a living canvas of art. The drawings on his skin were so beautiful. Next, I was drawn by the colour of
his hair. So bright, so very red. Surely it wasn’t natural?
My hands reached out and brushed through him. He shivered, perhaps only feeling a slight chill up
his spine. I felt that sadness again; quiet, stoic. Now this man had lost something. Or should I say,
someone. His heart was yearning, stuck in the past. It shrouded him in sadness, yet he was trying to
overcome it.
I raised an eyebrow at him, not convinced. “Try harder,” I muttered. Leaving him be, I turned my
attention to the boy at the stove. Another interesting character. I watched him dish out rice and some
dreary looking curry sauce onto two plates, then carry them over to the table. The red-head lowered
his feet and sat up in his chair. The boy sat next to him and they began to eat, occasionally saying
something menial. These two seemed comfortable together.
More than comfortable, I thought wickedly. I stood beside the boy and watched him. He had a
pretty face. Perhaps the freckles over his cheeks made him appear younger than he was. The hair on
his head was a mixture of bright colours, bedraggled and messy. The sides of his head were shaved
close to the skin. Hoops of silver decorated each ear, all the way to the tips. Again, I couldn’t help the
thought that he looked like some bizarre, beautiful witch doctor. Especially with that metal ring in his
nose.
But that wasn’t all; as I listened to him eating, I heard a faint clack of metal in his mouth. Curious,
I stroked my hand through his face.
There was metal in his tongue.
Good God, this was incredible. Before I could think too much on it, touching this boy allowed me to
feel yet another well of sadness. Frowning, I reached out with both hands and felt deeper.
Ohhh, how wonderful. He was in love with the red-head. This poor boy was so full of it, he was fit
to bursting. I almost gave myself a dizzy spell from it. I had to step back, feeling giddy with his
energy. “Poor lad,” I muttered, looking between the two of them. Every chance he could, the boy stole
glances at the red-head, who appeared oblivious to the adoration.
“You utter fool,” I said to the older man. “You’re yearning for love, and here it is, waiting for you
to notice.”
If only they could hear me. Still, at least I could take advantage of their energy. I had a bottomless
reservoir here.
“See you’re up and about,” a gruff voice said.
“Martin!” I whirled around. “I’m out! I’m bloody out, at last!”
“Aye, well done.”
“What the devil’s going on here?” I swept an arm over the two men at the table. “These people,
they’re so...interesting.”
Martin clearly wasn’t impressed. “Aye, they’re all like that,” he grumbled. “You should see
downstairs.”
“Oh, yes,” I replied with a grin. “I think I should.”
Chapter Three
“There’s no nuts!” Matt raged, over the noise of intense black metal music blaring from the kitchen
stereo. “How am I supposed to do a vegetarian option if there aren’t any fucking nuts for a nut fucking
roast!”
Ryan bit his tongue. The only way to deal with Matt when he was like this, was to take a deep
breath, and stay calm. “How about grabbing some peanuts from the bar?” Ryan shouted over the
music.
“It’ll taste like shit!” Matt replied.
Forcing himself to sound cheery, Ryan said, “I’m sure you can add something to make it all right.”
Matt huffed and frowned, but Ryan could see he was thinking about it. Thank God. Hopefully that
was one crisis averted. It was still early. Being Sunday meant the supermarkets wouldn’t open for a
while yet, and Matt had to concentrate on cooking the meat options. No time to go running all over
town looking for nuts.
“I’ll go get you some peanuts from downstairs,” Ryan said. He was eager to leave Matt’s kitchen of
doom behind. Just as he turned to leave, the door flew open, banging against the pans that were hung
on the wall. Sammy, the pub’s youngest member of staff, stood there with a frown on his face. His
highlighted brown hair was styled up in his usual fauxhawk, with a light sheen of glitter. Ryan’s eyes
widened as he noticed Sammy’s bold pink t-shirt, emblazoned with neon yellow letters that stated, ‘I
may not be Mr Right but I’ll fuck you ‘til he comes along.’
Making a mental note to tell Sammy there was simply no way he could wear that t-shirt while on
shift, Ryan prepared himself for the next round of crap.
Reaching towards the radio, Sammy flipped the volume down to silent. Ryan’s ears rang with
gratitude, but Matt wasn’t impressed. “Oi, what’re you playing at?” he grumbled.
Sammy fixed Matt with a condescending look. “Your mother isn’t here,” he said. “You don’t have
to have your music at angry teenager volume all the time.”
Ryan pressed his lips together to suppress a smile.
“It’s my kitchen!” Matt barked. “I’ll play what I like, fuck you very much.”
“Fuck you too!” Sammy held a crumpled piece of paper in his hand and shook it in Matt’s general
direction. “You think you’re a comedian or something? Don’t give up the day job, honey.”
“What?” Matt glared at the paper, then back at Sammy. “That joke’s over.”
“So why’d you put it up again, Matthew? Haven’t you got anything better to do? Like flip some
burgers?”
“Hey, hey.” Ryan quickly stepped in front of Sammy, before Matt exploded at the insult.
“It’s not on, Ryan,” Sammy complained. “This amounts to bullying!”
Ryan took the paper from his hand. A cursory glance revealed it was the same bit of paper that had
been blue-tacked to the gent’s toilets in the pub yesterday. Someone – and the most obvious culprit
was Matt – had scrawled in marker pen “Sammy’s boudoir” in reference to Sammy having sex in one
of the cubicles last Friday night with a random stranger.
Again.
The “Sammy’s boudoir” sign had been put up as a joke on Saturday. Sammy had torn it down in
disgust, and tossed it in the bin. Judging from Sammy’s reaction now, someone must have thought it
would be amusing to take it out of the trash, and put it up again today.
“Matt can’t have done this, Sammy,” Ryan said. “He’s been up here all day doing prep.”
Sammy clearly didn’t believe that, and glared hard at Matt. “Well no one else would put it up,
would they? Only this sad, metal-loving, repressed homophobe has a grudge against me.”
Matt bristled. “I am not homophobic!”
“Oh, please!” Sammy scoffed. “You turn green at the mere mention of guys kissing. Why don’t you
just admit that you can’t bear the thought of guys getting it on under your nose? That’s why you keep
hassling me.”
Ryan looked at Matt to take in his reaction. Sure enough, he’d started to blush. His dark brown eyes
were the widest Ryan had ever seen them.
“I did not put that up!” Matt pointed an angry finger at the paper in Sammy’s hand. “Okay, I wrote
it the first time, as a joke but –”
“And I took it the first time,” Sammy responded. “But twice is too much. Can’t you come up with
anything better? Everyone knows you don’t tell the same joke twice, lame-arse.”
“I’m telling you, the second time wasn’t me!”
“Yeah, right, Matthew. You’re pathetic.”
“I’m not the only one who thinks it’s disgusting!” Matt erupted. “You shouldn’t do it in public
places!”
“Matt!” Ryan said in surprise. “Just calm down.”
“Oh my God.” Sammy glared at Matt. “I knew it. You just hate the thought of guys having sex,
don’t you? You sad, fucking homophobic wanker!”