Behind the Scenes

[Dusty15]

@Salamander and I had the chance to write together after a very long time and it's been a lot of fun! Here's the result It features her OC, Frank, from her story "Best Foot Forward" and my new OC, Hugh. Enjoy!

--

The end of another show. The cast filtered back into the dressing rooms to change, chorus dancers stretched out muscles, musicians wrestled instruments back into cases and the magician's glamorous assistant worked cold-cream into her stubborn stage makeup. Most of the Cabaret cast were keen to leave and find a pint at the bar while it was still serving. Soon enough, backstage was nearly empty, the lights dimmed and costumes folded more or less neatly away for the matinee the next day. Only one performer was left, leaning against a counter with his head propped on his arms. His dark hair had enough gel to hold it in position despite his angle, still in a smooth side-parting away from a handsome, good-natured face. Frank Westmore, fast asleep. 

Hugh Morris pushed the dressing room door open with his hip, arms full with a bucket, mop, and rags. Whistling quietly to himself, he set down the bucket and sloshed the mop in. The deserted dressing room glowed softly under the vanity light bulbs surrounding the varied mirrors. Pausing to check his reflection in the glass, Hugh suddenly felt the rush of startled fear as he saw the man on the opposite corner of the room.

The mop clattered out of the bucket, spilling the water onto the tiled floor. Hugh spun around, his heart racing.

“Oh my god, sir, I’m sorry,” he stammered, rushing to gather the mop and bucket. “I thought you was a ghost for a moment. They said everyone had gone and it was alright to start the cleaning. And they told me the theatre was haunted, but then again, aren’t all theatres haunted? S’what I’ve heard, anyhow.”

“Hmm?” The ghost in question raised his head, holding a hand in front of his eyes against the light. He shook his head groggily. It took a good few seconds to establish where he was, then he offered Hugh a disarming smile. 

“I- no- it’s just me. Is it late?” His words were interrupted by ticklish cough smothered against his shoulder. 

“Half-past ten,” Hugh said, consulting his watch. “The others haven’t been gone too long. I heard a few of ‘em discussing going down to the club around the corner. But I don’t know who they were. I just started last week and this is my first shift after a show.”

He stepped forward, extending his hand towards Frank. 

“Hugh Morris,” he said with practiced politeness that seemed stuffy coming from his otherwise rather bohemian air. His trousers were a size too large and slouched on his thin hips, cinched with a belt. And the auburn hair that framed a lightly-freckled face was a touch too long and it curled around his ears and at the nape of his neck. 

The other man rose and shook hands. “Frank.” He looked Hugh up and down. The man looked like he would fit in at the theatre just fine. Was it really half ten already? He thought he’d only laid his head down for a few moments. Speaking made him cough again and he had to clear his throat before continuing.

“How are you liking it so far? Did you see any of the show?” 

“Only the last bit with the magician,” Hugh replied, taking up the fallen mop and leaning on it. “But it seems like a nice spot. I just moved into town to help out my uncle but his business is a bit...well, a bit conservative for my tastes. I figured I’d find more of my sort of people here and I like to keep busy, so the night shift suits me fine. I’d like to be a stagehand, really, but they had a spot for a cleaner. That’s alright though; I’ve worked pretty much every job under the sun.”

“What about you?” he asked. “How long have you been here? You’re a performer?”

“Dance in the chorus.” Frank explained. “It’s a pretty good gig, you’ll soon find your feet. It’s my first season and everyone welcomed me in straight away. Here, let me move my stuff and you can talk and mop, or we’ll be here all night.”

He gathered his waistcoat and jacket from the the floor at his feet and returned them to his hanger. Then without further warning and no shame at all, he unbuttoned removed his shirt and hung that up too. He turned to rummage for his street clothes with only his undershirt on, rubbing his upper arms for warmth. As he bent over into his bag his shoulder shuddered in a sudden sneeze. “hWRSHuh!-WRSSHue!... excuse me.” He continued dressing, shaking his head muzzily. 

“A dancer, huh?” Hugh said, sloshing the mop into the bucket and starting on the floor. “I wish I could dance. I think I might have two left feet.”

He glanced up shyly at the back of Frank as he removed his shirt.

Looks like a dancer, he thought to himself, admiring the smooth lines of the man’s torso as he bent to look for his clothes. And that bum…definitely a dancer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden double sneeze.

“Bless you!” he said, pushing aside a clothing rack with his foot and sweeping the mop behind it. “It’s a drafty place, this theatre. I think I should probably bring something warmer next time. You alright?”

