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“Is Julie your girlfriend, Herbert?” asks a curious classmate with owlish eyes and round glasses.
Herbert chokes on the water he’s just lifted to his lips. “Excuse me?” he squeaks, and— oh, dear, he’s just spilled it on his papers; this is absolutely not helping his image.
The classmate - Andrew - laughs harmlessly, and it is at this point Herbert realises he’s being teased. But— girlfriend? Has he— has he never mentioned that Julie is a man? And, more importantly and much more terrifyingly, does he come off like he’s in love with Julie?
“I get it,” Andrew says, grinning as he flips through his textbook. “You haven’t told her yet, have you?”
Herbert’s hand is tellingly shaky as he sets down the water glass. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, preparing a long winded speech about how no, they’re childhood friends, and male childhood friends at that, there’s no reason to imply anything untoward— when he meets Andrew’s eyes and is struck by the most intense of realisations.
He can just pretend that Julie is a woman, and no one will ever have to know about it.
“Well,” says Herbert, clearing his throat as his voice cracks, “no, I haven’t. I— I like h-her a lot, is the thing.”
Andrew gives up any pretense of studying, and Herbert begins to think this was a very good idea.
“Why can’t I come?” Julien asks plaintively, leaning on his forearms across the table as Herbert folds a sweater and places it gently in his suitcase. “Muriel’s coming.”
“Muriel’s my sister, Julie,” Herbert reminds him, deliberately not making eye contact. “And besides, most of the other graduates are only bringing one or two guests.”
“One or two,” Julien repeats, dropping his chin into his hand. “Come on, Herbert. That place separated us for four years—”
“You were off becoming a doctor!”
“—would you let it do that again? To us? To me?”
“It’s a weekend, Julie.”
“My parents said it would be a weekend the first time they went to the colonies,” Julien cries, but he’s grinning, so Herbert only rolls his eyes. “It was months, Herbert, months! How can I trust that you wouldn’t do the same?”
“Because it’s a two day reunion and I have students to get back to?” Herbert tries, starting to fold a second pair of trousers. He’s a worrier; he always overpacks.
“What a conveniently pre-prepared excuse,” says Julien, holding out a pen like a sword. “I am disgusted.”
Herbert sighs. “Don’t you have a practise to run?”
“I’ve got the weekend off,” Julien says, casually. Bit too casually, actually. “Thought I’d have plans, but I guess I am being forsaken, as per usual.”
“You have a whole weekend off?” At this, Herbert stops packing, staring at Julien with wide eyes and holding his pants.
“What?” Julien asks defensively. “It happens, sometimes.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Herbert says, setting the pants aside. “Julie, that’s wonderful! You should’ve told me! I’m sure I could’ve— could’ve left a day early, or something of that ilk; I— a whole weekend, how delightful!”
Julien smiles the rakish grin of trouble and says, “I’ll be getting to know some pubs very well, I think.”
“Julie,” Herbert admonishes, “don’t say that.”
“Are you advising me to lie to you, my dear friend?” Julien stands up from his place at the table and starts rummaging around in Herbert’s fruit bowl, finally selecting an apple and shining it on his shirtsleeve. “That seems like bad form.”
Herbert glares, but there’s nothing in it. “But if you take me with you…” Julien says leadingly, gesturing widely with one arm and taking a loud bite from the apple.
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full,” Herbert says, and Julien swallows exaggeratedly. “Thank you.”
“Take me with you.”
“I can’t,” says Herbert, closing his suitcase.
Julien groans. “Why not?”
There is a terrible, awful moment in which Herbert remembers every embarrassed, halting description of Julie’s eyes, all those childhood stories relayed, the way that one of his classmates snatched a letter signed Love, Julie, and took it as proof that this woman certainly returned his feelings. Herbert has always been so very, obviously smitten, and he knows he will be asked about the Julie he pined over for four years in university.
“Maybe I just don’t want you to come?” is what he blurts in a panic, regretting it even as the words leave his mouth, because the look of hurt on Julien’s face when he looks up is stiff and frozen and very, very real.
“Ah,” says Julien after a few moments, schooling himself back into a smile. “Well. Sure. Alright, Herbert, that’s— should’ve led with that one, you know, would’ve gotten me right out of your hair.”
For what might be the first time in his life, Dr Julien Blake stands to leave without having been previously asked. He’s chuckling lightly, hands raised in a gesture of surrender as he edges around Herbert’s closed suitcase, but for Chrissake, the falseness of the smile wouldn’t fool anyone. Julien swallows hard, says, “Have a nice reunion, then!” and heads for the door.
It was at this moment that Herbert was hit with the irrefutable notion that he fucked up.
