One and a half years later

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I stood on the opposite side of a restaurant like I had every evening for the past week. People walked by me. All too busy with their own things to notice the lonely man staring forwards.

It was a Saturday evening, so most walking past me were laughing, swinging beers, singing. Displaying a happiness I hadn't felt in quite a long time.

Not since the Second Incident.

That's what I called it. Unfortunately, there had already been one incident in my life, so that one had changed name to the First Incident while the one lingering in my soul had been dubbed the Second Incident.

It was such a stupid thing. Such a silly thing. But it made it easier for me to think about it while simultaneously not think about it. Made it possible to think about the fallouts without having to relive the pain of the two incidents.

The fallout of the Second Incident was what had led me here. To this street in Edinburgh, staring into a restaurant during a moonless early autumn night.

I took out a cigarette and lit it to appear to be doing something.

That was another fallout of the Second Incident. My smoking had increased. Not a very healthy fallout, but considering a lot of the others, I guessed it wasn't too bad.

Like the ghost which haunted me. Though I guessed it wasn't a direct fallout of the Incident.

That ghost had been created on Christmas Day when my twin sister, Airlia, and the café owner, Ethan, had tied the knot. It had been outdoors and Airlia had almost frozen herself stiff by not wearing a jacket over her wedding dress.

It had been beautiful. It had been romantic. A winter wonderland wedding.

I hadn't been able to concentrate on any of it because my eyes had searched for him. Half-way through the ceremony, I had seen him. He had stood at the back and to the side underneath a tree. Quite clearly trying to hide. But he had shone like a beacon to me, making it hard to look back to the front. His eyes had been glued on Airlia and Ethan, and a soft smile had been on his lips.

I had wanted to stand up and walk over to him straight away. But I hadn't been able to, as the wedding had still been going. So I had forced myself to look forward again. But my legs had been bouncing, my hands wringing about with the anxious thought of maybe he wouldn't be there when I turned back around. And I had been the first to stand after Airlia and Ethan had been married.

He had already left, but thank god for the snow. It had been easy to follow his tracks and catch up with him.

"Wait!" I had shouted after him. "Ye're leavin' already?"

He had turned back around and had met my eyes. He hadn't said a thing.

"Can't ye stay? Can't we talk for a bit?"

His eyes had travelled to behind me.

"There ye are, Alasdair. I was wonderin' where ye... Oh..."

I had wanted to curse Flora to the depths of hell for her interruption.

He had looked back at me. And that image of him was what haunted me. The pain which had been in his eyes. Suffocating, gut wrenching pain.

Pain which I imagined rivalled that of Werther's.

That image of him had been burned into my retina that day. Whatever I did. Wherever I went. I saw him and his pain.

He hadn't said a single word to me. Upon Flora's arrival, he had just given me that look, then he had turned around and had walked away.

And for a second time, I had let him walk away, walk out of my life, without even saying a single word to stop him.

I flicked my cigarette, and the crossroad turned green for people to walk over the road. An opportunity for me to cross it and then head into the restaurant.

But I stood there. Watched others walk over. A group of teenagers laughed at something. A couple had their arms hooked together. A woman hurried past everyone else.

The light turned red again, and I hadn't even taken one step closer to the crosswalk.

I wasn't brave enough. I had never been.

He had been my courage. He carried my sword and slayed all dragons which crossed my path.

Even after he had left, he had been my courage.

I had stayed silent. The rumours had spread. It had been impossible to contain. Whispers at first in corners. Then loud conversations over a pint in the middle of the pub. A whole sermon devoted to tarnishing him.

It had turned to a witch hunt where the witch wasn't even present to defend their name.

A scandal. For how could one of them have walked among us, hidden in plain sight?

And I had failed him yet again, as I hadn't defended him. I had heard them talk, heard them call him names, heard them twist everything about him to fit their narrative.

And I had stayed silent.

For far too long.

With his pain haunting me, I had finally found my courage.

"Do ye remember last Valentine's?" Flora had asked me. "What a silly fight that was now lookin' back at it."

If anything, I had felt like the fight held more weight now that I had lost him. A fight started by Flora joking about that I would pick him over her. A joke which had escalated into her yelling at me to pick one of them.

She had backtracked, of course, when she had realised what my choice was.

