Graham approached the bar. He wasn’t asked for proof of age. Suddenly feeling a lot less anxious, he carried the two vodka and Cokes back to the table with a proud smile. James smirked. He had taken off his cap and was near the end of his cigarette.

“Can I have one of those?” Graham asked as he put the drinks down.

“You may have one, and only one.” James picked up his glass. “How much did these cost?”

Graham put the change on the table.

James scowled. “That’s enough for -” he paused whilst he totted it up “- three each?”

Graham nodded.

“What a fucking rip-off,” James muttered under his breath. He supped the drink like it was ale.

Graham sipped at the edge of his glass as he watched James gulp down another mouthful. James’s face didn’t contort at all. His mouth didn’t twinge. Either he actually liked the taste of the vodka, Graham thought, or he’d just got used to it. Graham didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

“Will we need to save any of the money for anything else?” he asked.

“What?” James said.

“Do we need to put any of that money aside for a train ticket or do you know which wall we have to climb over to get on the platform here, too?”

James sighed. “Well, shit.” He began stabbing his finger down on the pound coins. He pushed four aside. “That should be enough.”

“Where can we go for that much?”

James shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. There’s this guy who wanders around the subway asking people for their travelcards if they’ve finished with them and he sells them for two quid each. We can look for him.”

“Travelcards won’t get us home.”

James sighed again. “I know that, you fag! We don’t need a ticket to get us home. All we need is a ticket to get us past the ticket barrier.”

“Oh. Right.”

Graham took another sip from his glass. James was almost halfway through his drink. Graham watched him stub out his cigarette and take out another. Graham held out his fingers. James rolled his eyes and took out a second. He put both in his mouth and proceeded to light them.

Graham accepted one. “Thanks.”

James raised his drink. “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses.

They sat in silence for a while, drinking and smoking. James looked out the window. Graham looked at James whilst playing with his cigarette.

“Why did you get your hair cut short?” he said finally.

James grinned and ran the palm of his cigarette hand over the top of his head from back to front. “You like?”

“It makes you look like a new army recruit.”

“No, it makes me look like a prisoner.”

“Do you want to look like a murderer?”

“Better than looking like a fag.” James smirked.

Graham tucked a few loose strands of hair behind his ear awkwardly and sucked a little smoke from his cigarette.

James tipped the last of his drink into his mouth and smacked the glass down on the table firmly. Graham still had more than half of his drink left.

“Go and get the other round now,” James said. He had drunk the first so fast it didn’t seem to have kicked in yet.

“Can I finish mine first?”

“No! If I chase this down with another one straight away I might still be able to get drunk.”

Graham sighed inwardly and got to his feet. He picked up all the coins again and left his cigarette hanging out of the ashtray. He didn’t feel nervous this time as he approached the bar. The vodka was starting to have an effect.

When he returned to the table, James had taken off his fleece jacket. He was wearing a tight-fitting black T-shirt. He wasn’t very muscular, but the curve of his pectorals was quite defined. His nipples were sticking up.

Graham put the drinks down. “Here.” He put a handful of change on his side of the table.

James started on his second drink as Graham returned to his first. He could tell when James was getting drunk. He got all quiet and stopped bouncing around quite so much.

“Look at that,” he said, gesturing out the window.

Graham looked. “What?”

“Over there.”

“Where?”

“Across the road, on the corner.”

Graham looked again. There was a girl a bit older than them standing about ten yards from a McDonalds. She had a little bag over her shoulder. She looked to be waiting for someone, but there was an older guy with stubble sitting on a wall nearby and occasionally they spoke to one another.

Graham looked back at James. “Is she a..?”

James grinned. “Yeah!”

“Wow. That’s the first time.”

“You’ve never seen a hooker before?”

“Why would I? I’ve never used one.”

James cackled. “Fuck off!”

As they watched, a bloke walked up to the girl. The stubbly guy jumped down off the wall, then the new bloke walked away again.