“Julie, wait—” The door shuts with a bit less care than Julien usually has, and Herbert stumbles after him, almost tripping over the suitcase in the process. “Julie!”
Julien hasn’t gotten far down the stairs, and slows when he hears Herbert’s footsteps, quickly bringing a hand to his face and sniffing haughtily. “Don’t strain yourself, Herbert,” he says, turning around. “If you move so quickly all the time, you might find yourself in danger of being a little bit less weedy.”
“Julie,” is what Herbert says again, and there’s no need for it to sound so plaintive.
“It’s no worry!” Julien’s voice is bright, smooth, and he smiles the way he does when he’s trying to coax Herbert into a terrible decision. “I— I completely understand, Herbert. I shouldn’t impose.”
Julien never apologises for anything, and certainly not for pestering Herbert. But he looks so frozen, with a mask of amusement and calm that makes Herbert’s heart swoop into his stomach. “Julie, please, I didn’t mean that—”
“It’s — okay,” Julien says, his casual attempt coming out halting, stilted, “if you don’t— want me—”
The terrible irony is that Julien has no idea how much Herbert wants him, wants to have him around, wants to keep him around, that the whole issue of this is how goddamn much Herbert would like to hold him and never let go. “No, Julie,” Herbert breathes, taking a few steps down the stairs, and Julien looks up at him, eyes rimmed red, close enough to kiss. “No, not at all.”
“You don’t have to say that because I ran away,” Julien says, looking down and straightening his collar. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted, Herbert; I can take a hint— it’s— it’s fine, really, I’m— that’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” He chuckles, shrugs. “Me trying to— it’s for family anyway, now isn’t it, and that’s not— I’m not—”
“Come with me,” Herbert says, instead of shutting him up with a kiss. “I was a very silly man in university, Julie, I really was, and I was quite nervous really, with the notion that you’d— that you’d be embarrassed of me.”
They’re both babbling. Julien’s so flushed that he looks like Herbert on like, a daily basis, the blush flowering over the warm brown of his skin and pinkening his ears. “If I haven’t been embarrassed of you yet, I doubt it’s going to happen now,” he says, and Herbert can’t help but send him a bit of a look.
It’s better. Herbert doesn’t know what exactly was the root of Julien’s reaction, and he was too young to understand the details of why Julie always spent weeks of the summer with the Cheedlehumes, or why he always stayed at school over the holidays unless Herbert invited him home, or why the cars in Julien’s driveway appeared less and less as he got older. Julien’s always prided himself on being independent, and Herbert might not know the details, but he knows enough.
“Don’t be a prat,” says Herbert, high and sharp, and Julien is startled into a laugh that’s short and warm and undeniably real.
“Mumu, I’ve made a mistake,” Herbert whines, plopping down on his sister’s bed. She doesn’t look up.
“I’m trying to read, Herbie, do pine after Julie where I can’t hear you,” Muriel says, adjusting her glasses. “I’ve got a lovely piece on Impressionism that is very inspiring.”
“I’m not pining after Julie!” Herbert squeaks, which makes Muriel look up.
“You’ve never fooled anyone with that nonsense,” she sniffs, and Herbert goes beet red.
“Mumu, please—”
“Shoo!” Muriel says, flapping a hand in his direction. “You’ve been a fool for this boy for years, Herbie, and I don’t really know why; he’s quite irritating—”
“He’s not,” says Herbert defensively.
“He is, and you know it,” Muriel snipes, “but I’ve supported you in most of your bad decisions, Herbie, which is to say, most of your decisions, but I don’t quite see why you’re so anxious about it now—”
“He’s coming to the reunion tomorrow!” Herbert cries, his voice warbling.
“He’s what?”
“He asked to come, and I was going to say no, but—”
“Oh, Herbie, grow a backbone!” Muriel sighs, closing her book.
“I was rude to him!”
“Good!”
“No, Mumu, because now I’ve made a mess of myself!” Herbert says, burying his face in his hands. “I tried to say no, but I couldn’t, because I want him to meet everyone from university, and it’s very difficult to convince yourself that you don’t want something that you very much want, and then I was rude to him, and it made him upset, and I wanted to make him happy, Muriel, and I really want to make him happy, and — Chrissake, I almost kissed him! And now he’ll meet all my friends, and certainly it won’t be very long until they figure out Julie was never a woman’s name, and they’ll know I was in love with him, and he’ll know I am in love with him, and then we’re never going to speak again! I’ve messed up, Mumu, I’ve messed up!”
Muriel sighs. Nudges her book aside. Pulls Herbert into a hug only moments before he starts crying. “You’re so silly, Herbie,” she says, squeezing his shoulders. “Everything will turn out fine, you know.”