But that fight hadn't been silly for me then, and it definitely hadn't been a year later.

"We haven't really talked about it. About him," Flora had gone on to say. "It must all be so weird for ye with how close the two of ye were. Ye're really the victim in all of this."

"The victim?" I had echoed because, if anything, I felt like the villain.

Then those awful words had fallen from her lips. Words which had twisted everything about him and our relationship.

"Yeah, I mean, he probably stayed close to ye hopin' ye'd turn into a faggot someday as well."

I had stayed quiet during so many conversations insulting him. All of them had cut deep, cut a part of me away with how horribly they spoke of him. And none of the comments held even a grain of truth.

I had still continued to stay quiet. But not that day.

He had been my friend even when it had caused him unbearable pain, and that pain had pushed all my courage to the front.

"Don't insult him like that!"

Everything in the pub had gone quiet. The only sound had been the TV showing some football game. I had known I held everyone's attention as I had stood up and had swept my eyes over the crowd. I had pierced them all with the burning hatred I had felt over how much crap they had been talking about him.

"The whole bloody lot of you are just such bigots!" I had yelled at them all. "Willow. Wasn't he your best worker? And Adams, didn't you always call him the kindest boy in school? And what about you, Mr Aitken? Don't you fucking know your son well enough to know it's all lies?"

No one had said a thing. But all had diverted their eyes as mine had swept over them once more.

Except Lewis. He had been there with Hannah, and he had met my eyes firmly and given me a nod. Our friendship had never felt like it went much beyond the surface, but that quiet acknowledgement and approval of my words had proven it actually did.

I had given him a slight nod in return, and then I had turned to leave. I had felt done, fed up with all of the despicable people in there.

"Alasdair, ye're overreacting. Don't..."

I had rounded on Flora, had glared at her. "I told you a year ago to not force me into picking because you wouldn't like the outcome. It's over, Flora."

Then I had walked out on them. I had taken my dwindling courage and done what he had encouraged me to do many times over.

As soon as I had put the application to the writing programme in the mail, I had regretted it. I had even reached to get it back out. But I hadn't managed. And what had followed had been a few agonising months.

Everywhere I had gone in the village, whispers had followed me, and I had been increasingly aware I needed to get out. But I hadn't had anywhere to go.

Until the acceptance letter had arrived.

I had almost turned the spot down, but I had decided to channel his courage. Had in my head heard him reassuring me it would be great. That I would like it. That no matter what I thought, I was good enough.

Perfect. He would have even said I was perfect.

It was a month ago since the programme had started. I had been in Edinburgh for a month, establishing my whole new life.

I felt better than I had since the Second Incident. But there was one more thing I needed to do before I felt alright again.

If I could only find the courage to walk across the road and into the restaurant.

Channel him, I told myself. Stop being so ridiculous and afraid of everything and just cross the stupid road.

I took a deep breath as the light turned green and I walked forwards. Walked over the road and then refused to think a single thought until I had pulled the door to the restaurant open.

"Hi! An' welcome to The Golden Fae. How many are ye? Or is it just ye?" a woman wearing a golden apron welcomed me.

"Just me," I answered.

She furrowed her brows a bit as she led me to a table and gave me a menu.

I didn't open the menu at all, though. Just took deep breath after deep breath to not lose my courage while repeating the request I wanted to make.

"Are ye ready to order?" the waitress asked as she came back to my table a few minutes later.

"Actually. A friend of mine works in the kitchen here. Errol Aitken."

The woman's face became as bright as a sun. "Ye know Errol from when he was younger? Ye must have so many stories to tell! I'll get him for ye. He'll probably be thrilled. Oh, we always drink a bit after closin' an' ye just must join us."

She went off before I had time to answer any of her stream of words and I was back to taking deep breaths.

When he came out of the kitchen, he looked exactly how I remembered him. Not the pained version from Airlia's wedding, but the one he had been before. Happy, grounded, stable.

He dried off his hands on a towel as he walked towards me. His eyes had found me straight away. They looked at me with such intensity I couldn't look away. I didn't want to either. I didn't even want to blink, afraid he would disappear if I did.

When he stopped right before me, his lips, those lips which had once been on mine, turned into a teasing smirk.

"Ye finally decided to come inside," Errol said.