatever it was, clearly he couldn’t trust the thoughts in his own mind. I’ve been spending too much time in gay clubs, he thought, remembering how Thomas had caught him gawking at a pair of men making out one time they’d played a set in one.

“Don’t stare,” he scolded him teasingly. “It’s rude.” Guy turned away, embarrassed. 

There were times when he’d see two young boys being affectionate at those clubs, kissing and touching each other, and he’d think, a little sadly, of that being him and Thomas.

Then there were other times he’d question himself when one of the guys would hit on him, or offer to buy him a drink. He’d turn them down, a little ashamed of being taken for a gay man.

“I think the men here like you,” Thomas would tease him.

“No, no, I think they like you. You know, because you’re so tall and handsome,” he’d countered sarcastically.

“Ohhhh, you think I’m handsome, Guy-Man?” Thomas drunkenly giggled. Guy clamped his mouth shut and sheepishly backed down from his accidental flirt.

He hoped this was all temporary, and that someday he’d go back to normal and these capricious feelings of attraction would just go away.

But they never did.

And the truth was that there had never been any “normal”. If he was completely honest, right from the moment he’d first met Thomas he’d always had a bit of a crush on him. He just didn’t have the words to explain it back then. Now he did. 

It was why he’d made all those mixtapes for him. Why after they’d graduated high school, while Thomas was on an extended vacation in New York, Guy-Man had snuck into his room and curled up on his bed with one of his shirts, brushing his lips against the fabric and inhaling the scent. Just because he missed him. Why he liked wrestling with him, just to feel his skin against him, and then lying by his side afterwards, sweaty and exhausted. Why he felt so forlorn without him.

What did it mean, that he felt like this? He wasn’t gay, surely. He liked girls just the same as Thomas did. But he couldn’t hide from the reality of what was in his head, this feeling of wanting him. Wanting to have him, to feel him, to be with him. That feeling when he’d be sleeping next to him sometimes when they would share a bed, or huddle up on a couch together after a gig. He’d stare at Thomas desperately while he slept, every cell in his body screaming to reach out and touch him. 

If I had been born a girl, he'd wonder, would we have ended up together? Would he be in love with me?

Some nights when Guy was alone, and he was feeling particularly bold, he would hide under his covers and give in to temptation, kissing his pillow ferociously and touching himself to thoughts of Thomas treating him like one of his girls. An action that would have mortified him less than a year ago. He thought of times he'd seen Thomas swimming at night in the pool with his topless girlfriend, when they thought they were alone. He thought of the way she'd shriek when Thomas would lift her up and wrap his arms around her, kissing her, and it sent a jolt down his spine. Guy would feel so warm, safe, and happy, fully immersed in his fantasies, soft, sweet feelings of love rushing through his body– then he’d hate himself, feeling dirty and disgusting when it was over. 

One night, he had a dream about doing it in Thomas’ bed instead of his own– and Thomas walking in on him, catching him in the act.

“Qu'est-ce que tu fais?” Thomas asked him accusatively in the dream. 

“Rien,” Guy-Man envisioned himself hiding under the thin bed sheet, ashamed, trying to conceal what he’d done.

“You’re getting off in my bed and you’re lying to me?” Thomas tsked tsked. “And you stole my shirt. What’s gotten into you?” Guy was wearing nothing but Thomas’ buttoned dress shirt. His stomach dropping, Guy watched Thomas lean against the foot of the bed. 

“You should’ve knocked,” he retorted, feeling cornered.

“It’s my room,” Thomas smirked, knowing he’d caught him. “You know, you’re gonna stain my sheets if you keep–“

Guy-Man slapped him across the face, just like he’d done to him one time when they got into a fight in Ibiza as teenagers. 

“Don’t fucking make fun of me!” Thomas gasped and let out a shocked laugh as he rubbed his cheek. Guy turned away and hid his face under the cover, sniffling in embarrassment.

“I’m not making fun of you. I’m not, I promise I’m not.” Thomas said gently.

“Just leave me alone,” Guy sniveled from under the bedding.

“Hey, I’m not mad at you.”

In his dream, Thomas slowly pulled back the blanket, revealing his face. “Guy-Man…”

Wide-eyed, Guy peeked up at him as Thomas chuckled and caressed his hair. “You know, you do look like a pretty girl sometimes.” Guy-Man melted. He usually hated when people told him that. But he liked hearing it from Thomas.

“Tell me, what were you thinking about?” Thomas’ voice rumbled in a low, suggestive tone, pulling the blanket further down.

“Mm… you,” Guy-Man admitted weakly.

“Me?!” Thomas sounded more amused than surprised. 

“Your bedsheets smell like you,” Guy murmured softly, filled with desire.

“Well then, now that I’m here…” Thomas pulled his foot out from under the cover. “Show me.” He dug his thumbs into the sole. Guy’s mouth went dry, realizing he wanted to watch him continue. He gave Thomas a hesitant look. “Don’t be shy.” Feeling much more self-conscious, Guy slipped his hand back downwards. 

He grasped himself and resumed his movements, looking to Thomas for approval. Thomas coyly smiled at him, his pupils dilating as he watched, shuddering with sympathy as he rubbed the arch of his foot from the heel to the ball. Guy beamed with pride at the thought that he’d made him aroused, and it gave him the courage to speed up. Tilting his head back into the pillow, he inhaled through gritted teeth and continued stroking himself as Thomas sat on the edge of his bed, massaging his foot. Guy-Man kicked out his other foot and brushed it against the hard member in Thomas’ pants to stimulate him.

“Ah! Oh, non, non, non,” Thomas laughed and pulled his foot away. "This is only for you."

The sounds he made for Thomas’ ears only, his moans and whimpers, got louder as he felt climax nearing. 

He gave him a desperate, needy look as his only warning, delirious with pleasure. Understanding, Thomas let go of his foot and walked to the other side of the bed. 

Guy-Man ran his free hand through a messy head of curls as Thomas bent over to kiss him, feeling his patchy stubble against his chin. He made little pants into Thomas' mouth in rapid succession, until he felt warm spurts all over his hand. They separated from their kiss, staring at each other as Guy writhed from the aftershocks. Thomas sat on the bed and gazed at him.

“Give me your hand.” Meekly, Guy-Man gave him his clean hand. “No,” Thomas laughed at him. “Your other hand.”

Guy reluctantly obeyed and reached out the hand he came on, holding the evidence of his crime.

He dreamed of Thomas holding his filthy hand and smirking at it, as if to say, look what you did. Then Thomas did the unthinkable. He lifted Guy’s fingers to his mouth, his tongue lapping up the mess. Guy-Man saw himself turning bright red and shooting upright. 

“No, don’t!”

Thomas gave him a glare and made him settle down as he returned to his work, cleaning every drop off his hand.

“I like yours better than mine,” he remarked.

“You’ve tasted your own?” Guy laughed.

“You haven’t?” Thomas asked, and Guy-Man shook his head.

Hesitating for a moment, Thomas leaned over and kissed him, letting him taste himself. His tongue pushed the fluid into his mouth, forcing his head back. Guy uttered a shocked moan. For once, Thomas made him feel like his desires weren’t wrong or disgusting; they were beautiful, perfectly natural. Lying on his back, he took in the light from the street drifting through Thomas’ curtains, hearing the jingle of Thomas’ belt as he removed it. 

Guy traced his finger along Thomas’ upper thigh, over his sex in his boxers, pressing their foreheads together as Thomas unbuttoned the shirt he stole. He used it to wipe up the rest of the mess he made, as Guy rubbed his lip over his eyelids. Then he felt Thomas move on top of him, kissing him all over. Guy wondered for a moment if he should feel embarrassed, but there was no one else to judge. They were alone together; only the two of them in this world, and all other thoughts faded from his mind.

When he woke the next morning, he felt dampness between his legs. Horrified, he realized it had all been a wet dream. It seemed these thoughts had invaded not only his conscious mind but now his subconscious as well. 

For the rest of the day he couldn’t look Thomas, the real Thomas in the eye, out of guilt and shame. If he knew the things I think about him… 

Please don't be angry at me, Thomas. I can’t explain what I feel for you.

He worried these thoughts were starting to consume his mind. What the hell is wrong with me? He thought. He feared the more he continued to indulge these feelings, the greater the risk that soon he might act on them. But would that be so bad? Maybe he should tell Thomas how he felt. He was his best friend after all, didn’t he deserve to know the truth?

He doesn’t want to know, he scolded himself. Just because he’d kissed him once in a high and drunken stupor didn’t mean he reciprocated those feelings. He had to be careful with how much he revealed. How would Thomas react if he knew the true extent of what he felt? Would he get angry at him? No, that was doubtful. Most likely he’d just be surprised, and would politely turn him down. He’d give him the awkward “I-like-you-but-not-in-that-way” rejection speech; he’d let him down easy. And it would be unbearable.

And then there was the risk it might even tarnish their friendship. It would make things difficult between them, for sure. Maybe not immediately, but perhaps afterwards he would get uncomfortable every time they were alone together. 

Once you find out that your best friend thinks about you sexually, that’s not exactly something you can come back from. It would be crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Maybe over time, Thomas would start distancing himself from Guy, shaken by such a discovery.

It could threaten their musical partnership which was just starting to find success– and more importantly, their entire friendship. And that was a risk Guy-Man absolutely could not take. As long as he didn’t say anything, there would always be the possibility that Thomas did love him in return. He would just never know for sure. And that was infinitely preferable to having to live with the humiliation of rejection for the rest of his life.

Even still, the temptation was too much to resist. He was falling hard for him and he knew it, and he wanted Thomas to know it too. There were so many times where he came so close to saying it. He’d look into his eyes and the words would be right there, right on the tip of his tongue. But every time he couldn’t find them. Maybe there simply were no words that could explain how he felt. He felt blind, deaf, and dumb, having so much to express but no way of doing so.

Then came late 1996, when the year was coming to a close. The release of their debut album was just around the corner, and they were busier than ever. They’d asked their friend Pedro to be their manager, to his surprise. It was a task he was more than happy to accept, and they were celebrating being signed to a new record label.

After a show, they met up with Pedro and a group of friends at a party. It was a party that had a lot of girls, which made it much more exciting. Guy-Man was standing, chatting with his friends. 

“The girls here are much prettier,” he’d said to one of them.

“You should go up and talk to that one,” his friend said, pointing. Guy looked over. There was a plain-looking girl standing nearby, wearing a garish, bright orange dress. Guy wrinkled his nose.

“Her?”

“No, not her!” His friend pointed to another girl. She was strikingly beautiful, with bright red lipstick. “That one. Come on, I think she might like you! The girls here like French boys.”

Guy calmed his nerves and went up to her.

“Bon–“

The girl stood up, and Guy gulped. She was at least six feet tall, probably more. She peered down at him.

“Euhhh, bonsoir, ma chérie…”

Behind him he heard the group of guys hooting with laughter. So that was why they’d told him to talk to this girl. Not because they actually thought he had a shot with her, but simply because they thought it was funny to see him try to talk up a girl who was a head taller than him.

Guy-Man quickly abandoned the conversation after she clearly showed no interest in him. He sulked, annoyed at his friends’ prank. Later that evening, the DJ began playing a Phil Collins song. 

One more night 

One more night

It was one of Guy’s favorites. If only he had someone to dance with.

I’ve been trying ooh so long to let you know

Let you know how I feel

And if I stumble if I fall, just help me back

So I can make you see

Guy heard what sounded like crying from a corner near the bathrooms. It was the plain-looking girl. A little drunk, she was weeping because all of the boys at the party were ignoring her in favor of her friends.

I’ve been sitting here so long

Wasting time, just staring at the phone

And I was wondering should I call you

Then I thought maybe you’re not alone

“None of them want to talk to me, they only want the other girls,” he heard her sniffle dejectedly. “Because I’m not pretty like them!”

One of her friends was consoling her.

“No, no, you look beautiful!”

“I knew I shouldn’t have worn this stupid dress! I hate it here, I want to go home!” She wailed as her friend hugged her.

Guy felt a pang of sympathy and felt bad for scorning her, thinking of all the times he too had been rejected.

He knew what it was like to be undesired. Unwanted.

Like a river to the sea

I will always be with you

And if you sail away

I will follow you

He looked to see where Thomas was, and found him striking up a conversation with a pretty girl who came up to him, completely enraptured by her. The look she was giving him, and the way he leaned close to her, made Guy think their interaction wasn’t going to stop at mere chit-chat.

I know there’ll never be a time, you’ll ever feel the same

And I know it’s only words

But if you change your mind, you know that I’ll be here

And maybe we both can learn

Later when the party was coming to an end and they were getting ready to go, Guy went looking for the girl in the orange dress. He found her sitting by herself, nursing a glass, having long since given up on trying to get any boys to notice her.

Guy-Man sat down next to her, and she looked up at him a little surprised. She had a charming, aquiline nose that looked a bit like Thomas’. Guy liked it. He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek, making her giggle, then on the nose for good measure. Then his friends were calling for him, and he had to leave.

They all went back to a friend’s place where they were staying. Just as Guy had suspected he would, Thomas brought back the girl he’d been talking to at the party with him, and the two of them disappeared somewhere. Meanwhile, Guy-Man went to his room to unpack his luggage that he’d unceremoniously dumped on the bed. When he came out, he overheard Pedro and the other guys sitting around a table, playing cards and chatting.