“Fine, I…” Frank’s voice cracked and he released a rushing “hWRSHuh!” into the back of his wrist. 

“Think I might have caught whatever’s going around.” He shrugged, with a smile to show it wasn’t serious. He certainly didn’t want the new cleaner to avoid him or create any awkwardness. Frank finished dressing in a hurry. 

“Bless you,” Hugh repeated. “Going around, eh? I guess I ought to clean extra well.”

He finished his work on the floor and turned to scrubbing down the sink in the corner of the dressing room. Glancing up into the mirror, he watched Frank as the man finished buttoning up his shirt. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as that was only in the chorus. 

“I’m nearly done here,” Hugh said, running the tap. “I was going to put a pot of tea on in the green room before I head home. Did you want some?”

The dancer looked as though he was about to decline, them shrugged and gave Hugh another warm smile. “Why not?” He grabbed a cloth from the counter and helped Hugh finish the last few jobs, then the two walked to the green room side by side.

He heating in there had been turned off and it the air had an icy edge that set Frank coughing again. While Hugh put his bucket away he took a moment to blow his nose and try to rearrange himself. There was no denying the tight threads of a headache behind his eyes and he was sure he must look groggy and half-asleep. Perhaps he could sit and put his head in his hands just for a moment, while the kettle boiled. That was how Hugh found him when he returned. 

“You look like you should be home in bed,” Hugh said when he re-entered the green room. “I won’t keep you.”

He poured the boiling water from the kettle into an old, chipped Brown Betty and set it to steep.

Settling into the couch opposite Frank, he stretched out his legs and rocked his neck side to side, feeling the pull on tight, tired muscles.

“So, where were you before you came here to dance?” he asked, leaning forward to pour the tea into mugs. He passed a steaming cup to Frank. “Sorry, I looked but there’s no honey.”

“What-? Oh, that’s sweet of you.” 

As he took the tea he gave Hugh a thoughtful look, meeting the man’s eyes. Kind eyes, he thought, liking them immediately. “I’ve been dancing a few different places. London mostly. Brighton. I was drafted right at the end of the war, got to France and got sent home again. Lucky really. My old lady didn’t really want me home again, so here I am.” He says it’s lightly, like it’s nothing. It only stings a little these days. He hopes Hugh will understand the unspoken implication. The theatre is as safe as place to be queer as any, the rest of middle England not so much. He watches Hugh carefully, to gauge a reaction.

“Here you are,” Hugh said, smiling. “A fellow soldier. Though I suppose most of us were involved somehow. I was in the Merchant Navy, myself. Stationed down off the tip of South America. Didn’t see much action there beyond dodging icebergs and chasing the occasional penguin off the deck.”

There was no action in South America, but the way home had been a different matter altogether. He rarely talked about the U-Boat attack, or the hours in the frigid Atlantic waiting for the rescue vessel, or the way his left leg ached to the point of a limp when it rained. He did not talk about Jack, who had been his closest confidante on the ship, and the fact that he didn’t make it out of the water that day.

Clearing the thoughts of the war from his mind, he focused on his cup of tea and the handsome man sitting across from him. He did not respond to Frank’s comment about his ‘old lady’ not wanting him home. Hugh was fairly certain he understood Frank’s meaning, but this sort of thing was a delicate dance and the last thing he wanted to do was offend a new colleague. 

Frank actually snorted his tea when Hugh mentioned the penguin. “You’ll have to tell me the whole of that story when I’m awake enough to listen.” He watched Hugh’s face, wondering if he really caught a moment of sadness on there. He, too, did not want to offend. 

His tea finished, Frank stood and stretched. His nose was tickling something fierce and scrubbed it with the heel of his hand was no longer making any difference.

“Thanks for tea but I’d better be go-oh-ing…” he managed, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I think that’s probably for the best,” agreed Hugh. “I’ve just got to shut out the house lights and lock check in with the door guard and I’m good to go. What direction are you headed? I’ll walk with you a bit, if you’re headed down towards Brook Street.”

“Yes, that’s…” It was no good. Frank’s voice hovered up an octave as he tried to continue. “That’s-“ he gave up and managed a “sorry, gonnasneeze…”which bought him just enough time to pull out a white handkerchief before a heavy fit overtook him.

“hmptCHSsshhoo! CHSSsshoo! hWRSHoo!!”

