Half Jack - 1. Half Jack

‘Whoa! Is that a guy or a girl?’

Nathan looks up in the direction Gareth is nodding. ‘Who, Sam? He’s a guy, of course!’

‘Are you sure?’ asks Tom, narrowing his eyes. ‘He’s awfully pretty. If that’s a guy, I may have to switch to your team.’

Nathan slaps Tom playfully upside the head. ‘Back off, you,’ he says. ‘If he’s gay, he’s mine.’ And I’m pretty sure he’s gay.

Sam has seen them now, and gives Nathan a wave before jogging across the square towards them. He comes to a halt, auburn hair messy and pale blue eyes wide. ‘Hey, Nate,’ he says. His high voice is oddly rich in quality. ‘Er, have you got a moment later? I was wonderin’ if you could look over my paper. I’m no’ terribly confident in my writing . . .’

‘Sure. Bring your laptop down to the library later. I’ll give it a read and check for mistakes.’ Nathan smiles.

‘Oh, er, I haven’t got a laptop. I’ve been writin’ it on the computers in the library. Got it on a memory stick.’

‘Right. Bring that, then.’ Nathan glances at his watch. ‘I’ve got a lecture now, but are you free at four?’

‘Oh, aye, that’ll work.’ Sam smiles shyly. ‘See you in the library, then.’ He trots off the way he came.

‘Don’t get a lot of Scots down here,’ says Gareth. ‘Don’t they all hate England or something?’

Nathan shrugs. ‘Not Sam. He told me he couldn’t get out of Glasgow fast enough.’

‘I get that he’s a boy now that I’ve seen him up close,’ Tom remarks. ‘You can have him.’

Nathan laughs and claps a hand to Tom’s shoulder. ‘Ta. That’s gracious of you, mate. Bless you for ever thinking you were competition, though.’

* * *

Nathan reads through the paper once. Then he reads through it again, fixing typos and correcting punctuation as he goes. For the most part, it’s well written.

‘Not half bad, this,’ he remarks when he’s finished. ‘You’ve even managed to get me to give a shit about renaissance era painters, which is no mean feat, I’ll have you know.’

Sam grins. ‘Really? You really think it’s good?’

‘Yeah! You’ll nail this, no problem. Well, the writing part, anyway. I don’t know much about art.’ Nathan checks his watch. It’s half four. ‘Hey, I’m meeting some friends for drinks, down at The Wharf. Wanna come?’

‘Yeah, why no’?’ Sam smiles, and that smile nearly melts Nathan. ‘Just let me drop my things in my room, eh?’

The walk down to The Wharf takes about twenty minutes, but it’s a nice day in spite of October coming to a close. When they get there, Nathan’s friends are sitting outside.

‘Nate!’ Jessica calls, waving flamboyantly. ‘You’re here! And look, you’ve brought a virgin sacrifice! Come, darling, you must sit next to me!’

Jessica has short but fashionable blonde hair and is, for lack of a better word, voluptuous. She is the sort of girl that straight men frequently drool after, as she wears low-cut tops and high-heeled boots that make her legs look amazing, but they are frequently disappointed. There are already three empty glasses with red lipstick traces in front of her which, judging by the slices of lemon, most likely formerly contained gin & tonics.

‘Oh, look at him!’ she gushes as Sam sits down next to her just as she commanded, looking rather red in the face. ‘You’re simply divine! If you were a girl I’d be all over you, really.’

‘Jessie, you’re scaring the boy,’ says Christie, her girlfriend, and pats her hand. ‘Leave the poor thing alone.’

‘Right, introductions,’ says Nathan, sidling in next to Sam. ‘This is Jessica and Christie, our stereotype-breaking lesbians.’

‘Oh, Nathan, you’re too sweet,’ says Jessica, waving her hand.