“How?” Herbert whimpers, sniffling.
“I’m your sister, and I’m right about everything,” Muriel says firmly, and even though Herbert doesn’t know how or why, he believes her.
“Is that Herbert Cheedlehume?” comes a booming, round voice from nearby, and Herbert brightens up right away. The reunion banquet is large and split into a number of small tables, and Herbert has begun to feel very lost very quickly. But now—
“Andy!” he calls with delight, waving towards Andrew Franklin, a tall, attractive blond who was arguably Herbert’s best friend in college. “Andrew, it’s so good to see you— oh, where are you sitting? We’ve got to come with you; we have so much to talk about — has it been five years already? Goodness, it’s flown, it feels like I saw you yesterday!”
Even though Andrew is a good few inches shorter than the beanstalk that is Herbert, he manages to seem immeasurably larger, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. “I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, helping them to a table with a woman who is clearly his sister and another who is clearly his wife, as well as a few people who beam with recognition as Herbert approaches. “You’ve met Annabelle, and— this is my wife, Georgia.”
“Ah!” Herbert flushes, says hello, then, “This is my sister, Muriel, and my— friend—” He clears his throat. “My friend, Dr. Julien Blake.”
“Pleasure,” says Julien with a sociable smile, extending a hand for shaking, and Muriel nods agreeably along.
“Yes, yes, it’s so lovely to meet you all,” she says, like she’d much rather be in her studio.
“Are we going to get an update on your woman, then?” Andrew asks, and one of the other women at the table leans forward.
“Herbert, you’ve got to tell us!” she says with a conspiratorial wink. “Did you take my advice?”
“Ah, hello, Nina,” Herbert mumbles with a weak wave. He’s really glad to see her, and they got each other through more than one incredibly rough set of finals, but he is now remembering why he did not want to take Julien to this reunion in the first place. “Ah, I— I thought about it?”
A groan rises from the table. Ruth, Nina’s twin - and, aside from Herbert, some of the only Black students on campus - punches the air and cries, “Pay up!”
“Just because you won doesn’t mean you should be happy!” Nina scolds, by Ruth is laughing too hard to listen. “C’mon, Herbert, it was such a good plan!”
“It was,” Ruth agrees, slicing at her steak and disappointedly lifting a piece to her mouth. “Ugh, and we’d really planned it out, too!”
“Let’s not talk about this,” Herbert squeaks as someone - Julien? Thank God, he’s been getting drinks; Herbert was so flustered he didn’t notice - slides him a sherry.
“Talk about what?” Julien asks, seeming very invested in the chaos at the table. “Herbert, you never told me your college friends were so rowdy! I have to admit I didn’t give you enough credit; I imagined you studied all the time and didn’t let anyone drag you outside.”
“Oh, he did,” Andrew says, and Herbert pointedly sips at his sherry. “That and pine over that girl—”
“Did he, now?” Julien is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “I can’t believe you’ve never shared this with me, Herbert. I’m quite offended.”
“Can we please change the subject?” Herbert tries, giving up and downing the rest of the sherry.
“You never told us what happened!” Ruth says, elbowing Herbert lightly. “Damn, the way you talked about that girl, I think we were all in love with her. I mean, I was.”
Nina rolls her eyes. “Dear Lord, Ruthie, you would fall in love with a cactus.”
“As long as she’s a nice cactus,” Ruth replies stubbornly. “And damn, if I were in love with a cactus, at least I’d have an excuse to use that plan we thought up!”
“What plan?” asks Julien, leaning forwards, and Herbert makes a noise of indignant even that goes entirely unheard.
“Okay—” Nina, Ruth, and Andrew all begin at the same time, then break up cackling. “Alright, who goes first?”
“I do; it was my plan,” Nina says, holding her fork like a talking stick. “Okay. Alright? Everyone be quiet.”
Herbert puts his head in his hands as Nina takes a sip of champagne. “It was supposed to take place after graduation,” Nina says, with a pointed look towards Herbert. “You know, they were both at different universities, and she’s a bit of a workaholic, you know? So I told him to take her to the pictures when he goes to her graduation, to de-stress, you know? To catch up, spend a bit of time with each other—”
Julien chokes on his whiskey. “You alright?” Nina asks, and he coughs into his elbow.
“Absolutely fine, thank you,” he says, clearing his throat. “I just can’t believe I’m finding out about this now, you see. Herbert had a secret romance with a girl from another school and I never even knew.”
Herbert, for his part, wants to melt into the floor and die.