“Where’s Thomas?” Pedro asked.

“He’s upstairs with some girl,” one of them said. I saw them snogging earlier.” 

“Ooooooh…” amused chuckling and whistles rose from the group.

“She kinda looked like Guy-Man, actually.”

“Maybe it was Guy-Man,” another voice said. They all broke out into shocked gasps and snorts of hysterical laughter.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched, would it?” he continued. “You know how he’s always following Thomas around like a lovesick puppy–"

"C’mon man, don’t go there," other voices started saying uncomfortably.

“Shut up!” Pedro hissed. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? Guy-Man might hear you!”

“Relax, he’s not around–“ the guy stopped, realizing he wasn’t sure of that. “Hey where is Guy-Man, anyway? I haven’t seen him since we got back.”

Guy-Man, as it was, was hiding behind a wall, bitterly ashamed. 

He was used to the things people said about him behind his back (he’s impolite, he’s crass, he’s arrogant– thinks he’s too good to talk to us, he looks like a freak, he just stands around at parties, never makes eye contact, he’s like a sociopath). But this felt so much worse.

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he’s upstairs getting fucked by Thomas,” a third person joked. The entire group was sent into an uproar, snickering and hooting with the “I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that” type of laughter. Pedro rolled his eyes.

“Well, good for them, I say,” he announced disapprovingly as he got up from the table. 

Guy-Man couldn’t listen anymore. He quietly fled back upstairs before anyone could notice he’d overheard everything. 

In the bathroom, he stared down at the sink, basking in self-pity. He felt a lump in his throat and tears welling up, but he couldn’t bring himself to cry. All this time he thought he’d been so discreet, but it seemed everyone saw right through him. 

Everybody knew.

Everyone could see what an idiot he’d been, falling for someone who could never return those feelings. His own bandmate. His own best friend. 

Before, he could have handled the jokes. Brushed them off. But now, knowing how much truth there was to them, it was unendurable. This was all starting to get too real for him. He was in way over his head, and he knew it. I can’t keep doing this, he thought.

Someone’s clippers were on the counter. He eyed them. Then he stared into the mirror, overcome with self-loathing at his feminine features.

All those times he’d been told he looked like a girl, or when some guy at the club would flirt with him before making the realization.

“Oh– are you a dude?!” He’d hear, followed by a chorus of howling laughter. “Dude looks like a lady!”

“Seems whether we’re in gay or straight clubs, men can’t stop hitting on you,” Thomas would joke.

The embarrassment he felt when one of Thomas’ friends mistook him for his girlfriend. 

Him playing it off, pretending like it didn’t affect him.

All of it would end, now. He picked up the clippers and turned them on, raising them to his head. Then he paused, wondering how his friends and family would react. Remembering how Thomas would playfully ruffle his hair sometimes.

No, he couldn’t be weak. He had to do this.

He shaved a small part of his head, watching a clump of hair fall on the ground. Well, it was too late to turn back now. He kept going, watching the clippers cut his brown locks clean off his head. They coated the sink, the floor; they were everywhere.

Finally, when he’d buzzed every last bit of hair away, he shut off the clippers. He stared at himself, alarmed at how different his face looked with a bare skull. It didn’t make the self-loathing go away. But at least he didn’t look like a girl anymore. Well, he’d get used to the new look eventually. 

He swept up the mess he’d made on the floor, then collected himself and went back out. Pedro and the other guys were upstairs, talking about heading out for a drink.

“We’re thinking about– hey, who the fuck are you?” One of the guys said when they saw him.

“Oh mon Dieu– Guy-Man!” Pedro shouted in relief. “I didn’t even recognize you! You shaved your head?!”

“Yeah, I got tired of brushing my hair so, I figured it was time for a change,” Guy-Man lied.

“Oh, well you look good! You know the buzzed look– that’s very ‘in’ right now,” Pedro said in a friendly voice and patted him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Guy said. He gave a smile at the other guys complimenting his new look, pretending like he hadn’t heard what they’d been saying about him before.

A week later he sat at home with his mother, who had also been taken by surprise at his transformation.

"It's very exciting, how well you and Thomas are doing. I'm very proud of both of you."

Guy-Man felt a wave of sadness all of a sudden. He turned his head away from her. But that didn't seem unusual; his mother was used to him not making eye contact.

"It's really a wonderful thing that you two found each other, don't you think? You were always a lonely boy growing up; I prayed you'd have a friend like that someday. God truly blessed you." She heard a sniffle and saw Guy crying, despite his efforts to hide it, his hand rubbing his eyes. "Guillaume? What's wrong, darling?"

Chapter Text

One night months later, when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he made up his mind. Tonight’s the night. The night when he’d confess everything to Thomas. One final attempt to come clean. He could only hope the right words to say would come to him, some way, somehow.

They were standing together on a balcony taking a smoke break after the set they’d played, touring their first album. Thomas stared out into the night sky. He was in a relaxed, friendly mood. Playful, almost. Why couldn’t it always be this way?

Looking at him, Guy knew now was the right moment. But when he opened his mouth to speak, his mind went blank. What could he possibly say? “Hey, hope this doesn’t freak you out but I’m actually madly in love with you, let’s fuck”? And what would he do if Thomas didn’t take it well? Just blame it on being drunk; ask him to forget he’d ever said anything?

No, he couldn’t do that. If he told him, he wanted him to know that he meant it.

Thomas’ hand was next to his, clutching the balcony. Maybe words weren’t needed at all. Maybe if he just reached out and caressed his hand, it would tell him everything. 

A lit cigarette in his hand, he lifted his palm to rest it flat against the top of Thomas’ hand, over his knuckles. But nerves made him hesitate. A sense of urgency overtook him. If you don’t do this now, you never will, he heard a voice in his head say. And somehow, he knew it was true. He had a sudden vision of himself as an old man, looking back on this exact moment with regret, wondering why he hadn’t made his move and wishing he had. If only I had touched him. If only, if only. His hand was trembling violently. Please God, just let me do this. Let me show him what I want, please. His hand was so close, just millimeters away. Please, I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m–

Thomas slid his hand off the railing and got up.

“I’m gonna head back inside,” he chirped.

“Yeah. Okay.” Guy-Man slumped, absolutely devastated as Thomas shut the door. That was it. That had been his moment, his perfect opportunity to confess how he felt, and he blew it. He realized right then and there that he’d never be able to tell him what he wanted to. He just couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

And then Thomas got into a serious relationship and got married, and then he really couldn’t.

“I’m happy for you, Thomas,” he’d said to him when he heard the news of his engagement. And he was. He truly was. Thomas had a wife now, and soon, a son. And these were good things; they were reasons for celebration.

It just also meant that now there was a part of Thomas’ life that was separate from Guy, one he wasn’t allowed into.

Thomas could never know about his romantic desires, certainly not now. It would only complicate things. If Thomas had ever felt the same way, Guy-Man figured, he would have told him by now. Of course he didn’t. Why would he want him? What could he possibly have to offer him? If I were in his place, Guy thought, I would not want me either.

All his emotions of jealousy, longing, hurt, these were all childish things. And it was time for him to put them away. He was too old for them now. All of the pining, the longing, the baggage he’d carried all these years; all of it had to be shut away forever. Hidden, covered up. Like something you throw in the back of your closet because you don’t want to look at it anymore, but can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

That was the agony of loving someone so deeply, but knowing nothing could be done about it.

This was all for the best, Guy told himself. They were never going to be together. It just wasn’t meant to be. He should just forget about the whole thing; it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on it. They were perfectly wonderful together as friends; wasn’t that enough? Why should he expect more than that from him? Thomas was so happy in his new life; he could never come between him and his family. 

If I really love him, then I should want what’s best for him, he thought. And what’s best for him is not to be with me.

He deserves better than anything I could ever give him.

Guy-Man truly believed that. And so he carried on, burying his feelings. They’d manifest themselves every now and then. In song lyrics supposedly about a girl, but were also secretly about him. Or in longing glances he’d give to Thomas when he had his back turned to him, still searching for some kind of reciprocity. The way you looked at me that night in Glasgow– I would give anything for you to look at me like that again, even if only for a moment.

But he was his friend, his bandmate, his work partner. Not his lover.

“Which one of you buys the groceries?” A radio interviewer asked once.

“Oh, we don’t live together,” Thomas laughed. It was like a taunt. Was she insinuating that she thought they were a couple? No, the interviewer probably hadn’t meant anything by it. But for a moment Guy-Man had visions of domesticity: getting groceries with him, cooking, folding laundry together, waking up with him–

Stop that, he scowled at himself. He sat silently as Thomas continued chattering on with the interviewer, oblivious to Guy’s anguish.

Sometimes when they’d be working on a piece, he’d make his beats and percussion blend beautifully with the synths Thomas had added. He’d draw out the sounds Thomas had created and make them fuller, giving them even more life and color than they’d had before. He felt like that was his own, secret way of loving him, in the only way he could.

No, nothing romantic had ever really happened between the two of them. No matter how much Guy-Man wanted it.

He found ways to make peace with it. Years went by. He had his own relationship, with a girlfriend he was serious about. He loved Thomas’ family; loved his children like they were his own. And soon, Guy-Man had a family of his own. He remembered telling Thomas the news, when they were on their second tour. 

“I’m just a little nervous,” Guy laughed.

“It’s normal. But you shouldn’t be,” Thomas beamed. “You’re going to be a wonderful father.” He gave Guy a proud, happy hug.

Touched, Guy-Man was overcome with a sudden, desperate burst of emotion. He wanted to caress his face; to put his lips to his, to do something. To tell him that he loved him; that he still loved him after all this time. He wanted to beg Thomas to say he loved him back, even if he didn’t mean it, just to hear it for once. 

But he forced himself to behave, and remain within the boundaries of displays of affection that were socially acceptable between men. He pulled out of their long embrace, with a few claps on the back and a smile. Watching Thomas doze off on his hotel bed next to him, he had the feeling of wanting to protect him, this man who was so patient with him throughout all his troubles, who had been with him through so much in his life. 

The same feeling he’d get when he’d go over to his place and look at the pictures on his wall. The pang of melancholy he'd feel sometimes at the pictures of Thomas with his wife, at the beach on their honeymoon. Thomas’ family, Thomas’ kids, Thomas’ house, Thomas’ life. Thomas, Thomas, Thomas.

The man he loved. He had only grown more beautiful in his eyes, over the years. Once more that old, familiar thought crossed his mind.

I wish I had kissed you back then.

I wish I could kiss you now.

I wish I could have you just for a night, just once.

But I can’t.

It was really time to let go now, and Guy hoped he could finally put all of it to rest, forever. It was over.

But his marriage didn’t last, and one day he was on his own again. It reopened all sorts of old wounds, and Guy slipped into a depression. While Thomas settled comfortably in a house in L.A. with his family when they were in America, Guy-Man sought solace in the hotel rooms he frequently rented. And while Guy went clubbing or simply wandered the streets of Paris at night, trying to distract himself from the void in his heart, Thomas was with his kids, too occupied to join him.

On one such night out, when they were working in California, Guy left a club in a drunken stupor. He walked aimlessly around the city, listening to the typical sounds of cars, and people talking, and police sirens. But when he reached the residential areas, he heard a sound he didn’t expect: a Fiona Apple song playing from someone’s balcony.

I’m sentimental, so I walk in the rain

I’ve got some habits even I can’t explain

I go to the corner, and I end up in Spain

Why try to change me now?

A deep sadness crept into his veins, one that no amount of alcohol could mask. He suddenly felt an irrepressible urge to call Thomas. Fumbling around for his phone, he cursed when he remembered he’d left it at the hotel he was staying at, the Chateau Marmont. That meant he wouldn't be able to call a ride, either. But that was fine, he was in no hurry to return to his lonely room. The Bar Marmont would be closing in an hour anyways, and he'd already had more than enough to drink.

I sit and daydream, I’ve got daydreams galore

Cigarette ashes, there they go on the floor

I go away weekends, leave my keys in the door

Why try to change me now?

As he walked, he thought of a conversation he’d once had with Nile Rodgers when they were making Random Access Memories, about Bernard Edwards, his bandmate from Chic.

“I used to go out a lot in those days, club hopping, seeing the nightlife, all that,” Nile recounted. “And, you know Bernard was the opposite. He was always a family man, he didn’t hang out with me much…”

Guy-Man had taken a sad glance over at Thomas and thought about how much that reminded him of them. Guy, whose children didn’t live with him, went out at night all the time just to clear his head, asking friends if they had plans so they could join him. He’d stopped even asking Thomas if he could come; he knew he couldn’t. He was a full-time parent, home with his kids.

Why can’t I be more conventional?

People talk, and they stare, so I try

But that can’t be, ‘cause I can’t see

My strange little world just go passing me by

When they were young, they used to always enjoy the Parisian nightlife together. But those days were long gone. Sometimes, standing awkwardly in a club with a drink in his hand, Guy would start to wonder if he was getting too old for all this.

So, let people wonder, let ‘em laugh, let ‘em frown

You know I’ll love you till the moon’s upside down

Don’t you remember I was always your clown?

He wondered what Thomas was doing right now, if he was with his family, or sleeping, or watching a movie, or making love, or working late in his studio, or doing anything better than wandering around Los Angeles visibly inebriated at 1 in the morning. Certainly not thinking of him at all.