‘Tom and Gareth you may have briefly noticed earlier, they study English Lit with me, so we’re all gonna end up unemployed,’ Nathan continues. Tom and Gareth wave at Sam. ‘And where’s Rob? Isn’t he coming?’

‘He’s at the bar, flirting. Should be back in a minute,’ Gareth informs him.

‘Right. Well, everyone, this is Sam. He’s a fresher and studies art. I helped him find his way around campus on his first day.’

‘I thought you must be,’ says Jessica importantly. ‘A fresher, not an art student. You never know, with your style in clothing you could just as easily be taking music or drama.’

‘Honestly, Sam, ignore Jess,’ says Christie. ‘We all do.’

As if to punish her, Jessica presses her red lips to the skin just below Christie’s ear, and Christie seems to melt just a little bit before she starts giggling.

Nathan shakes his head. Sam looks positively bewildered. ‘What are you having, Sam?’ Nathan asks him softly.

‘Eh? Oh, I don’t mind. What do you usually drink around here?’

Nathan shrugs. ‘I generally just get a lager.’

Sam appears to recoil in horror. ‘Och, for shame! Lager? Must be some local ales or something around here, surely?’

Nathan laughs. ‘I’ll see what I can do, m’lord.’

He picks out an IPA that seems sufficiently malty and hoppy, and buys a Heineken for himself. When he gets back to the table, Rob has also returned, with a bottle of Newcastle, and has engaged Sam in conversation. Nathan sets down the ale before Sam and resumes his seat.

Sam takes a sip of his drink, and his eyes close in apparent bliss. ‘Mm, good choice,’ he says. ‘Have a taste? We need to teach you to drink proper alcohol instead of this pish.’ He nudges the pint of Heineken.

Nathan takes a sip of the ale. It’s bitter and quite sweet, and very aromatic. Not as bad as he expected, all told.

Rob laughs. ‘That’s a dangerous proposal, coming from a Scotsman. He’ll drink you under the table if you try to match his pace, Nate.’

‘Oh, don’t let the accent and the national stereotypes fool you,’ says Sam, taking his glass back. ‘I’m a fucking lightweight. Can’ take more than a wean most days. No’ unless I’ve had a proper pub meal, and do I look like I eat many of them?’ He laughs.

This is the chattiest Nathan’s seen him since they met. National stereotypes aside, the pub seems to be Sam’s natural habitat. Soon he’s talking to everyone, telling tall tales, and laughs louder than anyone at Jessica’s sordid tales of men in bars who buy her drinks and try to hit on her only to be let down when she leaves with some gorgeous girl.

When it gets dark they abandon smoking in favour of warmth and move inside the pub. Five hours later, Jessica has overestimated her alcohol tolerance, and is carried home by a very patient Christie, who tells Sam it was lovely to meet him and that he should come out with them again. After that, the guys start excusing themselves one at a time, until only Sam and Nathan remain. In spite of his assurance that he’s a lightweight, Sam is still relatively steady on his feet when he makes his way over to the bar and orders two whiskies ‘and none of that Irish shite, either’. At this point, Nathan is already drunk enough to forget that he doesn’t really like whisky and downs the whole thing in one. Sam laughs at the face he makes.

‘Oh, bless! Pare wee English boy cannae hold his whisky!’ His Glaswegian accent’s been getting broader as he’s been getting drunker. He drinks his whisky. ‘Best get ya home, ye wee cunt.’ He smiles, and kisses Nathan on the cheek. Then he pulls him to his feet, and they both wave a hearty goodbye to the bartender on their way out the door.

Sam stumbles and Nathan catches him by the arm.

‘Whoa!’ Sam tries to retain his balance, and then stands there swaying for a few moments. ‘Christ . . . I didnae realise I wis this pished!’

Nathan laughs. ‘Who can’t hold his whisky now, eh?’ He puts his arm around Sam’s waist for support. The boy is so skinny. Nathan feels himself blush. Skinny little guys who don’t make a big deal of their appearance. That’s just the sort of boy he likes.

