Outside the raindrops beat against the windows unrelentingly, occasionally punctuated by a dramatic roll of thunder.
Inside, a different type of storm wedged itself within Julian's chest. He stared at the message on his phone, breath catching in his throat. The photo burned into his sight — his boyfriend and best friend embraced together in a kiss. A betrayal so glaring and vivid. Julian had seen betrayal before, but not like this; not this hurtful. How could Jamie and Dorian do this to him?
His chest tightened, as that thing in his chest ached and ripped apart — the threads of his life snapping piece by piece. Something was blurring the phone screen — a water drop.
Julian wiped it off with a finger, brows tightening when another fell, then another. Something cool rolled down his cheeks, a salty taste at the edge of his lips catching the tip of his tongue. He lifted a hand to his cheeks and felt the wetness — tears. Why was he crying? It wasn't worth it —they weren't worth it. He blinked his eyes trying to stop the tears, because God forbid he ruined his eyes over this — believe it or not, they were insured for millions. The tears — that damned traitorous liquid — wouldn't stop though. The betrayal!
A loud clap of thunder jolted him into action. There were things he was supposed to be doing; like finishing his designs, calling the tailor, and sending an email to marketing… not sitting here crying over the fact that his boyfriend had been cheating on him with his best friend. Why did that hurt?
Julian felt breathless; everything seemed to be mocking him. The mannequins — half-draped in garments with exposed seams and frayed edges — faces bland and unimpressed, like his mother's would be when she found out that another relationship had come apart, hadn't she told him that he shouldn't date that man? Julian had not listened, now look at who was sitting inside their office and crying.
His eyes fell on the jacquard pen — a gift from Jamie — on his table, lying casually next to the framed photo of him and Dorian, smiles bright and relaxed, and he wondered, why?
Julian thought he had everything planned, but now everything was coming apart — like wearing a garment cut for someone else, the seams straining, threads snapping one by one, until even the fabric of his mind began to fray. He needed answers, and he would get them from the culprits.
The chair scraped against the marble floor from the force of Julian pushing it back. He grabbed his phone and keys from the table and stomped out the door.
The elevator chimed open with a soft ding, and Julian was immediately smothered by an overwhelming scent of citrus — that good awful scent! First, Jamie was cheating on him with Dorian, and now they were cleaning his showroom with a citrus-based cleaner. What was going to happen next? A chandelier crashing on him? This day was out to murder him, Julian was sure of it.
"Julian hon, is that you?" A tentative voice broke him out of his thoughts.
Julian's eyes widened, and he caught his reflection in the display cabinet — swollen, red-rimmed eyes that looked lifeless, hair falling messily on his forehead — he looked like a mess. Julian Devereaux never looked like a mess. Never.
"Hey, Becky!" The strain of his fake smile was hurting his cheeks. "I was just looking around," he waved a hand at the display cases, "you know, admiring these beauties and noticing how spotless the floors are, you and the team are doing a wonderful job, sweetheart."
Becky laughed, waving a hand in dismissal, though Julian could see her cheeks flaming with a blush. "Why are you standing in the middle of the room?" Brow arched like an arrow; ready to pierce through Julian and see the tangled threads hidden underneath his façade. "I thought I saw a ghost, you scared me." She scolded light-heartedly.
"No ghost, just me." Julian forced a dry laugh, he didn't have the energy for this.
"You look like a mess, dear. Stop working so late and try to sleep early." Becky's brown eyes softened in concern. "I know you're the boss and you worry about the business and all, but you're human first."
This woman — barely a little over a stranger — showed genuine concern for him, while the people he trusted stuck daggers into him from behind. "I was just finishing some designs, and I am going home."
"Are you alright Julian?" Becky asked softly, "Your eyes are swollen and red. Have you been crying?"
Julian turned away, throat clogging with emotion. "It's the allergies." He cleared his throat. "I am allergic to citrus, change the cleaning agent."
Becky blinked, "uh… okay."
Julian forced a smile. "Good night Becky."
"Good night Julian." Her voice barely reached his ears as he hurried out of the room.
********
The rain had dwindled to a courteous pat on the shoulder, falling on Julian's blazer in fat drops. The winter rain had left behind a cold chill, it slammed into Julian's face with the sharpness of a knife. He hurried towards his car praying and hoping not to slip on one of the puddles — death traps of still water — and meet his maker. How pathetic would that be? Julian Devereaux died from slipping on a wet floor.