So why try to change me?

Why would you want to change me?

Why try to change me now?

Miraculously, Guy-Man found a pay phone booth that was still functional and wandered inside. Shutting the door, he pulled out some spare change– see, he still remembered how to use one of these things– and dialed Thomas’ number. It rang a few times. Come on, pick up, pick up. At the last second, Thomas answered.

“Hello? Who is this?” He answered in English, his tone hostile at the unfamiliar number.

“Thomas, c'est moi.”

“Guy-Man?” He recognized the voice. “Where are you calling from? Why aren’t you using your phone?”

“Left it at the hotel,” Guy mumbled. “I’m using a pay phone. Can you believe these things still exist?” He laughed. “Where are you?”

“Euh… I’m home?” Thomas answered, confused. “Where are you?”

Guy looked around. “Not sure, actually.”

“What’s wrong? Are you lost? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Non, non, non, non, non… nothing’s wrong, I just–“ he stopped. He’d wanted to call Thomas so badly, but suddenly had no idea what he even wanted to say.

“I-I-I just… called because I wanted to… that’s all…” he said in a sleepy voice. Silence from the other end. 

“Guy-Man, you’re drunk,” Thomas grumbled, irritated.

“So what if I’m drunk? Fucking sue me…” Guy slurred his words as he spoke, rubbing his forehead as a migraine started to set in.

“I’m hanging up. Get a ride home.”

“No, wait! Please!”

Desperation overtook him as he cried out suddenly. “I need to ask you something.”

“What?” Thomas sighed with exhaustion.

There was something I wanted long ago, a voice in his mind whispered. But it doesn't matter anymore.

“I just– I want you to… I just wish…” he hopelessly tried to form his thoughts into words. “I just wanted to know…” Guy’s voice softened suddenly, overcome with emotion. His eyes began watering and he felt himself choke up. “Was there ever a point in your life where you could have felt the same way?”

A question he knew would never find an answer.

“Was there– what?” Thomas was laughing, bewildered. “W-wh-what does that mean? I-I-I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Guy-Man held his head in his hand silently. How could he possibly begin to explain himself? “You’re not making any sense. Just go home, Guy-Man.” He hung up.

Guy-Man listened to the hang-up tone play for a long time, covering his face, choked sobs racking his body. Like he was still waiting for his voice to come back from the other end of the line. It was the loneliest moment of his life. He felt like he needed Thomas now, more than ever, yet he’d never felt further away from him.

Someone else who needed to make a call was standing outside the booth. They banged on the door, annoyed that he was taking so long. Guy miserably hung up the phone and went out with a puffy, tear-stained face as the other person gave him a weird look. Somehow, he found his way back to his hotel and crawled into bed without changing clothes, his head pounding, his ears ringing.

Guy-Man dreaded the next time he saw him at the studio, afraid that Thomas would confront him about what happened. He knew he’d have no explanation to give him. Thankfully it was business as usual for Thomas, and he mostly seemed to act like nothing happened. But he was noticeably a bit agitated around him. Guy prayed that he wouldn’t be upset with him; that Thomas would just let the whole thing go.

He did.

As time went by, it got harder and harder for Guy-Man to manage. But Thomas seemed fine on his own, happy and busy as always. Perhaps he is better off without me, Guy thought. Thomas would never admit it, but deep down he must know it was true. Ever since they were young, always felt like he needed Thomas much more than Thomas needed him. And the pain of watching him drift away made it worse, especially because despite all the repression and hiding, he still loved him very much. 

Being estranged from Thomas was one of the worst pains Guy had ever felt; it hurt every bit as much as losing a lover. He felt so alone with this embarrassing secret; this burden he carried everywhere he went. Something so deeply private, he couldn’t tell anyone what he felt. Not even his therapist.

One time, after a night out with Sébastien Tellier, a friend he’d produced for in the past, Guy tried to confide in him his feelings in some way, without revealing too much.

“J'ai un dilemme,” he began. Sébastien looked up from his drink.

“Oh?

“There is… someone I have feelings for. Someone I love very much. I’ve felt this way for a long, long time. But you see, this person is… unavailable.”

“Ahh, Guy-Man, you fall in love too easily. So you’ve fallen for a married woman,” Sébastien responded matter-of-factly. “Is she pretty?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well then, as long as the husband doesn’t catch you...” He responded with a joking wink. Guy shook his head, annoyed.

“That’s hilarious, Sébastien.” He stared miserably at his drink. “I don’t know if I should tell him how I feel. I’m almost certain he doesn’t feel the same way, and even if he did–“

“Him? He doesn’t??” Sébastien’s eyes bulged.

“I-I meant ‘she’! Shit! I meant ‘she’,” Guy stammered out, panicking. Sébastien gave him a suspicious look. “I just misspoke!”

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” Sébastien said, not believing him at all. He returned to his drink. “But in all seriousness, don’t lose your heart to someone who belongs to someone else. It will bring you nothing but pain.”

Too late for that! Guy thought bitterly.

The pair of them went for a walk through the park.

“It just kills me. I don’t know what to do,” Guy said.

“There’s probably nothing you can do,” Sébastien admitted. He looked at Guy’s distraught face as they walked in silence for a while.

“Do you know what this makes me think of?” Sébastien asked. “That song Something About Us, the one you and Thomas made on your second album. I remember when I first heard it. It was kind of funny. You guys had always been known for making these thrashing, aggressive rave songs. You know, club music. And then one day you suddenly make this very sweet, romantic song.” Guy looked aside, not entirely sure what he was getting at. 

He couldn't bring himself to listen to that song anymore. It hurt too much.

“At first I assumed that Thomas had written it for his wife,” he continued. “But then I thought that didn’t make much sense, because the song is about two people who don’t end up together. And then Thomas told me that actually it was mostly your idea, and well, that made more sense. Your style of music was always more… sensual than his. He may have been the brain of the group, but you were the heart,” Sébastien chuckled. “That’s why I wanted you to work with me. I needed someone with your sensibilities.” 

Guy glanced up briefly then looked away, embarrassed. “So then I assumed that you must have written it for some girl where things didn’t work out, something like that.” Guy stared down at his feet.

“Yeah, something like that,” he repeated.

“Well, that’s what I thought. But then I remembered that Thomas was getting married at the time.” Sébastien abruptly stopped walking and faced him. “And then it occurred to me… that you had actually written it about him. That it was your way of letting him go.” 

Guy’s eyes went wide with shock and his head darted up, stunned. The panicked look on his face had already given away everything. 

“Did Thomas know back then, I wonder, that he was singing words meant for him?” Sébastien pondered aloud. 

Filled with dread, Guy-Man made a last ditch effort to save face.

“I– I don’t know what would have given you that impression,” he pretended to scoff at the idea. 

“Guy-Man, don’t bullshit me,” Sébastien finally called him out directly. “You’re a fucking terrible liar.”

Guy clamped his mouth shut. 

“There’s something about the way you look at each other. Some unspoken thing, something left unresolved.” His tone turned more serious. “The sentiment is very palpable on your end. But I see it in him, too.” Guy-Man stared at him, his heart sinking. “Have I said too much?” Sébastien asked. Guy shook his head, wordlessly.

There was a bit of silence between them. Then Sébastien laughed to himself. “My god, Guy-Man, if you still feel that way about him after all these years, then maybe you two really do just need to fuck and get it over with already.” Remembering they were out in public, he looked around quickly to check that no one at the park had overheard him.

“That’s not happening,” Guy scoffed.

“You still desire him sexually, no?” Sébastien pried.

“Keep it down,” Guy hissed.

“If you were given the opportunity, would you?”

“He’d never want that.”

“What if he did?”

Guy-Man stopped.

“I… I don’t– I don’t know…” he hesitated. “If it was ever going to happen, it would have been long ago. Not now, definitely not. I mean, for fuck’s sake, look at me.”

Sébastien turned to him.

“Well, you need to resolve your feelings somehow,” he advised. “Otherwise they might start to manifest themselves in some ugly ways.”

“Look, we’re not kids anymore, ok? I’m long past waiting for him to reciprocate how I feel.”

“Are you?” Sébastien left the question in the air, and Guy grumbled without an answer.

“There is something a bit romantic about love that never comes to fruition, you know?” Sébastien went on. “Most of the time love ends in heartache. But a love that never was, can’t end badly if it never began at all. You never know what would have been. Think about it– endless possibilities!”

Guy wasn’t so sure. Though he supposed his friend had a point. He knew the horrible resentment people felt towards their ex-lovers after a nasty break-up. He never wanted to feel that way about Thomas. This way, he never would. It was safer, like this. Still, the advice didn’t seem to make him feel any better.

He wished he could simply fall out of love and just stop thinking about it already. To finally free himself from Thomas. To just see him as a normal friend. Everything would be so much easier. He was angry at himself, that he’d wasted so many years of his life wanting something he could never have. All those nights he’d spent crying alone…

There was once a time, when he was still young, that it had been kind of fun to be in love with Thomas. There was something exciting about exploring these feelings that were new; dangerous even. But after all this time it wasn’t fun anymore. It just hurt. 

He couldn’t believe that once, long ago, he’d actually had hope that something would happen between them. It felt like it was in a different life. The idea of it now was so stupidly laughable.

He thought he’d done so well at concealing himself, never letting Thomas see that part of him. And now here he was sitting next to him in his apartment, having just accidentally revealed everything. Over twenty years of work to keep this secret, this horrible weight sitting on his shoulders. A secret he was sure he'd take with him to his grave. A secret he’d had inside of him for so long, that he felt like it was starting to eat him from the inside out. All of it gone in an instant, in an absent-minded statement that he hadn’t even thought anything of. And just as easily as Sébastien, Thomas had seen right through him.

Chapter Text

“Is that supposed to mean what I think it means?”  

Guy’s heart was racing. What could he possibly say to that? Maybe he should lie, laugh it off. “What? I’m just being corny, Thomas.” Something like that. A desperate, last ditch effort to save face.

No. He couldn’t lie to him, not now.

He stirred uncomfortably.

“You should know the answer to that by now,” was all he could muster.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Guy couldn’t meet his gaze but he knew he was still staring at him, silently. Who knew what was going through his head.

“I wanted to tell you… there was just never a good time. The way I feel about you… it never changed. But– life changed…” 

Guy trailed off, his voice barely audible. “I think about you all the time.”

His face betrayed a lifetime of hurt. He pinched himself, feeling his eyes water. No, no, no. He didn’t want to start crying in front of him. He was humiliated enough.

He’d never felt such a strange mixture of emotions. It was so painful, but also a relief to tell Thomas the truth, like all the weight in the world was finally lifted off his shoulders. 

This just wasn’t exactly how he wanted to tell him.

Thomas was silent for a while longer, thinking.

Hadn’t he always known, on some level, that Guy-Man felt this way about him? Like that odd phone call he’d given him from the pay phone that night. Or that one time years and years ago, when they were working together in the studio. It was after Thomas had been traveling and playing DJ sets solo, and they hadn’t seen each other in months. 

“You haven’t called in a while,” Guy said, a little sadly. 

“Yeah sorry, I was really busy. Caught up in work,” Thomas muttered, distracted. A long silence passed. Then Thomas felt something on the back of his head as Guy-Man began to tenderly stroke his curls while he worked over the synthesizer. He’d flinched at the unexpected touch. It was so unlike him to be so affectionate out of nowhere. Thomas was always the friendlier, touchier one. But not Guy; it just wasn’t his style. 

They’d both jumped away as soon as their friends came barging in, acting like nothing happened. But Thomas felt like there had been something deeper behind it. Something they’d spent so long pretending wasn’t there, when they both knew damn well it was. Something they never spoke about. Until now. 

“Guy-Man.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “You know, you don’t have to keep everything bottled up all the time.”

“Oh I do, actually.” Guy said coldly. It came out much harsher than he’d expected. There was anger, even resentment in his voice. “What else was I supposed to do? If I had told you, you would have wished I hadn’t.” 

“I would–“

“Thomas, we’ve been avoiding having this conversation for 20 years. Why are we doing this now?” Guy-Man cut him off and turned away. “We shouldn’t talk like this.”

“Talk like what? Talk honestly?” Thomas questioned. “What, would you prefer it if we went back to not speaking?”

Guy had his head turned away, but Thomas could see he was crying from the telltale shake of his shoulders. The wine consumption was getting to him. The glasses were empty; the record player had long since stopped playing. Their pleasant evening had turned sour.

“I didn’t come here to make you upset.” Thomas said gently.

“Then what did you come here for?”

Thomas looked taken aback.

“I came here because I was worried about you! No one’s heard from you for a long time.” He sighed. “Look, I know you’ve been having a hard time lately–“

“I don’t want your pity, Thomas.”

“I’m not pitying you, I just–“

“I don’t need you to fuss over me like you’re my mother!” Guy snapped. “Yeah I get it, I’m a mess. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I do it because I care about you. You’re my closest friend.” Thomas was starting to get agitated. “If you didn’t want to see me, you could have said so.”

“Of course I wanted to see you,” Guy-Man cried desperately. “But seeing you only hurts more. You have your own life. One that I’m not part of anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Thomas countered.

“It is and you know it. We’ve grown apart, Thomas. We want different things now.”