‘Get tae fuck! It wisnae the whisky that wis the problem!’ Sam protests. ‘It wis all the beer tha’ came before it.’

The walk back towards campus takes much longer than the walk to town, possibly because neither of them can walk straight, and possibly also because Nathan keeps getting distracted by being so close to Sam, whom he’s getting an increasingly overwhelming urge to kiss.

When they’re about halfway, Sam stops and turns to Nathan, narrowing his eyes. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he says. ‘You don’t live on campus. Are you kidnappin’ me?’

Nathan snorts. ‘I’m walking you home, you dolt!’

‘I am perfectly capala—capa—capable of walking myself home!’ Sam insists loudly. ‘Where d’you live, anyway?’

‘Just down that road,’ says Nathan, pointing.

‘Well, then. We should part ways here.’ Sam throws his arms around Nathan’s neck and hugs him. ‘Nighty night.’

‘All right,’ says Nathan. ‘I’ll let you go, but I need to do something first.’ And then he kisses Sam on the lips.

Sam tastes of beer and whisky and smells like autumn leaves and booze, and he returns Nathan’s kiss lazily. When they pull away from each other, Sam licks his lips and then releases a surprisingly girlish giggle, before he turns around and walks away down the street. ‘See you tomorrow, Nathan!’ he calls over his shoulder before disappearing around a corner.

 * * *

In spite of his hangover, Nathan has a spring in his step the next day. He kissed Sam, and Sam kissed him back. He hopes to fuck that Sam remembers, and that he doesn’t regret it, but if he’s been reading the signals right, then Sam is just as into him as he is into Sam.

He finds him a few minutes after lunch, sitting in the grass outside the Student Village, sketching. He looks pretty rough. His hair is messy and he has deep bags under his eyes. Nathan sits down next to him and he looks up.

‘Hey,’ says Nathan.

‘Hey,’ Sam responds and tries to smile, though it looks more like a grimace.

‘You look like shit,’ Nathan observes.

‘Cheers. You too.’

‘Listen . . . About last night—’

Sam turns his eyes sharply back to his sketchpad. ‘We should forget about last night,’ he says softly.

‘What? Why?’ Nathan asks in alarm. Could he have read the signals so wrong? ‘Don’t you—don’t you like guys?’

Sam raises his eyebrows and draws a long, curved line. ‘No, I do. I definitely do that . . .’

‘Don’t you like me?’

Sam looks at him again, and his expression is distraught and sad. ‘I do like you. Honestly, I do. I just . . . There are things. There’s just all this shite that I haven’t told you and that I can’ tell you, and nothing good can come of taking this any further, so we should just drop it. Okay?’

‘No, that’s not okay!’ Nathan is struggling to keep his voice down. ‘What is this, a soap opera? What “things you can’t tell me”? What sort of bollocks is that? If I like you and you like me, isn’t that enough?’

Sam closes his sketchpad and gets to his feet. ‘I’m sorry, all right?’ he says, and he walks away.

‘Sam! Sam, wait!’ Nathan calls, but Sam just keeps walking.

 * * *

‘Sam! Sam, wait!’ Bran called, and Sam could hear his approaching footsteps, and sped up.

‘Go home, Bran!’ Sam called back. ‘I’m doin’ this, okay?’

‘Just hang on!’ He was coming closer, even as he was getting winded. ‘What d’you wanna go to England for? You’ve go’ one of the best art schools in the world right here in Glasgow, haven’ you?’

‘I don’ care!’ Sam replied. ‘I need to get as far away from here as possible.’

‘Oh, come on, lass, just wait up—’

Sam stopped dead and spun round to face him. ‘I am no’ your lass, all right?’

The look on Bran’s face was heartbreaking. He’d been pining for Sam for years. When Sam had finally given in and agreed to go out with him, he had said it was the best moment of his life. Now he stood there, like a bairn without its mother, wide, blue eyes swimming with confusion and disappointment.

