#which kind of convinces me more that ���in bed” was a flippant joke response to highly personal question

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I found a transcript of the Jan 98 Q interview but it won’t let me post a link

https:// groups.google .com/g/rec.music.beatles/c/7clhNbsz3jE/m/stFmXJnzJSMJ

Maybe see if you can view it by removing the space between google and .com. If not I can screenshot and send you pictures

Oh wow, amazing!! thank you so much! this is an old usenet post from December 1997 and the user named Alison Fiddler kindly typed it up 27 years ago :)

I'll post the full transcript (and a bit reformated for legibility) below the cut for everyone.

Paul McCartney Interview for Q Magazine, January 1998 edition

Q. When you first wrote a song with John Lennon, did you realise you would play one of the biggest parts in rock 'n' roll?

(Michael McConnell, Crawley, West Sussex)

Q. If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?

A. Obviously not. But even with all the so-called "historical" events that followed, you're just too inside it all, too busy doing it to realise anything's "historical". You just get on with it. I'm not a great ponderer. Some people would say that's a mistake but it's just the way I am. It's quite cool not to always get the overall picture because it leaves something to be found out. The musicologists get paid to discover the differences between me and John. I'm only just beginning to see it now, based probably on their analysis. So John is often one note, I'm often more melodic. (McCartney is thinking especially of Ian McDonald's book Revolution in the Head, where he describes the ace partnership in contrasts: Lennon's method is "harmonic, dissonant", McCartney's that of the "natural melodist".) It might sound amazing but we never spotted that when we were writing. We just did our thing. But it is kind of apparent when you bother to analyse it.

(Mark Wilson, Deeside, Flintshire)

A. In bed.

Q. Were you ever envious that Brian Epstein didn't fancy you?

(Nick Gibson, London)

Q. What were the last records you bought?

A. No, I didn't mind. We just used to go to these clubs at night and wonder why there were so many men. It was OK. Brian was very cool about his side to things. I think the nearest any of us got to it was the John-going-to-Spain thing (it inspired the movie, The Hours And The Times) and I'm not sure what the strength of all that was. I think it was power play on John's part. But Brian kept his private life aside. He kept it out of our faces (pause, possibly for effect). He kept it out of mine, anyway.

(Chris Timms, Harrogate)

A. The Prodigy's The Fat Of The Land, Radiohead's OK Computer and Chopin's Nocturnes.

Q. How do you feel about all the animosity between you and Oasis right now?

(Christina Vellano, Syracuse, New York, USA)

A. There is none as far as I'm concerned. What happened was I'd said, Good group, good singer, good songwriters. But people asked me about it so much that one time I decided to take it further and say that they don't mean anything to me. I am not related to Oasis. I wish them good luck and everything. But my kids mean something to me, John Lennon means something to me, but Oasis ....

Q. Who would you pick to play with in your dream six-piece band?

(Alan Thatcher, Essex)

A. Dream? So we're into fantasy, aren't we? Ringo, John, George, that's three. Me. Jimi Hendrix. That makes lots of guitarists, so Little Richard on keyboards.

Q. With Wings, did you feel pressurised to live up to The Beatles?

(Andrew Williams, Neath)

A. Yes, it was a case of "follow that!". Impossible to do. Looking back on it, it's a lot better than I thought, though some of it is just not PLAYED as well as The Beatles. My son (James, co-worker on McCartney's last pop album, Flaming Pie) plays a lot of Wings, so I'm re-listening, and there's good shit that I'd forgotten about. A lot of the lyrics were off the wall, drug stimulated. Things like "Soily - the cat in the satin trousers says its oily". What was I on? I think the answer is stimulants.

Q. Do you still support the legislation of cannabis?

(Grahame Woods, Northwood, Middlesex)

A. I would make a distinction between legalising and decriminalising. I'm in favour of the latter. The problem is that jails are stuffed full of kids doing what a lot of people do. Why stuff the jails with young kids? Plus it's one of the best places to score. I remember when I got busted in Japan, nobody made the slightest effort to rehabilitate me (laughs). Just stuck me in a box for nine days. Obviously you come out and you are fairly resentful.

Q. Do you roll a wicked joint?

(Steve Kline, Bury)

A. I have nothing to say in answer to that question, m'lud. I wasn't even at the venue.

Q. The critics have been harsh on your solo work. Did this ever

discourageyou?

(Robert Hemauer, Madison, Wisconsin, USA)

A. Yeah, sure, but you don't let it kill you. It's a difficult one, because it's never cool for someone to tell you you're shit. Many people through history were damned by the critics of their own time - Cezanne, Van Gogh, Stravinsky, all great painters! Ha ha!

Q. We'd like to see your paintings but can't get to the exhibition in

Germany (McCartney unveils his work for the first time in Siegen, Germany, next year). Any thoughts about putting your paintings on "tour", or publishing a book of them?

(Kathy Goodman, San Diego, CA, USA)

Q. You've done so many things - classical, films, music, art, drugs - is there anything left you might have a go at?

A. A difficult one. If you're a so-called celebrity - like Bowie, Anthony Quinn, Tony Curtis - and you exhibit any art, inevitably, people are not going to think of you as a real painter. Gallery owners come up to me and offer to give me exhibitions. I say, You haven't seen my pictures, and they say, It doesn't matter. Well, it does to me. Otherwise, it's just trading on the name. However, this guy from Germany came over, looked at all my paintings, seems to like them. He's telling me what they're all about.

(Tim Bowler, Swansea)

A. The thing is how reluctant I've often been to have a go. I think we were brought up pretty repressed. Brought up to be seen and not heard, to stay in your place, particularly a working class thing. And I think - I hope - with The Beatles, we got rid of a lot of that. With the painting, for instance, it was Willem de Kooning who liberated me. I used to go to his studio, took in one of my paintings, said, Hey Bill, I hope you don't mind but can you tell me what it is? (Affects American drawl) "Oh, looks "like a couch." Well it looked like a purple mountain to me. And he says, "Well, whatever." Here's one of the greats, his works go for one million, and it was great to see how little bullshit he was bringing to it all. It's really important to explode these myths that surround the arts, music, painting. It's Wizard of Oz time - so many myths, and it's often just a little man behind the screen. The paraphernalia that surrounds them gets in the way. Often you meet leaders in their field and they have none of that. I remember asking a great painter - Peter Blake, maybe - for some advice once, and he said "Just paint a lot". Similar to my approach to music.

