A Turn of Events

Chapter 4

John Immediately regretted what he'd said. He had still been upset about the Julian Cynthia situation. That was his friend. His best mate. They'd known eachother since they were kids, of course he'd grown attached. But John never expected him to be that attached. Sure John had always wondered what it was like to be with a bloke, especially Paul. But he'd never labeled himself as queer. He was so consumed in his self hatred in what he'd done to his family, that he took it out on Paul. He needed to fix it. He just didn't know how. He wrongly yelled at Paul, but was Paul what he wanted in life? As a partner? It was decided. He needed to make it up to him. He hopped in his car and drove recklessly fast to Paul's flat. Hopefully he could come up with something before he knocked on a broken Paul's door.
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He was heartbroken. How could John be so cold to him? He was his best mate. Paul understood that maybe he'd brought it up at a sour time, but John could have at least been a bit kinder. Paul was livid, at himself of course. In fact, more livid then John had been. There was a knock at the door. Who the fuck could that be? It was late, and frankly, He hadn't even wanted to be out driving in the cold. He went down the stairs, hoping his eyes weren't as puffy and bloodshot as they felt. He opened the door. Startled by the face he saw, he quickly began to close the door, stopped by the older man's foot. John stood there, looking regretful. Clouds escaping his mouth, and Paul couldn't tell if they were from the temperature, or from the ciggie in his shivering right hand. John took a drag and blew out slowly, looking me in the eyes. "Can I come in...?"
Paul really didn't want to let him in. But a part of him felt bad for John. It was fucking cold outside. He sighed and waved the older man inside. John sat on the sofa, rubbing his hands together. "You look like an ice cube John. Go take a hot shower." It was as if John was happy Paul had seemingly forgiven him. "Thank you Macca-" John thought wrong. "And when you're done, you can gather your clothes and get the fuck out of my flat." Paul put a kettle on the stove, not even making eye contact when he spoke.