‘How can you say that?’ he whispered. ‘Don’ you see? I love you. I want to marry you! Samantha . . .’

Sam rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, don’t be such a jessie twat!’ She sighed. ‘Look, I’ve got a train to catch, all right? Just—just go home, Bran. It’ll be easier on both of us.’

‘All right, I’ll go. Tell me why you have to leave, and I’ll go.’ Bran crossed his arms and stared at her. ‘Well?’

Sam looked away. ‘I cannae be myself here. The person that you think you know, Bran . . . She doesnae exist, right? You don’t love me, because you don’t really know me. No one does. So I have to get as far away from here as possible, because I cannae figure out who I’m really supposed to be as long as I’m here. Right?’

Bran nodded slowly. ‘Right. Well, do what you have to do, I suppose. But I’ll be waiting.’

‘No, you won’t, Bran.’

* * *

‘Sam Ewing.’

‘Have you enrolled online?’ asked the sweet, blonde Welsh girl at the here-to-help counter.

‘Er, no. I wasn’t given a password or anythin’.’

‘All right, well let me look you up, then . . . Ewing . . .’ She typed the name into her computer, studied the screen and looked up at Sam in surprise. ‘Samantha?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Er, just Sam, if you don’t mind . . . I sent a notice with my application that I’d prefer to be referred to by the male pronoun?’

‘Right.’ The girl had a pained expression. ‘Well, that should be fine . . . Have you got a photo for your student ID?’

‘Er, yes, hang on . . .’ Sam dug through her bag and pulled out an envelope with four photos she’d taken in a booth that morning. ‘There. Er, do you think you can put just “Sam” on the student ID?’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ said the girl sweetly. ‘Sorry about the cock-up, it’s a bit stressful in here today. Fill this out, and I’ll get you your keys.’ She handed Sam a form and bustled off. When she returned, Sam had finished filling out the form, and the girl gave her an electronic key fob that would unlock both the entrance to her block and her corridor, and a key to her room. ‘That should be it,’ she said. ‘I’ll get someone who can help you find your way, all right? Nathan!’ she called.

A tall, blonde boy with green eyes and a tan sauntered over. ‘Yeah?’ He wore a short-sleeved button down that showed off muscular arms. Sam thought he was the most gorgeous boy she’d ever seen.

‘This is Sam, he’s moving into block D in the Student Village. Would you mind showing him the way?’

‘No problem!’ Nathan smiled.

‘If there’s anything you need,’ the girl raised both eyebrows in a meaningful gesture, ‘we’re here to help, all right?’

‘Cheers,’ said Sam, smiling as best she could.

‘Let me help you with that,’ said Nathan, picking up her suitcase.

‘Oh, it, er, it has wheels,’ said Sam, sheepishly, and Nathan laughed.

‘Course it does. I’m a twat.’

Nathan pulled the suitcase after him, and Sam fell into step beside him.

‘So, Sam, was it?’

‘Mhm.’

‘You’re Scottish?’

‘Aye. I’m from Glasgow.’

‘Cool.’ Nathan grinned. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Scotland. Had a mate who moved to Edinburgh a couple of years back. Always meant to visit, but then he always kept coming down here. So, why’d you come here?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Didn’t fancy Scotland anymore. My family . . . Well, they’re a bit Catholic. Not that there’s anything wrong with being Catholic, just . . . They wouldn’t really let me be who I wanted to be. So I ran away.’ She grinned. ‘Sounds dramatic when I say it like that, eh?’

Nathan laughed, and Sam fell in love then and there. ‘No, I get it. Half the fun of going to uni is getting away from your family, anyway. What are you studying?’

‘Art.’

‘Cool. I’m doing English Lit. It’s good fun. I lived in Halls last year, but now I’m in a house share with some mates. Halls is great fun, though. Fresher’s week will be brilliant. Just be careful you don’t wake up in a ditch somewhere. I made that mistake.’