It took the man a minute to get his breath back. He shook his head and gave Hugh an inquiring look. “Are you sure? M’not exactly good company… I feel like a mess.” 

“Bless you,” Hugh offered sympathetically. He patted his trouser pocket, hoping to find a spare handkerchief to offer, but he’d left it in his coat. “It’s alright. I’m walking that way anyhow. Might as well go together.”

He gathered his coat and bag from a nearby storage room and put away the tea things while Frank gathered up his own belongings. They walked down the hallway and up the stairs to the back of the theatre orchestra seats. Hugh reached for the panel of lighting and switched off the breakers for the house lights, plunging the room into darkness. Alone in the middle of the stage, the ghostlight shone just enough light to make out the arch of the proscenium and the gilded footlights along the front of the stage.

“Besides being all lit up for a show, I think it’s the most beautiful in here like this,” he said, staring up at the light. 

“Wonderful.” Frank agreed, voice soft. It wasn’t the stage he was looking at. 

The walk home went too quickly. Frank enjoyed his new friend’s chatter and contributed as much as he could, but most of his attention was focused on minding his now dripping nose, subtly wiping it whenever Hugh’s attention was diverted. He muffled a series of sneezes into the sleeve of his coat but managed to keep walking and listening to the man’s pleasant voice. It was much colder than previous days and he found himself wishing for gloves and a scarf. 

At the corner of his street he paused. “This is my stop. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be in around eight, actually. They asked if I could take care of concessions for the intermission. I guess the usual guy is out.”

He shrugged and grinned.

“I haven’t worked food since I was sixteen slinging popcorn at the local ballpark, but I think I’ll manage.”

He thought about extending his hand to shake Frank’s, but one look at his reddening nose made Hugh think twice. Poor guy. Instead, he settled on a nod and a smile

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Get some rest.”

He watched Frank retreat down the side street before strolling onward to his flat above his uncle’s office. It was a sparse but cozy little spot furnished with a twin bed, an armchair, and a desk along with his own sink for washing up. The toilet and kitchen were shared with one of his uncle’s clerks who lived at the opposite end of the flat, but he was away visiting his ill mother for the week.

Hugh limped slightly up the stairs, feeling the strain of a day spent on his feet. He settled into his arm chair, massaging his sore knee while his thoughts drifted to the handsome dancer. Fingers crossed that he’d get more time to talk to Frank tomorrow.

 

-
 

By the time five o’clock rolled around the next day, Hugh was eager to leave the office and to get to the theatre. He didn’t mind the work in his uncle’s firm, but it was boring columns of numbers and figures calculated alongside a dozen other men who had no discernable passions or interesting personalities. The theatre was a much more colourful cast of characters. 

He ate a quick dinner in his room, had a cat nap, washed up and changed, and then headed down to the stage door. The show had already begun and Hugh peered in through the back audience doors, craning his neck for a glimpse of Frank among those assembled onstage. 

It wasn’t long before his patience was rewarded with a tap dance from a few members of the men’s chorus line. They were smartly turned out in black tailcoats that span outwards as they turned. Of the three, one caught the eye; for the sharpness of his movements and for his genuine, handsome smile which recanted all the way to his eyes. The shadows under his eyes and pale sheen to his cheeks were only noticeable if you knew to look for them, which Hugh did. 

Poor Frank looked just as ill as yesterday, but you wouldn’t know it from the dancing. Hugh watched, transfixed.

“Have you fetched the bottles of wine from the cellar yet?” a voice behind Hugh whispered sharply. He spun around to see Mr. Thompson, the house manager.

“No, sir,” Hugh said, shutting the theatre doors from the lobby quietly. “I was just about to.”

“We aren’t paying you to watch the show,” Mr. Thompson chastised.

“No, I know, sorry,” Hugh apologized, rushing to prepare the intermission concessions.

Soon the lobby was filled with patrons enjoying a glass of wine and a cigarette between acts. Hugh managed well enough but was relieved when the bell chimed to signal the patrons to return to their seats. With the second act underway, Hugh tidied up the concessions stall and wandered towards backstage, digging in the closet for a broom and biding his time sweeping the back hall by the dressing rooms. He wasn’t technically scheduled to start his cleaning shift until after the show was over and the actors had gone, but he had an ulterior motive to the early start: he was hoping to chat with Frank again.

In the distance, he heard the roar of the applauding crowd. The show was just finishing up. Soon, a stream of singers, dancers, and other acts flooded into the hall and Hugh stepped aside, leaning casually on the broom as his eyes scanned the crowd.

