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"Kitty told me you overheard what the others were saying."
The lack of a usual cheerful greeting is jarring, like an unexpected stair, and The Captain turns to Pat with a creased brow. "You weren't exactly being quiet." He replies with more venom than he intends, the smaller man flinching ever so slightly.
Wringing his hands, Pat nods sheepishly. "I just wanted to apologise. Nobody deserves to be talked about like that." He says softly. "Least of all you." The Captain wonders at the prickle of goosepimples as the weight of Pat's touch grounds him. A simple hand to the upper arm, such a small gesture. Such fire stirring within his chest. He feels sick, like he's passed through a living, but in a way that twists his heart into sheepshanks.
He's gone like a whisper, and the realisation sinks in, cold and black. He knows he's a disgrace for it, he's heard what happens to men like him. Yet that smile…that laugh…the way he scrunches his nose and messes with his neckerchief when he's telling a joke. And oh, his soul. His pure soul, so full of joy and care. How could he not love him?
oOo
Business as usual. There was a lull as Alison and Mike waited to hear back from the archaeological specialists, yet the ghost activity is as lively as ever.
"Change the channel, Julian! I don't want to watch this!"
"It's my day, Thomas! And I say we're watching I'm A Celebrity."
"It's absolutely disgusting!"
"I want to watch Spongebob Squarepants."
"Not your day, Kitty! You can watch it when it is your day."
The Captain exhales, fist balling his trousers as he tries not to blanch at the sight of raw animal testicals being eaten by attention hungry celebrities. He doesn't see the point in the program, but Julian seems to adore it for some reason.
Alison pops her head around the door. "Guys, can you keep it down? Trying to concentrate out here."
The clamour that comes from ghosts demanding a channel change, or pleading their case, is not what Alison wants. "Look, after that's over, I'll come change it to something everyone likes, okay?"
The Captain stands, marching past Alison, his head buzzing. The noise is like angry wasps in his brain, the migraine spreading to his joints as he hurries to find a place he can think.
And then he sees him. He's alone, sat on the sofa, bending over a discarded newspaper. The Captain feels the urge to join him, weighing the idea in his mind. It's Pat. Why is he frightened? Pat is the least frightening thing on earth. And yet, the thought of sitting by him is petrifying.
"May I?" He asks, his drill stick pointing at the vacant seat.
Pat starts but beams as he realises who it is, shuffling up slightly. "Of course! Just catching up on what's going on, since Julian won't let me watch the news."
He sits, probably a little too close, but it's too late to move now, and the brush of thigh against his own is warm. Warmer than it should have been. "Anything interesting?"
Pat looks over the paper again. "Not a lot since I can only see two pages…" He taps his chin, scanning the page again. "There's been a factory fire, nobody died though so that's good… Oh, and apparently this year's pride is going to be huge."
The Captain raises an eyebrow. "Pride? What are they proud of?"
"Oh, right, you won't know." Pat turns to look at him with a smile. "People who are homosexual, transgender - that's people who feel a different gender to how they were born - bisexuals, all sorts of people, they're all proud of who they are and have a big parade! I went once, it was fabulous. I know it was illegal in your time, but nowadays it's pretty common, and quite widely accepted!"
Emotions flood him. Relief. Excitement. Fear. Adrenaline makes his hands twitch. "You…went to one of these pride gatherings?" He mutters, swallowing the lump in his throat.
Pat nods. "One of my best friends was a lesbian. And I honestly don't care about gender, love is love to me." He shrugs, turning his eyes back to the paper. "Oh, dear, today's politics is awful!"
"...Thank you." The words leave his lips without him meaning for them to, and Pat looks at him questioningly. "...Knowing there are people like me that can be themselves, that's a very liberating thought."
Expressions flit across his face in rapid fire, but he settles on gentle understanding. "So you're homosexual then?"
"As much as I've denied it throughout my life - and death - …yes." He sighs, the starch gone from his posture as he lets himself slump forward. "Though I'd wager it's a little late to have an epiphany about it."
The hand on his arm is like a hot brand, searing into his flesh, beautifully agonising. "Oh, don't be silly. Just because you're dead doesn't mean you won't find anyone." Pat's thumb rubs in small circles. "Who wouldn't want someone like you, hm?"
His heart aches, his lips tingle, and he wants to share nonexistent breath with the man who can only make him happy. "You're just saying that to be kind."
Pat tuts. "Don't be silly, Cap. There's nobody I'd rather be around than you."
And that's it. It's too much. The Captain is literally crawling over to press his lips against Pat's. He doesn't care what that perfect hand on his arm might have meant; all he cares about is that he can't possibly go on with his death for another second if he doesn't do this. His heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, and every single one of those stupid clichés he’s seen on those stupid romcoms that Alison likes hit him all at once. He doesn't know what to do, having only the teenage experience of his own wrist to compare it to. Is he doing it right? Is this how kissing is done?
Pat seems in shock, and The Captain feels guilt clench around his stomach.
But then the kiss is returned. The Captain melts against Pat's body, one hand making its way to cup his face, fitting as though it's meant to be there. Pat's lips are soft, his breath is warm, and the quiet noise of approval is like an angelic chorus.
Time slips away, not marked by the need for breath, both of them lost in one another. They are each an unfathomable ocean, the other breathing deep the cool waters, lungs full of salt and ecstasy. Somewhere, floating far away in the back of his mind like a man set adrift, is the thought that this is his very first kiss. Is it a good one? He doesn't care. It feels like the world to him. For just one moment he thinks he feels his heartbeat. As though Pat is breathing life back into him.
The noise as they break apart is perfect, one that he wants to treasure. And then they're staring, nose tips almost touching. Then they're smiling. Pat laughs. The Captain lets slip a chuckle as smaller hands wrap around his own, his lips gracing his knuckles with a soft kiss.
They don't say anything. They don't need to. As Pat leans in again, arching into The Captain, they both know that this is perfect in every way.