Q. How do you know when a song's finished?

(Joyce Slavik, Palatine, Illinois)

A. It's full up. You've answered all of your questions. Normally, I start following a thread: "Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice ... " The thread might come out of nowhere, and I follow it and complete it, like crossword puzzle. When the crossword is full up, the song is finished.

Q. What's more embarrassing: writing Hi Hi Hi or Say Say Say?

(Tien Vu, Costa Mesa, California)

A. (Weighs up pros and cons). Say Say Say.

Q. Why did you give such extensive interviews for an authorised biography (Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now) instead of writing an autobiography?

(Deena Hochberg, Southampton, Pennsylvania)

Q. I'd like to know if Sir Paul sings in the shower, and if so, what does he sing?

A. I don't think I'm a writer. I've never been moved to do it. You have to have a pretty big fire in the belly to do something as big as that. I fancy music more. I'm happier writing in songs rather than in prose, or poetry. Though I wrote something that was never published about the time I got busted in Japan - for my kids. Because I knew one day they'd say, "Hey dad, what was it like, nine days in a Tokyo jail?". So I had a mate of mind, who did all our printing, knock up a few copies, one for each of the kids.

(Jennifer Nash, Bursville, Minnesota)

Q. As a kid you used to play pranks at school by throwing balloons filled with something "worse than water". If you had one of those balloons right now who would you like to hit with it?

A. It's normally the bath. I prefer a good bath. And the answer's Firestarter - "I'm a firestarter, de-de-de-de-dera."

(Brett Yuskiewicz, Leipzig, Germany)

A. Jonathan King. He's a prat from way back.

Q. Which football team did/does each Beatle support?

(WC Chan, Maryland, USA)

A. None of us were big footie types. We weren't very sporty, unlike other groups who were always having knock-arounds. My dad was an Everton fan, which I was most of my life. But then Liverpool started playing well, and Everton didn't, so I took the unprecedented move of supporting them both. It's not allowed, I know, but there you go.

Q. For years, you've claimed it's you in the Walrus costume in the Magical Mystery Tour film. But watching the footage shows that for it to be you, you and John would have had to exchange all your clothes. Are you winding us up, or have you not watched the film in 30 years?

(Dorothy Northcutt, Tucker, Georgia)

Q. What is the quality of each of the other Beatles that you like(d) the best about?

A. The big one. Very good question. I tell you what it was. In the stills we had taken, I was the one with the Walrus head on – in the film it's different. So John then immortalised it in Glass Onion, "I've got news for you all, the walrus was Paul". Obviously at the time you don't care, it's just a Walrus head. You don't realise years later people like our friend from Georgia will analyse it.

(S. Breggles, Richmond)

A. All of them – musical talent. All of them – honesty. Ringo – funny, and kind-hearted. George – straightforward and open. John – witty with a soft centre, or maybe hard with a soft centre.

Q. Do the copulating beetles on the sleeve of Ram (1970) stand for F**k The Beatles?

(Luc Van de Wiele, Wemmel, Belgium)

A. It happened to be a picture Linda had taken. We couldn't resist it just because of the way it looked. She'd caught these two beetles f**king, and then the significance hit us. We saw that pun, yeah, thought why not?

Q. Was there ever a third Lennon song for Anthology 3?

(Jake Lennington, Rush City, MN, USA)

A. There was, but George didn't like it. The Beatles being a democracy, we didn't do it.

Q. I have a Beatles t-shirt which I bought from The Grapes (celebrated Liverpool pub). I was told the band are pictured in their favourite seats - adjacent to the Ladies where you would often catch a glimpse of the girls changing for an evening at The Cavern. True?

(Alan Tomkins, Goring, West Sussex)

A. I hope so. It SOUNDS true. Had there been an opportunity to spot the girls changing, I'm sure we would have sat there.

Q. If you hadn't been a musician, what do you think you would have been?

(Tony Carter, Manchester)

A. The only thing I could have probably qualified for was teaching. So I might have been an English teacher.

Q. Does it do your head in - stuff like the handwritten lyrics to Getting Better selling for $249,000 at Sothebys?

(Peggy Robinson, Trinant, Gwent)

A. It's the price of fame - literally. You scribble them on the back of an envelope, and it gets to be famous. People want it, so it becomes a desirable object. Like Mozart's bog paper, which is another highly desirable object, apparently. More valuable obviously if it's been used.

Q. What is the inscription on the ID bracelet you wear?

(Rachel Hyland, West Harford, Connecticut)

A. It says Paul - for when I forget who I am.

Q. How does it feel to have a star named after you (the christening courtesy of American astronomy fans)?

(John Sales, Barry, Glamorgan)

A. Really cool. The good thing is that as you get on, your fans get on too. And some of them are pretty swotty. Like the people who started Apple, they were just Beatles fans, hence the name. You don't sit around looking at the sky, trying to find it, but it's like getting a very nice birthday present. I'm not religious, I don't believe in any one system - I sort fo think the universe is basically benevolent and we f**k it up - but I am spiritual. I saw Stephen Hawking on TV the other night, and he was saying that we are made of the same stuff as the stars. Which is great. We are all stardust, luv.

Q. What do you want written on your gravestone?

(Tom Mangold, Exeter)

A. Here lies Gracie Fields. Anything to keep people away.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

“Tell the truth,” Billy says, low and intent, and Steve closes his mouth on a flippant response. For a second he feels exposed, pinned down. Not literally (if only), but still. He wants to protest—We don’t do that with this topic, remember? Or We’ve spent the last year being so goddamn careful, what are you doing?—but the rules of this particular game have only ever been unspoken. He glances over and sees Billy’s eyes on him, focused and intense and so, so blue, and he realizes that they’re actually doing this. He feels a surge of adrenaline, and the perverse little thrill that always comes with it (there is definitely something wrong with him). Well fuck, he thinks, here we go.  

Steve's never been sure whether it's a game or not. It was a thing they started doing after Starcourt, a way to push at each other when Billy was in a hospital bed and actual shoving was off the table, maybe. Steve remembers exactly how it started, because of course he does. He was at the hospital almost every day, shuttling Max and some combination of the others back and forth, but it's not like he and Billy actually talked to each other that much. Why would they? The only thing they had in common was mutual animosity, and Steve had kept his distance after he ended up concussed. Steve understood that night at the Byers' house better by then, after they all found out about Neil, but he still wasn't sure where that left them. So he was cautiously friendly, Billy was carefully neutral; they managed to coexist. Sure, sometimes they locked eyes across the hospital room and there was...something? maybe? but one or the other of them always looked away. Steve told himself he was fine with it, and it probably would have gone on like that indefinitely, except, well. Steve was always a sucker for a pair of sad, pretty eyes.

