#pattcliffe

Roger was walking dogs, which should be no surprise to anyone in the world, because Roger was usually most often walking dogs. And with him, was Paul, which should also be of no surprise to anyone whatsoever, because when Roger was not with Anita, he was with Paul, usually.

He did have plans with Anita later, he did, was going to have a picnic with hot chocolate and chocolate-covered strawberries by the lake and then try and go ice skating. It was going to be romantic and he’d spent all night doing the strawberries and they didn’t look like the internet photo but goddamnit they looked much better than he had expected. He’d made a card too and printed out some old pictures of them to put in a little photo album—with plenty of space for more. It wasn’t much, but, hey, he was proud of it.

But yeah, right now, it was Rog and Paul and four dogs between the two of them.

“So did those plans for Perdita work out?” asked Roger, after he finished the update of ‘the chocolate strawberries didn’t look horrible!’ to Paul.

Before Paul could answer though, one of the dogs (Sally) let out a bark, then jerked Roger abruptly to the side, sticking her nose in some bushes.

“Sally—get back here—what the bloody hell?” He peered into the bush that Sally’d stuck her nose in and saw this…creature with big eyes and soft fur and—

He gently picked it up. The creature cooed and nuzzled against his chest. Roger felt his heart hammer. He turned to Paul and then instantly, let go of the dog leashes and lifted his hand to Paul’s cheek.

“Mate—look at her—she’s perfect.”

Paul: roger don't freak out or anything its so totally not a big deal stay calm but i think i maybe sort of went on my first date since perdita i mean it's nothing its just a date i just thought i'd mention it so y'know

Paul: also i think i have a second date

Paul: roger i

Paul: think i fucked up roger

Paul: my punishment for auditioning in the FIRST PLACE

Last year on New Year’s, Rog’s friend Ed had had this party over at his place, only he’d gotten all the people on the floor of his building in on it and it had been a massive party full of people he didn’t know and he’d snogged at least 3 different people by the end of it and woken up slumped in a bathtub that wasn’t Ed’s. He remembered at midnight, he’d counted down wearing a massive gold top hat and then doused the cheap champagne someone had brought.

This year he’d stayed in with his mum. He’d gone back to London from Boxing Day to New Year’s. It’d been quiet. They watched stuff on the telly. They had tea. They talked a bit. His mum asked about Paul. She knew not to ask about Perdita or Anita.

There was a hole there. Once upon a time they’d been Rog-and-Pongo-and-Perdy-and-Anita. Now they were just Rog-and-Pongo. Maybe not even that. Maybe they were just Roger and Paul. Maybe just Roger. Maybe just Paul.

Rog-and-Pongo were still full of hope after all, still made pillow forts in Paul’s house, still chased each other in the park swinging imaginary swords. Still gossiped about girls and talked about the dreams they dared dreamed.

Roger and Paul got up and went to their respective jobs. They were tired. They dreamed of sleep and a job that was steady. Roger dreamed of big cities. Dreamed of New York and Los Angeles, cities of music, of action. Not sleepy little English villages. He was itchy.

He was shattered. The charm of the town that he had loved when he first moved here, when he first bumped into Anita, it was all shattered. The park where they had walked, the tea shoppe where they met up for afternoon tea, the outline of Edelweiss Estate where they had gotten lost in a hedge maze…all of it stank with a new bitter feeling.

Roger needed to forget.

Paul needed to forget.

So sometime after New Year’s, Roger decided they needed a proper Lads’ Night—no girls, no kids, no books, no music—just themselves and some liquor and beer and a whole night ahead of them. It wouldn’t be like how it was when they were sixteen, ‘course. Back then they had all of London, but here they just had a tiny village. But still, they could try.

Roger was at the Deer, waiting for Paul. They hadn’t really decided what they’d wanted to do yet. Roger figured at the very least they could swing in for some drinks. Maybe if they were feeling a louder club scene they could go to Pixie. Maybe if they were feeling particularly lonely they’d go to the court. It was all very much in flux.

He leaned against the front door of the deer, hands in his pockets, looking up at a streetlamp and waited. 

The door creaked open and sure enough a familiar head popped out. Roger turned and grinned, reaching over to clap his mate on the.

“Oi, Pongo, ready to take the town?”

Paul Patts was headed off to university this comin’ fall and Roger couldn’t be prouder of his best mate. It’d been a long time coming. Anyone who’d grown up with ‘em knew that it ought to have been Paulie goin’ off to uni all those years ago, if what had happened had not happened. Paulie was the bright one, the sporty one, the one who could dazzle all the girls with a winsome smile.

That dream was finally comin’ true.

Sometimes, Roger felt like those brief, golden months in secondary – when the two of them thought the world was going to be theirs, that they could follow their dreams without abandon and they’d come true.

It wasn’t just Paul, mind you. Roger, you see, had been harboring his own little secret. He’d been looking up uni programs and stuff, tryin’ to find one that’d fit him. He’d talked to Powell – but only Powell, hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, because right now it was just a distant thought.

It wouldn’t even be this year – maybe next year. Maybe the year after.

Maybe never.

But still – it was hope. It was a flame in the distance, enough to put a little bounce to Roger’s step and an uncharacteristic smile on his face after a long shift at the record store.

There were things to worry about, of course, the fact that someone’d put a spell on them, what the future held for them all, but caught in his daydreams during the second half of the day made Roger blissful if just for a few moments.

“Evenin!” said Roger, sliding into his usual stool at the Deer and flashing a grin.

It had been some time since Rog and Paul had a proper night out—just the two of them and not Perdita and Anita or the kids. Don’t get Roger wrong: he absolutely loved having the four of them back together again, only this time “for real,” and he absolutely adored little Pen and Patch.

But there was nothing quite like knocking back a few pints with your best mate.

Last time they’d gone out, they’d gone with Perdita and Anita and they’d all traded questions and answers, and that was the night Anita had blushed and mentioned a threesome and then later that night, they’d talked about it and in a moment of uncharacteristic boldness for the two of them, they’d decided to go through with it.

Which, you know, was not as easy as it sounded.

But he hadn’t been thinking about that now, no, he and Paul were making jokes about Valentine’s Day and about how all their plans had gone astray thanks to whatever bloody fairy creatures had fallen out of the sky and into their laps. Roger and Paul had spent the whole day raising one, lost in each other’s eyes, much to the annoyance of their girlfriends (though, Anita found it much funnier and more endearing than Perdita had).

“We made great parents,” said Roger, setting down his beer. “Our little girl’s out in the world now, off to lull more unsuspecting people into her wide-eyed gaze.” He laughed, then glanced at Paul. “So did the make-up Valentine’s go well?”