Note: this chapter mentions suicidal thoughts.

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"Well, it's certainly been a long time since we had a night out like this." Andrew hands George a drink from the bar they're at, having made sure it was mixed safely by the barmaid. Even three decades later, he is aware that George is apprehensive after being spiked in his youth. "I almost feel too old to be allowed to do this. It almost feels illegal."

"Tell me about it," George agrees, knocking back two-thirds of his beverage in one go. "I've needed it for god knows how long."

"Well, the boys are back together now," Andrew laughs, watching his buddy in amusement. "And the way you're getting through your drinks, it'll make for a very interesting evening."

"I'm not gonna go crazy like at Mum's funeral," George vows, slamming the glass against the wooden surface of the table top. "I learnt my lesson good and proper there."

"Well that's good," Andrew praises. "And you don't want the drinking to become some toxic coping mechanism for everything, do you?"

"I suppose not." He heaves a sigh; he has so many ideas for conversation starters in his head, but he doesn't quite know which one to voice. "How are Nancy and the gang?"

"Nancy's fine. Rosa too. Riley and Tyler are hectic as ever," Andrew chuckles. "I suppose I'm lucky though, really. Grandad to two boys at only fifty-one. It's not bad going."

"And they're only a few years behind my two," George adds. "Shows how behind I am in life, doesn't it?"

"It's not your fault though. Law said no until eight or nine years ago," Andrew reminds him. "You've certainly made up for it since then."

"This is true. They certainly keep me on my toes," George explains. "We've had some trouble with a girl in Kieran's class. Homophobic mother's been feeding her shit about how me and Levi shouldn't be together; how the kids should have a mother in their lives rather than two dads. That usual bullshit."

"It's almost twenty-fifteen," Andrew scoffs. "I can't believe people are still so negative about same-sex couples. As if it's their business in the first place."

"Tell me about it." George picks up his glass again, tipping the remaining third of his drink into his mouth. He forces it down his throat, grimacing slightly at the intense taste. In one satisfying sweep, he clinks the glass back down on the table once again. "Same again, I think."

"That's, like, the fifth or sixth one already, Yog. We've only been here an hour and a half." Andrew gives his best friend a look of soft encouragement, to do the right thing. "Maybe calm down a little. You don't want to end up paralytic before eleven o'clock."

"No, you're right." George surrenders to his pal, drumming his fingers against the table to quell his urge to fidget. "Bloody hell. What a crazy couple of months I've had."

"It's enough to mess with anybody, really," Andrew states. "But you're doing really well with coping with it."

"I wouldn't go that far," George self-deprecates. "I've handled it all like shit."

"How so?" Andrew raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I don't cope well with it at all," George admits. "I'm either numb from the grief; overly emotional about it all; lashing out at the kids and Levi; or stressing out about everything. I'm a failure, and a disappointment of a husband and father."

"You're not a failure, and you're certainly not a disappointment," Andrew reassures him. "You've had a lot of shit come your way the last couple of months. I couldn't deal with it half as well as you're doing. You know you can always talk to me about everything."

"I know I can," George sighs. "It's just whether I should or not, that's the question."

"How about we go through it all right now?" Andrew proposes, clicking a finger to catch the barmaid's attention. "Same again, please, darling."

"Of course." She proceeds to mix the same concoctions as the men had in their last round, serving them in new glasses upon completion. Andrew hands her a bank note, which she takes graciously. "I'll just get your change."

"Keep it," Andrew offers kindly. "Consider it a tip."

"Thank you, sir." The barmaid beams, before the demands of another customer divert her attention away from Andrew.

"Right." Andrew grabs both drinks, presenting one to George. "Hit me with it. I know I said cool it on the drinks, but one more won't hurt. I'm all ears."