It was an evening like most of the rest of them, and Steve was rounding up Max, El, and Mike to leave the hospital. Max ran back to give Billy another hug, which was a pretty new development, and one that Billy seemed completely unprepared to deal with, which was kind of endearing. Steve ushered the kids out of the room and glanced back briefly with a stupid little wave. He caught the look in Billy's eyes before Billy saw him looking and gave him that ridiculous smirk. Steve rolled his eyes and left, but that expression stayed with him. Billy had looked...lost. Like he was dreading the silence that was going to follow their departure. And Steve was intimately familiar with that feeling.

He dropped the kids off and was headed back to his big empty house, and he couldn't get that damn look out of his head. He tried to convince himself he hadn't really seen it, and then that it wasn't any of his business, and then that he didn't actually owe Billy fucking Hargrove anything, and then he was turning his car around and making a stop before he headed back to the hospital.

Visiting hours were over, obviously, but Steve had talked his way past the nurses before, when Max wanted to stay late sometimes. He didn't have much trouble with it this time either, and it wasn't long before he was slipping back into Billy's room, a paper bag in one hand and a milkshake in the other. He was half-expecting Billy to be asleep, but he turned his head when Steve opened the door. Billy's eyebrows shot up in surprise when no one followed Steve through the door. He turned down the TV and gave Steve a long look.

"What are you doing here, Harrington?" Steve shrugged and dropped the bag on the table next to Billy's bed, dropping into the chair and tilting it back onto two legs.

"Thought you might want something that wasn't hospital food." He nodded toward the bag, and then leaned forward and pulled out his own burger and fries. He shoved the bag toward Billy and took a long sip of his milkshake.

"You brought me food." It wasn't a question. Billy's voice was laced with skepticism, which was fair, actually. They weren't friends. Steve just shrugged again.

"If you don't want it, I'll just eat all of it. I'm starving." Billy stared at him for another long moment and then reached out and pulled the bag toward himself. He quirked an eyebrow at Steve's milkshake.

"I didn't see a second one of those anywhere?" Steve just grinned at him.

"Thanks, Steve, I really appreciate the burger and fries," he said in a ridiculous voice, and then he took a long, obnoxious sip of his milkshake. Billy choked on a french fry, recovered, and snorted a laugh.

"You're a dick," Billy said, and Steve stared at him, mock offended.

"I brought you food! How am I the dick in this scenario?" he demanded. Billy looked at him, expression a little bemused, but he didn't say anything.

Silence fell as they both ate, but it was companionable somehow. Billy turned the TV back up and they watched part of an action movie. Steve leaned his chair back again, propping his feet at the end of Billy's bed just to be irritating. Billy shot him a glare, but didn't kick his feet off the bed. Steve decided to interpret that as gratitude. He hung out for a couple of hours, until they were both yawning.

"Time for me to go," he finally announced, when he could barely keep his eyes open. He stood up and stretched, a little stiff from the chair. "I'll be back with Max and whoever else wants to come tomorrow." Billy didn't say anything, but Steve could feel his eyes on him as he turned and headed for the door.

"Hey Steve?" Billy asked, just before Steve opened the door to leave. Steve could count the number of times Billy Hargrove had called him by his first name on one hand. He turned back to see that Billy had that bemused expression on his face again. "Why did you actually come back here?" he asked. It was a little accusatory, but there was a thread of genuine curiosity in there too. Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Billy cut him off. "Tell the truth," he said quietly, tone stuck somewhere between a command and a request. It was a challenge, but there was an appeal in there too. Steve thought for a long moment and then he shrugged and told the truth. Most of it, anyway. 

"It beats my empty house," he said softly to the floor, and then he looked up and smiled a little bit. "And I thought you might not hate the company." And if that wasn't the entire truth, well, how could he be expected to tell someone else the whole truth when he wasn't sure he understood it himself? Billy nodded slowly, but didn't say anything. Steve waited for a beat, and then he slipped out the door and went home.

Steve was back a few nights later, this time with two enormous Slurpees. His parents had called earlier in the day, which always put him in a bad mood, and he finally decided he couldn't stand the silence anymore. Billy glanced up when he slipped through the door, and Steve could have sworn he caught a ghost of an actual smile before Billy shot him a smirk.

"Did you get lonely again, pretty boy?" Steve scoffed.

"I am, in fact, doing you the favor of keeping you company," he replied, dropping into the chair and setting the drinks on the table. "You can have cherry cola, or...cherry cola," he said, taking one and sipping. Billy watched him for a moment and then reached out and took the other Slurpee. "So what's on tonight?" Steve asked, leaning back in the chair and propping up his feet. Billy let his feet stay where they were and his glare was halfhearted this time. Steve gave himself a point. They watched another movie, horror this time, and talked about nothing much. And that turned into the pattern.

It was a few weeks later when it came up again. Steve had stayed late--it was after midnight--and he was reluctantly dragging himself to his feet. Billy was laughing at him.

"Seriously, Harrington, go home. You really can't find anything better to do than disturb my beauty rest?"

"Shut up, you love it," Steve muttered through a yawn. "Or at the very least, you don't hate it." Right? Steve wondered. Billy snickered again and opened his mouth to say something, but this time Steve stopped him.

"Tell the truth," he said, aiming for the tone Billy had used last time, and landing on something a little more intent than he would have liked. Billy stopped smiling and an expression Steve couldn't identify moved across his face. Steve wanted to take it back, tell him he had been joking, but Billy spoke before he could find the words. He looked away from Steve and then down at his hands. 

"Sometimes I..." he cleared his throat. "Sometimes I think too much when I'm here by myself." His eyes went to Steve's for just a fraction of a second, and then moved away. Steve nodded and turned away, heading for the door. He paused right before he left, but he didn't turn around.

"I hate that," he said to the doorframe, and then he left. 

After that, Steve started coming back more often. They watched movies and TV, and talked about nothing and occasionally something, and it didn't come up often, but it did keep coming up.

"Tell the truth," Billy said one night. "What are you afraid of?" Steve stared at the ceiling and thought about how much truth to tell.

"The dark," he said to the ceiling tiles. "Being alone." He didn't just mean in his empty house. He huffed a little laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Being a disappointment. Not having a future." There was a long pause. That you'll hear the things I don't say, he thought. That you'll never hear the things I don't say.

"Yeah," Billy finally breathed. He didn't look at Steve. "Yeah."  

"Tell the truth," Steve said weeks later. "What do you want, after this?" There was a very long pause.

