“I don’t hate Mathias Jones, okay?” He rolls his eyes, but at the same time he’s biting his lip to stop his smile from forming all the way. “He’s just . . . you know, Mathias fucking Jones.”
“I don’t know.” I place my elbows on the table, and rest my chin on my interwoven fingers, presenting Harry with my innocent face. “Please tell me more.” Even though I’m already fairly certain I can make an accurate stab at Harry’s reasoning.
“Shut up!” He kicks me under the breakfast bar. “I don’t hate him . . . that much. It’s just . . . he’s just . . . shit, okay, I’m going to need a few more drinks before I open up.”
“Okay, deal,” I say. “Do you want to gooutout or hang around here?”
Harry side-eyes me. “If we gooutout, it wouldn’t be a date, would it?”
“Of course not. I don’t do dates. Only hookups.”
A smile creeps over his face. “Sure, let’s go out.”
Harry stares at the last forkful of his food. It’s mostly avocado with a tiny bit of toast left. “You know with my no-smell superpower, I think I’d be great at sucking cock and eating ass.”
Now it’s my turn to choke on my saliva. Oh no, wait, there’s some egg in there too.
Harry runs around the table to slap me on the back, shoving all his rugby-honed muscles into it. I’m shunted forwards off my chair.
“Not content with cutting off my oxygen, now you’re trying to yeet me across my kitchen,” I say, but we’re both laughing.
He sits down again and sips his coffee. “I’d really like another shot at last night, if you’re up for it? I mean, not up for it because . . . you know . . . does it even . . .” He shakes his head. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m trying to ask. Uh . . . fuck . . . I’d still like to be friends, so if those two things are mutually exclusive, then . . .”
“You can practise on me,” I say before Harry’s face can turn any redder. “If that’s what you’re getting at? You can practise things with me, though some of them might be a little more difficult.” There are always plastic dicks if my inability to become sexually aroused presents too much of a problem. “We’ll move at your pace. You don’t have to start off by railing me into the mattress. We can work up to that if you like.”
He frowns. His face is still beetroot red. “And you’d be okay with that? Even though you’re not like . . . into it?”
“I don’t hate sex, if that’s what you’re thinking is going through my head. I actually kinda like it most of the time, just . . . in a different way to you.”
“What does that mean?” he asks, his expression blank.
“I’ll tell you after you tell me why you hate Mathias Jones.”
“Fine, deal.” Harry smiles. “Will you teach me? How to do gay things?”
I’m grinning now too, I can’t help it. Harry’s so unsettlingly cute. “Finally, all my hard work and study will pay off.”
14
Friday 9th May 2025
Harry
“So you like this Lincoln guy?” Lando says, in fact yells in my ear since we’re standing in the queue to buy drinks at a very loud bar in central Bath. It’s a gay bar named Penrose, and it’s only the second gay bar I’ve ever been to in my life.
I’ve already drunk my one allotted beer for the night—game on Sunday—so I’ve switched to Diet Coke. Also, because drinking seriously affected my sexual performance last time, I’m staying sober in case another situation with Lando and me should . . . arise tonight.
“Lionel,” I correct. “But yeah.”
“But you’ve never liked any other guys?”
“I mean, sure, in a . . . sexual way, but Ilikethis guy.”
“Oh, youlikelike him,” he says.
I love him, but . . .same difference.
A bloke wearing a Gandalf Big Naturals T-shirt walks past Lando and brushes his arm. Neither of them says anything. They hold eye contact for a second, maybe two, and then he’s gone.