Sam laughed.

‘Oi, Nate!’ someone called. ‘No flirting with the freshers, yeah?’

‘Sod off, mate!’ Nathan replied amicably with a little wave. ‘You’ll like it here,’ he said, turning his attention to Sam. ‘The Student Union stands pretty strong, and there are lots of student groups that you can join, political stuff, LGBTQ, book clubs, all sorts. And all the staff are good people, from the security guys at reception to the dinner ladies. And the café serves beer, which is always a plus. This is you.’

Sam got to practice opening the door with the key fob, and they started off up the stairs.

‘Sounds like I’ll have the time of my life, then,’ said Sam. ‘Will I see you around at all?’ No, Sam, do not flirt with this guy, you cannae even explain your gender identity to yourself!

‘Oh, I’m always around,’ said Nathan with a grin. ‘This is your corridor. What room are you?’

‘Er, 108.’

‘That’ll be just inside, then. I should get back, there will be other freshers needing a hand. If there’s anything you need, just go down to here-to-help. Actually . . .’ Nathan stuck his hands in his pockets and produced a small note pad and a pen. ‘Here’s my number,’ he said, scribbling down eleven digits and tearing the piece of paper from the pad. ‘If you find everything confusing, or if you get lost on a pub-crawl, just call. I hardly ever sleep, anyway.’ He smiled, shook Sam’s hand, and vanished down the stairs.

* * *

Sam is standing in the middle of her room, shaking. This is exactly what wasn’t supposed to happen. No flirting. No falling in love. She came here to figure things out, to live as a boy so she could find out what the hell kind of gender identity she really has. What pronoun she should ultimately use. Whether hormone replacement therapy is even something she should consider. And she is no nearer to finding the answer to that now than she was when she got here.

Nathan is gay. That much she’s suspected from the moment she saw him, and had more or less confirmed during fresher’s week, when he went through snogging half a dozen surprised looking guys in the space of ten minutes one night. Nathan likes cock.

Sam doesn’t have one of those. She doesn’t know if she ever will, and even then it will be after years of HRT and she’ll have the choice between an inflatable one that she’ll have to pump up if she wants to have sex, and one fashioned from her engorged clitoris that’ll never be bigger than a couple of inches even when erect. Either way, things between her and Nathan will never work.

The thought makes her feel slightly sick, and in defeat she sits down on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands.

There’s a knock on her door, and somehow she knows it’s Nathan even before he speaks, even though she doesn’t know how the wee gobshite managed to get in.

‘Sam,’ comes his muffled voice. ‘Please let me in.’

‘It’d really be better if you just fucked off,’ Sam says desperately.

‘Look, whatever it is you’re going through, whatever it is that you can’t tell me . . . Even if we can’t be together, I still want to be your friend, all right? I want to help you.’

Sam sighs heavily. Then she stands up and unlocks the door. ‘Come in,’ she says softly.

He does, and the moment he sees her and the defeated look on her face he puts his arms around her and hugs her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I won’t push anything, I promise. Just, please, tell me what’s wrong.’

Sam sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. Nathan sits down too, and looks at her expectantly.

‘You’re gay, right?’ Sam begins.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you couldn’t ever see yourself with a girl.’

‘Well, no, probably not. That’s sort of what gay means.’

Sam nods, and before she can stop it or control herself, she’s crying. She tries to hide her face in her hands, because up until this moment she has dared to somehow hope.

Nathan strokes her back gently. ‘Hey! Hey . . . What’s—’ And then he breaks off, and she knows he’s figured it out.

She tries to gather herself, and then she straightens her back and looks at him. ‘I don’t know what my gender identity is supposed to be,’ she says softly. ‘When I was a kid, I was just a normal kid. But then, when I hit puberty, it was like, I didnae understand what was going on with my body. I didnae get why I was developing the way I was developing, and it all felt so alien. But I did what I was meant to do, dressed the way I was supposed to, and I was who everyone expected me to be. Until now. I was going away to university, and I realised that if I went far away from my family, far from everyone who knew me, I could be whomever I wanted to be. So that’s what I did.’