He heard Frank before he saw him. There was a terrible, damp-sounding cough from around the corner and then Frank appeared, still in his top hat and tails. 

Unaware he was being watched, Frank turned away towards to wall to cough hard into his handkerchief. His other hand rested on top of his breast-bone, nursing a tightness that wouldn’t seem to shift. When the fit subsided he looked up at the other man, startled. His pupils were huge in the low light.

“Hello! How long have you been standing there?” He waved a hand to show it didn’t matter, but a distinct blush rose in his neck and the tops of his ears. He would have preferred to pull himself together and ‘accidentally’ run into his new friend at a time of his own choosing. Oh well, too late now. To make matters worse the prickling need to sneeze, which had never been far away throughout the performance, fanned to unavoidable levels and he could only draw a quick panting gasp before doubling into the handkerchief, stifling it as much as he could. 

“ah-dZsch!”He recovered with what he hoped was a casual smile. “You should do a better job with your cleaning. It’s awfully dusty down here.” 

“Long enough. You look dreadful, but somehow I don’t think my cleaning is to blame,” Hugh said gently. “Cold not improving? I can’t believe you didn’t call out of the show. I saw a bit of your number and there’s no way I could do that with a clogged head.”

He smiled sympathetically.

“The kettle is on in the green room if you want some tea. I just heard the stage manager say so.”

The dancer laughed a soft, almost shy, “hah” at the news that Hugh has seen his act. About himself he replied, “It’s really nothing. But tea sounds great. Do you have time for one before you start? It’s freezing down here.” 

“I need to wait for everyone to clear out of the dressing rooms,” Hugh confirmed. “So I have a while. You want to get out of your show things and I’ll pour us some cups?”

“Deal.”

Frank changed as quickly as possible. The moment where he was naked between changing shirts made his skin stand up in gooseflesh with shivers that reached his teeth and made them chatter. It was a relief to put on the thick jumper he’d brought with him and he added his overcoat too. He pulled a comb through his hair and let the pomade already in there do it’s work. Close enough. His nose was really stuffed now. He tried blowing it with very little success and wished he’d brought another handkerchief with him, but they were at home and he wanted to put off going home for as long as he could.

Hugh’s auburn hair made him easy to spot in the green room. Frank accepted the cup of tea gratefully and curled his fingers around the mug for warmth. 

“Thanks.” He said, sitting himself on the edge of a sofa and patting the seat next to him for Hugh to join him. “I could do with something warm. The heat’s off at my house again, really need to get it seen to.” Another round of damp coughing rather proved his point. He learned away from Hugh as best as he could, careful not to spill his drink. 

Hugh sat down with his own mug and frowned at the admission.

“Your heat’s off?” he asked. “But it’s been so cold and damp out. I mean, more than it usually is...you know, England and all that nonsense about our climate. But really...it’s a terrible time of year to go without heat.”

And there was that brutal cough again. Hugh resisted the urge to put a hand on the man’s back to comfort him but instead he dug into his trouser pocket for the clean handkerchief he’d packed that morning.

“Here,” he said, passing it over. “I can’t believe you spent a night in a house with no heat and with a cold too!”

Before he really knew what he way saying, the words tumbled out.

“My flat’s really quite cozy and the heating works almost toowell sometimes. There’s one of those big steam radiators in my room and it clunks and clatters all night long. Why don’t you come and stay there until you heat gets repaired? I can’t let you go home like this knowing you’ve got no way to get warm.”

Frank accepted the handkerchief with ease and a grateful smile, but hovered over the invitation. He eyed Hugh, trying to gauge if it was a genuine offer, because it was certainly tempting. “I mean… are you serious?” He thought of his cold, damp room and the prospect of somewhere he could actually get some rest, and some pleasant company to boot. “What are you, an angel?” 

Hugh laughed loudly.

“Far from it,” he said. “But I know what it’s like to be in a place without heat and you seem like the sort who won’t rob me blind. So, it’s all yours.”

He fished into his pocket for his key ring and removed the single gold house key from it.

“It’s 13B Mountsfield Ave. Go in the door to the left of the office front and upstairs. My room’s the one on the right. My flatmate Stephen has the room at the end of the hall but he’s up in Cardiff for the week, so don’t worry about disturbing anyone. Kitchen’s through the sitting room and the loo is down the hall before Stephen’s door.

He dropped the key into Frank’s hand.