"Fucking hell," George murmurs, taking hold of his new beverage. "Well ... there's this bullshit going on with the school. Some girl named Esme. She's been saying some fucking nasty things to Kieran about me and Levi. How we should give them a mother figure; how we're disgusting. You name it — it's been said. Kieran's teacher knows all about it, and she's going to be getting the headteacher involved. We've got a meeting next week about it. I had a scrap with her mum yesterday after school, when I was picking Kieran up from school. She had the fucking nerve to shout at him. How dare she shout at my boy? Honestly, Andrew, how people have the nerve to do shit like that is beyond me ... " He takes a large gulp of his drink, before continuing. "Levi's currently in therapy after what happened with Mack at the hotel not long back. It's really fucked us both up, especially him. He sometimes wakes up in the night, panicking because his dreams are more vivid. And he remembers being in that hotel room with Mack, fearing for his life. He did say that the therapy is helping ... but he keeps trying to drag me into it for myself. I told him I'm not into the talking stuff. Plus, why would they help an old gay guy like me, hey?" He shakes his head, almost amused at the situation. "And then there's the fucking obvious issue, which is Mum. But that goes without saying, so there's not really much point in me talking about it at all, is there?"

"It's always worth talking about your feelings," Andrew responds. "It might help you to talk about it all."

"It's a touchy subject." George takes a moment to evaluate his feelings on his mother at present. "Nothing has changed. It still hurts. It still isn't fair. It's still my fault she died."

"You can't keep blaming yourself, Yog," Andrew frowns. "She wouldn't want you to keep blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. Not even slightly."

"I've always been the problem child," George adds. "Yioda and Melanie are doing fine in life. They have their families and their lives sorted. But I, on the other hand, am still trying to figure mine out. I mean, I kept my sexuality hidden for twenty-four years, remember."

"Your sexuality isn't the only thing that defines you," Andrew reminds him. "You have two great kids. A husband you love. Family who adores you. You have a job, and a roof over your head. You've got things figured out more than you give yourself credit for. It's just because all the bad life events seem to be happening at once. But that's just bad luck, rather than ... you know, not having your shit together."

"It just feels like I will always be trying to get my shit together," George admits, in defeat. "I don't know how to cope with everything. I'm going insane."

"Have you spoken to Levi about all this?"

"Indirectly, I guess," George answers. "He read one of my diary entries about how I'm feeling ... about Mum, that is."

"And what did the diary entry say?" Andrew raises one brow in anticipation. "And what did Levi say?"

"He was worried about me," George states, trying to avoid confessing what was written in the harrowing excerpt from his little book of secrets. "But that's Levi all over."

"It must have been serious if he was worried." Andrew takes a sip of his drink before continuing. "Levi's got a level head on his shoulders. He's the more rational one out of the both of you."

"Gee, thanks," George huffs — intending to be playful, yet not quite coming across that way due to lack of enthusiasm. "Well, he didn't need to be worried about me. I'm just being stupid."

"Of course not," Andrew assures him. "But what did you write in the diary? It must have been rather serious."

"Just ... that I'm struggling," George paraphrases, wanting to play down how difficult things have been for him. "Um, just that I'm finding it hard to deal with Mum's death."

"Is that all that you wrote?" Andrew presses. "It feels like you're not quite telling me everything. You forget I've known you forty years, now. Come on. Spit it out."

George is hesitant, for he doesn't want another person needlessly fretting about his mental well-being. "Well ... " He goes silent momentarily, glancing over at his lifelong friend to find he's being given a stern look. This encourages him to continue, "I said in the diary that if it weren't for the kids and for Levi, I'd probably have killed myself by now."

"Fucking hell, Yog." Even Andrew is stunned by this response; he knows George is finding the loss hard to manage, but he had no clue it was to this extent. "Don't you think you should try and get some help for how you're feeling? Therapy? Bereavement counselling or something?"

