August - Chapter Nine

The drive to Glasgow passed much more quickly than Jeremy had expected, but he guessed that was because, unlike the last time he’d made the drive, he spent most of it dead asleep in Aggie’s backseat. He woke up only when they stopped for gas and the bathroom, but blinked awake as they passed into the outer edge of the city, because Aggie was shoving a huge thermos of steaming hot coffee into his hands.

“Shape up,” she told him from the passenger seat, where she was messing with her hair. “We’ll be at Ainsley’s in ten minutes.”

“Okay,” he croaked, wondering how he’d survive trying to drink this steaming hot coffee in a moving car. He didn’t even know she’d gone to the trouble of making it before they left. Then, his gaze fell on Colin, and he almost did a double-take.

Colin looked more nervous than he had in… Jeremy wasn’t sure how long. He was sitting in his usual slouch as he drove, but the knuckles on his right hand were white where they gripped the steering wheel. Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder why, even though he knew very little about Ainsley, since Colin never talked about her.

Glasgow looked the same as it had before — old and new buildings pushing up against each other like teeth in a crowded mouth, muddy river, bright blue skies. When they pulled off a side road and parked behind a huge, run-down brick house, Jeremy couldn’t hold back a frown. What the hell was this? But then Colin climbed out, and Jeremy’s heart thudded in his chest, because suddenly, he realized that he was about to meet Colin’s sister, his real, actual, sister. For some reason, this sent him into a tailspin as he collected his rucksack and his clarinet from the trunk, and almost became a full-blown crisis as he followed the others through a rickety side door, then up two flights of stairs.

Colin knocked at a huge yellow door with a metal 3 hanging to one side, and a few moments later, the door opened.

Ainsley was shorter than her brother, and she had his eyes, his freckles, his hair. But hers had more curl to it, and hung to her waist in long, loose waves. Her face was wider, and her nose was different. But that was all Jeremy had time to think before she cracked a grin and tackled her brother.

“Hiii!” She planted a smacking kiss on top of his head, laughing when he shoved her off. “Welcome to Glasgow, baby brother, and baby brother’s friends!” Her gaze landed on Jeremy and he almost twitched from the scrutiny, feeling x-rayed by her bright blue eyes, but then she was pulling Aggie into a hug and kissing her on the cheek.

“Hi, Ains!” Aggie laughed into Ainsley’s hair. “Missed you, too!”

“Please come in!” Ainsley stepped back and held the door open. “We’re just having brunch.”

Jeremy followed the others inside the bright, airy flat, then stopped when he found himself blocked by Ainsley’s grin and her outstretched hand.

“You must be Jeremy. The famous clarinetist.”

“Yes.” He smiled, his ears burning at the word ‘famous,’ and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ainsley, and thank you for letting us stay.”

“Of course.” She closed the door, then nudged him into a vast, open area.

It looked like a Boho dreamspace. Plush furniture in mismatched colors and patterns squatted on the pale wooden floor, and the walls were covered with a vast array of massive black and white photographs. Half of them were abstract, dimly lit and fuzzy in the sunlight, and the others were still, breathtaking portraits. HAIM was ebbing gently over a set of retro, beaten-up speakers, and below a wide bank of windows lay a low, wide coffee table, covered in what looked like half a bakery and then some.

“Whoa,” Jeremy breathed, glad that Ainsley wasn’t close enough to hear him. He, Colin, and Aggie weren’t her only guests, either — there were three other people seated around the coffee table, smiling at the visitors.

Something shifted in Jeremy’s chest, and he suddenly realized what it was. He felt at peace, here. He felt like he was home.

Aggie had already cozied up to one side of the table, hugging a person with purple streaks in their hair, and Colin had sprawled across the end of one couch, shaking hands with a sharply-dressed black guy who had a single, gold earring. They were all talking a million miles a minute, and Jeremy suddenly realized that he was the only newcomer.