"I want to get out of this town," Billy said slowly. He was staring at the ceiling this time. "College, maybe? Go somewhere warm. Try to forget," he said with a bitter laugh. The silence stretched out. It felt meaningful, like maybe there was something else coming, but nothing ever did.

"Yeah," said Steve. He tried, but he couldn't keep a thread of wistfulness out of his voice. He went home not long after that. 

Once Billy got out of the hospital, Steve half-expected them to stop hanging out, but they didn't. Billy showed up at Steve's house at random intervals, and they drank beer sometimes and got high sometimes, although Billy's tolerance for both was absolutely nothing at first, to Steve's laughing delight. Steve told the truth to the surface of his backyard pool, and the vast darkness of the quarry, and the stars beyond the tops of the trees at the ends of long, dark roads. He knew better than to look at those pretty eyes when he was trying to be careful. Even so, he started to worry that Billy was eventually going to notice that his silences had a specific shape.

"Tell the truth," Billy reiterated one spring night, well past midnight. He had said it twice, so the question was going to be important. Steve nodded a little drunkenly, listening, his eyes on the trees above them and the sky beyond, but a question didn’t come. Just silence and Billy’s harsh breathing. Steve was about to glance over when Billy finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. 

"Do you think I was already a monster? You know, before?" Steve turned his head to stare, but Billy was facing away from him, looking out at the woods instead.

"No," Steve said simply, but it didn't seem like enough. "I don't think you've ever been a monster," he added, and he had never meant anything more than he meant that. There was no response except for a hitch in Billy’s breathing. Steve watched, but Billy didn’t turn his head. It was possible that his shoulders were shaking, but Steve knew better than to notice.

If it was a game, Billy was much better at it than Steve was. He always managed to get a little bit more truth out of Steve than Steve wanted to give. He couldn't even be mad about it--on the rare occasions that Steve was really honest with himself, he admitted that would be happy to lose every single time as long as they never stopped playing.

Pretty soon, though, it was summer again. Billy had a diploma and a scholarship to UCLA, and Steve was doing his very best to ignore the fact that summer was eventually going to end. If he just never thought about it, he reasoned, then he didn't have to look at how empty his future was about to be. As July turned into August, though, he got worse at not thinking about it. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his laugh turned brittle, and the Party all looked at him with concern in their eyes when they thought he couldn't see, but he didn't know how to keep it together when panic was bubbling up in his chest, just, all the time. 

And now he's at the quarry with Billy, who is leaving for California in two weeks, and Steve hasn't slept for a while, and Billy's question rings in his ears. What do you want, after this? There's an unexpected weight to it because Billy's still looking at him instead of at anything else, gaze intense, waiting. I can't tell the truth to your face, Steve wants to say but doesn't. Instead, he sits up on the hood of the Camaro. He looks out at the quarry. He feels unprepared for whatever this is, but then again, he almost always feels that way. He glances back at Billy again, hoping he's looked away, but he hasn't.

Steve takes a deep breath. Here we go, he thinks, the risk effervescent under his skin. He stares into those pretty ocean eyes (and realizes that they don't look sad at all, haven't for a while now), and he tells the truth. This time, he doesn't leave anything out. 

[youarejesting]

Hope in the Sheets.3

[Masterlist]

Beta: @lunarlxve​ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Reference to a previous sexual encounter, pregnancy, mentions the word abortion. (the doctor just gives the reader a list of options and pamphlets.)

It was no good, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, Hoseok was an integral part of your life. The only time you two spent apart was when you were sleeping and now at work. Maybe this was good, you had needed time to think. With everything that had happened, you found it hard to look at Hoseok the same way. 

Realizing that you loved him didn’t help your situation, if anything, it made it worse, because now you were analyzing every smile he gave to you or others. Hanging onto every word he said as if it was the clue to revealing how he felt about you.

You were having trouble sleeping at night because of all this mental run around, and it was affecting your work life. You happened to catch each other after work, and whilst feeling emotional, you asked him.

“Are we friends?” You played with the hem of your dress and mentally slapped yourself for letting the question slip.

“Of course, we are best friends” Hoseok turned the bus lurching slightly, His firm arms securing you in your seat before you face planted the floor of the bus. He did this quite often knowing your body always relaxed on bus rides, and he had watched you fall one time after work and made it his duty to always catch you. 

 “What’s got you doubting me?” He smiled softly

“I don’t know, I just feel like you’re going to disappear,” it was a flippant way of answering but nonetheless true. 

“Hey, look at me, the only way I would leave you is unwillingly when I die,” he said.  “But even then I will haunt you as a ghost because I can’t let you stumble through life on your own.”

“Who will cuddle you when you feel sick, and who will catch you when you fall asleep on the bus?” He tickled your side and hugged you. “My little darling, I will be here to protect you for as long as this heart beats.”

You had told Hoseok there was so much going on you needed time to process the changes from work and he gave you a little space. For the first three days at least. But then he was back at your door, wanting to have dinner with you and watch Netflix. He claimed he missed his best friend and part of you was offended by the title.

You were being Friendzoned by a guy who also called you his dream girl after your rather spectacular one nightstand together that he doesn’t even remember. You looked at him, he was all dressed up and standing at your doorstep arms wide and an equally wide smile. 

He noticed your sour expression, and his hands dropped concern on his face. You turned away from the door leaving it open, and retreating into the depths of your tiny apartment. He caught the door stepping inside and pressing it shut. “Little Darling, tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing Hobi, everything is okay. Really I just…” You slumped onto the couch, “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do know, and what I know is,” He said, starting his argument strongly. You panicked, thinking maybe he had figured it out. You tensed greatly, ready for the rejection. You weren’t ready, do you deny it or not perhaps you could convince him he was wrong, play it off cool like you don’t remember or something. He was closing in walking closer to you before he fell to his knees.

“Please let’s go to the club, I have to find my dream girl,” he pleaded, hands clasped together. You swatted his hands from your face like you swatted the intimate memories from your mind. 

“Can we just for tonight, not go out, how about pizza and go to bed early? I am so tired.” You sneezed, leaning back over the couch to the kitchen bench to grab a tissue. Your nose was stuffy and had been all day. Hoseok stood up, pulling off his brightly colored jacket and threw it on the arm of the couch.

“You must be getting sick, you keep sneezing,” Hoseok looked you over, placing his hand on your forehead. 

“I think I might be, I just feel so lethargic,” you whined, your body sank into the couch in relief. He doesn’t know yet, should you feel guilty for keeping this from him? Probably, but you didn’t because what he didn’t know kept him in your life.

