I don't find Michael at the bar so I start my rounds through the tables, ingrained muscle memory from cleaning them for years. What if he saw? How am I gonna explain this to him? Do I–?

Michael waves me over from a booth where his mates have made new friends. Pinning up a smile, I walk over but he gets up before I get close enough to greet any of the others. For a split-second, I expect him to yell at me—rightfully so—but the way he beams proves he's got no clue bout owt between me and Joe.

'Can we go out for a bit?' he asks.

Summat in my chest shrivels at the thought of leaving my mates when I'd planned on spending the night with them but I nod. Probably would be a good idea to cool off; Joe's shampoo smell still weaves around my head.

The October air washes over me in a refreshing wave. I gulp it into my lungs to clear out any hint of Joe before I follow Michael, who continues past the clusters of clubbers having a smoke by the doors.

'So what did ya wanna talk about?'

Michael nestles as close as he can without touching, a single finger trailing along the back of my hand. 'I'd like to kiss you.'

We did kiss after the second date but I have a feeling that this is more than that. The rundown: I have gone on three dates with Michael, now would be fourth if you count it. This isn't casual. He'd've dropped me already if he weren't interested in a relationship or thought Cece were too crazy to deal with.

Reminder: Joe doesn't want a relationship. Joe wants casual sex. That is not a mess I want to get caught up in. Solution: Michael can fuck me hard enough that I'll forget Joe.

'Are you drunk?' I ask.

'No.'

'Okay.'

Neither of us bothers much with acting coy or getting a sense of the terrain—Michael presses me against the wall and I'm palming him through his trousers before we've kissed long enough for me to reach the hint of whiskey under the taste of spearmint chuddy on his tongue. The brick digs into the bare skin of my waist as Micheal claws into my hips.

Waves of jitters crash onto me. Each one nearly knocks my knees from under me, the sensation of being kissed so foreign after my two-year break. When Michael pulls away, he steals my breath.

Lust spills from him as he paws the muscles of my exposed abdomen, left dimple deep in his cheek. 'I've no idea who this Bow is but I've gotta give my compliments to his choice of clothes.'

I'm too out of breath to laugh.

Michael's eyes find mine and I nearly whimper. I've missed the hunger. I know a few years ago, I hated being looked at like this but, fuck, how I've missed the hunger. And if hunger is all I'm able to beget, then at least I'm able to beget it well.

'Let's go home.'

I nod, even though I've left my coat inside along with my wallet and my keys which I didn't wanna risk losing on the dancefloor.

Michael takes my hand, though we're barely a street away before we're kissing again. Eventually we realise that the more time we spend snogging, the longer it will take for us to get somewhere we can shed the constricting layers of clothes between us. So we limit contact to our interlocked fingers.

'Your mates are... not what I expected,' Michael says when the bus stop finally comes into sight. 'I just didn't think get that kind of impression from you. I mean, you're pretty but you're not like that.'

My trainers scuff on the tarmac as I stagger to a halt. The bones of his fingers clash against mine. 'What's that mean?'

He smiles in that way that I've become more than familiar with. It's a look people give each other when they're in on a joke that the target is oblivious to. It's a look people often share around Caleb because they know he's too autistic to realise they're mocking him to his face. It's a look that turns my insides into a root of thorns.

'You know what I mean.'

I know exactly what he means but I blink as if I'm none the wiser.

'Your mates are well gay. It's just a lot.'

A laugh rattles at the back of my mouth. 'What difference does that make to you?'

'Give us all a bad rep, don't they?'

Sighing, Michael shrinks our distance to a mere inch. He brushes my locs over my shoulder, tucking a few behind my ear though they're too thick for more than one to stay. His thumb jams into my knuckles as it roves along the back of my hand.

'Sorry, I didn't wanna make ya upset. Let's just go.' Stepping back, he tugs me along.

But my feet are rooted to the paving stones. 'You realise respectability politics aren't gonna end queerphobia right?'

'You reckon they'll end it by throwing glitter around?'

I shake my hand free and Michael scoffs. A group of Playboy Bunnies queuing outside McTucky's Fried Chicken don't even do us the courtesy of pretending they aren't listening to every word. There's sand in my blood, rough in every artery.

'I didn't think you'd be like this. Your brother's a kid so I get that he's a bit delusional but you're a full-grown adult.'

'What the fuck does that mean?'

Michael's smile stretches across his mouth, dimples reserves for pity. 'Non-binary isn't a real thing.'

'Now you're transphobic too?'

'I'm not transphobic,' he snaps. 'I have complete respect for trans people. But non-binary is some shit gen-z made up yesterday.' Michael steps closer, reaches for my hand but I dodge. He sighs; I'm being dramatic, it's all a big inconvenience to him. 'C'mon, you've gotta admit it's well ridiculous these days. Like if you don't watch RuPaul's Drag Race, you're not gay enough.'

Oh, this has got to be a fucking joke. When did the night go so far off the rails? It was so good a minute ago. I thought I was better at this.

'No one needs you to watch Drag Race. But if you're more concerned with your own comfort than the liberation of the community, then no, you ain't gay enough.'

'Oh, fuck you.'

'No, fuck you.'

I glare at him with as much venom as I can muster. It's easy to gather it—too easy. The canyon doesn't open my chest. The fault line is there, the fault line is always there, but it stays a hairline fracture. I've had my heart broken more times than I can keep track of: I know what it feels like. So where's the ache? There's too much space for anger.

'I think I have feelings for someone else.' I say this to no one in particular, vision out of focus.

Michael's scoff reminds me of his presence. He laughs that of course I do, that's what he gets for dating a pansexual, but I've already turned around and don't look back once. I re-enter the sweat and freedom of Spectrum through the front doors, having left my keys inside.

Why are there so many people? How're you meant to find anyone in this crowd, especially with the strobe lights shaving off most distinguishable features?

'I thought you ditched us to go fuck Michael.' Caleb has appeared at my side, holding a plastic cup of water that seems to have sobered him up a little. Or maybe he has just reached the point of being drunk where you no longer feel drunk.

'We just split.' Correction: 'I mean, we weren't together but we are definitely never getting together.'

'I'm so sorry, Nikki–'

'It's alright. Have ya seen Joe?'

I'm so unsubtle that even Caleb, who is generally not great at understanding implied layers of meaning and definitely not when he's drunk, knows exactly why I'm asking. He taps a finger against his plastic cup. Maybe he reckons I'm moving on too fast (which I am, Michael has probably just got on the bus) or maybe he wants to remind me that I said I wouldn't.

Reluctantly, he points.

I follow the direction and the fault line sends a tremor through my chest. I expect this is how Miss Peppermint felt when Sasha Velour pulled off her wig at the finale lipsync and those godforsaken rose petals rained down. Joe leans against the mural of Justin Fashanu, smiling as she flirts with Mistress Ching.

Notes

Chuddy: Slang for chewing gum.