Ainsley picked up her mug from the coffee table and waved it in his direction. “Everyone, this is Jeremy, Jeremy, this is Liam, my boyfriend—” the man with the gold earring smiled and waved— “and Kosh, who uses they/them, by the way—” purple hair wiggled their fingers— “and Westie—” the tall, skinny, absurdly pale woman smiled, showing off a lovely gap in her front teeth. “And Jeremy is a—” Ainsley cocked her head to one side, squinting a little. “Well, he’s American, and there’s a clarinet involved.”

Everyone chuckled, and Jeremy grinned. “That pretty much sums it up,” he said, putting down his bags and joining them at the coffee table.

They passed a wonderful, cheerful rest of the morning, and Jeremy devoured half his own weight in open-face smoked salmon sandwiches. He learned all about Liam, who owned and managed a few nightclubs, and Westie, who wrote computer code during the day and modeled at night. Soon enough, he realized that Westie was actually the subject of some of the photographs on the walls, then, with a slow-dawning sense of awe, he put two and two together — Ainsley was the photographer, and clearly, a very good one.

Then, to Jeremy’s delight, he learned that Kosh was the tattoo artist who had given Colin his tattoo. “Let’s see it,” Kosh said, grinning brightly as Colin tugged off his shirt and turned away, displaying the toned, freckly planes of his back and the sharp, dark shapes of his tattoo.

Everyone let out a stream of cat-calls and Jeremy blushed from his neck to his ears, letting out a chuckle that sounded forced even to him. Get it together, he snarled at himself, and he almost missed what Kosh was saying—

“Some of my best work.” Kosh shook their head. “You sure you don’t want to make it a sleeve? We could do some beautiful motifs down the shoulder—”

“I’m sure,” Colin shot back, giving them a grin as he pulled his shirt back on. “Just for the moment. Check back in a few years, all right?”

“In the meantime,” Aggie cut in, “you can always give me a tattoo, Kosh. I’d really love an enormous portrait of Sean Connery on my left buttock.”

Everyone howled, and Kosh hid their face in their hands.

About an hour later, Ainsley sat up, said, “Ohh! The tickets!” She pulled out her phone. “Jeremy, let me show you how to get a bus pass for the day.”

Oh, right. He blinked, then checked the time. He had to leave for his audition soon, if he wanted to make it there in time.

Once Ainsley had helped him download the app and buy the right ticket pass, they were ready to go. Ignoring the way his stomach seemed to have turned upside-down, Jeremy shouldered his rucksack — which had the box for the vial of blood in it — and grabbed his clarinet case.

“Break a leg,” Ainsley was saying as she walked them to the door, grinning. “I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”

“Course he will,” Aggie piped up, nudging Jeremy with her elbow. “And he’ll prove it to you later, I think I might be able to convince him to give a private concert.”

Heat rushed to Jeremy’s face, and Ainsley winked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze as they stepped out into the stairwell. “Only if you’d like to.”

The bus was on time, and they had to crowd into a cluster of seats near the front. Colin chose to stand, bracing his hand on a hanging grip, and Jeremy gulped, because biceps.

“So,” Aggie whispered to him, her eyes bright. “Are you nervous?”

Jeremy smiled, then shook his head. “Used to get nervous,” he replied, “but I don’t anymore. Not really.”

At least, that was what he thought, until they got to the Royal Conservatoire and he stared up at the monolithic, maroon edifice. It was certainly a very large building.

Colin took one look at him and rested his hand in the small of Jeremy’s back, gently pushing him forward. “Buck up,” he mumbled. “We didn’t come all this way for you to go chicken-shit.”

Jeremy nodded, then swallowed and took a breath. Just another audition, he reminded himself. Besides, Mrs. Gibbins would whack you upside the head if she could see you. And with that, he followed Aggie through the doors.