“There’s a kettle in the kitchen and tea in cupboard beside the stove. And there should be some food in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you like. Spare handkerchiefs are in the box on top of my dresser, if you need one.”

He drained his mug of tea and gave Frank one last friendly smile.

“I should start on the cleaning. Usually the principals are clear of their rooms by now. Make yourself at home and I should be back by eleven at the latest.”

“You’re really sure? Thanks a million. That’s brilliant.” Normally he might have protested more and been more effusively thankful, but honestly Frank was too exhausted to overthink the offer. All he could do was accept the key, and the smile, and shake his head in happy puzzlement as his new friend left on his rounds.

………..
 

Frank Westmore stood in front of the kettle in Hugh’s little flat, waiting to muffle the sound as soon as it began to whistle. He made himself a cup of tea, trying hard not to pry into Hugh’s sparse living arrangements too much. 

As Hugh has promised, it was pleasantly warm inside, a wonderful contrast to the outside air where a fine drizzle was beginning to fall. Frank had on a thick woollen jumper that had been knitted for him by the mother of a friend. His hair was tousled from it’s usual neatness and fell to one side of his face, the darkness contrasting his pale skin. He may have been warm but he honestly felt awful. When he first let himself in to the flat he had been stifling his outbursts of sneezing, not wanting to disturb the neighbours through the thin walls. It soon proved impossible and he surrendered himself to sneezing thickly into a borrowed hankie every five minutes or so. He was well aware he sounded dreadful and was too tired to care. 

He sat down on the sofa and listened to the sound of the rain on the window and the unfamiliar creaks and gurgles of an unfamiliar house, fingers gripping the mug for warmth. He felt weak and shivery enough to wonder if he had a temperature and fervently hoped not. He was causing his new friend enough trouble already. He had been home with plenty of gentlemen after less that acquaintance than this, but this was a different matter altogether. As soon as the tea was finished he found a blanket on the back of the sofa and tucked it over his legs, curling his tall frame into the sofa. Perhaps he could close his eyes for a few minutes…
 

Back at the theatre, Hugh went about his cleaning duties. When he’d emptied the last of the trash cans and swept the dressings room, he bid farewell to the stage door guard and stepped out into the rainy night. A glance at his wristwatch showed the time to be nearly eleven. The streets were quiet on his walk home and he hurried along, eager to be out of the rain. With his spare key, he let himself into his flat and climbed the stairs slowly. The damp weather always aggravated his old war injury and his knee throbbed insistently. 

He reached the landing and shed his coat, hanging it on the coat rack alongside Frank’s. Then, with careful steps, he crept into the small sitting room.

On the sofa, Frank snored softly, sounding completely miserable with congestion. Hugh frowned and stood watching the man for a moment. He chastised himself for not offering Frank the use of his bed, where he’d be far more comfortable. Frank’s position on the couch was an awkward cramming of limbs that looked like it might result in a sore neck in the morning.

Still, it didn’t seem worth it to wake the sleeping man for that. Even in the dim moonlight, Frank’s face looked pale and exhausted as he slept, his mouth hanging open slightly in a battle for air.

Hugh went down to the kitchen and poured himself two fingers of Scotch. He wandered into his own room, pausing to look at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall. Looking back at him was a tall auburn-haired man with lines beginning to form around his eyes and a shadow of stubble on his chin. He yawned and then stuck his tongue out at his own reflection. Who was he kidding trying to woo someone as handsome as Frank?                                            

“ah-dZsch!”

His thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse, congested sounding sneeze. Then another, then another. Frank struggled to sit up on the sofa and helplessly cupped his hands over his nose and mouth as the ticklish sensation flared. “ah-dZsch!dZsch!--dZsch!”He tried to give his host an apology but his breath caught in an unsteady inhale and a heavy, “hWRSHoo!! … ugh.” 

There was still a sneezy, irritated look around his eyes but he managed, “Hugh! How -snf-was your shift?” 

“Christ, man,” Hugh said, come out into the living room and catching the end of the brutal fit. “Bless you.”

He sank down into the armchair opposite the sofa and shrugged.

“It was alright. One of the girls spilled her setting powder in the dancers’ dressing room. Took me ages to get all of it cleaned up.”

With a lop-sided, sympathetic smile he added, “Better question is how are you?”

“I’ve been worse.” He was actually feeling better for the sleep, well enough to tease Hugh a little. 