Julian sighed at the welcome heat of his car, inhaling the relaxing scent of sandalwood fig. It seemed almost surreal, driving to Jamie's house not to fall into his lover's arms after a tiring day at work, but to see him entangled in the arms of another.
Julian could have laughed, but the grief frozen in his chest stabbed sharply at his heart. It felt so cliché, like one of those soap operas he and Dorian binged-watch on his sofa, laughing and rolling their eyes at the scene that had been overdone a thousand times. Now, Julian felt like the girlfriend going to her boyfriend's house to see another person in his bed; but unlike her, he already knew. He wondered how he would react; would he freeze from pain, yell in rage, return for revenge, or pretend he hadn't seen and let it rot inside?
Central London's night traffic was as dramatic as ever: streams of red and white threading through narrow streets, a cab parked beside him — yellow taxi sign flickering. Crowds crossing, horns blaring as tires screeched against wet asphalt. London moved without him. Snatches of laughter and shouts from open windows drifted into the quiet night. Julian's eyes caught the glowing windows of a bus, faces of strangers all immersed in their world, and he wondered if anyone could tell where he was going. Was there anyone amongst these people who was going to confront a cheating ex?
His car pulled up in the garage of Fairview Court an hour later — the same garage where a picture of Jamie, his Jamie, and Dorian kissing was taken. Julian's eyes darted to the automatic shutter half-opened — he had never seen it closed — the maintenance sticker on it faded from age and dust. The nauseating smell of petrol, damp concrete, and faint exhaust fumes crashed into him. How did he and Jamie's worlds ever collide? He wondered.
The lobby was as filthy as ever: damp coats, empty takeaway boxes, litter smeared on the walls — whoever had pasted the "Do Not Leave Trash On The Hall" note on the wall was certainly ignored. He didn't bother with the lift — God knows that thing hadn't worked since the beginning of time — his feet thumped on the concrete stairs echoing into his ears.
A notice board on the stairway was taped with papers. Julian could make out a note about a missing cat and a residents' meeting on Tuesday. The muffled sound of televisions and a baby's cry accompanied him to Jamie's door.
For a minute he remained frozen in the hallway, breathing in the clashing smell of cleaning agents and someone's stew. A man rushing out from his room — probably for a quick smoke — gave him a strange look, perhaps he was wondering why Julian was standing there. He sucked in a nervous breath, a hand dipping into his pocket as he took out his key.
A turn of the key and the door opened with a click, and he stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. He took in the pictures of him and Jamie hanging on the wall, the marble globe he had gifted Jamie some time ago on the shelf.
Julian smelt it before he saw it — earthy and warm with a smoky note — Dorian's perfume had always been notable anywhere he went, and now it was drenched in volumes on the satin shirt casually draped on Jamie's couch.
He heard the voices from the bedroom door — low and intimate. Julian's heart was pounding in his ears, heat in his chest, his world narrowing down to that sound. The door wasn't locked, the faint crack was enough for him to see the silhouettes on the bed. He pushed the door wider, and for a second, his world froze. Skin on skin. Lips where his should have been — once before but never again. He didn't breathe, didn't exist, just burned that image — raw and devastating— into his mind. He took a step back, leg colliding with the table sending the vase crashing on the floor, shattering like the pieces of his heart. Only then did they look up.
"Julian?" Jamie's voice is shocked, like he can't believe Julian's standing there right now.
An icy frigidness rests over Julian's heart "Surprised?" His voice was as cold as the weather outside.
Julian's voice was like a switch, and immediately Dorian and Jamie scrambled out of the bed — both stark naked. Jamie hurriedly wears a boxer and Dorian throws on a shirt — it's a size too big for him, obviously Jamie's —to protect whatever bit of modesty he still has left.
It's Dorian who reaches Julian first. "Jules," he swallows, "it's not what it looks like." The audacity to lie to his face while wearing his boyfriend's — ex-boyfriend's— shirt.
Julian bristles, something snaps inside of him, anger flowing like molten flame in his veins. "Are you fucking serious ?" The words rip out like fire. "I walk into my boyfriend and best friend in bed, and that's all you have to say?"
"Julian, please ." Jamie reaches for his hand and he moves it away like the contact burns him. "We made a terrible mistake."