He heard that Thomas had told a friend that the hip-hop production he was into these days “wasn’t his cup of tea”. Their creative disagreements used to be rare, and when they happened Thomas was always upfront with him about it. Talking behind his back was a new development. Like he was trying to shield Guy from the reality of how great the separation between them truly had become. 

It hurt especially because Guy’s musical tastes had been the thing they had first bonded over, the thing that first drew Thomas to him in that classroom in Carnot all those years ago. It seemed they’d lost the very thing that had brought them together in the beginning. He felt heartbroken at the thought that perhaps he just didn’t enchant him like he used to anymore. But Guy-Man had to create for himself now, not just for Thomas. He had to move on.

“What makes you so sure what I want?” Thomas flared up. “What-what-what does that mean? What do you want from me? I-I-I don’t understand.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want! I’m not a child, Thomas. It’s been more than 20 years– It was such a long time ago, it doesn’t matter anymore. I don't... want anything,” Guy’s voice shook as he spoke. It was even more painful than he’d imagined.

Thomas began to get flustered.

“Guy-Man, I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stay in touch with you. That’s my fault.”

“It’s both our faults. We keep acting like everything’s normal. Let’s not lie to ourselves anymore,” Guy-Man lamented. “I’m only your ‘closest friend’ because I’m your longest friend. We barely see each other now, and when we do it’s out of routine, not because we have much in common anymore.”

Guy-Man looked up at Thomas’ face. He looked sincerely hurt. Guy’s words stung him, particularly because he knew there was truth to them. Another long, pained silence passed between them. Then Thomas turned to look at the time.

“It’s getting late,” he sighed. “I should go.”

Guy rubbed his neck uncomfortably, instantly starting to regret everything he’d said. He knew he’d fucked up.

“Okay,” he said helplessly. He couldn’t do anything to make him stay now.

“Guillaume,” Thomas whispered. It got Guy’s attention. Thomas almost never called him by his full name. “I just want you to know– no matter what happens between us, you will always be my best friend.” He choked up for a moment. “No one could ever take your place in my life.” 

Guy-Man felt a searing pain in his heart, looking at him desperately. Inside he wanted to beg him for forgiveness, tell him that he hadn’t meant any of it. But it was too late for that now.

Thomas stood up. “Thank you for the wine.” 

“You’re welcome,” Guy-Man murmured sadly. A final gesture of kindness before they parted.

Thomas put on his shoes, then gave one last look over to him.

“I hope you find happiness, Guy-Man. I really do. I’m sorry I couldn’t give that to you.” 

Guy knew what that meant. That wasn’t a “goodbye for now”.

That was a goodbye.

They’d fought before; all friends did. Like that time they got physical in Ibiza when they were young. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting over. Petty squabbles, creative disagreements in the studio. They were always short-lived, and the two were always quick to forgive each other.

But this time felt dreadfully different.

This wasn’t going to be just another incident they’d sweep under the rug and pretend like it never happened.

Thomas left, and Guy-Man held his head in his hands. What had he done? The one time he was finally honest, he’d tarnished their relationship, probably irreparably. Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut like he always did? He sobbed quietly into his arms. All it took was a few harsh, impulsive words to destroy the closest friendship he’d ever known. All this time he’d regretted that he’d never know Thomas romantically, but at least he still had his companionship. Now it seemed he didn’t even have that.

Maybe this was for the best. At least now there was nothing but honesty between them, even if they never spoke to each other again. He’d finally said what he wanted to say for so long, and it felt good to get it all off his chest. Perhaps this was a necessary step he had to take. Like he’d just pulled the plug on a connection that was already starting to die.

But then he remembered how heartbroken Thomas had looked, and then he started weeping all over again. How could he have been so selfish? Why had he done that to him? Thomas, his most precious, beloved friend, had come here to make him feel better, and all he’d done was push him away. Why did he always push away everyone he loved?

Everything had an end. Loved ones died, lovers distanced, friendships separated. It was a painful, but natural fact of life. That was just the way the world worked. But all Guy-Man wanted most was something that didn’t end; something he could have forever. He was beginning to think he’d never find it.

He sat miserably for a long period of time, not knowing what to do. All he wanted was just to fall asleep and forget about everything. When the lump in his throat finally subsided, he wiped the tears from his eyes and rubbed his forehead. All the crying had given him a headache.

Guy put their wine glasses in the kitchen, now just embarrassing artifacts from their night that had gone wrong. He wandered through his apartment, starting to shut off the lights in each room– and almost jumped in surprise when he saw a tall figure standing by the window, near the door.

“Thomas?” He called. “You’re still here?” 

“Just waiting for the rain to subside,” Thomas replied, staring through the drenched windowpane. The downpour had continued all throughout the night, with no signs of stopping.

“The storm won’t let up until tomorrow morning,” Guy told him, steadily. “I… could call you a cab, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Thomas responded absentmindedly. “I would just hate to make someone drive out in this weather.” There was a question in his words he was too afraid to voice out loud. 

Guy slowly realized he was asking to stay. And how badly he wanted him to stay.

He stepped closer to him. Thomas turned his head.

“I have thought about it, you know,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Us being that way. It’s not like it never crossed my mind.”

“Stop. Please,” Guy-Man begged. “It would never have worked. I could never have made you happy. You have everything you could ever want: marriage, a family, stability. Things I never could have given you.” He teared up. “Look at me– you don't want this. We would have just ended up hating each other.”

“Yes, I have no reason to be unhappy with how my life turned out,” Thomas gave him a sad smile. “But I do regret sometimes that I didn’t let myself take more chances when I was younger.” He turned back to the window. "I feel like I may have missed something there."

Guy looked at him, this man who he’d almost feared was gone from his life, and it slowly dawned on him that all of the years he’d spent being in love hadn’t been in vain. After everything and everyone that had come and gone over the years, everything that had changed, loving Thomas had been the only consistent thing throughout his life. Always there, always constant. 

It always had been, and always would be.

“I think part of me always knew how you felt, but–“ Thomas stopped. “I don’t know. When we were kids, I always thought you just saw me as an annoying younger brother.” 

“Hey, I already have an annoying younger brother,” Guy reminded him. “I certainly didn’t need another.”

“Well, I guess that’s fair,” Thomas laughed.

“You did kiss me one time when you were high, after I saved your ass from almost getting killed.” Guy huffed. “Do you even remember that?”

“Yes, I remember.” Thomas smiled.

Guy-Man was stunned. All these years he thought he had to keep that secret from him. He’d remembered it the whole time!

“You saved my life,” Thomas said. “I haven’t forgotten that.”

The rain outside seemed to pour even harder, like it was accompanying their conversation.

“I hate seeing you in pain, Guy-Man. You don't deserve that. I wish I could take it away from you. What I said about hoping you find happiness– I meant that,” Thomas murmured sadly. “You have such a capacity for tenderness. You always talk so poignantly, and so beautifully about love. It made me sad to think you never found it in your own life.”

“But I did,” Guy-Man trembled, gazing at him.

Thomas looked at him and saw the eyes of a man in love. 

He stepped closer, putting a hand on Guy’s back. It was a warm, familiar gesture. Like the time they were finished doing one of their many photo shoots for RAM, and Guy had taken off his helmet and face covering to get some air. Flinging his hair off his face, he saw a helmetless Thomas approach him, the two of them still in their sparkly outfits. He’d touched him on his back in just the same way.

“Thank God that’s over, I’m sweltering in this thing,” Thomas had complained, reaching down to straighten Guy-Man’s tie. Guy laughed in agreement as he felt Thomas run his hand down his chest, smoothing his jacket. “But you look good in a suit,” Thomas winked, leaning in. “With or without a helmet.” He gave him a dazzling, almost flirtatious smile, and Guy ducked his head and blushed. What I would have said if people weren’t watching us, he thought as he watched Thomas walk away.

Guy-Man never liked to be touched by people, and he wasn’t fond of eye contact either. But Thomas was his exception. He always was.

“I never told you this, but… on one of those nights back when I was getting high, you had to drag me up to my room, and then we started wrestling,” Thomas recollected. “You know, my parents actually thought that we were…”

“What?” Guy cried. Thomas grinned.

“They got suspicious when we were being all secretive from them, because I didn’t want them to know I was doing drugs. You were in my room helping me get undressed, and then we started messing around. My mom saw… she must have gotten the wrong idea.”

“That’s funny,” Guy said. “My parents thought the same thing, but it was because we were always going to gay clubs.”

The two laughed together at their parents’ odd matchmaking between the two of them.

“She must have told dad something, because the next day we had kind of an awkward conversation.” Thomas chuckled at the memory.

And she had. His poor mother, having witnessed Guy-Man on top of a naked, drugged out Thomas on his bed through the door, had rushed down the stairs in shock. Later that night, she whispered to Thomas’ father in a confused hush.

“Did you notice how strange they were acting when they got back?”

His father shrugged.

“Who knows what they’re getting up to out there. But they’re young; they should enjoy it while it lasts. Besides, it’s good for them to finally be getting out of the house. Let them go out and explore the city; see the nightlife.” He chuckled. “Especially after they’ve been locking themselves up in that room all the time, fiddling with drum machines and synthesizers and whatnot, making music all day.”

Thomas’ mother was silent for a long time, giving her husband a nervous glance.

“Daniel,” she began searchingly.

“Mmm?” Thomas’ father looked up from his book. There was another long pause before she found the will to speak.

“You know that’s not the only thing they’re doing up there, right?”

Thomas’ father considered this for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

His wife rubbed her forehead, embarrassed. She kept her voice low, to make sure the boys couldn’t overhear.

“I just saw them upstairs in Thomas’ room– they’re… they were having sex.”

“What?! Guy and Thomas?” Thomas’ father looked up in a bewildered, disbelieving stare. “No, that can’t be. What, is Thomas not allowed an intimate friendship without you accusing them of sleeping together–“

“Oh, for God’s sake, Daniel. Stop being naïve!” Thomas’ mother laughed, exasperated. 

“Are you sure?”

“I know what I saw,” she insisted.

“But Thomas has always liked girls…” his father scratched his head in confusion. “Perhaps it’s just a phase. Boys these days, you know, they’re all ‘experimenting’ now…”

“Aren’t you concerned at all?”

“I don’t see much reason to be. Thomas is a sensible boy. He knows his limits.”

“I know Thomas is, but Guy-Man…”

“Guy-Man is sensible too,” Thomas’ father said. “In his own way.” His mother wasn’t so sure about that.

“Don’t you think we should talk to him about it?”

His father sighed.

“He is grown up now, what he does is his business.” 

“Should we have seen this coming?” His mother worried. “I mean, Thomas was always fascinated with drag queens. And they’ve been frequenting gay clubs–“

“Gay clubs?” His father shrugged. “Well that’s just because the music there is better. Everyone knows that.”

The next morning, his father had pulled Thomas aside after Guy left (perturbed by the strange looks he got at the table from Thomas' parents).

“Your mother wanted me to speak to you about something,” he said sternly. “It’s about you and Guy-Man.”

Thomas froze in panic. Shit! Did he know about the ecstasy?

“W-what about me and Guy-Man?” He asked warily.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that your mother and I… we know some things.”

Thomas’ heart pounded. He did know about it! Did he know how long he’d been getting high? Did he think Guy-Man had been getting high with him? Dad’s gonna kill me, he thought.

“You know, they say there’s certain things you shouldn’t do with friends.”

Thomas gulped.

His nervous reaction seemed to confirm everything his father suspected. So they really are together, he thought. But seeing Thomas’ terrified face broke his heart, and he couldn’t bring himself to confront his son over his suspicions. So he backed down at the last second.

“And going into business together is one of those things,” he said.

“What? Oh–“ Thomas rolled his eyes in relief.

“Yes, well, I know things didn’t go so well with the last band, but this new one you have with Guy-Man has been taking off, from what I understand. We hear that Scottish label has taken an interest in you, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s been going well,” Thomas replied.

“Well, of course I’m very happy for you. You’ve earned it, both of you. But, I just wanted to warn you–“ he looked at him seriously. “Success can be both a blessing and a curse. You and Guy-Man aren’t just friends anymore–“ he paused. “You’re business partners now. And that can cause strain on a friendship, especially as you become more successful.”

Thomas laughed at his dad’s lecture.

“So you think Guy and I are going to become rich and famous, and then one day we’ll start fighting over money and hate each other?”

“Thomas, please take this seriously,” his father sighed, irritated. “You know, you think you’re above these things, and you’re not.”

“Come on dad, Guy-Man and I don’t care about any of that stuff. We only care about the music.”

“Everyone thinks that when they first start out,” his father warned. “I know you and Guy-Man are good kids, and you care about the right things. But when you’re in a successful band together, with money issues, creative differences, the pressures of fame– even the closest friendships can be torn apart. I’ve seen it happen to the best of us.” He noticed Thomas didn’t really seem to be paying attention. “Son, I’ve worked in this industry for years, I know what I’m talking about.” He hated when Thomas ignored his advice.

Thomas simply shrugged. 

“If the band works out, we’ll figure it out together. And if it doesn’t, we’ll move on and find something else to do. We’ll be fine.”

“Just– promise me you’ll look out for each other, no matter what.” His father sighed. “What you have with Guy-Man is very rare and special. I would hate to see anything happen to that. You two have a wonderful friendship.” He paused. “Though I suppose now it’s much more than friendship.” 

Thomas gave his dad a weird look.