The Conservatoire was just as big on the inside as it was on the outside, with pale blue walls, arching hallways, and massive windows that flooded the building with light. It took him a few minutes to find the practice rooms, which were in a small wing off the side of the main stage. His name was on the list for Room 2, and even though the door to Room 1 was closed, he caught the distant, yawning song of a cello. Jeremy paused, glancing at the list, and guessed that Catherine Martins was in the audition slot just before his. He wondered, provided that they both got a spot, if she was nice and not as stuck-up as the cello players from his high school. Strings, he thought, with a mental groan. The egos alone were—

Suddenly, he realized that he was not alone. Frowning, Jeremy glanced over his shoulder.

Aggie and Colin were standing not two feet behind him. Staring at him.

“Um,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“We figured we’d come in with you,” said Aggie.

Jeremy grinned. “Absolutely not.”

To his surprise, she actually looked shocked. Colin just frowned.

“Why not?” Aggie whined. “I want to hear you play.”

“Aggie, you’ve heard me play before.” And Jeremy did not point out the fact that Colin had even heard both of his audition pieces, so he had no right looking so bummed. Jeremy nudged the door open with his foot and backed into the practice room. “Go get a coffee or something.”

The door swung closed in their faces, and Jeremy not-so-subtly turned the lock. He knew better than to trust Aggie with an unlocked door.

Forty-five minutes later, he stepped onto the main stage, his stomach jolting, feeling like an ant under a microscope in the bright, warm light. He could still see his judges through the glow, and one of them — a middle-aged guy with big glasses and a bowtie — gave him a smile.

“Jeremy,” said Bow-Tie, then glanced over his shoulder. “I see you have some fans.”

The door in the back of the auditorium conspicuously swung shut, catching on Aggie’s heel as she ducked out of sight.

“It’s all right,” Bow-Tie went on, raising his voice. “They can come in and sit down.”

A stifled giggle and a series of thumps told Jeremy that they did just that.

“So, Jeremy,” said the older woman to Bow-Tie’s left. “You’re new to Scotland, are you?”

“Yes,” he said, giving a smile, his fingers tapping on his clarinet. “But I’m about halfway to earning my kilt, so I’m told.”

That got him a chuckle. “You come with glowing recommendations,” said the third judge, a younger woman with soft blonde hair. “Shall we see if they’re accurate?”

Yup, there goes the small talk. Jeremy nodded, then made his way over to the pianist, a young woman with an undercut and soft eyes. “Hi,” he whispered, “I’m Jeremy. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi, Jeremy,” she whispered back. “Which one first?”

“The Agitato, please.”

The space between the piano and the center of the stage seemed like a small eternity, but, he reminded himself, it was an eternity he knew well. And when he stood on the little white ‘x’, he felt something settle deep in his belly, his hips, his feet. Just like that, everything else fell away, and as he looked behind him, meeting the pianist’s gaze, Jeremy smiled, then raised his clarinet to his mouth.

----------------------------------------

“You should’ve told us,” Aggie said, taking a huge swig from the two-liter bottle of Tesco’s finest ginger beer.

“I did,” Jeremy insisted. “Besides, you’ve heard me play before.”

Aggie scoffed, passing the bottle to Colin. “Not like that.”

“That’s not my fault, and how was I supposed to know you wanted to hear classical stuff?”

Aggie scoffed again. “Jeremy, you can’t just not mention that you’re basically a goddamn prodigy who can play fifty different kinds of music at the drop of a goddamn pin. Honestly. I thought we were better friends than that.”

He rolled his eyes. “I am not a prodigy, and you know that, Aggie.” He glanced at the bottle, at Colin wiping his mouth to reveal a smirk, and grabbed it out of Colin’s hands. “Fine, Jesus, I’ll have some.”

Aggie let out a whoop as Jeremy took his first-ever sip of ginger beer. It was fizzy, sweet and tangy all at once, and it left a faint burn that made him gasp.

“Wow,” he managed, then took another gulp before passing the bottle back to Aggie. “Why do I like that?”