“Hey, just lay down. I will make some tinned soup for you, we won’t go out tonight,” he hummed, looking at the sick look on your face. He was so worried you hadn’t the heart to tell him that sixty percent of how you felt was anxiety induced. “I would be too worried about you if I did.”

“Thanks, Hobi.” Your smile was genuine as he placed down the bowl of tomato soup, the kind with letters, and he sat with you. The two watched animated movies and laughed at the dumb humor. You were both so immature, but it was blissful, you had no responsibilities except yourselves and work, otherwise, you were happy to rot your brain and do nothing. Hobi carried you to your bed and wrapped you in the blankets.

“Thank you so much Hobi,” You said. You were so grateful to have him in your life. Seriously was your life worth living if your best friend through it all wasn’t beside your side.

“Hey, that’s what best friends are for,” he kissed your forehead telling you to text if you need anything before he went to his apartment next door. 

Needless to say, it was a rough night, you opened the balcony doors to your apartment, letting the gentle evening breeze cool your hot skin. How can someone be so sweaty? Perhaps you were breaking a world record without knowing. 

Hoseok walked with you to the bus stop, on the way through the urban jungle you called home, you passed a coffee shop. One that the two of you would frequent if you were early enough for work. Today however, the smell hit you wrong, and you felt absolutely disgusted walking away quickly. “Do you want a coffee, little darling?”

“No, thanks Hobi the smell is giving me a headache.”

“What about tea or hot chocolate?” You shook your head no. 

“No, I think I won’t today.” You walked to the bus stop and slumped onto the bench, your work uniform was in rain, or shine, the same frilly dress. So when you sat down, your bare thighs were on the cold metal of the bus bench. You launched yourself from the seat, but it was already too late your body reacted, tiny hairs on your arms legs neck raising in protest to the temperature.

You stood, using the wall of the bus stop to protect you from the cool breeze. The early mornings were always chilly, especially since you got up before or with the sun most days. Today was so bitingly cold that your nipples peaked, causing a small amount of pain under your clothes.

“Hey, are you all good? You look hella uncomfortable, like you're taking 3rd-year greek.” Hoseok sipped his coffee and did this thing where he would pout, and contemplate the flavor while the warmth filled his body. You had in fact questioned him one day about this particular habit and that was the only way he could explain it.

He sat down on the bench, and you walked over, and sat on his lap, he laughed placing his hand on the bench beside him. “That will freeze your itty bitty tush off won’t it, my little darling?”

“It’s all good. I have a strong Hobi horse. He has strong legs and lets me sit on his lap.” You smiled, not really wishing to explain what was happening. “On another note, despite your bitter coffee, you smell nice Hobi.” 

You wrapped your arms around him pressing your chest to his in hopes of warming up your chest, and while also resting your head on his shoulder so you could smell his spicy cologne. He must have thought your surprise hug was unexpected because he pinched his neck nervously before laughing, and easing into your familiar hold. 

“Did you book an appointment with the doctor?” You nodded, showing him the confirmation text which seemed to give him some relief. “Just don’t forget to see the doctor this afternoon, making the appointment and showing up, are two different things.”

“Don’t worry, I will remember, you just concentrate on your work.” You watched the bus slow to a stop. 

“Work is so much harder without you.” Hoseok stood up, and the two of you headed onto the bus taking your regular seats. “I miss how easy it felt, and how quickly the time passed when you were by my side making me laugh.”

“Yeah, I miss making dumb jokes during work, it’s hell without you there.”

“Plus, they have me working the haunted house ride, and you know I hate it, even if it is for kids. And I have to see their little faces covered in tears. It’s not a fun job.”

“I am sorry Hobi, maybe we can work together again soon.”

“I have already applied to work with you again, little darling once the trainee is finished learning the basics it will be you and me again,” you laughed at his forward-thinking. You didn’t think to apply now to work together, which would mean once training the new staff, it would take six weeks processing before you could work together. He did it already so when training ended, you would be together again. The bus hit the brakes, and Hoseok threw his arm out pulling you to his chest so you wouldn’t fall. 

You felt your heart racing, your body pressed to his so protectively. “Are you okay?” He straightened you up in your chair. 

“I’m alright, thank you for taking care of me.” He looked you in the eyes searching them,  and you were dazed staring into his eyes. 

You were thankful that yours was the next stop as you stepped out and vomited in the garden. Your stomach had churned from the jarring motion of the bus. 

The day moved slowly, and you found yourself thinking more and more on what could possibly be wrong. Could it be something serious, or even deadly? Whatever it was, it seemed the more you stewed over the issue, the more your anxiety worsened and your symptoms seemed almost stronger. 

You had unfortunately experienced dizzy spells throughout your shift until you had lunch, almost falling on a customer when you had buckled them in. But, you were thankful for a break, where you could sit down and vent while stuffing your face with Johnny in the staff room. 

It had made you feel better to just get out your frustration, and Johnny and Mark, from the burger joint had watched you aggressively devour your lunch. They even gave you some of the side dishes from theirs, claiming that you needed it for your energy. 

“It could be a blood sugar thing,” Johnny smiled, handing you another rolled omelet, “you said you were dizzy, and after eating you feel better.” He hummed, Mark was nodding, pointing at Johnny. 

“He is right, you know,” before pushing your water bottle closer. “Stay hydrated too, water is good.”

“Hey, Mark, Johnny you two are so sweet,” you said, finishing everything they had offered, already feeling much better.. 

“I will give you a lift after work to your appointment,” Johnny said. “Can’t have you roaming the streets. Hoseok would be furious.”

“I might have to take you up on that offer.” You yawned wanting nothing more than to sit all day. 

“Of course, meet me and Johnny at the front gate of the park, and we can cruise down the highway.” Mark grinned pretending to drive and wiggling a little in his seat. Mark finished his last spoonful of yogurt and berries which, you admit, you were particularly envious of. They looked so delicious. 

“I have to go pee before I get back to ride duty,” you said, scurrying away to the bathroom once more. You were sitting in the stall dreading going back to work. You were dreading working the rest of your shift without Hoseok, the one guy who made you happy. Without him, work was so tiresome.

You took a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from vomiting from the sheer anxiety of being away from Hoseok. It was almost unhealthy, the way you needed him to know what happened that night, and how you felt about him.  

There was way too much stress on your body, and you promptly threw up everything you ate for lunch. You cried, not only because you had wasted a really good lunch, but because you felt so alone. It was akin to losing a friend, and he was your only friend, the longest, and closest friend you had.

