The weather isn’t great today, which is hampering our progress. It was raining first thing, which meant we couldn’t lay any bricks. We hung around on-site, making sure all the brickwork was covered, hoping the weather would clear. Which it did, but we only got an hour in before it started raining again.
I hate bitty days like this.
The rain clears after lunch. We put a solid afternoon’s work in, staying late to make up for not being able to do much in the morning.
I’m relieved to see I have a reply from Haru.
Stuff.
Descriptive.
How was work?
Good, once the sun came out. Any replies from your job applications?
Not yet. Maybe Monday.
Fingers and toes crossed.
* * *
When Saturday evening rolls around, nerves are fluttering in my stomach. It’s ridiculous. I’m going to hang out with a friend. Nothing more. I decide to go smart casual with a pair of black chinos, a polo shirt with blue and red horizontal stripes, and a light jacket over the top. Like most of my going-out clothes, the polo shirt pulls tight across my chest. The short sleeves emphasise my biceps.
What am I doing? I’m meant to be hanging out with a friend, not dressing to pull. I debate changing but decide against it. So what if I want to look my best?
I get the bus into town and stroll towards Lower Briggate. It’s amazing how quickly the city centre changes. On one side of the road, there’s a pedestrian zone, tons of shops and department stores, and the flash entrance to Trinity, a collection of shops and restaurants under a glass dome. On the other side of the road is Lower Briggate, which is dominated by queer bars and clubs, restaurants, cafes, the Warhammer shop, and a sex shop. I’ve never been in. If the display of skimpy women’s underwear in the window is anything to go by, I’m not their target audience.
Blayd’s Bar is hidden down a back alley. A blue neon sign points the way through a brick archway. I wait on the main road for Haru while people—mostly guys—wander past me through the archway. My pulse picks up when Haru arrives. He’s wearing jet-black jeans and a leather jacket. He’s styled his hair with gel, giving it beach waves. It makes him look edgier than in the photos he’s sent me.
“Hi.” He tilts his head. His smile is lopsided, nervous, and fucking adorable.
Damn, he is cuter in the flesh than in photos.
“Hey, you.”
What’s the right thing to do at this point? Shake hands? No, that would be too formal. Kiss his cheek? Too friendly. At a loss, I stand awkwardly.
“It’s great to meet you finally.” Haru rolls his eyes. “Again. We’ve already met.”
“Eleven years ago.”
His stare trails down from my head. “You’ve—grown.”
I laugh. “I haven’t got taller, but yeah, I’ve bulked up. It’s all the rugby I play.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You have got taller.”
“I should hope so. I was twelve when you played hero.” He’s still a good six inches shorter than me.
“The bar is down here.” I point at the archway.
He nods and follows me through it. The back alley opens into a courtyard. Two dozen people are outside, drinking from bottles or plastic cups, ignoring the signs on the sandstone walls that say ‘no alcohol allowed outside’. Pride flags hang from the first-floor windows, making the otherwise drab exterior of the bar bright and cheerful.
We go inside into a small, triangular room with a bar, dance floor, and a booth for the DJ. He’s playing chart music from the 2010s.
“If you like crap beer, it’s happy hour until nine. You can get bottles for two pounds.” I have to shout to make myself heard above the music.