“I am referring to your business partnership, of course,” he clarified.

Thomas relaxed, relieved at being off the hook.

“Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?”

His father hesitated.

“Yes, that’s all.” Thomas was about to leave when he called. 

“Thomas!” 

The boy stopped. 

“You know you can always come to me about anything, right?”

Thomas stared at his dad, confused by his tone. He nodded, and then walked away.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until many years later that his father finally confessed to him what he’d actually been trying to talk to him about. And Thomas had simply laughed and explained it was all just a misunderstanding; that there had been nothing going between them and that it was drug use, not a secret gay relationship that they’d been hiding.

“They were pretty upset when I told them about the ecstasy. It actually might have been better just to let them think we were secretly gay,” Thomas laughed. “My mother was especially pissed. She thought the drug use was your idea, when she found out.”

“Why, did she think I was being a bad influence, corrupting her golden child?” Guy teased. Thomas looked at him.

“Well, maybe I wanted to be corrupted.” He grinned, making Guy turn dark red. For once, he thought that maybe all of the things he hated about himself, all of the things that made him think he was a hinderance to Thomas, were in fact the very things that made Thomas so drawn to him in the first place. Opposites attract, after all.

“I still don’t think dad entirely believed me, to be quite honest.”

“How is your old man doing?” Guy-Man asked him.

“Ahh,” Thomas sighed, rubbing his neck. “He got into some legal trouble in Brazil.”

“Oh, really? I hope it wasn’t anything serious,” Guy’s eyes widened.

“No, it was over some stupid thing. I went to see him just to check on him. He still has those old tapes of us. He made me watch them,” Thomas laughed. “He asks about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Thomas looked back out the window. 

“When dad told me he thought there was something between us, I thought he was being ridiculous at the time. But now I think maybe he knew something I didn’t.”

Guy-Man looked at him in amazement.

“Thomas, you still surprise me after all these years…” He ducked his head shyly as Thomas stepped closer to him. 

“I used to wonder what it would be like if we… became physical. More often than I care to admit.” Thomas confessed, running his fingers through Guy’s hair. Guy-Man never thought he’d hear him say anything like this. “I came close, a few times, but– I don’t know,” he pondered. “We were comfortable as friends. I didn’t see any reason to change that. There was just always something holding me back.” 

“You were married,” Guy stated. “You had your own reasons.”

“Even before then, I’d think about it. But I just… I thought perhaps that would not be the right way for us to express our feelings for each other.” Thomas said thoughtfully.

Guy-Man looked down at his feet.

“Maybe not,” he admitted. Then he gave a sly glance up. “It would be the most fun, though,” he smirked, pressing himself gently against Thomas’ side for a moment.

Thomas laughed softly, rolling his eyes. Guy leaned against him again, wanting to feel his warmth. He wanted this man in his life, no matter what.

Even though they’d never made love, they were already more intimate than most lovers ever would be. So much of my life is also yours, Guy thought, looking at him. So much of me is you.

They’d been by each other’s sides for such a long time. They’d shared so many of their most important memories, their triumphs and failures. They’d spent countless hours creating music together, pouring blood and sweat and tears until it became something beautiful, in a world all of their own making. Perhaps, in some sense, there was something deeply erotic about that.

Je n’ai pas de regrets,

Et je n’ai qu’une envie:

“I wish you’d told me all this a long time ago,” Guy-Man murmured.

Thomas reached down to lace their fingers together. 

“I do, too,” he sighed apologetically. Then, he slowly lifted the back of Guy’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it. That was his way of letting him know that everything was ok between them. Guy’s eyes widened. It was a gesture he’d seen Thomas do to his wife before, which made him feel a little strange. 

Près de toi, là, tout près,

Vivre toute ma vie.

Thomas turned to face him. He looked at Guy in such a tender way, a way he hadn’t seen in so long that it made him catch his breath.

“I did love you, Guy-Man.” Thomas smiled. “I still do. I love you more than life itself.”

Guy felt like he would get teary all over again; Thomas’ voice telling him these words he’d wanted to hear for so long. His beautiful voice, light and airy. He still sounded so young, despite his age. It contrasted so much from the deep, rich tone of Guy’s voice. Guy-Man had always loved the gentle lilt in the way he spoke, even though other boys would make fun of his high-pitched, squeaky tone.

“He sounds gay,” they’d say mockingly, sometimes. But Thomas just laughed it off. He didn’t mind. The comments people made never seemed to bother him, the way they bothered Guy.

Thomas was always confident in himself that way. He was the type of person who could speak his mind without hesitation. Like how one time when they had met Michel Gondry, a film director they’d recruited for their music video, Thomas had told him point blank that while he liked his work, he thought his first film was formulaic and predictable. Appalled, Guy-Man glared at him and kicked him under the table.

“I like your friend. He’s very intelligent; I would have taken him for a film student,” Michel said to him afterwards. “But he seems like the kind of person who’s never been told he needs to shut the fuck up before.”

“Well, that’s what my job is,” Guy joked, and they both laughed.

“That’s true, you two do seem to balance each other out, don’t you?”

Once, a radio station asked them what they would do if the other made a song that they hated.

“I would tell him it’s not my cup of tea,” Thomas answered dismissively. “But if he’s happy with it, then he must release it.”

Guy-Man wasn’t as sure of himself.

“I would ask myself many questions,” he said thoughtfully. “Because sometimes you think you hate it, but maybe he’s right and he-he’s on the next step.”

“Maybe Guy-Man has a better answer,” Thomas laughed. “‘Maybe I’m wrong, maybe he’s right!’”

It was an inadvertent revelation of the fondness he felt for Thomas. He’d doubt himself before he doubted him. A testament to just how much he loved him.

“What am I to you?” Guy whispered to him. It seemed like such a silly thing to ask after all this time.

“What do you want to be?” Thomas asked in return. Guy stared at him.

His face was so close to Thomas, closer than they’d been in years. Instinctually Guy-Man glanced at his lips, only for a moment, but enough for Thomas to notice. When he looked back up, he was alarmed to see that Thomas was looking at his, too. 

“I would kiss you, but I fear it might be a little late for that now,” Thomas murmured. Too late? For this? Guy would have waited a hundred years for this, and then some.

"Not necessarily..." he murmured quietly.

Still he felt hesitant, afraid to make Thomas do something he would regret.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he cautioned, pulling away when Thomas started towards him. 

Thomas considered this for a moment. He took a long look at him. 

Guy-Man, who risked his own life to save his that night he’d almost been hit by a truck. Who’d been there for him and comforted him, the day a heartbroken Thomas had learned his father was going away to Brazil. Who most people called surly and rude, but had a sweet, tender side to him, that he saved only for those he was most intimate with. 

Guy-Man, who never quite seemed to know his place in the world. Who always had that haunted look in his eyes, which he hid behind his boyish, floppy hair. Who liked to draw, and made sketches of Thomas when he thought he wouldn’t notice. 

He knew the things people would say about Guy-Man sometimes behind his back, or even in front of him. Teachers thought he was stupid when they were young. Others would shun him and gossip. The press would make criticisms about his appearance, his weight, or his character.

Fuck them.

They didn’t know him the way he did.

Guy-Man, gentle and quiet, with the nice, stylish clothes he wore, and his gold jewelry, and his collection of crystals and pretty rocks, and the love songs he’d hum to himself sometimes when he thought no one else could hear.

Thomas laughed. 

“Ah Guy-Man, do you prefer to be unhappy?”

“I just… I don’t want us to hurt each other.” Guy looked down. “Silence is better sometimes. Some things are better left unspoken, you know?”

Thomas reached out to grasp his chin, pressing his thumb into the cleft.

“Then don’t speak.”

He brought his lips to the side of Guy-Man’s face and kissed him there, stopping his heart. Guy’s eyes widened, his mouth going bone dry. Thomas held him still, letting him feel the bristle of his beard. He’d kissed him on the cheek many times before; in customary French greeting. But this was different; it was slower, more intimate. Guy’s brows lifted in shock as he kept kissing his face down to his chin, then his neck, making his pulse race. He inhaled sharply and felt tears welling in his eyes, his knees going weak. 

How desperately he’d longed for tenderness from him like this for all these years. How starved for his touch, for his affection he’d been. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone held him this way. Could this really be happening?

Thomas pulled away for a moment and Guy looked at him dreamily, still lightheaded from shock. Thomas’ eyes sparkled, staring into his. He wiped away a tear that fell from Guy’s eyes with his thumb. Guy-Man looked at him expectantly. 

Thomas tilted his face close to his, one swift movement erasing all the time that had passed since the last time he’d done it.

They kissed for the first time in more than 20 years, since that drugged night when Guy-Man saved him. Thomas’ lips softly brushed over his. Guy closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on his, the sweet taste of the wine they were drinking earlier. His face flushed, and waves of heat flooded over him as his Thomas’ thumb brushed him, from the side of his face to his earlobe. He felt his heart beating faster, eager to finally take what it had wanted for so long.

Then it was over just as soon as it began. Guy caught his breath, feeling woozy. Thomas was still holding his head in his hands.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked as Guy-Man turned his face, a little embarrassed, still trying to process what had just happened. Then he seized Thomas and kissed him again, making the other man laugh.

Guy ran his fingers through his curls and leaned his head against his chest in relief. He gripped the sleeve of Thomas’ shirt tightly, afraid that if he let go he might lose him again. Thomas’ hands rubbed his broad shoulders, his fingers caressing the back of his neck.

Thomas excused himself briefly to send a hasty text home that he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Guy-Man stared out at the rain tapping on the window, secretly thanking the storm for making Thomas his prisoner tonight. He’d never been so grateful for bad weather before.

Out of nowhere, music began to play upstairs from his bedroom. The melody of Chic’s I Want Your Love could be faintly heard through the walls, a melancholy song Nile had written about an unrequited love.

Do you feel like you ever want

To try my love and see how well it fits?

Baby, can’t you see when you look at me

I can’t kick this feelin’ when it hits

Confused, Guy went up to his room and saw Thomas there, standing by the record player. Unsure what to expect, he carefully shut the door behind him. Thomas took off his suit jacket and smiled at him with his familiar, dorky grin. He reached an arm out to Guy.

“Come, dance with me!” He called.

“Oh please, no,” Guy protested, backing away laughing. Thomas grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in, wrapping his wiry arms around him as Guy wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. 

All alone in my bed at night

I grab my pillow and squeeze it tight

I think of you and I dream of you all of the time 

What am I gonna do?

He hugged him tightly, swaying back and forth to the song. Guy gave an embarrassed smile as they began their slow dance around the room, tucking his face into the crook between Thomas’ neck and shoulder. His favorite place.

Sometime, don’t you feel

Like you never really had a love that’s real?

Well, here I am and who’s to say

A better love you won’t find today

Thomas rubbed his back, and Guy could feel his eyelashes against his cheek. He tilted his face to make up for their difference in height until their foreheads were touching, looking straight into Guy’s deep blue irises. His thumbs caressed the bags under Guy’s eyes.

“You look tired, Guy-Man,” he murmured sweetly.

“Well, I didn’t sleep well last night,” Guy muttered. “Or the night before that, or the night before that, or the night before that…”

“You were right,” Thomas laughed. “You are a mess.”

Just one chance and I will show you love

Like no other, two steps above 

On your ladder I’ll be a peg

I want your lovin’, please don’t make me beg

He kissed him, then kissed him again, then kissed his nose, his eyelids, his cheeks, his ears, everywhere he could. His scratchy beard prickled Guy’s face, tingling against his skin.

“I’m sorry, I should have shaved,” Thomas chuckled warmly.

“It’s ok,” Guy brushed his fingertips through his beard. “I like it better this way.”

I want your love

The song ended, and Guy was still rubbing his fingers from Thomas’ beard down through the hairs on his neck, then down to his chest. Holding the collar of Thomas’ buttoned-up shirt he paused, nervously. How much further were they going to take this? Things were happening so fast. Just a few moments ago he thought he’d destroyed their friendship beyond salvation, and now the sudden possibility of a sexual episode hung in the air. A faint tingle began to simmer under his skin, between his legs; a little spark that threatened to set him ablaze.

His hand lowering to the first button on Thomas’ shirt, he gave a wary, questioning look up. Thomas’ eyes were gleaming, almost like he was daring him. As if to say, Well? Go on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?

That did it for Guy-Man. He started unbuttoning Thomas’ soft, white dress shirt, kissing him feverishly while his fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons. Then, feeling a little bolder, he moved to take off Thomas’ belt. He undid the latch, making a clinking sound as he pulled it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor. He ran his hands over the muscles in his abdomen, up from his ribs to his hairy chest, then around his thin shoulders before he pulled Thomas onto his bed, making them both fall backwards. Thomas howled with laughter as Guy tackled him, like they were teenagers wrestling again.

Thomas sat up on the bed and Guy-Man, sitting on his knees, pulled his face against his shoulder. Guy rested his chin against Thomas’ ear, wrapping his arms around his neck and holding him there as he stroked his fingers through his curly head. Thomas hid his face under Guy’s arm, his fingers tracing circles on his lower back over his shirt. They stayed like that, holding each other silently for a long while. Thomas went to pull away but Guy only held him tighter, making him laugh and relent.