“Don’t let me keep you up if you’re going to bed. The sofa’s just fine. Though I have to ask… do you invite all the dancers back to your flat or just the really charming ones?” There was no doubt in his mind that any chance he might have had was ruined now Hugh had seen him like this, but it was his nature to at least give it a try. He finished the statement with another ticklish sneeze and a wry smile. 

“Hey!” Hugh said playfully. “I told you it was my first week on the job. What kind of guy do you take me for?”

He was certain this was flirting. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Frank was one of those cads who flirted with anything with legs, or if this was genuine. Frank certainly seemed genuine enough, so Hugh pushed his luck a little.

“I promise you,” he said with mock seriousness. “I only ever invite handsome, charming ones back but they’ve been awfully hard to find. I had to find one with broken heating as an excuse to get him to come over. Can you believe that?”

“Times are certainly hard, when this is best the theatre has to offer.” Frank agreed with equal sincerity, gesturing to himself with vague emphasis on his nose and throat. 

He came and sat on the arm of Hugh’s chair, then asked, “Oh, are you hurt? You sit with your leg funny.” Almost immediately he realised how that sounded and his cheeks flushed. 

“Err, it’s an old injury,” Hugh said, glancing down at his knee. “From the war.” 

He felt a strange reluctance to admit it. There were many men who came back injured in much more serious and life-altering ways. A bit of an ache was nothing, really.

“At least I know I’ll never be a dancer,” he said with an awkward laugh. 

Frank was sitting so close now and Hugh shifted in the chair, unsure of what to do with himself. He glanced up at Frank’s flushed face and they exchanged a small smile. Hugh bit his lip, gathering his courage, and slipped a hand casually onto Frank’s thigh.

“I’ll leave the dancing to you,” he said.

Frank brought his own hand to meet Hugh’s and intertwined their fingers. 

“We’ll see about that.” He murmured.

There was a long moment. Frank played his thumb over the tendons in Hugh’s hands, enjoying the lean strength. He almost held his breath, savouring the moment and the possibility. Unfortunately all the pleasant company in the world couldn’t stop his nose from running. He cursed inwardly as he felt the need to sneeze again, and rubbed a knuckle hard under his nose to try and stave it off. That was easier to suppress than the enormous yawn that followed. 

“Excuse me, I’m just a bit tired. Not of you.” 

“It’s late,” said Hugh softly. “You should get some more rest.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh gently and stood up, stretching out his long limbs.

“Be right back,” he said, heading for the hall closet near the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a quilt and a proper bed pillow.

“These might be a little better than the throw blanket,” he said, offering them up. “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned them before.”

“Thanks. Goodnight.” Frank said sincerely. The moment Hugh’s hand had left him, the chilled, shivery feeling had returned and he was more than happy to lie down on the sofa under the quilt. He rubbed his legs together for warmth and watched Hugh undress for bed through a half-open eye. He himself slept in his undershirt, a thick shirt and a jumper, and was very glad of all of them. Lying down was not so kind to his nose. He felt congestion throb across his sinuses and forehead, forcing him into a set of sudden sneezes that made his throat ache. 

“hWRSHuh! Hi-hWRSHue!”

He honestly felt bad for his friend having to listen to him all night. And yet, despite it all, he fell into a heavy sleep. 

Hugh looked up from buttoning his pyjama top to see Frank’s shape shaking under the quilt on the couch as he sneezed. By the time he had gone to brush his teeth and came back to turn down his sheets, it sounded as if Frank had fallen asleep. There was a soft, rhythmic wheeze coming from under the quilts. Hugh went to the kitchen and poured a tall glass of water, sneaking back into the living room to leave it on the coffee table in case Frank woke in the night. 

Then, with a yawn, he went into his room, leaving the door open a crack, and climbed into bed. 

 

Only a few hours later he was awoken by a loud thump, a crash and stream of swear words followed by a worryingly long bout of coughing. 

 

In the living room Frank sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa, trying to get a clear breath so he could focus on what havoc he had caused. His head was spinning. It took him a long minute to work out where he was, and the time in between made his heart race with anxiety. He’d woken up on the floor with a shock. Standing up dizzily he’d managed to knock something over- a glass?- and now the floor and his sock were wet, he was covered in sweat, it was still too dark to see properly and what was Hugh going to say? He really meant to get up and start cleaning but he couldn’t think where to start. Maybe he’d wait for the dizziness and hot clammy feeling to pass. Honestly he felt like he wanted to cry.