“Because you’re human?” said Colin, easing back down onto the grass.

They were lying out in a small park across the street from St. Andrew’s Cathedral, just off the bank of the River Clyde. The sky was clear blue and sunny, the air was warm, and the park was full of people, most of them university students having picnics, reading, listening to music, and playing catch. It was the perfect place for Jeremy, Colin, and Aggie to wait for the Cathedral to close, and for the Head Acolyte of the Order’s mother seat to take them inside.

The audition had gone well — very well, if Jeremy was being honest. Well enough that Bow-Tie (whose actual name was Matthew) had asked him if he could play something else, anything else. Even as his heart was slowly migrating from his throat back down to its proper place, Jeremy had nodded, grinned, and launched into some Benny Goodwin. His accompanist — Daisy, he found out later — had jumped in after about thirty seconds, riffing a piano line that belonged in a Los Angeles jazz club, not the main stage of the Royal Conservatoire. It was incredible. She let him carry the lead, which was very kind of her, and followed him when he threw in a few riffs and flourishes that weren’t in the original piece.

He’d forgotten, in the short time that he’d spent in Scotland, how much he enjoyed playing with other musicians. Jazz combos normally weren’t his thing, since his patience for jazz was about as long as the fuse on a stick of dynamite, but it was nice to share the music rather than create it all on his own.

Once Jeremy finished the piece — followed by a smattering of applause and a suspiciously quiet back corner — he’d shaken hands with Daisy and each of his judges, then walked out of the theater with about five thousand bees squealing under his skin.

“Really fantastic, Jeremy,” Matthew had grinned. “We’ll be in touch next week.”

After cleaning and putting away his clarinet in the practice room, Jeremy had gone out into the lobby to find Aggie and Colin waiting for him. Colin was leaning against the wall, smiling in this really lovely, warm, private way that did disastrous things to Jeremy’s insides, but Aggie was scowling, her expression thunderous.

After a ten-second standoff, she marched up to him, punched him in the arm, then pulled him into a fierce, tight hug. “Great,” she muttered into his ear. “You were really fucking great.”

Then, Aggie and Colin hadn’t wasted any time dragging Jeremy to all their favorite tourist traps in Glasgow — the Necropolis, George Square, the Botanic Gardens — as well as a handful of cafés and bookshops that he never would’ve found on his own. It was exhausting and exhilarating all at once. For the first time since his arrival in Scotland, Jeremy began to see himself in the city, to see himself going to school, making friends, going to concerts and exhibitions and parties.

It felt real, all of a sudden, in a way it hadn’t before.

After they’d left a dark, richy-scented café that didn’t seem to serve any kind of food or drink, Aggie had had the brilliant idea of taking a break on the Cathedral’s lawn. Then, she’d marched into a tiny, grungy Tesco and emerged with the world’s largest bottle of ginger beer. So here they were, sunning themselves — though Colin sat mostly in the shade of a nearby tree — waiting for the Cathedral’s doors to close.

“How long have we got?” said Aggie.

“About twenty minutes,” Colin replied.

Aggie hummed, thumping her foot on the grass. Jeremy knew she was itching for a football. “I still think we should have bets on how bonkers this bloke is.”

“Yeah, but we know how bonkers he’s going to be,” said Jeremy, “because we’ve met Guibert. Anyone who goes along with this stuff is at least a little bit crazy. What’s the fun in betting on something we already know?”

“Think he’ll have that funny hair?” said Colin. “You know, like you see the monks do in the paintings, with that great big bald area on the top of their head?”

“You mean tonsure?” At Colin’s nod, Jeremy shrugged and said, “Guibert doesn’t do it, and he says the Order never required it, so probably not.”

“Shame,” said Aggie, cleaning her sunglasses on the corner of her shirt. “I’d love to see that in real life. Find out if those big, shiny noggins reflect the sun.”