The three of them go around the table and talk about the plan: the pictures, the drive in Herbert’s new car, bought with his own, hard-earned money, the way he drove until they ran out of gas in front of the lake and had to walk a mile along the shore until they reached the gas station, the way Herbert was supposed to kiss his girl at the sunset and tell her that he loved her.
By the time this story is over, Herbert might have acquired a permanent blush, and Julien has had three shots of whiskey. He looks very nice with a single curl fallen out of his slicked-back hair, his collar casually loose around his neck as he listens with more attention than Herbert has ever seen. He looks entirely unfazed, but he’s so tense against Herbert’s side that he thinks Julien might snap. Herbert knows that Julien knows the plan already. Or at least the first few steps. Because Herbert had tried. He just hadn’t gotten very far.
But it’s almost fine. Almost. Until—
“Damn, what was her name?” Nina asks, and there’s a clamour of noise by a good deal of attractive, young, drunk, smart university graduates as they try to recall a name they heard very often for four years straight.
“Oh!” Andrew slaps his hand on the table, his cheeks flushed with alcohol. “Shit! Julie! Her name was Julie!”
Julien, who has switched to water, starts coughing so hard that Herbert thinks he might asphyxiate.
Hm.
Ah.
Yes.
Fuck.
Herbert, who thought he knew embarrassment, is turning an interesting shade of purple.
“Well—” Julien says, supporting himself on the table as he pushes his chair back, “I— I apo— a-pologise, I—” His body is shaking so hard he can barely get through a word and he’s cut off by a series of stifling coughs. “‘Scuse me.”
Herbert looks apologetically around the table and says, “I’m— I’m so sorry, I— excuse me, I’m— I’m just going to make sure he’s alright—”
“Hey.” Ruth calls Herbert’s attention back to herself, and looks him dead in the eye. “It’s not too late, Herbert.”
There’s a lump in his throat, but Herbert manages a smile. “I know.”
“Julie!” It’s been a few years, but Herbert still remembers the way to this building’s bathroom. “Julie, look, I’m— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Julien emerges from one of the stalls, visibly disheveled. “Hi,” he says, his voice low in his throat, and wipes his mouth.
“Hi,” Herbert says, scratching at the back of his neck. “I, um. You okay?”
“Gotta say,” Julien admits, clearing his throat, “when I heard that I’d be hearing about your university crush, I figured I’d be vomiting at some point, but not this early in the night and not because of — fucking — water.”
“Sorry,” Herbert peeps, and Julien gives him a rakish smile, turning on a sink and washing out his mouth.
“Don’t be sorry, Herbert.” Julien leans against the sink and sighs. His tie is draped loosely across his shoulders, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, waistcoat hanging open. And the way he’s looking at Herbert — with so much adoration and resigned fear — it’s nothing he’s ever seen. “I shouldn’t have asked if I… didn’t want to hear about her. Nice irony, though—”
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Irony?
“Julie,” says Herbert with trepidation, because he’s pretty sure that for the first time in his life, he’s not being the repressed idiot, “I— wh— this may be a bit forward, but do you, um— do you have feelings for me?”
And what dignity does Dr Julien Blake have to lose? He looks down for a long, long moment, white knuckling the edge of the sink, and Herbert wants nothing more to take him into his arms and hold him and kiss him and good God, okay, he’s getting ahead of himself.
Julien’s voice is shot to hell when he asks, “Would— would that be okay?”
And look, Herbert can’t stop himself from stepping forward and tilting Julien’s chin upwards, catching the smell of fancy cologne and whiskey. “Did you not catch the bit where I’ve been in love with you for years?”
And look, it’s not Julien’s fault; it’s been a long night. He can’t help it. He bows his head and leans forward into Herbert’s embrace and Herbert’s arms come up to catch him, warm and safe and loving as he runs a hand through Julien’s hair. And he’s sobbing. He’s sobbing, and look, Julien doesn’t cry but it’s been a long twenty years of being in love with his best friend, and Herbert leans down a bit to press a kiss to his forehead, and it’s all been worth it.
“Fuck,” says Julien, tearfully, and Herbert starts laughing. “I’m being disgusting all over your nice clothes. How are we at this point? And I haven’t even kissed you yet—”
“We can—” Herbert clears his throat. “We can change that?”
Julien pulls back a few inches. “God’s sake, let me wash my face, Herbert, I wouldn’t subject you to kissing me like this; it’d be awful.”
“Duly noted,” Herbert whispers, and Julien smiles that grin of trouble.
Julien Blake spent most of his childhood trying to be a bad influence on Herbert. It never worked, but as Julien has to raise himself on tiptoe to meet Herbert’s lips, he’s pretty glad that he tried.