Then they separated, and Guy stripped Thomas of his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He grabbed his face and tilted Thomas’ head up to kiss him, then hugged him again. For a moment he thought of their younger selves watching them now, together in bed, laughing at them that it had taken them this long to figure out something that now seemed plain as day.

Hovering over Thomas, Guy moved to pull off his pants. What was happening between them? The whole time his mind was buzzing anxiously. Holy shit, holy shit, are we really doing this? Fear coursed through his veins, praying he wouldn’t do something to screw this up. 

His heart skipped a beat as he hooked his fingers into Thomas’ boxers, waiting for any signs of protest. The tall, lanky man laid perfectly still. With a swift movement he pulled them off– and then Thomas was completely naked before him, smiling coyly. Guy-Man thought he was beautiful all over. He knew it was his turn to undress, but was suddenly petrified at the thought of Thomas seeing his body unclothed. He shyly rubbed the back of his neck and laughed at himself. How long he had wanted, craved this, and now that he could finally have it, he was too afraid to take it.

He knew it was silly, but there was still a part of him that was mortified for Thomas to see him that way, afraid of what he would think. Even though it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. But this would be much more intimate than the times they’d simply glanced at each other in changing rooms, or getting out of the shower. Aren’t you too old to be fretting over how you look? He scolded himself. But still, he couldn’t help feeling self-conscious.

Trying to put it off for as long as he could, he crouched over Thomas and kissed his face. His long hair fell over him, giving them a curtain of privacy. Then he kissed him from his chin to his pointy Adam’s apple, then down his chest, across the trail of hair on his stomach, to his hips. 

Sweating nervously, Guy gripped his sex in his hand, feeling the weight of it. It was long and elegant; like everything else about him. Running the tips of his fingers up and down the skin, along the veins, he stopped for a moment. How many times had he done this in secret fantasies, and thought that fantasies were all they’d ever be. Now it was all so real, right in front of him. He clutched the head between his fingers and softly rubbed it, noting how Thomas tensed and gasped when his thumb grazed a particular part. 

“You’re sensitive here,” he whispered, rubbing it again to Thomas’ delight.

From between his long legs, Guy-Man could see the gentle rise and fall of Thomas’ chest. His breathing got heavier as Guy gave him a gentle stroke. Ever so carefully he put his lips to him, mouthing up the shaft from root to tip. He teasingly kissed the head over and over again, pressing his tongue to the slit, wiping away the beads of fluid that began appearing, before finally taking him in his mouth. Thomas groaned and covered his face with a pillow, his toes curling at the softness of his lips. 

It was the first time Guy had ever done it. He made only shallow movements, not quite sure what he was doing and afraid to take him too deep. Thomas didn’t mind. He let him go his own pace, his long fingers running through Guy-Man’s hair, making sounds of contentment. When he got too close to the edge, he tapped the side of Guy’s face.

“Non, non, non, not yet, not yet!” He stammered out with a breathy laugh. 

“Mmhm?” Guy-Man hummed. Still holding him in his mouth, the vibrations from Guy’s deep voice brought him dangerously closer to his peak, until he pulled off of him and gave Thomas a few moments to calm down. 

“I’m naked and you’re not,” Thomas complained jokingly. “That doesn’t seem fair.” Guy laughed, still fearfully trying to postpone his undressing, and walked to the nightstand. He opened a drawer and pulled out a bag of his antidepressants– which also contained condoms and a bottle of lubricant he’d additionally picked up.

“I– I just got these earlier today,” he said, feeling a strange need to explain himself as he took them out of the bag. Thomas lifted an eyebrow, amused.

“You didn’t get those for me, did you? Or was this all part of your master plan to seduce me?” 

Guy snorted.

“Yes, in fact I even made it rain so you would have to stay.”

“How cunning,” Thomas jested.

The truth was that Guy-Man didn’t really know what drove him to buy them. Perhaps, on some subconscious level, he secretly had been hoping something would happen between them tonight. 

He put on one of his old mixtapes, of songs they’d enjoyed together in their youth.

"I made this one a long time ago," he whispered. "In case we ever..."

Thomas smiled at how well-prepared his friend had been for this, all this time.

“I haven’t heard this song in ages,” he sighed. Guy sat back down, letting Thomas rub his hands under his white t-shirt. He felt those long slender fingers, the fingers of an artist, stroking his back and his stomach, feeling his skin and muscles. He peeled off Guy’s shirt, dropping it gently to the floor. Thomas leaned his head down and kissed the skin on his bare chest, still pale and smooth like it was in his youth. His pants were next to go, then he reached for his underwear. Guy inhaled nervously as Thomas rubbed his sex through the fabric, feeling it harden.

“Guy-Man,” Thomas cooed, sensing his apprehension. “Do you trust me?”

He stared at him with round eyes. Of course he trusted him. Thomas, who’d known him since his childhood, his whole life. Letting go of his inhibitions, he fought off the urge to hide and let Thomas strip him until every part of him was completely exposed. His hard member slapped against his abdomen when it was set free, slipping out from under the elastic.

Guy-Man felt a little sick with anxiety. There was still a voice in his head admonishing him that he shouldn’t be doing this with someone who’d been a platonic friend his whole life. And yet, though it felt somewhat wrong, in another way it also felt so right that they should be intimate in this way. They’d shared everything in each other’s lives. Why not share this, too?

Then there was the question of how they would do it. Guy-Man laid back and pulled Thomas on top of him, letting him know that he wanted him to take control. Thomas gazed down at him.

“You want it this way?” He asked to be sure. Guy nodded. He carefully began to push one of Guy’s legs upwards. 

“Ummm… should I… turn over?” Guy asked meekly, flat on his back. 

“No, no, just like this,” Thomas pulled Guy under him so they were facing each other. “I want to kiss you.”

A blush ran all the way from Guy’s cheeks down to his chest. 

“Have… have you ever done this with another man before?” He asked.

“Why, is this jealousy I’m hearing?” Thomas asked teasingly. Guy hit him playfully on the shoulder. “No, I haven’t been with a man before.” Thomas looked at him searchingly. “You?”

Guy-Man paused. There were times he had thought about it, when another tall, handsome gentleman with slender legs caught his eye. If he couldn’t have Thomas, then perhaps he could try his luck with another man. He wondered if he could be happy that way, with someone new. Maybe it would be good for him, to help him finally forget about his hopeless, impossible desires. 

And yet he felt doing so would be a form of betrayal, which he knew made no sense; he and Thomas weren’t together. But he’d always told himself that Thomas was the only man he could ever share that with; that if it wasn’t with Thomas, then it wouldn’t be with anyone.

“No, never,” Guy admitted. “I was always too afraid to.”

“Afraid you wouldn’t like it?”

“Afraid that I would.”

Thomas looked confused.

“I was afraid– that if I slept with another man and liked it, then would that mean that what I feel for you is not really special?” Guy looked at him, desolate. “In any man I was with, I would have just been searching for you.”

Oh, Guy-Man…

Thomas felt his own heart crack. He held him and ran his fingers through his scalp, kissing him adoringly.

"If I had taken my chances when I was in my prime, I might have turned into a full-on bisexual," Guy added, half-jokingly. "But I thought it might be too late now to start experimenting with other men, at my age."

"Mmm, not necessarily..." Thomas looked at him with a sly grin.

“Thomas… I have no idea what I’m doing,” Guy-Man let out a nervous laugh, his legs parted. “Do you?”

“Not a clue,” Thomas smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll have to be careful with me; I’m not as agile as I was in my 20’s,” Guy warned.

“I’m well aware,” Thomas smirked at him. “I’ll be very gentle.”

"I'm sorry, I'm always terrible my first time with someone new."

"Someone new?" Thomas repeated, amused at being described that way. "Well, I'm hardly someone new to you, aren't I?"

Guy reached up between Thomas’ legs and gave him another stroke downward, making Thomas momentarily shut his eyes and smile.

Knowing Thomas was just as new to this as he was made him feel a little better. It was completely new territory they were both exploring together. Doing this with a friend almost felt easier than with a lover. There was no pressure to impress, no need to present an idealized version of himself. They had already seen each other at their best, and at their worst. They were free to make mistakes, to laugh at themselves together.

Guy had always thought perhaps that was one of the reasons they could never be lovers: they simply knew too much about each other. But then again, was that not what a lover was? Someone you could show all your flaws and vulnerabilities?

Someone who would love you unconditionally despite knowing all your weaknesses?

What was love if not simply to know someone else, and to let them know you in return?

Chapter Text

“We were still children when we met, so we formed each other. There’s so much that is unspoken. It’s like an odd couple. Some couples will argue until they die, but some don’t speak and enjoy looking at the sunset, you know?”

That was how Guy-Man had once described their friendship in an interview, years ago. And now here they were, finally exploring this unspoken… thing between them, this strange tension that had been brewing for years. Guy had once thought it was all one-sided. But now, feeling the friction of skin on skin as Thomas rocked into him gently, he knew how wrong he’d been; that all this time he had never been alone in his feelings.

It had been terribly awkward when they first began. 

“Thomas,” Guy had stammered in a panic, thinking of something important. “These antidepressants I’m on, um, they make it hard to–“

“Shh, don’t worry about that,” Thomas assured him.  “There’s no hurry. We’ll go your pace.” 

He held Guy’s leg back, massaging it to relax him, his hand brushing the soft hairs.

“Have you been running?” He asked curiously, feeling the firm, taut muscle of his hamstrings underneath his fingers. Guy nodded sheepishly. “I can tell.” He placed a kiss on his thigh. His compliment made Guy smile, but his flattered state was short-lived when he felt Thomas begin to open him up with his fingers. It felt a little odd. A sense of panic shot through him, and he sat up to see what he was doing.

“Shhh shh shh, don’t look, don’t look,” Thomas pushed him back down with his other hand. “Close your eyes. Let me take care of it.” He knew just how uneasy Guy-Man was, and was being very careful not to make him feel humiliated. He could see Guy’s hands resting on his stomach, nervously twiddling his thumbs as he lay back, letting Thomas continue.

His fingers brushed that little bundle of nerves, making Guy inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ!” It was a far more intense, alarming pleasure than he was used to feeling on his own. Thomas hooked his long fingers a few times, right over that sweet spot, and all Guy could do was hum in joy.

When Thomas was finished preparing him, he reached for the pack of condoms and put one on as Guy-Man, heaving in anticipation, shut the lights.

As Guy heard the lubricant bottle open, he thought for a moment of their robot personas. He wondered, half-jokingly, if it would have been easier to do this in their helmets, just to give them a sense of denial about the whole thing. Well technically, it’s not us fucking, it’s the robots. But here they had no masks to hide behind; it was just them, and all their humanness.

Getting ready for the real thing, Thomas pulled the covers over Guy, the sheet briefly brushing his hard length, making it twitch. Joining him in bed, he positioned himself on top of Guy, pressing his whole body against him. He’s plugging into me, Guy-Man thought, and the idea was so amusing he burst out laughing.

“What? What are you laughing at?” Thomas asked, confused.

“Nothing, I’m just nervous,” Guy replied shakily. Thomas gave him a few strokes, trying to coax him to ease up.

Thomas was skinny, but he was stronger than he looked. It was a new, foreign sensation to Guy; a male body over his, the head of a man’s sex brushing his most intimate parts. He wondered, was this the same fear that women felt before being loved by a man for the first time? Guy’s head was turned to the side, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Guillaume,” Thomas turned his face towards him. “Look at me.”

Guy-Man opened his eyes and saw Thomas hovering over him, staring at him with a dark intensity he’d never seen before. It struck him suddenly. Thomas’ eyes had a look of awe and tenderness, and deep, deep love. Guy inhaled a shuddering breath, trembling with want. How could he ever have doubted him?

Never taking his eyes off him, Thomas moved his hips and began to push himself inside. Guy tensed up at the sudden, sharp burst of pain and clutched Thomas’ frame, crying out.

“Are you alright?” Thomas stopped immediately at the first sign of discomfort, concerned. 

Guy-Man was fearful of the pain, but the thought of giving up was even worse. He had to, wanted to get through this.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled weakly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Thomas continued, keeping a wary eye on him. Years of experience had made him an excellent lover, caring and perceptive. Guy-Man buried his head into Thomas’ neck, his muscular arms wrapped around him. 

“Ahh– ahh!” He cried, feeling pain again. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” Thomas shushed, trying to calm him. Guy bit down on his shoulder.

“No, no, don’t leave marks on me,” Thomas gently chided. Guy’s fingers were tightly gripping the auburn curls on Thomas’ scalp. “And don’t pull my hair,” he chuckled. “I don’t have much left.”

The pain subsided as they went on. Guy-Man let himself relax as it started to feel better, his fear beginning to turn into something else. Thomas kissed him savagely as he sank all the way into him, pressing their hips closer together. The warmth from his sinewy body coated Guy like a blanket, and he sighed blissfully like he’d just stepped into a hot shower. 

“I love you,” Guy breathed into his ear. “I’ve loved you my whole life.” It felt so good to finally say it. “I wanted you for so long.” Thomas shivered at his words.

“Then fucking have me,” he whispered feverishly. Guy-Man felt the shake of Thomas’ thin body over his.

Just then, he moved his hips and hit something inside Guy in just the right way.

“Oh, there, there, there!” Guy begged, gasping like he’d just touched something hot. Thomas repeated the motion and Guy cried out again, differently this time. He slapped a hand over his own mouth, shocked at the sound he’d just made.