Jeremy laughed, shaking his head. “Aggie, that’s terrible.”

Soon enough, the Cathedral bells chimed the half hour, and the three of them stood up. Jeremy shouldered his bag and watched a small group of older men and women come trickling out of the wooden front doors, followed by a figure dressed in black who looked very small beneath the billowing arch.

“That’s him,” he said, and he could practically hear Aggie’s grin. Jeremy shot her a look. “Please behave,” he told her, and she brushed his concern away with an airy hand.

“I know how to talk to a priest,” she said, and pushed him in the direction of the road.

Because — as Guibert had explained — the Order was an underground, heretical offshoot of mainstream Catholicism, his predecessors had had to get creative about how to hide their sympathizers in plain sight. The obvious answer was for the Order’s acolytes to enter the Catholic priesthood and set up hidden enclaves in some of the largest Catholic spaces across Scotland. These enclaves were places of worship and sanctuary for believers who were traveling or away from their homes on Rowe, but they also served as nodules of magic from which the dragons could draw even more power. And, in the event that something should happen to the original monastery on Rowe, one of the other locations would become the new primary seat of the Order. There had once been three such places in Glasgow and two in Edinburgh, but as the number of followers had dwindled over the years, so had the Order’s real estate. This cathedral held the only remaining mother seat in Glasgow, and the man they were about to meet was one of two acolytes. And, according to Guibert, he wasn’t getting any younger.

He didn’t seem very friendly, either. Father Clyde was shorter than Jeremy, with snow-white hair, a weathered face, tufty ears, and a piercing blue gaze. He scowled at all of them as they approached, though maybe, Jeremy thought, that was just how his face looked.

“Jeremy, I presume?” Father Clyde said, turning to Colin. He had a raspy, deep voice. His sermons probably sent the congregation straight to sleep.

Colin smiled and shook his head in that disarmingly charming way he had with older people, and nudged Jeremy. “That’s the man you want. I’m Colin, and this is Aggie.”

“I see.” Father Clyde gave them all a dispassionate once-over and turned away. “Follow me.”

The inside of the cathedral was even more beautiful than the outside, and Jeremy couldn’t stop himself from gaping up at the vast, vaulted ceiling. The cathedral was a small, bright space, with neat rows of plain wooden pews, and the late afternoon sun cast delightful multicolored beams through the delicate stained glass.

That was all he had time to take in before Father Clyde led them to the back corner, to what looked like a solid wall covered in dark wooden panelling. Jeremy frowned, but before he could ask, Father Clyde did something he couldn’t see, and a whole section of panels swung open — it was a hidden door, leading into a dark, cold passageway with a very low ceiling.

Hunched over to keep their heads from hitting solid rock, they followed Father Clyde down a set of damp, steep stairs that took them deep below the cathedral. As they turned a corner, Colin leaned in close to Jeremy’s ear and murmured, “I like our monastery better.”

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Jeremy couldn’t help but agree.

They were standing in an oblong, bare space roughly cut from raw, greyish stone. The damp and the cold hung in the air like smoke, and Jeremy fought off a shiver. The only light came from a series of torches — actual, wooden torches, burning with real fire — mounted along the far wall. Father Clyde was busying himself with something in the corner, and when he realized they weren’t behind him, he turned around and barked, “Well, come along, I don’t have all day!”

Jeremy hurried over, swinging his rucksack into his hands and unzipping the main pouch. There was a small wooden box tucked in next to his clarinet case, and he took it out, then gently pulled the lid off. The interior was lined with plush velvet, and the box itself was several hundreds of years old, according to Guibert. Carved into the velvet were three empty spaces about five inches long and half an inch wide, and he held out the box with a hand that refused to remain steady.

Father Clyde saw the box, gave a huff of mild approval, and took the lid from him. Now, Jeremy could see that they were standing in front of a large, plain altar that was carved into the wall. There was a small, blue fire burning in a wide clay dish, a pile of what looked to be dragon scales of different colors and sizes, a bundle of dried seagrass, and three glass vials full of dark blue liquid.