Nathan looks at her, his expression unreadable. He swallows. ‘So . . . You’re a girl?’

‘No. Well, I mean, physically, yes.’ Sam feels the tears coming again, and brushes them away angrily. ‘Some days I don’t really mind. And then some days, I just know that this isn’t what I was meant to be, and I hate myself and my body and my . . . my breasts, that are just in the fucking way all the time and this stupid cunt that’s always . . . every time I see . . .’ She trails off, looking away from him.

‘Do you . . . I mean, are you gonna have a sex change?’ he asks tentatively.

‘I dunno.’ Sam shakes her head. ‘I haven’ even seen a doctor yet. I just wanted to . . . to try, you know? To see what it was like. And it’s been wonderful!’ She looks at Nathan again. ‘I’ve felt secure and certain and happy and like I belong, and I’ve never felt that way before. I feel that way until I get back to my room at night and I peel off all the layers and I’m the same old me . . .’ She sighs. ‘This wasn’ supposed to happen. I wasn’ supposed to meet someone I liked and I certainly wasn’ supposed to meet someone who liked me back.’

Nathan nods, slowly, and says nothing.

‘You should go,’ says Sam. ‘Just, please, don’t say anything to anyone. I need to have this, if I’m gonna be able to . . . I need to know.’

‘Of course.’ Nathan stands up, and she can see in his eyes that he’s freaked out and that he thinks this is fucked up, and she knows that it’s all over. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I’ll see you around, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

And then he leaves, and Sam is left alone again.

* * *

He walks away, aimlessly. If he has any more lectures today, he’s forgotten all about them, and instead he wanders in the general direction of home, while his mind tries to piece together what it is he was just told. Part of him wonders if this was all an elaborate practical joke, and if Sam will ring him up in a minute and say, ‘Tricked ya well, ye wee bastard! Come back and we’ll fuck!’ But of course he won’t do that. He? She? Which pronoun should he use?

He. Sam said he wanted things to be the way they’d been, asked him not to say anything, and if Nathan starts to get confused about the pronouns he’ll just fuck that up.

Part of him wants to feel betrayed, but he doesn’t really. He can’t hate Sam or even be angry with him. He hasn’t really lied to him. He’s just a confused human being trying to figure out his shit, and Nathan can’t blame him for that. What’s worse is that he still likes Sam. When he thinks about him, even knowing what’s under those baggy trousers, his heart leaps a little, and he just wants to hold him. Nathan’s never been with a girl. He knew he fancied boys from the moment sex began to interest him. Would it really be so bad?

Fuck. How did everything get so complicated? Why couldn’t he fall in love with a normal boy who was actually a boy? And why can’t people just be people? Why can’t people just fall in love with people?

* * *

Several weeks pass, and it’s December. Nathan hasn’t really spoken to Sam since that day. Sam’s been giving him a wide berth, it seems, though they occasionally greet one another with a smile or wave. Jessica’s bugged him about bringing Sam out to drink with them again, and Nathan’s said it just hasn’t worked out, that Sam’s busy.

Truth be told, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and he’s turned the dilemma over and over in his head. No matter the angle he comes at it from, he always ends up in the same place, with Sam swimming around at the centre of his thoughts, and when he thinks of him it makes his heart pound extra hard.

He’s on his way to the library to check out a book when Rob comes running up to him. ‘Have you been to the art show yet?’

‘No, why?’

‘Everyone’s talking about it,’ says Rob. ‘Sam’s painting. I just saw it, it was gorgeous, and I don’t even like art. It was like a kick in the balls.’

‘A gorgeous kick in the balls?’ Nathan cocks an eyebrow.