“It’s ok, you can make noise,” Thomas said, pulling his hand from his mouth. “No one will hear.” So Guy-Man had no choice but to give in, letting himself make noises like he was crying; noises he’d never heard himself make before as he felt Thomas giving to him. He feared he was sharing far too much of himself, letting out things even he didn’t know were inside of him. But this was Thomas, and he knew he could trust him with this. It was intimidating, but also freeing, to be so vulnerable around each other in a way they’d never been before.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” Thomas murmured warmly, awed that he could make Guy-Man, ever shy and quiet, sing for him like this, hearing the desperation in his voice that was so raw and palpable. Even now he could still understand him without words, knowing exactly which were sounds of pain– and which were of pleasure.

“Oh, mon Dieu, I could fucking cry,” Guy whimpered. Tears began forming in the corner of his eyes and he gasped when Thomas’ hand crept downward and gripped him there. The heat of desire he’d kept burning for so long was finally cooling, soothing that tender, sweet ache between his legs, scratching a deep itch inside of him. It felt so good. 

He couldn’t believe he’d ever tried to convince himself that he didn’t want this; that he’d nearly gone his whole life without ever knowing what it was like. This was all he’d ever wanted.

And it was also bittersweet, almost frustrating, to think they could have done this long ago. All these years he’d spent, not knowing that Thomas shared the same desires. A secret they’d shared together  without even realizing it. How many opportunities had they passed up to do this?

How many did they have left?

“Faster, please,” Guy pleaded. Thomas went slower, just to torment him. “Oh, f-f-fuck you!”

Thomas grinned wickedly; that horrible, evil man. Then he bent down on his elbows, draping an arm around Guy’s head as he dug his fingers into his long locks. Quickening his thrusts, he gradually found a rhythm they both liked. Guy’s face contorted, his brows raised and his mouth agape. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he let his mind go blank, all the blood from his head rushing down to his sex. He tilted his head back, and Thomas kissed his exposed throat. He mouthed at the gold wishbone pendant Guy had around his neck, the only thing he was still wearing, exciting him even more. 

Que mon cur soit le tien

Et ta lèvre la mienne,

Guy savored the gorgeous sensation of numbing, white heat, feeling the most exquisite pleasure that pooled in his stomach, warm and sweet and precious. Sweat slicked the skin between them as Guy fervently rubbed his back, his hands exploring him, mouthing from his shoulder to his neck, knowing something in their world had shifted as they took each other beyond the point of no return. Thomas cradled his face in his hands, kissing him passionately, his thumbs caressing his eyelids and cheeks, frantic whispers of “je t’aime” passing between them.

Que ton corps soit le mien,

Et que toute ma chair soit tienne.

And that was how Thomas made love to him, with his mouth over his, forehead to forehead, a Slowdive song playing softly in the background over the sounds of kisses and sheets rustling. Guy loved seeing this side of his friend, getting to know him, what he was like, who he was during sex. How he was both the same, and yet became a completely different person at the same time. He loved finding out, to his delight, that he stuttered even in bed. The sounds, the faces he made, his spasms, the way he lost control of his hips in the heat of passion. How gentle he was. When had he learned to be so tender?

It was quite different from all of the times he’d been with women, and yet Guy-Man was surprised at how much it didn’t seem very different at all. Physically, it was unfamiliar. It was intense, almost intimidating, being his first time with a man. But the emotion; the meaning behind it was the same. Men’s souls were every bit as tender, every bit as in need of love and affection as women‘s.

Thomas had often been secretly curious what a night with him would be like. He’d always known Guy had a voluptuary side; he was always the romantic between them. And Guy-Man loved showing him how to find all his weak spots, the places he was most sensitive, unfolding and coming undone completely underneath him. 

Is it for love

Of what we saw here?

It was like another secret way of communicating with each other, telling each other things they could never put into words. There was something so unexplainably, deeply spiritual about it. When Thomas would make a sudden move and they’d cry out at the same time, looking straight into each other’s eyes, it said so much more than words ever could. They’d laugh at themselves together and think how strange this was, yet so familiar too; like they’d already done this a million times. Thomas seemed to know just what Guy liked, and Guy knew just what Thomas liked.

It's a game that I still play

It's a game that I still play

It all suddenly seemed to make perfect sense, like this was always bound to happen between them, one way or another. 

Inevitable.

When it was over, Thomas heard himself make a blissful, euphoric cry. He lay panting on top of Guy, high from endorphins. Neither knew what to say. The room was eerily silent, the reality of what they’d just done dawning on them.

Collecting himself, Thomas slowly pulled out, making Guy-Man wince in pain one final time.

“Désolé, désolé,” Thomas mumbled, his voice hoarse, kissing his face fiercely in apology. He held him gently. “You’re trembling,” he whispered. Guy was still shaking from the aftershocks, his heart beating so fast. He felt a pang of embarrassment as Thomas wiped the tears he’d been crying from his eyes. He’d never, ever cried during sex before. 

Thomas stood up from the bed. “Let me get you a towel,” he offered, disappearing into the bathroom. Guy-Man lay still, his body sore and aching, as he heard the sink running. He stared out his bedroom window, not sure what he’d say to him when he came back out. A worrying thought intruded into his mind. What would their friends think if they knew what they’d just done? Would they be shocked? Or would they have seen it coming a mile away?

Thomas emerged from the bathroom with two warm, damp washcloths. One he used to wipe the white, shiny mess off of Guy’s chest. Tossing it aside when he was done, he wrapped the other into a compress.

“I’m gonna be so sore in the morning…” Guy-Man chuckled to him.

“This will help with the pain,” Thomas explained, and pressed the warm compress gently against where he’d entered him, eliciting a low groan from Guy.

“Ohhhhh…”

Thomas lay back down next to him and rained soft, fervent kisses on his face, holding him tightly.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Guy-Man laughed, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck, I needed that… ohhh mon Dieu…”

“We really have done everything now, haven’t we?” Thomas laughed, prying his hands away. One final barrier between them that had been withdrawn.

Guy felt the soothing coolness of Thomas’ palms caressing his hot, flushed face; his thumbs rubbing over his eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, massaging that space between his eyebrows, slowing his heart rate. Thomas traced his fingers over his lips, and Guy kissed each one, taking them in his mouth and sucking gently.

“Was it everything you’d hoped it would be?” Thomas asked. Guy smiled and nodded.

“It was better.”

Thomas kissed the smile on Guy’s lips, rubbing his earlobes. Guy leaned up, pressing his lips to his shoulder.

“After that night you almost got hit by the truck, I kept thinking of what would have happened if you had died. That I would’ve had to carry on living without you… I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. I never wanted to be parted from you.” Guy softly recollected. “That’s when I knew I was in love.” 

“I think mine was when you punched me in the face in Ibiza. Then you started crying afterwards and made a mixtape to apologize,” Thomas giggled, running his palms up Guy’s forehead, through his hairline. “I fell for you pretty hard, then.”

Guy-Man laughed with him and laid on his chest. 

“I think my first real love was you.”

They listened to the sound of the rain, quietly tangled up together in the soft sheets for a long time.

“I wish we’d done this years ago,” Guy spoke regretfully, kissing Thomas’ collarbone.

“So do I.” Thomas stroked his hair.

“You said you came close a few times,” Guy mentioned curiously, rubbing his foot against Thomas’ ankle under the covers. “When was that?”

Thomas thought for a moment. 

He hovered over Guy-Man again. 

“There was one summer in ‘95, when we were sharing a bed in a hotel room.”

They’d visited Ibiza again, and it got so hot one night they’d shed their clothes and slept naked together. The next morning Thomas woke up early as usual. He meant to go for a smoke, but got distracted watching his partner sprawled out on the bed, still sleeping peacefully. There had been a rumor among fans that Guy-Man had royal blood in his family, which they’d laughed off as ridiculous. But as Thomas looked at him, fast asleep with his arm draped over the side of the bed, his long hair flowing over his shoulders, he thought he looked like a little prince.

“I thought about what would happen if I reached out and touched you. But I was afraid I’d scare you,” Thomas said, caressing him.

“I wish you had,” Guy-Man told him a little sadly, tracing lines over the hair on his arms. “I would have let you.”

“Alright, now you have to confess something to me.” Thomas demanded playfully. Guy thought about it.

“Do you remember during Coachella, when we were staying at Bing Crosby’s estate, and I was sleeping in the room where Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe had their affair?” Guy smiled at the memory. “I said I wanted to do something interesting in that room.”

“Ahhh… so was I that ‘something interesting’?” Thomas laughed, fingers still tangled in his locks, scratching his scalp. Guy grinned.

“I dreamed about you sneaking into my room at night, when no one would notice,” he whispered into the dark. He’d stared at the doorway at night with wanting eyes, fantasizing of a slender, tall man appearing and sliding under the sheets next to him.

“Oh, I should have, shouldn’t I? Well, I think that room has seen more than its fair share of wildly inappropriate affairs,” Thomas quipped, kissing his jaw. “We didn’t need to add to the list.”

Guy-Man felt a nervous jolt in his heart, giving Thomas a guilty look at the mention of affairs.

“Do you… feel bad about this?” Guy pried carefully, not specifying what he meant. He didn’t need to; Thomas knew. He sighed and lay on his back next to Guy.

“A little,” Thomas admitted, staring at the ceiling. “But it’s alright,” he reassured Guy, a worried look having come over his face. “Every friendship has its secrets.” He kissed his forehead. “This is yours and mine.”

Well, they were certainly good at keeping secrets.

Guy-Man loved this newfound dynamic between them. One that had all the intensity, intimacy and carnal, physical pleasures of lovers. Yet at the same time, it also had the warm familiarity, the honesty, and carefree lack of expectations of friendship. The way he could tell him all the thoughts in his head, the dark secrets he’d kept for so long, without any fear of shame or judgment. They way they could hold each other, touch each other without flinching away. Just like he’d always wanted to. 

Content, Thomas wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead, running his hands through his damp curls.

“Damn, I shouldn’t say this, but I could go for a cigarette right now.”

“You can have my e-cig, if you want,” Guy-Man offered, motioning to the nightstand where he’d left it. He turned the lamp to a dim light and handed it to Thomas.

“Oh, I’ve never used one of these things,” Thomas muttered as he put on his reading glasses, studying it carefully. 

Guy turned over in the sheets, lying on his stomach, as Thomas hesitantly put the e-cig in his mouth.

“Euhh, other way,” Guy corrected him, giggling.

“Hmm? Oh,” Thomas flipped it around in his fingers and turned it on. Its sickly sweet scent filled the air, making Thomas wrinkle his nose. He tried to take a drag, frowning at it.

“You look like you’re not enjoying that,” Guy observed, low rumbling laughter reverberating in his chest.

“No, it’s just…” Thomas coughed pitifully as he tried to take another drag. “I don’t get the appeal.”

He struggled to speak through his coughing fit and his eyes watered, making Guy-Man laugh at him even harder.

“What’s so funny?” Thomas demanded to know.

“Nothing, nothing.” Guy’s eyes wandered up to him. “I’m just thinking of when we tried smoking weed for the first time. You were coughing so hard you dropped the joint,” he chuckled.

“I would infinitely prefer a joint to this devil contraption,” Thomas growled, giving up on the e-cig.

“Actually…” Guy-Man fumbled around in one of his bedside drawers, searching for something. 

Marijuana was strictly illegal in France, but the law didn’t stop Guy from hiding a few rolled joints in his room. “A-ha! Voici!” He pulled one out.

“Oh fuck you, give me that!” Thomas grabbed the joint impatiently. “You made me smoke that thing, when you had these the whole time?”

“Forgot I had them,” Guy grinned as he grabbed the lighter from the drawer. Closing it shut, he leaned over until his face was only a heartbeat away from Thomas’. Putting the joint in his mouth, Thomas leaned in as well. Guy clicked the lighter and brought the flame to the tip of Thomas’ joint, their eyes meeting tenderly for a brief moment. When it was lit, Thomas pulled away, still gazing at him. 

They passed the joint between them for a while, exhausted. Remembering the many times they used to do this in their youth, particularly in California. Sometimes with friends, sometimes just between the two of them. 

“You know, sometimes when I’m traveling and away from my family, I wander around at night too.” Thomas said blankly, staring at the wall.

“When I went to see dad in Brazil, I couldn’t sleep. Jet lag, and all. So I just walked around the town for hours. It made me think of you,” he smiled. “I was just looking for– I don’t know, some kind of…” he waved his hands in the air. “Artistic inspiration. It sounds silly, I know.”

“I don’t think it’s silly,” Guy-Man reassured him. “Did you find it?”

“No, not really. I just ended up with a hole in my shoe.” He laughed. “But I did meet this young woman there who–“

“Ohhh… you met a young woman?” Guy teased slyly, interrupting him. “So was that your artistic inspiration?”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s not what I meant,” Thomas playfully shoved him, embarrassed. “No, what I was going to say was I met a young woman who knew my father, and explained to me the history of the town, and all that.” He watched Guy take another hit from the joint. “So I was glad I went, anyways.” They lay in silence as Guy-Man smoked.

“Do you think if we’d met each other now, instead of back when we were kids, that we’d still be friends?” Thomas asked apropos of nothing.

“Thomas, you’re high,” Guy snorted.