Sniffing, you wiped your face and blew your nose before heading to the sink to clean up your face, “are you okay?” A woman asked, looking concerned, she was waiting for her daughter to finish in the stall so they could resume their day out at the theme park.

“I’m okay,” you reassured her. “Just a bit sick”

“Have you been drinking?” She eyed you up and down before her beady orbs landed on your name tag.

“God no, I am just dying of some untreatable disease,” You said hoping the judgemental woman would back off, and she was literally stepping away from you. You rolled your eyes walking from the bathroom. and back to work.

After work, you trekked through the park passing the haunted house and almost laughed at Hoseok’s cute pout face. You gave him a big wave, and he beamed waving back. It was so wholesome and made your grueling day worth it.

Mark jogged over with a grin, “Come on Y/n let’s get you to the doctor so you feel all better.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, and you saw Hosoek’s face fall slightly. It was wishful thinking to assume it was because of you, but you knew it was because of the fact you got to go home a little earlier, as the big rides stop a half an hour earlier than the little rides, shops, and stalls.

With a final wave to Hoseok, you blew him a kiss and sent finger hearts across the park, he caught them all acting cute, and making a big heart over his head. You giggled and turned to the side to see Mark waving his free hand and throwing hearts as well, You smacked him in the stomach, and he laughed leading you out.

“You are going to the doctor, and they will make you all fine and dandy.” Mark sang the strange song through the parking lot to Johnny’s Black sedan. “You are going to the doctor and they will make you feel right as rain, You are going to the doctor and they will make you feel…”

“Fit as a fiddle?”

“Oh, you’re fit already,” he winked. causing you to blush and slap his stomach. “I am beginning to think you hate me, you keep hitting me.”

“You are only now realizing?” You joked running to the car, whilst calling shotgun.

“Hey, that is cheating,” he shouted, chasing after you.

Johnny gave you a ride to the little clinic in your neighborhood, Mark was making jokes the whole time from the back seat finding new ways to say that you would be okay. He had used ‘healthy as a horse’, ‘as good as new’, and ‘a picture of good health’. Each one mad Johnny more, and more annoyed, but he didn’t say anything as he saw how happy it made you. Laughing eased your nerves for your checkup. 

“We are here, do you need anything else?” Johnny smiled softly. “We can wait outside in the parking lot if you need.”

“No really, it’s okay, I will be perfectly fine.” You squared your shoulders feeling kind of silly for all this hassle, you felt perfectly fine now, and you thought maybe they would think you were faking it. 

“Thank you for the ride.” You stepped out of the car, grabbing your bags.

“You have our numbers if you need anything,” You shut the door and had gotten only a few steps before Mark leaned out the window shouting “you forgot your jacket.”

Turning back to the car idling in the no standing zone, you saw Mark waving your jacket out the window with enough veracity like he was single-handedly trying to stop a war and your jacket was the purest white flag. You ran back grabbing your jacket, flashing another grateful smile. These were two of the sweetest boys you had met; they had such gentle natures and loved to take care of others even if they were a little clumsy at it.

One final wave, that reminded you of two parents leaving their child at camp. You turned and strode toward the doctor’s clinic, You dogged every single surface and person within the waiting room, you knew multiple people here were carrying some virus you didn’t want.

The oasis, in the desert, was the reception desk, complete with  hand sensor sanitizer that you immediately utilized. “Good afternoon I am here for my appointment, my name is (Full name).”

“Of course, the doctor had some cancelations, so he is running ahead of time, so you shouldn’t be waiting long.”

Standing off to the side, you were thankful for almost immediately hearing your name called by a familiar white coat figure. You chased after the doctor, you had seen him once or twice before for a few common colds, and viruses’ during the flu seasons.

“Well miss y/n, what brings you here today?”

“A few days ago I started feeling off, I had a blocked nose and kept sneezing. Since then I have been dizzy, a little nauseous, sweaty, not to mention the hormones.” You seemed to plateau for a moment before remembering the ordeal earlier in the day, and fueling your confessions to the doctor “and this morning the smell of coffee almost made me vomit, and my boobs were hurting it’s just been these little things piling up, and I know I am probably just making an issue about nothing, but it’s just not my normal, so I thought I would check.”

“Okay well, I would like you to take this,” he said, handing you a cup, “ and pee in it. Bring it back when you’re done, okay?” He smiled and you went to the bathroom where you peed in the container making sure to close the lid, washing and then drying the outside of the jar.

“This is a urinalysis stick test, each little square will react differently, and tell me different things. Glucose, ph, etc, all that in one little test,” he smiled, taking a stick, dipping it into the cup and waited for a moment before extracting and examining the results against the jar with a small smile. “I had a sneaking suspicion this might be the problem.”

“What is it?” it couldn’t be that easy to determine what was wrong could it? He grinned, at you before cleaning everything up. 

“Congratulations, you are pregnant. So, I will refer you to get some blood tests and even an ultrasound,” You felt like you were about to pass out your stomach feeling heavy with this new weight, and responsibility. He just kept talking, and you felt like the room had become so small, sweat dripping down your neck.

“Oh, are you sure?”

“When was the last time you had a period?” He asked, typing away on the computer.

“Um… Let me check.” Your voice cracked, and you knew you were crying as you tried to open the app. “Um...  five weeks ago?”

“Hey, it’s okay. I am here, you are okay. I have time, let's take a deep breath, and talk about everything, okay?” He rubbed your shoulder, and you nodded sniffling, he offered you some tissues and you tried to pull yourself together.

“So, technically that means you are five weeks pregnant, do you know the conception date at all?” He continued typing away on the computer, and he began taking details. He was talking so softly, reassuring you the whole time. “You must be relieved it isn’t something immediately life-threatening. As your doctor, I must educate you on all aspects as well.ere are some brochures on pregnancy, some on adoption and abortion. I am an unbiased figure, and I will stand by you, whatever your decision.”

He must have noticed your discomfort. “Do you have any family or friends you can talk to? I want to know you have support. If not, there are some support groups in the brochures.” You nodded thinking of your family. It had been a long time since you had seen any of them. Even without them, you had Hoseok, you always had Hoseok.

“Well, it seems you have a good support network. Now let me tell you about your options in a little more detail.”

It was an extensive appointment, and you were given a prescription slip for in the event you didn’t want to go through with everything. You would have to go to the pharmacy and have a long conversation with the nurse who worked there, giving them an extensive amount of information before you could get the prescription filled. It was a daunting thought. “I will give you my card. This is my number if you have any questions.”

You placed all the things into your bag, and began walking when you stopped outside Jin’s bar, it was too early and wasn’t open but you thought you would try anyway. Pulling out your phone you texted Seokjin.

