“You aren’t. There are billions of people out there, with every imaginable combination of sexuality and sexual expression. You’re not alone. So what if you don’t quite know what you are yet. If labels are important to you, you’ll figure it out eventually,” he says, and I’m glad he’s not dismissing my need to define myself, even if I can’t vocalise why it’s important to do so.
“But . . . like . . . how am I going to figure out whether I like blokes if I’ve never been with a bloke before?” I lower my voice because it’s fucking embarrassing. “I haven’t even kissed a guy.”
Eggo drops his volume to match mine. “Listen, pard, you don’t need to have shagged every gender to know which ones you like and which ones you don’t. Not boinking a dude doesn’t make you any less queer. But . . . I can help you with one thing on your list.”
He vanishes the last foot of space between us, and two seconds later, he brings his lips down onto mine.
I freeze. Eggo reads my response incorrectly and pulls away.
“Wait,” I say, slipping my fingers into his damp hair and bringing his mouth back to mine.
His lips are cold and boozy and sugary sweet. His beard rubs the bare skin on my chin, and it’s not weird at all. It’s . . . fucking hot actually. I push my tongue into his mouth and stroke it against his, and we both whine in unison before he pushes me back.
“Shit, we have to stop. I’m only wearing pants,” he says. “They’re going to announce the costume prizes soon, and I can’t walk in there with a fucking rager.” It’s a very valid point. He clicks his tongue. “I can’t believe you’d just kiss me like that with no warning.”
I can feel cool air in places I shouldn’t be able to. “My bad,” I whisper, surreptitiously pushing my semi back inside its micro denim hammock so I don’t get arrested for indecent exposure.
Eggo doesn’t notice, or pretends not to. Either way, he hasn’t taken another step away from me. Our knees are still touching. He holds me by the chin and stares at my face for a few moments.
“You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen on any human.” Then he slides his helmet on, adjusts the front of his jocks less covertly than I did, and slips back inside the pub.
And I do that thing they do in rom coms. I sigh and lean my head against the wall.
By the time I’ve rejoined everyone at the party, I’ve completely and eternally forgotten about Gadget’s pelvic muscles and Orlando’s sphincter.
Chapter 10
Finn
Friday 21st November 2025
Megan waits for me on a velvet bucket-style chair in the bar area of the Bath Everyman theatre. There’s a full pint of bitter on the table beside her knees and an almost emptytumbler of rum and Coke next to that. She’s staring down at her phone screen, and she’s frowning.
She never frowns.
I’ve always thought that Megs and I get along so well because we’re both unfrowny people. Our relationship has lasted as long as it has because we’re the type of humans who seek joy in every moment and who smile more often than we frown. Like pigs snuffling for truffles, that’s us. Snuffling around for little moments of happiness.
Life’s too short for scowling, or sulking, or grimacing. There are too many novel, wonderful, exciting, enchanting, and ridiculous things to experience, and how can you ever enjoy them if you spend your days scrunching up your face in distress?
So that makes two of us frowning right now.
Eventually Megan looks up from her phone and glances towards the cinema entrance. She spots me, and her features lift into a smile. Mine stay the same, though I try to straighten my brow.
“What the fuck time d’you call this?” she says with a laugh, getting up from her seat to give me a hug. “The film starts in five minutes. I thought you wanted to get drinks beforehand.”
“Sorry, I . . . the traffic,” I lie pathetically. Can’t tell her I’d been pacing my kitchen for two hours typing and deleting the same text message over and over again.
We need to talk.
“I panicked and already ordered,” she says. “I got you a hot dog and a pint of Guinness, and I just got myself a sundae because I wasn’t feeling anyth—” Megan looks at my face and cuts her sentence short. “Oh my god, what’s wrong?”
I can’t answer. I’m a coward, or I’m blowing this out of proportion. Either way, I’ll find out soon.
“Fuck, babe. What’s happened? Is Logan alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine,” I reply.
“Well, what is it?”
