“Sure.” I smile. “I’m not even going to try and be cool about it. I really want a future with you but if that’s too much of a big step to think about right now…”
“It is and it isn’t.” Dion drops his gaze. “My friend Mari, who works here…The one who took the keys. They think I’m on the aro spectrum. Greyromantic or some shit. AndI’ve never really thought about it much. But now you’re here and I’m feeling things I’ve never felt before. It’s not that I thought something was missing; quite the opposite. My life has always felt full and good. But now…”
“Now?”
“Now, I think somethingwouldbe missing if I didn’t go for coffee with you.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I say, feeling that truth in every cell of my body.
Dion opens his mouth to say something in response to that, but then his lips close again.
“So you still live at home?” I ask, as much to talk about something as anything else but then I realise how it sounds. Like judgement.
“Yeah,” Dion says with the kind of apprehension I would expect.
“That’s nice,” I say quickly.
“You think? Most people think I’m weird.”
I shake my head. “Not me. I was living at home for the last year or so too. And I wouldn’t give that time up for anything.”
Dion studies me for a moment, allowing the gravity of what I just said to land and sit between us. “You know, I used to think it was only because I wanted to be close to help with my dad. He can’t walk for more than a few steps. Now Mum’s pretty much his full-time carer, but she still needs to work too, so I like to give her regular breaks. But I don’t know if that’s the real reason. I think part of it is that my home is a safe place. No matter what was happening out in the real world, I always had that house and my parents to return to.”
“You mean, being trans?”
“Yeah, and Black and queer and covered in ink and just…Just different.”
“I don’t think it’s a bad thing, you having that safe place. That haven. That comfort,” I say, thinking about how so much of my grief is rooted in the fact I don’t really have that anymore.
“I don’t either, but…” Dion pauses and I wait. “My brother and sister both left. Lyla’s down in London now. Working for some big investment bank in the city and making more money than you can imagine. I’ve thought about disowning her but she buys the best Christmas presents now.” Dion’s soft laughter is an invitation for me to join him. “And Devon is just up the road in Bristol. He runs a barber shop and comes home every month to give Dad and me a trim. He’s always there when we need him, if we need anything. What I’m trying to say is, maybe I should think about moving out again.”
“Maybe you should,” I say when other words are climbing up my throat. Words like“Move in with me!”and“My house has plenty of room!”.
“What’s it like teaching at our old school?” Dion asks, and I wonder if he’s doing exactly the same thing I wanted to a moment ago. To just keep talking.
“Weird. But I think I like being a teacher there more than being a student.”
“It’s not like you did badly there. You got good A-Levels and went to your first-choice uni. How was it? University?”
“Good, mostly. I spent a lot of the first and second year still getting to grips with Crohn’s. I had to stop playing football for a while.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. I was already too old to make it big. Now, Iplay for enjoyment. There’s no pressure anymore. I like it better.”
“Maybe I could watch you play, one day,” Dion says quietly, but he may as well have megaphoned the words directly into my ear.
“I’d love that.” I beam at him.
Silence falls, but it’s not awkward. In fact, it’s the opposite, like a deep exhale after holding your breath for too long. Both of us are moving our thumbs, and Dion’s skin is so soft and warm. We listen to Daft Punk and I close my eyes, feeling like I’m time travelling. No, not time travelling but timestraddling. Going back in time at the very same moment when I want to fast forward to the future.
It’s a perfect moment, which is why my stomach decides to growl loudly.
“I should find us some food,” Dion says.
“And we should think about making some kind of bed for us,” I add.
Over the next hour or so, that’s exactly what happens. Dion makes us almond butter and jam sandwiches and we eat them standing up in the staff room, smiling at each other as we chew. We tidy up, drink some water and then move around the studio collecting cushions and blankets wherever we find them. When we locate a large, weighted blanket in Dion’s boss’ room, I know we’re going to sleep just fine. Or I will, at least. If I’m tucked under the same covers as Dion, I know I’ll not be wanting for anything.