Hugh woke with a start, confused by the sudden clatter in the living room. His heart hammered in his chest from the rush of adrenaline and he sat up, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. He reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on. His brain fog cleared and he recognized the sound that was happening now: a terrible cough.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he rushed to the living room and fumbled on the wall for the light switch. In the dim glow of the inefficient floor lamp, he saw Frank bent over on the sofa looking absolutely dreadful. The glass he’d left on the table was a cracked and broken mess on the floor along with a pool of water but he didn’t give it a second thought when faced with the state of the man sitting nearby. 

He hurried down the hall to the kitchen and filled a new glass with water, bringing it back to the living room and stepping gingerly around the glass shards on the floor. He sat down beside Frank on the sofa and held out the glass of water.

“Here,” he said gently, putting a comforting hand on the man’s back. 

Frank gulped the glass of water in one go and then leaned into the touch, resting his weight against Hugh’s supporting arm. Hugh could feel his quick breaths and the kick of his ribs as the occasional cough interrupted his words.

“I’m so sorry- I woke you up- I fell out of bed then I broke- I’ll clean it in a minute.”  The low light played on his dark eyes, making them huge in his face, making him look surprisingly young. He managed a half laugh at himself. “I- I’m not doing very well.” 

“Hey, hey,” Hugh said, rubbing a small circle on Frank’s back. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

He finally got a good look at Frank’s face and he frowned. His cheeks were flushed a bright pink against an otherwise pale and sweaty face. With his other hand, he reached out and gently laid it on Frank’s brow.

“Oh, Frank,” he said, feeling the heat radiating from the skin. “You’re burning up.”

He pushed Frank’s thick hair back off his forehead and the mix of sweat and old pomade made it stick up in an endearingly boyish way. 

“It’s fine. I just need to sleep it off.” Frank murmured. “Do you have some aspirin or something?” 

That said he made no move to pull away from Hugh.  It was surprising how comfortable he felt with a man he had met only yesterday. Even as he spoke his eyes were fluttering closed again. His head lolled against the man’s shoulder but he shook himself awake, truly intending to get up and clean the glass. In a moment. Or two. 

“Yeah, in the medicine cabinet. You alright for a second?”

He carefully guided Frank’s head back against the couch and tucked the quilt over his legs.

“Be right back.”

He took the unbroken water glass and went to the bathroom. Finding the aspirin bottle and the glass thermometer in its case, he took both with him along with the refilled glass of water.

“Alright, he were are,” he said, returning to Frank’s side and putting the pills and water on the table. “First things first; let’s see what we’re up against.”

He slid the thermometer out of its case and passed it to Frank to put under his tongue.

“Hold that there for a second. I’m going to get the broom and clean up this glass.”

The other man sat obediently still, only his eyes following Hugh’s movements as the mess was swept away. Congestion made it hard for him to breathe and he had to concentrate hard on keeping it in there. Strange. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had his temperature checked this way, not since he was old enough to remember. He was determined to be a good patient but it was difficult when his nose was trickling and he desperately wanted to cough. 

After what seemed a reasonable amount of time he took it out and had a look, squinting through the glass at the mercury, then passed it to Hugh with a helpless shrug.  “Is that okay?” 

Hugh looked at the thin red stripe and gave Frank a good humoured smile.

“Well, the thermometer and I agree: you’re hot.”

He laughed softly at his own joke and then caught himself and blushed. He sat down next to Frank again, putting the thermometer back in its case and screwing open the aspirin bottle. 

“Here we are,” he said, dosing out two tablets and holding them out. 

“So I’ve- snff-heard. He was too out of it to make a good response, especially with his nose running. He held the back of his hand against it as he rifled through the sheets for the handkerchief. “S-scuse me- snf-Snff”He gave his nose a fierce scrub with the heel of his thumb. “Ugh. Sorry. It’s really itchy…” The fever made him a little weak and distracted. It was hard to think of taking the aspirin, finding the hankie and chatting with Hugh at the same time. 

“It’s here,” Hugh said, reaching down to the end of the couch where the handkerchief was lodged between two cushions. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t have anything else to make it better beyond aspirin and the old ‘head over a steam bowl’ trick. But somehow that doesn’t seem like a good idea with a fever.”

He looked affectionately at the struggling man and then clapped a hand lightly on his back.

“I have an idea though. Take the pills. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to the washroom and soaked a flannel in cool water, wringing it out until it was just damp and bringing it back to the living room.

“This might help a bit,” he offered. 

