Lockdown, by Sam Cook
This story is read by Tanvir Bush, a local author, photographer and researcher, and one of the judges of this competition.
The Story
He was looking over again. Just a glance, the fifth since Stevie had sat in the window that evening. The fourth evening in a row.
After a rocky few weeks, he’d settled into a proper lockdown routine. Work as usual, stroll along the river during lunch, dinner at six and reading by the window afterwards. The setting sun had a calming influence on Stevie, his skin tingling in the yellowy-orange light.
He glanced over again, just quickly. The guy was still sitting on his own balcony, looking out at the wispy clouds and seagulls circling. As he looked back towards Stevie, he buried his head in his book, his heart quickening and his face brightening. Six.
There was something enchanting about this guy. His eyes shone in the disappearing light. He’d kept his hair in a perfect quiff and his cheeks clean-shaven. Stevie had given up shaving regularly and his days-old stubble was starting to turn from bristly to soft. He rubbed his spare hand through the hairs, enjoying the touch. Maybe he would keep it like this.
Seven. This time their eyes had met and, although Stevie had tried to hold his gaze, the guy quickly fixated on the single plant pot in the corner of his balcony.
He’d never seen anyone else on the balcony or through the window and Stevie hoped that meant the guy was single. He’d checked through the apps; Tinder was a bust and, unless he was a 32 year old, faceless gloryhole, so was Grindr. But he looked too innocent for that. Maybe he didn’t like the apps, or the people on them.
Of course, he could have a boyfriend hidden away who was scared of heights. Or seagulls. Or maybe they didn’t live together, or it was a long-distance thing. And even if he was single, there was no way he’d actually be interested in him.
Eight. His chest fluttered with excited, nervous butterflies. That glance quelled Stevie’s doubts a little; maybe he would be interested.
Before he could stop himself, Stevie lifted his hand and gave a friendly wave. His chest was pounding, the butterflies mutating into monstrous beasts. He could barely breathe.
The guy nodded. It was a small, almost friendly nod, but came with a slight smile that instantly calmed Stevie. He’d responded. He’d actually responded.
Now what?
He’d returned his attention to the plant pot and, after a few moments of hopeful staring, Stevie returned to his book. The words blurred on the page as he struggled to concentrate on anything other than those perfect lips curling into the smallest of smiles. Kissing those lips would be unbelievable.
Stevie could picture that first kiss. They’d have just walked arm in arm across Pulteney Bridge, the moon glistening and the stars twinkling in the clear night sky, slightly tipsy from an evening of cocktails and easy conversation at Opium before kissing and laughing by the weir.
It had been so long since Stevie had been on a date, at least one he’d happily tell his parents or his colleagues about. He physically ached for it, for one magic night with the beautiful man he’d never met. He’d probably never find a way to talk to him once the lockdown was lifted. And even if he found a way, he’d probably never dare ask him out.
Anyway, he knew, in his heart of hearts, a guy as beautiful as him would never be interested in someone so pathetic.
As his mind started to fog with the swirling self-doubt Stevie could never hold back, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. The guy had stood up from his rusty metal bench and, seeing Stevie look up, gave a small wave before disappearing inside.
It was just a little gesture but it was enough to calm Stevie and make him smile again.
Nine.
As Tobias stepped inside, he rolled down his shirt sleeves and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to resist the chill. It was surprisingly warm for mid April and the afternoon sun had lingered in the air outside. Inside, Ricky had turned off the heating weeks ago and the old Bath stone sucked any warmth from him instantly.
“Who were you waving at?”
The question made Tobias start. Ricky was laid back on the sofa, phone in hand. Not even looking up at him.
“Nobody,” Tobias stammered, freezing to the spot. Ricky looked up at this, dropping his phone on the table with a clunk.
“Nobody?” he asked, almost accusatory. “Why would you be waving at nobody?”
Tobias’ mind whirred as he worked out how to respond and not anger Ricky further.
“This guy across the street is reading ‘They Both Die at the End’. I gave him a little wave to say “good choice.” You know how much I love that book.”
Without reacting, Ricky turned away and disappeared into the bedroom, reappearing a few moments later with a copy of the book. The cover had a rip through the middle, the pages dog-earned and stained. He’d confiscated it after a heated argument. Tobias daren’t move.
“You don’t need to go looking at his book now, do you?”
“No Ricky,” Tobias replied quickly, clutching the book to his chest protectively. There was something reassuring about having it in his hands again.
“You’d better make a start on dinner. I’m starving.”
“Okay,” Tobias nodded. “Sausage and mash tonight? Did you manage to get any green beans to go with it?”
“Fresh out. I got broccoli instead.”
Tobias turned away so Ricky wouldn’t see him grimace – he hated broccoli. Not that that mattered. It was Ricky’s favourite.
As he started to mentally plan out the meal, Ricky turned on the telly, volume high so he could hear every word of Clarkson, Hammond and May bickering about their disastrous road trip. Tobias recognised the episode within moments. They’d already seen it three times this month.
It was going to be a long evening.