[You: Jin are you at the bar at the moment?] [Jin: Yeah I am just setting up for the night.] [You: Can I come in?] [Jin: You are here?] [Jin: Of course.] [Jin: I love visitors.]

The door swung open, and Seokjin poked his head out with a bright grin, He beckoned you inside before shutting the door. You couldn’t help but burst into tears causing him to shriek, and scope you into his arms.

“My Angel, what is wrong?” He was so concerned. He had never seen you like this before.

He was having a hard time deciphering your words through the fierce sobs that racked your body. He sat you on the bar and held your hands. “Breath okay, slow down your breathing, or you will vomit, or pass out okay? ready? together in, two, three, out, two three, in, two, three, four.”

He watched you settle, and hugged you in his arms just holding you.

“Tell me what happened?” He said, softly rubbing your back.

“I went to the doctor.” You looked up at him with misty eyes, and a watery voice.

“Oh god.” A voice said behind you, and you turned to see Jimin running his hand through his hair. His eyes spilling tears at the sight of you. “Do I need a drink? Please don’t tell me you are dying?”

You laughed holding out your arms, “I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

“I am not dying.” You sniffed, rubbing his back, “I am pregnant.”

They froze looking at you waiting for the punchline, but the pause went on for far too long and you all just sort of stood there looking around. They obviously didn’t know what to say, if they should congratulate you, or not. “Wah! it’s so awkward.” Seokjin jerked his neck with an audible aish, making you laugh.

“Do we say congratulations?” Jimin said.

“I don’t know, I haven’t decided what I am going to do. I was going to decide tonight.” you breathed softly hand clasped around the prescription slip in your pocket. 

“Hey, take some time to decide one night isn’t enough, this is a big decision,” Seokjin said.

“I’m scared, I haven’t got a job, no boyfriend or partner, and I live in a run-down rented apartment. My diet consists of chicken nuggets for Christ sake!” You buried your face in your hands. 

“I’m scared, I am not responsible enough for this, and the longer I wait with this thing inside me, I will want to keep it,” you cried again. “Because I already want to keep it.”

“So, take some time, think everything over carefully,” Seokjin said, “I am a good cook, I will make something and drop them around okay? We will work together to get you a better job and apartment. We will make sure everything works out. Or, if you decide now isn’t the right time, we are all by your side and will support you whatever you chose.”

“What did Hoseok say?” Jimin asked, and the guilt set in. The two looked at you expectantly, and you knew it was probably the world’s way of saying ‘TELL HOSEOK EVERYTHING!’.

“I haven’t told him,” you bit your lip, your hand crumpled the prescription papers some more.

“Oh, right cause he is at work?”

“No, Because I don’t know if I want to tell him.” You envied the two who had poured themselves a drink before work, and wished you could quell your anxieties.

“Why not, he is your best friend, you tell each other everything, and he would be the best person to support you.” Seokjin was very logical when it came to serious matters. “I don’t think he would be against it, what is holding you back?”

“He is the father,” you blurted the words out, and Seokjin spat his drink across the bar. 

“He is what now? When did you two become a thing?” He dried himself, and you frowned.

“We aren’t. We just were both blind drunk, remember that night? He doesn’t know we had a one night stand, and I would rather he doesn’t find out.”

“Bit hard when the evidence is cooking in your tummy.” Jimin sighed, “I’m gonna have another drink, do you want…” 

Your glare had cut him off, and he giggled, apologizing. Seokjin poured you an orange juice garnishing it with a straw, and a little umbrella.

You all relaxed for a little bit lost in thought as the boys set up tables, Yoongi arrived and grinned, kissing your cheek. “You starting early, doll face?”

“Nope, it’s juice, turns out you can’t drink when you’re pregnant, who knew?” 

“Yeah, I have heard that.” He froze running back to the bar, “You what, when?”

“You remember the last time they were in?” Jin grinned, prepping a few glasses while Jimin crushed up the ice that sometimes froze over during the day. “Turns out Y/n was having more cocktails then what I was mixing.”

“With who?” Everyone turned to him, and his jaw dropped. “No, You and Hoseok finally made a mixtape.”

“What are these euphemisms? Please none of you have kids.” You sighed, and looked around “If anyone asks the father is… Jimin,” You pointed and he fell to the floor laughing.

“I am famously open to all genders, but I am in a relationship,” He sighed.

“Yoongi?” You pointed, and he laughed. 

“Nah, love, you can’t drag me into this mess.” He turned your finger to Jin, who had his arms crossed. 

“Why am I the last resort?” He asked, offended, and you gave a weak smile. 

“Because... it is so unbelievable that you would spend a night with me?” The way your voice rose in pitch didn’t go unnoticed. 

“One, don’t like how that was posed like a question,” his mock tone of annoyance made you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Two, of course, I would. Kim Seokjin doesn’t discriminate love is love, and I got a lot to share around.” 

“It’s true, that guy really makes you feel loved,” Yoongi hummed, as Seokjin blew him a kiss. 

“Please, while I figure everything out? Please just pretend to be my baby daddy, it’s just if Hoseok asks, or one of you let it slip,” you pleaded. 

“Alright, but if I am playing baby daddy, I’m going to treat this as if it’s real, I am going to be supportive.” He sighed, placing his hands on the bar, and leaning over you. 

“If Hoseok thinks it was me, and I am not around to take care of you, he will beat my ass, so prepare to get fat. I am going to keep you fed until you can decide what you want to do.”

“Man after my own heart,” Yoongi grinned, placing his hand on your back. “You’re going to be a thick baby momma.”

“Aww cute,” Jimin made grabby hands to hug you, and you let him, relishing in the support of your wacky friends. 

Tags: @brbkpop​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @munchyn​ @unadulteratedlyunique​ @jinhitwhore​

How can I save this to receive and read updates?

‘Follow’ and turn on ‘Notifications’ so you never miss an update

Add your name to a ‘Tag’ list [HERE]

‘Reblog’ this post with the hashtag #J-HITS (J-Hope in the sheets)

Or you can ‘Like’ this post (but good luck trying to find it a week later, we both know how many things you like a day, perhaps we will meet again in the future.)

[brooklynfireproof]

Eliza Hittman’s New Film “Beach Rats” Premieres at Sundance Film Festival This Month With Scenes Shot In The Seltzer Room Studios!