“Well, I’d fuck ‘er,” Graham said.

James’s drink stopped halfway toward his mouth and he stared at Graham. “Dude, I know you’re desperate, but you got to have some standards.”

“I-I mean, if she wasn’t a whore, I’d fuck her.” He broke eye contact, looked at his half-empty glass.

James snorted. “I wouldn’t fuck her even if she wasn’t a whore. Not even if I was the one getting paid. She’s probably got scabs and crabs.” He laughed. “Scabs and crabs, that rhymes.”

Graham laughed awkwardly.

James took one last draw on his cigarette, then started to light another. “We’ve got to get your cherry popped,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Tell me about it.” Graham sighed.

“People’ll start thinking you’re a fag.” He blew a wide arc of smoke at Graham.

Graham stared through his glass. “Yeah.”

Another bloke approached the girl on the corner, and this time when the guy on the wall hopped down, the bloke didn’t walk away.

“Loser,” said James. He was starting to slur his words.

“Yeah,” Graham agreed.

The girl walked away with the new bloke and the guy from the wall took out his mobile phone.

James tipped the remainder of his second drink down his throat. He held the glass above his mouth, catching all the drips. He saw Graham watching him and started laughing drunkenly.

“I’m going to drain the lizard,” he announced, putting the glass down on the table. “And if you still haven’t touched that drink by the time I get back, I’m having it.”

Then he pulled himself to his feet and started walking across the pub. Graham watched him go. James touched tables as he passed and at one point almost lost his cigarette. He usually walked with a drunken-looking swagger, but Graham knew he wasn’t putting it on now.

Whilst James was gone, a waitress in a black shirt collected glasses. She picked up the two empties, then Graham held out the one he was drinking from. There was still about an inch left in it. He smiled awkwardly at the girl, then picked up the remaining full glass.

James came back and climbed into his seat. Graham leaned across the table.

“Your flies are undone,” he said quietly.

James rocked back in his chair to check, then reached under the table, giggling. “Shit! Thanks.”

Graham nodded and sipped his drink.

“Where’s my fag?” James frowned.

“You took it with you.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah.”

James giggled again. “Can’t remember where I lost it.” He checked the packet. “And now I’m all out.”

Graham spied the remains of his own cigarette, which had been hanging out of the ashtray for so long there was a long column of undisturbed ash.

James grabbed it and plugged his mouth with it. He laughed through his nose.

“Give us a sip of that,” he said.

Graham held his glass tight. “I think you’ve had enough.” He moved it away.

“Oh, fuck off with that ‘had enough’ bullshit!” James screwed up his face. “This is what we came for. And we’ve only been here half an hour.”

“Actually, it’s almost an hour.”

James grabbed for the glass. “Come on!” The second time he did it, Graham let him have it. He took two large gulps before giving it back.

“I’m going to the toilet,” Graham said.

James waved him goodbye.

When Graham got back, James was leaning over the table, head forward, running a hand up and down his arm slowly. He had short very dark hairs that lay flat along his skin, all pointing the same way. When he stroked them the wrong way they stood up for a moment, which they only usually did if they were over a vein.

“You okay?” Graham asked.

James nodded slowly without looking up. “Yeah,” he said distantly. “Great.”

Graham noticed his glass hadn’t be touched since he’d left. He quietly moved it away.

“Oh,” went James, slumping further forward.

“Sure?” Graham asked.

James sat upright. He was frowning, but his eyes were closed. His forehead looked clammy. “It’s the fizz in the Coke. I drank it too fast.”

“So it’s just trapped wind.”

James started rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll fart in a minute. Then you’ll be sorry.”

Graham watched him for a minute. “Do you want to go back into the toilets?”

James just nodded. Then he tried to stand up. His arm was trembling. He stumbled against the table.

“Come on.” Graham got up and went around the other side of the table. He offered an arm.

James reached up and grabbed Graham’s shoulder. He pulled to his feet. He was breathing deeply and slowly. He opened his eyes briefly.