“I’m not high, you’ve been hogging that thing all to yourself!” Thomas complained. Rolling his eyes, Guy handed him the joint.

“No, if we’d first met now I’d think you were an asshole,” Guy-Man said dryly.

“You thought I was an asshole even back then.”

“That’s true.” Thomas could hear the grin in Guy’s voice. He took a long drag from the joint.

“Ok, now I’m high,” Thomas breathed, satisfied. Holding the joint between his fingers, he carefully placed it back between Guy’s lips.

Later that night, when they were finished smoking, Thomas lay by Guy’s side, caressing his neck and giving his cheek a few lazy kisses, pressing his nose against the side of his face.

“The rain sounds lovely,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

“Do you know why we find the sound of rain so calming?” Guy-Man asked, stroking Thomas’ sore, tender sex.

“Mmm? No, why?”

“Predators don’t hunt when it rains,” Guy said thoughtfully. “It makes us feel safe.”

Thomas looked out the window.

“It’s quite amazing isn’t it, how connected we still are to our primal instincts,” he replied. 

Guy knew that despite their separation, he was still deeply connected to him, too.

High from the weed and endorphins, they talked about everything and nothing at the same time. But in the silent pauses between their conversations was when they seemed to say the most, quietly forming a deeper connection than they’d ever had before. Guy felt like something in his soul that had been broken for so long was finally healing, putting itself back together again.

“When is your favorite time of day for lovemaking? Morning or night?” Thomas asked him.

“All the time,” Guy-Man deadpanned. Thomas grinned, kissing his eyelids. “Actually,” he started, considering it seriously now. “Late afternoon. When the sun starts to go down, and the sky turns orange,” Guy whispered softly. The golden hour, as it was known in filmmaking. “That’s my favorite time.”

Thomas hummed into his ear.

“Well,” he began, sitting up. “I’ve actually been meaning to tell you– I’m thinking of going to Cap Ferret this summer, with the kids. I’ll rent a cabin for a week or two. You and your kids could join us, if you want.” Thomas played with Guy’s pendant necklace. “It would be just us,” he added. Guy-Man thought it over. Cap Ferret was a well-kept secret in France. Unlike the more popular beaches, which were overpriced, overcrowded, and filled with tourist traps, it was quieter, peaceful, more intimate. Not to mention stunningly beautiful.

“I’d have to ask what the kids’ schedule is,” he answered.

“Well… if you do come… then maybe…” Thomas murmured in between kisses, “…we could send them out into town one day. Have the place to ourselves for an afternoon,” he proposed suggestively. “How does that sound?”

“Yes, I would like that,” Guy answered sleepily, lightheaded at the thought that he might have him again.

Thomas placed a kiss right over Guy-Man’s heart, making him swoon. He kissed the soft, pale flesh of his chest and laid his head there so he could listen to his heartbeat. A smile spread over Thomas’ face as Guy held him there in his arms. Guy pressed his nose into his shaggy curls, head spinning from his scent, tart from sweat. He laughed to himself at how amusing it was seeing Thomas, this middle-aged man with thinning hair, nuzzling into his chest and cuddling him like he was a child. Somewhere deep down, he was still that boy he loved all those years ago. 

Still his Thomas.

Guy too, felt young again. He wondered briefly what it would have been like if they’d done this back when they were still in their 20’s, budding and inexperienced. 

Thomas rubbed his elegant hands up Guy’s back and all over his body, making a long sigh escape from his lips. It was like coming home. 

“I fucking missed you,” Guy breathed, making Thomas clutch him even tighter. Guy-Man kissed his forehead, forgiving him for having been so distant. All of the loneliness, the pain, the nights where Thomas wasn’t there when he needed him… all of it drifted away into nothingness. None of it mattered, now.

He contemplated what this meant for them, now that they’d finally become physical. How could he define their relationship now? They still weren’t lovers, not really. But at this point, they certainly shared a connection that was much, much deeper than friendship. Deeper than they’d ever led anybody to believe.

He knew they didn’t fall into the conventional idea of love: settling down into a lifelong monogamous partnership, marriage, having a family. But there were so many other kinds of love that were just as fulfilling. Some people only had each other for one night, never to meet again, and remembered it for the rest of their lives. Maybe it didn’t matter that they weren’t lovers in the traditional sense. It just muddied the waters for Guy, making it harder for him to see the difference between friendship and love.

No matter how their interests grew apart, or how long they went without speaking, what they had was something that would last for the rest of their lifetimes, and would remain long after they were both gone from this earth.

Thomas was his soulmate, he was sure of that. They completed each other, filling in for what the other lacked, like they were made for each other. He stirred some deep, hidden part of his soul. And Guy-Man was every bit as intimate with him as with a lover. Even more so. 

And that was the way their relationship always was, forever dancing on the line between platonic and non-platonic, never quite settling in one place. More than friends, not quite lovers… a romantic friendship. Yes, that felt right. Romantic friendship.

Amitié romantique. 

As the intoxicating post-intercourse sleepiness finally got to him, Guy let the sound of Thomas’ deepening breaths and the patter of rain lull him blissfully to sleep.

Chapter Text

Early the next morning, when the sky was still pitch black, Guy-Man awakened. He looked and saw the space in bed next to him was empty, the sheets crumpled. The sound of the shower running in the bathroom could be heard through the door.

Washing away the evidence, was Guy’s only thought before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

A few hours later, when the sun began to come up and filled the room with soft, gray light, Guy woke again. The rainstorm had finally stopped, and the city was eerily quiet. Guy turned to see the spot next to him empty still, cold and long since abandoned. Thomas’ clothes had also vanished. He must have left, he thought wearily.

Guy-Man stumbled into the bathroom and tried to clean himself up. He took a quick shower, the stall still damp from when Thomas had used it. Brushing his teeth and running a comb through his hair, he couldn’t get the events of last night out of his mind. He was still trying to process it; it was all a blur. He wasn’t sure how it even happened. 

But he’d slept better that night with Thomas in his arms than he had in ages. What a shame his doctor didn’t think to recommend fucking his best friend as a cure for insomnia, Guy thought.

When he’d made himself look halfway presentable, he thought maybe the best thing to do would be to take his dog for a walk, just to clear his head. Guy-Man walked into the kitchen to get some dog food, and was suddenly hit with the smell of coffee. He looked up. There was Thomas, having helped himself to his coffee maker, standing with a mug of fresh brew. It seemed Guy just couldn’t get him out of his apartment, no matter what.

“I take it you slept well last night?” Thomas asked with a smug grin, taking a sip. Guy’s face flushed red. He could’ve slapped that look off his face.

“I was going to make coffee, you didn’t have to do that,” he stammered. 

“It’s no problem.” Thomas poured Guy a cup and slid it his way.

Guy-Man offered to cook breakfast, but neither had the stomach for it. He put on a record by Chilly Gonzales; one of their friends they’d worked with on RAM. A light, gentle piano melody played in the background. The Tourist. A suitable morning-after soundtrack. They sat and drank their coffee in silence, not sure what to talk about. 

He watched Thomas bite his fingernails anxiously, staring at his mug. Guy felt a little ashamed about their one night stand and wondered if Thomas did, too. The things he’d done, the things he’d said, confessing things he never thought he’d voice out loud in a million years. Things he wouldn’t even tell God himself. It all seemed a bit foolish now that the clarity of morning had set in, and the haze of last night’s passion was a distant memory. 

He wanted to ask him, promise this won’t change anything between us. But how could he possibly promise something like that? Would they ever be able to look at each other the same way after this? Had they made a mistake? Maybe we shouldn’t have done this, he worried.

Guy-Man stirred his coffee tensely, anxious thoughts brewing in his mind. Then he felt something under the table. It was Thomas’ foot, brushing against his. Guy smiled. He used to do that sometimes when they were kids, too. 

“You alright?” Thomas whispered cautiously. Guy nodded, meeting his gaze for just a moment. Then he turned away, blushing. It made him feel a bit better to know that Thomas was still comfortable around him.

“You don’t regret anything, do you?” Guy-Man asked him warily.

“I would only regret it if you did,” Thomas smiled. Guy met his gaze.

We had sex, so what? It’s not that big of a deal, he thought to himself, settling down.

Then Thomas put his hand on his thigh, brushing the soft fabric of Guy’s pants. He went daringly a bit further up his leg, making Guy-Man laugh and avert his eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling out of embarrassment. Guy ducked his head and hid his face behind his floppy hair, like a puppy dogs’ ears. Thomas thought it was cute. He really is in love, isn’t he? 

He lifted his hand from Guy’s leg and placed it back on the table. 

Oui, je vois dans tes yeux 

La divine promesse

Guy-Man hesitated for a minute, staring as Thomas stirred cream and sugar into his coffee. Then in a slow movement, he put his trembling hand over Thomas’, his thumb stroking him. Just like he’d wanted to do all those years ago on the balcony. Thomas slowly stopped stirring, letting his spoon rest on the cup. He smiled, taking Guy’s hand in his. They sat shyly that way, their fingers intertwining, not needing to say anything.

Que ton cur amoureux 

Vient chercher ma caresse.

“I really do have to go now,” Thomas said after the coffee was finished. “I have a meeting with a few people later today about that film project.”

“Yeah, ok.” Guy-Man wistfully rubbed his knuckles under his chin. He helped Thomas put on his jacket, then they stood awkwardly facing each other by the door.

“We, um… we probably shouldn’t make a habit out of this or anything,” Guy stammered, rubbing his arm.

“No,” Thomas agreed firmly, laughing. “But I liked it.”

“Yeah,” Guy looked down, avoiding his eyes. “I did, too.” Thomas grinned at him softly.

“I might take you up on that offer, to go to Cap Ferret,” Guy-Man added. “I’ll just make sure my kids can go that week.”

“I hope you do,” Thomas said. “It would be fun. The kids haven’t seen each other in a while, either. I think it would be good for them to visit.”

Guy nodded, and Thomas pulled him in for a long hug. He sighed, placing his head against Thomas’ shoulder, and breathed in that old, familiar scent of him.

It took them a long time to separate, neither wanting to let go. Thomas leaned in and teasingly gave him a parting kiss on the cheek that was much too close to his lips. Getting back at him, Guy turned his head before he could pull away and caught him by the mouth, kissing him deeply. Giving in, Thomas lovingly wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in again. 

When their kiss finally ended, Thomas gave Guy’s cheek one last, tender stroke with his thumb.

“I’ll see you.” He said his farewell, then turned and went out the door.

Guy-Man stared at the door after it shut, his head buzzing, not knowing what to feel. He looked like he was about to laugh and cry at the same time, and felt like it too. He went back to his couch and sat, trying to think. The last time he’d sat here he’d been crying, thinking he’d ended their friendship forever. Now he thought perhaps they were closer than ever. It was almost funny, how quickly things change.

He looked at pictures of the two of them over the years: on tours, at concerts, at the Grammys, in the offices of record labels.

Those were wonderful days in our lives. But so is today, and every day.

Then from the kitchen he heard a sudden flurry of barking and shot up, remembering he’d forgotten to feed his dog.

Enlacés pour toujours,

Brûlés des mêmes flammes,

Dans des rêves d’amours,

Nous échangerons nos deux âmes.

“You’re not getting Guinness?” Sébastien asked in surprise after Guy-Man ordered a glass of Riesling at the bar. The two had agreed to go out for drinks later that evening. Guinness was Guy’s favorite; normally his go-to drink.

“I wanted something different,” Guy responded as he took his glass and thanked the bartender. He seemed to be in an unusually good mood, almost in a daze. Sébastien had even caught him sighing dreamily and humming to himself earlier.

“Ehh, I always avoid French Guinness whenever possible, anyways,” Sébastien shrugged. “Guinness in France tastes like shit.” He took a sip from his glass of Pinot Noir. “Dublin is where you go for good Guinness.”

“Thomas insists on making Coq au Vin with Riesling instead of red wine,” Guy-Man laughed, staring into his glass. “He made it for me when he visited last night.”

“Oh, he did?” Sébastien looked up. “How was that? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it has. He came over to my place and made us dinner.” Guy smiled awkwardly. “Then, um, we had some drinks and just talked like old times.”

“I’m sure it was nice to catch up. How’s he doing?”

“He’s busy as always. He left this morning in a hurry over some new film score he’s doing.” 

That caught Sébastien’s attention. 

“Oh, he stayed the night?” 

Guy-Man panicked, realizing he might have said too much. Shit.

“Euh, yeah, um, well the weather was bad last night, lots of rain, you know, so I– I just figured– I had a pull out sofa I just let him sleep on,” he sputtered nervously. Sébastien smirked into his glass, noticing earlier he’d sat down a little more slowly and delicately than usual. He watched Guy shuffle around in his seat uncomfortably and take another sip of his wine.

“So,” Sébastien turned to him. “How was his Coq?”

Guy-Man almost choked on his drink.

“What?”

“The Coq au Vin,” Sébastien asked innocently. “How was it? With white wine instead of red?”

Guy cleared his throat, his face turning as scarlet as Sébastien’s glass of Pinot Noir.

“Y-Yeah, it-it was um… different. But it was good.”

“I’m sure it was.” Sébastien gave a sly grin at the beard burn mark on Guy’s neck. “Well, first time for everything, right?”

Guy glared daggers, unable to say anything, before taking an embarrassed swig from his glass of Riesling as Sébastien drank the last of his wine.