"I wish people would stop trying to get me to try therapy," George spits, finding the idea tedious now. "They'd take one look at me and laugh me out the fucking door."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'm an old gay guy who's crying because his mum died — yet it was his own fault it happened. What kind of therapist is going to know how to make all that better again?" George shakes his head; he is quickly becoming overwhelmed by his own emotions because he didn't want to delve so deeply into this conversation. "I just wanted tonight to be an escape from all that bullshit. I'm so tired of talking about it and hearing about it. I just want to forget it all."

"But realistically, you can't forget about it," Andrew reasons with him. "It's consuming you, mate. Which is understandable, because the grief is so new and so fresh. But you need to get help to learn to cope better. You need to try and move on with your life eventually. I'm not saying you should get over the loss — just find ways to manage the grief better."

"So let me fucking forget it," George snaps, finishing the large remainder of his drink. "That's the only way I know."

"Blocking it out isn't healthy," Andrew explains. "Because if you don't take the time to grieve properly, then it'll just continue to spiral as the years go by. You have to face up to it as soon as you can. Trust me. When Nancy's Gran died a few years back, she researched ways to cope with the loss healthily. She's doing great now. And you could be the same."

"Why does nobody listen to me?" George frowns. "People think they know me better than I know myself. I don't need therapy. I don't need healthy coping mechanisms. What I need is to forget about it all."

"That's not the way to do it," Andrew corrects him. "You're not just dealing with your mum's death here. It's the school issue. It's other trauma you've faced. All of it mixed into one. You need to—"

"For fucks' sake, Andrew!" George finally loses his cool, smashing the palm of his hand onto the table as he rises from his seat. Tears form in his eyes from a mix of hurt and anger over everything from tonight and the last couple of months. "I'm so sick to death of no fucker listening to me! I'm done!" He quickly storms towards the main doors of the bar, leaving Andrew sat alone.

"Wait, Yog!" Andrew cries, watching as his friend goes. "Don't run off!"

"Leave me be!" George shouts back, as he makes his exit from the building.

Andrew heaves a defeated sigh, not quite sure what to do with himself next. He takes a moment to think over his possibilities; of course, he could follow after his beloved pal — however, he feels that doing so would only aggravate George even further. His other option — although slightly inconvenient — is to call Levi and ask for help. He decides on this, bringing his phone from his pocket; once he's found Levi's contact, he presses the phone button to start the call.

Levi is quick to pick up. "Hello?"

"Levi?" Andrew sighs. "It's Andrew. I've got a bit of a situation."

"What's happened? Is George alright?"

"Not really." Andrew rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger in contemplation of how to explain the ordeal. "George and I were just talking about everything that's been going on. I think I've triggered something in him. I suggested therapy because of it all, and he's gotten really angry with me and stormed out the bar we're at. He told me not to follow him. But I'm concerned as to what to do. He wouldn't do anything stupid, would he?"

"How long ago did he leave you?"

"About two minutes ago. But that's enough time for him to have gone to the nearest tube station and hopped on a train to any other part of London. I was too stunned to really go after him."

"Fuck," Levi hisses. "He didn't say anything about causing himself any harm, did he? Was he just angry? What happened?"

"Like I said — he told me about everything going on in his head; I suggested therapy and stuff like that; then he just got angry and ran off. He was furious. But he was also on the verge of tears. He'd mentioned the diary entry that you read, about him being suicidal."

"Shit!" Levi gasps. "If he's ran off by himself in London, he could be up to anything. We need to find him to make sure he stays safe. Start looking for him. I'll call my mum over to take care of the kids, and I'll come down too."

"Alright. How long will you be?"

"Give me an hour and a half," Levi answers. "Thanks for letting me know, though. See you in a bit. Call me if you find him."

"Will do," Andrew says. "See you in a bit." He ends the call, tipping back the last bit of his drink before slipping his phone into his back pocket; then, he makes a beeline for the main doors.

The cool night breeze hits him immediately, but the predominant feeling he has in the moment is fear for his buddy. Tinged with this, he also has regret for saying the things he did before George fled.

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Will George be okay? Hope you enjoyed the chapter. xx