‘No but looking at that thing, it hurts your fucking soul, man. You have to come see it! Forget the stupid library, just come with me!’

He drags Nathan along by his sleeve. It’s snowing, and Nathan nearly slips. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Sam’s voice, saying, ‘You call this winter? Pare wee English boy!’ and he smiles in spite of himself.

Every year, the first year art students create a work of art for Christmas. It’s an open assignment, and they are free to create whatever they like, in whatever medium they choose, as long as it has artistic merit. The works are marked according to originality and execution, but they’re all put together into a winter art show in the lobby of the arts and music building for anyone who wants to come see.

‘He’s the only one this year who got an A,’ Rob tells him as they enter the building. ‘There, that one.’

Nathan approaches the painting, slowly. It’s quite large, a metre and a half squared. It shows two bodies. No, it’s more than two . . . The lines blend into one another, turning one figure into two, four, eight others. The colours are chaotic, and at first the image is difficult to grasp, but the two main bodies, the ones he saw at first, are made up of several others. One has the torso of a man and the lower body of a woman, while the other is the opposite, a body with breasts and a penis. None of the bodies have heads. It should be macabre to look upon, somehow, but it isn’t.

He understands what Rob meant. It’s like a kick in the balls, and it’s beautiful.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until the painting gets blurry and he has to wipe his eyes. The note next to the painting reads, ‘Half Jack’, by Sam Ewing.

Nathan turns around, and starts walking at a brisk pace towards the exit. He pulls his mobile out of his pocket, but then he sees Sam standing there, right in front of him, and he stops.

Sam stares at him with wide ice blue eyes, and then Nathan can’t help himself, he takes the three remaining steps in two strides and puts his arms around him.

‘I don’t care,’ he murmurs. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you, and I don’t care if you’re a boy or a girl, or whether your body’s one and your mind’s the other, or whether you’re something in between. I don’t care.’

‘I want to believe you,’ Sam replies. ‘I really, really want to believe you, but . . .’

‘Just believe me. I mean, I don’t know what’s gonna happen, I don’t know how this is gonna work out—’

‘Can we have this conversation somewhere else?’ Sam asks helplessly, and Nathan suddenly realises he’s standing in a large room surrounded by people, and lets go.

They go to Sam’s room. It’s the most convenient, and private. Now that he’s back on this bed, next to Sam, Nathan feels like he’s lost his nerve and he doesn’t know what to say. After a while, he manages, ‘Your, er, your painting. It’s . . . it’s really good.’

Sam looks at him, and then, inexplicably, he laughs. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didnae mean to laugh at you, you just look so . . .’ He clears his throat. ‘That’s no’ really what you wanted to say, was it?’

Nathan shakes his head. He takes a deep breath and tries to gather his thoughts, and when he next opens his mouth, it comes spilling out all at once. ‘I wanted to say that I’ve been thinking about you, since that day. And I don’t know how it would work, or even if it would work, and it might fail spectacularly and I know I’d be risking your heart as well as mine, but . . .’ He looks up, and he takes both Sam’s hands in his. ‘I want to give it a go. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I really don’t care what your sex is or what your gender is. I don’t. You’re not your gender. You’re Sam. So, if you want to try . . .’ He leaves the question hanging between them, heavy and oppressive, and he holds his breath.

Sam draws in a long breath of air and lets it back out again. ‘This will probably go straight to hell,’ he says. ‘I have no idea what I want or who I want to be, but . . . If you’re really willing to take a chance on me, then . . .’ He smiles. ‘Aye, let’s do this.’

Nathan lets out the breath he’s been holding, and he grins more broadly than he ever thought he could grin, and then he kisses Sam, deeply and for a long time, and it feels amazing to hold him, to kiss him, to have him so close and breathe in his scent of autumn leaves. He doesn’t know what will happen next, and he knows it’s selfish, but he doesn’t care either. All that matters right now is that Sam is Sam.