Frank looked up with a distracted, ticklish expression. “Hang on…I-hWRSHuh!”A quick, stuffy sounding sneeze followed quickly by two more in quick succession. The motion made him dizzy again and he leaned on the arm of the sofa until his head cleared enough to take the cloth.

“Good idea. Thanks. Look, you should go back to bed. I can look after myself.”

He tucked his legs back up onto the sofa and lay down again, trying to settle the cloth on his forehead. He didn’t particularly want to be left alone in an unfamiliar house, but his host was starting to look tired too and he didn’t want to become a burden. 

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” Hugh asked. He was sure that Frank would refuse it, but he felt bad leaving a guest, especially a sick guest, to sleep on the lumpy couch.

“Let me help,” he offered as Frank reclined. He adjusted the cloth on Frank’s brow, tucking it under his fringe. The man’s face looked exhausted and a little frightened, and Hugh couldn’t help but pause to run his fingers through Frank’s hair. 

Frank closed his eyes to the touch and when he opened them they his gaze was soft and unfocused. “You can keep doing that if you want. I won’t get bored.” 

Hugh laughed and smoothed back the hair a few more times.

“Alright, get some rest,” he said quietly as Frank dozed off. He crept quietly back to his room and climbed into bed. The next thing he knew, he was blinking in the morning sunlight. In all the excitement of the previous night, he’d neglected to shut his curtains.

He yawned and stretched and snuck out of bed, past the still-sleeping Frank in the living room and he made himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. 

By the time Hugh returned, the man of the sofa had stirred himself and even gone so far as to sit up, though he looked pretty groggy.  Frank was trying to settle his hair back into shape, a sure sign that he was doing better. More or less. 

“Morning.”

It came out as a husky rasp much lower than his usual tone. “Ugh. Crikey!”  He was too congested to pronounce all the consonants, making the effect more endearing and less sexy than he had hoped. 

Speaking irritated his throat and nose, and he gave Hugh an apologetic ‘hold on’ gesture as he bucked his head into his shoulder in a set of tight, stuffy sneezes. 

“ah-tsgh!Tsgh!--tghSch!”

“Well, that answers my morning question,” Hugh said. “I’ll go pour you a cup. Kettle’s still hot.”

He returned a moment later with a second mug of tea and sat down next to Frank on the couch.

“Morning,” he said with a shy smile. “Feeling any better at all?”

He extended a hand tentatively and let the back of it brush Frank’s brow.

“Fever’s gone. That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Frank moved a little closer to take the tea. Their legs were touching on the couch and he didn’t mind that at all. When his host didn’t move away, he leaned into Hugh’s side, resting his head against the back of the sofa.

“I’m ok, I think. Just -snf-full of cold. Thanks for having me…” he tailed off as memories of the previous night surfaced. “Bet you didn’t think I’d be this much hard work. Definitely beat spending it alone with the heat off, though. It’s… really nice of you to take care of me like that. You’re good at it.” He coughed, a little embarrassed but managed to look Hugh directly in the eye.

Hugh gave a little smile back and chewed on his lip nervously.

“Well, I didn’t mind. It was nice, in spite of you being sick.”

He nudged his leg playfully against Frank’s. 

“Good thing there’s no show tonight. Gives you a bit of time to get better.”

“Thank God.” Frank agreed. “Hey… when I’ve beaten this thing, can I take you out for a drink?”

He went to say more but was interrupted by a sudden, ticklish sneeze that made him lean on Hugh’s thigh for support. Surfacing, he shook his head and laughed at himself. “Not because I owe you for having me,” he continued, “though obviously I do. What do you say?”

“I say ‘bless you’ first,” Hugh teased. “And yes, I’d like that very much.”

A coy grin spread across his face.

“You want to know what really stinks?” he asked. “When you’d really like to kiss a guy but you’re afraid to catch the flu.”

He squeezed Frank’s thigh in a teasing gesture.

“Let’s say you owe me that too.”

 

 

[Selene]

This was such an atmospheric, intense read. I'm still wowed and not sure how to channel my feelings into words. I loved how you slowly worked out the chemistry between the two, how both had their unique voices and how their characters slowly emerged. 

There were so many fine nuances in these characters and their relationship and it was a pleasure to discover layer after layer of their story. 

Both of you are amazing writers and I'd like to thank you very much for sharing this.

[HowFitting]

SO 😍 I really hope this story continues!!

[ID2006]

Very nice

[Feo]

Thank you guys for sharing this story with us!!