Two Friends Together

Manic Mother, I'm at your service. Details you require, details you shall have. If you are of a nervous, sensitive, or disinterested disposition, look away now.

Still here?

Right. Let's go.

Thursday evening. My old department Christmas meal. I'm there only by virtue of the fact that it was arranged before I moved departments, but these are old friends, friends I've had for many years. It had been booked for many weeks, since before there was awkwardness between us. I had dreaded this evening, not for the awkwardness, but for the memory of what was, and what could have been. And still I decided to go, when the sensible decision would have been not to. Over the last few weeks, we had started to rebuild the fragments of what we shared, tentative steps to redefine our friendship. A friendly smile, a quick chat, nothing more than that.

Still in the office, I got changed, called for some of my girls on the way down to the ground floor. They were nowhere in sight, but he was. We took the lift, my gaze fascinated beyond measure upon the door panel. Collected the girls downstairs, made our way to the bar. We stood side by side at the bar, as we'd done so many times before, chatting, muttering about our lack of bar presence.

We got to the restaurant, he sat opposite me. We chatted across the tapas, I switched to full on party mode, regaling the table with information they could do well without whilst eating, to much hilarity. I relaxed. It was going to be OK. I had my friend back, and it was just like before.

And that was all I'd ever wanted. Wasn't it?

The meal over, many people decided to leave. Not us. A group of us, just a handful, decided to move on to a bar; I was, after all, celebrating. It's not every day you get a degree, and by lord I was going to enjoy it. Numbers dwindled, three of us left. Me and my two favourite boys. Like evenings of old. It felt right. We moved on to another bar, sat laughing, drinking, exchanging gossip, and traditional office party banter.

Our friend left, it was late. Closing time. First decision. Time to go? Move on to another bar? Move to a different town? Did I want to go home, or stay over? Deep breath. Let's go on somewhere else, I'll stay over. I've done it lots of times before, my brain said. Before there was this between us. It has always been fine, and this will show me that we can be friends again. Did I believe that voice? I did. Don't believe me? It's true, and I'll tell you why.

Because I didn't dare believe that something would happen between us.

Just two friends together.

So we moved on to a venue more local to him. Sat on high stools next to the bar, facing each other, and talked like we had of old. Serious conversation, difficult topics, the occasional brush of a hand against an arm to show support, the occasional resting of fingertips against each other.

Just two friends together.

Back to his house, sitting next to each other, watching a DVD. Chatting, smiling, entirely comfortable with each other, just like we'd been in the past.

Just two friends together.

And then something more. Impossible to say who had started it, irrelevant really. I don't regret it, as I've said. It might not have been sensible, but there is little in my life that is governed by logic. If we need to redefine our friendship, or walk away from each other to protect ourselves, we'll reach the decision between us this time.

But as the dawn broke, I lay in his arms and wondered where we go now, the two friends together.