Julian's vision starts to blur — not with tears but rage. "A mistake?" The word fell like poison from his tongue. "I..I trusted both of you. You told me you had my back, but both of you have been busy making mistakes— behind my back."
For a second the silence sounded too loud. They had no right to stand there silently looking shamefaced. Julian's eyes narrowed at the bite marks on Jamie's chest — his best friend's mark on his partner's chest. His hand curled around the lamp hurling it at the pictures — frames shattering like the lies he had been too blind to see.
Dorian and Jamie flinch at the noise.
"Julian it's late," Jamie said softly, "the neighbors will hear us." His brows furrowed in that knot of nervous anxiety that Julian was familiar with.
Julain chuckled dryly, "Let them hear." The words were pushed past clenched teeth. His eyes lock with Jamie's blue ones — they used to remind him of the sky, looking at them once made him feel like he was flying. "Do you suddenly feel ashamed?" He stepped closer to Jamie. "Where was your shame when you were fucking my best friend?"
Jamie's lips part, he makes a strangled sound — perhaps he was trying to defend himself — which dies in his throat. Julian jabs a finger at his chest.
"Answer me," his voice cracked— pain mixed with fury. "When he was moaning into your sheets, weren't you worried your neighbors would hear?" The words ripped out with a force that echoed past the walls.
"Julian please, we are sorry." Jamie grips his hands. "Please, forgive me."
"What's sorry supposed to fix?" Julian hated the way his voice trembled. He pulled his hands away from Jamie's. "Is it supposed to fix what you have done?" The words dripped with contempt. "Fix me?" His voice lowered as he took a stumbling step back.
"Jules," Dorian stepped closer then , "I know what I have done is unforgivable—"
"If you knew then why did you do it?" Fury rose within Julian — like a snake prepared to strike.
"Jules —"
Julian gripped Dorian's shirt with trembling hands. "Don't you ever call me by that name again." He hurled the words like broken glass — broken and dangerous. "You have lost that right."
"Julian, that's enough." Jamie ripped him from Dorian. Shielding Dorian's smaller figure behind him.
That action of Jamie protecting Dorian — choosing Dorian — quenched the fire that had been burning in Julian's veins. It seems he was the outsider in this relationship.
"How —" the word ripped out of him. "How long have you been sleeping with each other behind my back?" His only reply was silence.
"How long have you both been betraying me —" his voice broke mid-scream, "how long have you been playing me for a fool?" Julain's vision tunneled, he blinked back the tears — not here, he refused to cry in front of them. Hold it, don't let them see your weakness.
"Julian I am sorry." Jamie sighed.
Julian nodded, sniffed back his tears and forced a smile. "I know." Everything felt muffled like he was under water. "I don't wawelcomeer see the both of you again."
The tears had started pouring by the time he made it to the door, knuckles clenched as his fingers trembled on the handle. Julian stiffened when he felt a hand wrap around his from behind.
"Julian don't go, please let's talk it out." Jamie pleaded.
Julian's existence narrowed to that point of contact. Jamie's hand on his, same hand that had been all over Dorian minutes ago. The image has burned itself into his thoughts — Jamie's hands on Dorian, as he moaned his name.
He whirled around with a speed that had Jamie moving back in surprise, palm crashing on Jamie's cheek with the heat of his fury.
"Don't ever touch me again." Julian pulled his hand out of Jamie's hold. "We are over."
**********
The silence of the hallway was almost comforting — almost. The silence grated against Julian's skin, Jamie's house was never this silent— no television sounds, people arguing, couples talking.
The walls were thin, he was sure everyone had heard them — it was dark and they had been loud. Julian could see the picture; neighbors lowering their televisions, ears plastered against the wall as they listened.
It didn't matter, they could hear. They could laugh. They could gossip about it. It was an interesting story. Julian laughed as he walked down the stairs — it was okay, he was fine. He wasn't hurt, people had been through worse than a cheating partner.
His feet felt weak, steps disorderly as he crashed into the stairway. Maybe it was the pain of his forehead colliding — or the pain he had been trying to bury— that brought out the tears, once they started they wouldn't stop.
The tears wouldn't stop, not when there was a gaping wound in his heart — raw and bleeding. Something had hollowed within him.
Julian wiped the tears from his cheeks harshly, hurrying out of the lobby, the cold air that hit his face a welcomed sensation.
"Was I not enough?" The words drifted into the air like smoke. "Was I ever enough?"