“This way,” said Graham.

He led the way, pushing tables and chairs out of the way, but James almost tripped regardless.

Graham pushed open the toilets door, then the door of a stall. At that point, James suddenly found his strength again and shoved Graham out of the way. He fell before the toilet and began to throw up.

Graham stayed in the open doorway and put a hand on his head. James threw up for about a minute.

Then he began to spit. “Jesus.”

“Feeling a bit better now?”

James didn’t answer. He suddenly hunched back over the bowl and started throwing up again.

“Oh god,” Graham sighed. He went into the stall behind James and put a hand on his back.

James’s T-shirt was drawn up. The small of his back was visible, and the waistband of his boxer shorts. They were white Calvin Kleins, like he always wore.

Graham could feel the warmth from James’s back through the T-shirt. He began to rub his hand gently up and down James’s spine. He stopped at the bottom of James’s neck.

Eventually, James sat up straight.

“You should drink some water,” Graham said.

“Yeah. Help me up.”

Someone else came in and used the urinal, but they watched James as he drank directly from the tap and left again without washing their hands.

“I’m cold,” James said.

“You left your fleece on the chair.”

James sighed and headed out of the toilets. He was walking better now. His arms were dotted with goose pimples.

Graham followed him closely behind. When they got to the table, James put on his jacket and pulled the rim of his baseball cap over his face.

Graham put the change from the table into his pocket, being careful not to let James hear he’d already secreted away several pounds when he’d been at he bar the first time. James didn’t look sober enough to notice anyway.

The waitress collecting glasses gave Graham a dirty look. He didn’t hang around.

Outside, James shielded his eyes from the bright midday sunshine. He put the other arm around Graham’s shoulders.

“You hungry?” he said.

“No, but I bet you are,” said Graham.

James chuckled. “Yeah, I’m starving.”

“You should let your stomach settle first.”

James sighed. “Dude, it’s not like we’re not going to be spending the journey back in the bog.”

“We can get something on the station.”

“Let’s find that guy with the travelcards.”

King’s Cross and St Pancras were open like normal again now. Graham and James headed into the subway.

“I’m not really that drunk, you know,” James said.

“Really?” Maybe not now, Graham thought.

James leaned into him. His hand was hanging over Graham’s shoulder, bouncing against his chest.

“Yeah,” James said. “If I was really drunk I’d be saying stuff like ‘I really love you, man!’ and crying and trying to kiss you and stuff.”

He made kissing sounds right next to Graham’s ear and then laughed. Graham felt James’s hot breath on his neck.

He forced a laugh. “You fag.”

James laughed. “Why do you put up with me?”

“Is that the guy?”

There was a man in a lightweight summer jacket standing at the top of some steps.

“Yeah,” said James.

“Unwanted travelcards?” the man said. Graham noticed he had a foreign accent.

They went up to him.

“Will these get us past the ticket barrier?” James asked.

“Yes. Yes. All valid today,” the man said.

“How much for two?”

“Five pound.”

“You’re trying to gip us!”

The man laughed. “For you, four pound fifty pee.”

“You used to sell them for two quid each.”

“Prices go up.”

“So? You get given them for nothing!”

The man laughed again.

“How about we give you four quid for both and we won’t tell a guard what you’re doing?” Graham said.

“Okay. Because I like you.” He shrugged.

He handed them two dirty travelcards that were indeed valid today but which looked like he’d picked them up off the floor.

“Four pound,” he said, holding out a hand.

Graham reached into his pocket and gave the man his money.

NOTES:
Does Graham stroke James's back to comfort him, or does he have an ulterior motive? The answer as to why Graham puts up with James, who shows him little more than contempt, is meant to be implied by that section, and the bit where Graham notes to himself how defined James's chest is beneath his t-shirt. I tip back and forth between the perspective that this is either too subtle, or too obvious. As of typing this up, I'm leaning toward the latter, even though I deleted a line where Graham starts to get an erection.