Progress—be it economic or social—is always uneven. A microcosm of this harsh truth is Brooklyn, a borough that commands some of the highest real estate prices in the city of New York, but where two out of five households fall below the minimum income for self-sufficiency. Eliza Hittman’s Beach Rats touches on this inequality by virtue of its location (Gerritsen Beach, a neighborhood in far South Brooklyn so far untouched by developers) and protagonist, a young adult who has extremely limited prospects in life or love.

At first blush, Frankie (wide-eyed newcomer Harris Dickinson) seems to be a typical beach rat: unemployed, blonde, and buff. He spends most of his time getting high with friends and wandering around Jacob Riis Park, but there’s an undercurrent of insecurity and unhappiness that his swagger can’t hide. Frankie’s father is dying (which provides him with a steady supply of painkillers), and at night he frequents a ChatRoulette-like gay cruising site. Over the course of the summer, he attempts a relationship with cute and confident Simone (a sharp Madeline Weinstein), but also becomes more confident about meeting up with guys. Eventually, his private desires and daytime friends meet in a harrowing seaside confrontation.

Like her previous feature, It Felt Like Love (2013), Hittman’s camera hones in on these youthful bodies, intimately documenting their moments of uncertainty and states of becoming. Film Comment Digital Editor Violet Lucca spoke with Hittman about fashioning this slight but powerful narrative last week in a coffee shop in (gentrified) South Williamsburg.

What was the genesis of the story? Did you talk to men about their sexuality and coming of age? How did it begin?

I was struggling after It Felt Like Love for a couple of years to figure out what exactly the film world was expecting me to make next. And I was very lost in trying to navigate both the industry and how to have a career and all of those things. So I decided not to think about any of those things and just go back and do what I had done before, but on a broader canvas. There were a couple of moments that I took note of while I was shooting It Felt Like Love. We were shooting along the water and we noticed that there was still a lot of cruising happening, and that was one thing I filed away in my mind. I cast a couple of kids from Gerritsen Beach, Brooklyn, and those boys are called “beach rats,” and I took note of that being a good title for something. When I got to Sundance in 2013, I started pitching another movie with the title Beach Rats that was about these guys. Throughout It Felt Like Love I did a lot of looking through Facebook pages and appropriating images, and I found one image that became the generative image for the film.

I was also thinking a lot about the guys from It Felt Like Love and how isolated they are class-wise and how those neighborhoods have a long history of violence that erupts when you introduce any otherness into an isolated group. They’re very far from the subway and they don’t have a lot of opportunity. Those were the things circulating in my mind when I started writing the film. I wanted to explore male sexuality as a kind of a companion—even though I have been told not to call it a companion to It Felt Like Love—but the characters are very similar to me. They’re both trying to conform to expectations around them even though they don’t quite fit into their worlds.

You really nailed that feeling of deep, deep South Brooklyn, and also the widespread use of Oxycontin and painkillers, which nobody really talks about.

I was aware of it also because some of the kids in It Felt Like Love had big meth problems. There was a kid in It Felt Like Love that was a hip hop artist named Nyck Caution and a lot of the music that he was writing was about how all of his friends had become heavily addicted to pills. I think that all those issues go hand-in-hand—isolation, no opportunities, drugs, and what it means to contend with identity issues in that world.

It shows the paradox of modern life where everyone is super-connected all the time because of smartphones and the Internet—anytime he wants he can dial up a guy for marijuana—

—It’s all just for drugs!

But also sealing yourself away and taking pills to a point where you can’t even articulate anything.

And the general inarticulateness of guys that age especially when dealing with things that they don’t know how to process, and then it kind of implodes and explodes. It will create a disastrous event either for them or for somebody else.

Male sexual awakening is taken for granted in film. Guys are made to seem like they were born horny, or it’s just treated as setups for jokes. Did you talk to men about their experiences or were you transposing your own experience onto this?

I took a lot of experiences I had with vulnerable men and learning how they cope with their own fragility in bed, and wrote from my own experiences. It was hard, at first, wondering, “Can I tell this story?” And then I thought about how so many of my favorite films about female sexuality have been written by men. So I gave myself permission to try. Beach Rats is not a coming-of-age story or a coming-out story. I think about it as coming to consciousness about who you are, which can be a painful process for people.

There’s been a lot of discussion about Moonlight representing—I don’t even want to call it a “coming-out story”—

It’s not a coming-out story. He never comes out.

Right! But Moonlight has been criticized for not being explicit enough in terms of representing sex.

As a filmmaker, I wish I could be more explicit, but it’s just so impossible in this country.

For ratings reasons?

For ratings reasons, casting purposes. In films like Stranger by the Lake they use body doubles, and it was a lot to ask from the financing company. I knew that I wanted to attempt to normalize male nudity in the film without being overtly provocative, but I knew there was a line that I couldn’t cross.

With It Felt Like Love, your lead actress flagged things in the script that she didn’t feel comfortable with. Can you talk about working with non-actors again, and if you went through a similar negotiation?

I didn’t. At first when the casting director and I started sending the script out, I got very negative responses from agents who were very flippant, and saying, “All this male nudity and gay sex!” It wasn’t something they wanted their clients to go up for, so I wasn’t drawing from a huge pool of actors. Harris Dickinson, who plays the lead role, actually sort of snuck into the mix of casting tapes from an L.A. office and I didn’t know he was actually U.K.-based. He sort of tricked us. He was 100 percent committed from the beginning and had zero questions about that stuff. He had watched my other film and knew it would be handled sensitively and delicately and he knew the crew was going to be small, so we didn’t have the same dialogue. He was a bit older too—he was 19. He was very brave and very committed and knew what he had signed up for and there was no backpedaling.

Do you feel that it is important to push that line of explicitness or showing things that aren’t often shown?

I do. I really liked Love, the Gaspar Noé film, because I thought the sex was staged so beautifully and it was very balletic. I am intrigued with films that push those boundaries. But it’s hard to do that as a filmmaker here. You will always be battling and you always have to choose your battles, and it’s hard enough to get your movie made in the first place!

I was surprised to find out that Harris is from the U.K.

He’s from a similar area in London. Along the water in Gerritsen Beach it’s a mix of Irish and Italian-American and Russian and Albanian and Central Asian, so he blended in a convincing way, I hope. He understood the world without having been there at first.

It is such seamless casting, even though he’s got such Anglo features. It feels like he has to be from there, like a blonde Sicilian or something.

“He’s Irish-American!” was our justification.

The storyline with his terminally ill father, is that based on your own experiences with your mother being ill when you were in high school?

For me I have always associated adolescence with being surrounded by illness. And I was also thinking a little about The Stranger and the narrative of someone who loses a parent and does something unforgivable without being able to justify or process it.

-- Read the full interview here