The Bolt from the Blue (Working Title)

Chapter 22- The Picnic

Around, half six, Sam received a phone call from John. He was beginning to get an idea of his boyfriend's schedule, how he moved and how much time he would dedicate to each task, and so was sitting ready for the phone call. He needed to know the truth about the blackout investigation.

"Hi, Shanks," John said and even over the phone, Sam blushed a little at the nickname.

"Hey." Sam's voice didn't betray his intentions to chew John out later that evening; in fact, it didn't betray anything at all.

"Do you want to go out for dinner? I know a brilliant place in Kuala Lumpur."

Sam knew John was deliberately name-dropping to get a reaction and was annoyed with himself for obliging by giving a tiny gasp. But he didn't want to accuse John in a public place- he didn't want them to become one of those couples. "Actually, can we eat at yours? I'm feeling a bit exhausted tonight."

John hesitated; he'd let Sam in when it was an emergency, but he couldn't risk him seeing the bedroom. "My place is a tip."

"Your place is always a tip."

"It's even worse today." And then John thought of something even better to say- something that made him sound like a good boyfriend, "And besides, I'm trying to get better. For you." He realised he had just pledged himself to trying to improve his housekeeping and that he would now actually have to stick to this while he and Sam were together and he cursed internally, but he would worry about that later.

Sam felt quite flattered at this declaration- judging from the state of his flat, John would probably not have cleaned up for the queen of Sheba herself. "Well, I guess we could eat at mine." Except Warren was in, and Sam didn't want him to overhear the potentially heated argument. Then an idea occurred to him, "Why don't we go back to the hill?"

Again, John was taken aback with the romanticism this displayed in Sam- in John's mind, the hill had taken on a sort of totemic significance to their relationship, but he had assumed that this was not a conviction his boyfriend shared. "That sounds perfect."

It was a freezing November night as they reached the top of the hill: John had suggested portalling, but Sam had insisted they walk at least from the base, and once more John found himself trying to hide the mild exhaustion he felt from walking anything but the shortest of distances. He kept himself in good shape- he had to, for his work- but he had no endurance. He really wished they'd gone somewhere physically demanding the first night they met, like a tea room or a mattress shop. However, this sparked an interesting question in John's mind, "What do you think of as our first date? The hill or the cinema?"

Sam didn't even hesitate. "The cinema. That was the time when we actually planned to meet each other, when it was the explicit point of the evening."

"But the hill was the first time we spent any time alone together. And it's way more romantic." John added this on the end, hoping Sam would pick up on his tacit approval of Sam's choice.

"You burst into tears," Sam reminded him, apparently not taken with the romance of the evening.

"You tried to run away from the bar." John countered.

Sam reflected on this, "Maybe we should only start counting from Madrid," he suggested.

They reached the top of the hill; it was just as beautiful as the first time- maybe more so, as the night was darker, making the lights seem even more enticing. They both stood there, admiring the view for a minute. And then they realised they were holding hands, neither sure who had initiated it. John sidled closer to Sam and put his hand around Sam's waist, pulling his boyfriend closer to him. Sam instinctively rested his head on John's shoulder, and yet again, this scene, this little tableau- the two men standing close, one leaning into the other, silhouetted against the city lights and juxtaposed against a starry night, felt like a screenshot from some wonderful arthouse film. There was a feeling deep down that this was life was supposed to look like all the time, and even more ingrained feeling that that was impossible. They drank in the scene for just a moment and then Sam ruined it.