His heart thudded in his throat. That was it. That was what they were here for.

Using the utmost care, Father Clyde took the lid in one hand and in the other, he held up what looked like a clump of seagrass tied around a dragon scale in a series of intricate, weaving knots. He lowered this into the fire, and when the grass caught, he began to chant in the language of the Order, the language that was quickly becoming like music to Jeremy’s ears.

Nothing happened, but Father Clyde wafted the burning clump over the lid, flooding it with smoke. The dragon scale didn’t burn — rather, it glowed red and orange, brighter and brighter, and his voice grew louder and louder, echoing in the small room.

As the grass curled into black ash, Father Clyde dropped the bright red scale onto the lid, and a loud hiss slithered through the room. There was a cloud of smoke, and as it cleared, Jeremy saw that where the scale had fallen on the inside of the lid, a series of strange symbols had appeared, the glowing embers fading to a dull, burnt black.

Now silent, Father Clyde nodded again, and took the box from Jeremy. He tucked a vial into one of the empty slots, and said, “The box has been blessed and warded with protection. All of the magic will be trapped inside; no one else will be able to sense it, and you should not run into any trouble during the rest of your time in the city.” He raised a warning finger and gave Jeremy a squinty look. “But the charm only lasts for forty-eight hours, so please ensure that you are back on Rowe within that time frame. If you are not… you may be beyond help.”

Jeremy burst into a loud, nervous laugh and shut the lid. “Great, thanks!”

Once they were out of the church and back in the warm, sunny air, Jeremy fell to his knees and took a great, gasping breath. “Fresh air! Fresh air, thank God!”

Father Clyde raised an eyebrow and leaned towards Colin. “Is he always like this?”

Colin sighed. “Yes.” He came forward and pulled Jeremy to his feet. “Stop,” he hissed. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the priest.”

“Thanks for your help, Father,” Aggie said, shaking his hand. “We’re fully in your debt.”

Father Clyde nodded and grumbled a bit under his breath. “You should be on your way. The longer the island is unguarded, the more vulnerable it is.” He gave them all one final, glowering look. “Take care, all of you.” And with that, he turned on his heel and shuffled back into the cathedral, the doors swinging shut behind him with an ominous boom.

“Well,” said Jeremy. “That was fun.”

----------------------------------------

Several hours later, Jeremy leaned against the crumbling brick pillar and tried to catch his breath. Sweat was pooling along every inch of his body, his feet were throbbing, his skin was buzzing, but none of that mattered, because this was fucking incredible.

Around him, what seemed to be the entire youth population of Glasgow was seething in a single, vibrant mass, their limbs a heady, glowing blur swaying and pounding in time to the music. Lights flashed in every color, throwing the outdoor club into momentary relief, illuminating hands, grins, glow-in-the-dark necklaces, blacklight makeup, and skin, so much skin—

Jeremy gulped in a breath of lukewarm air, stifled by the smell of hundreds of bodies and apparently every kind of deodorant under the sun. It didn’t help that he was already two beers and a shot of vodka in, following a selection of Glasgow’s best takeaways (according to Ainsley and her crew). Aggie had even told him ahead of time to pack the right clothing for this exact scenario, so he was wearing the shorts that Colin claimed weren’t actually shorts and a very old Led Zeppelin tank that barely reached his hips. Aggie had also insisted on doing the eyeliner on him again, and, when he thought about it, Jeremy realized that this was probably The Gayest he had ever looked.

But it didn’t matter. He was one of the most normal looking people here, much to his relief. Mohawks, undercuts, overwhelming eyeliner, neon underwear, and lots of glitter seemed to be the norm. Aggie, of course, looked incredible and devastating in a form-fitting shimmery blue dress that aged her about four years, and Colin, well—

It took all of Jeremy’s willpower not to look at the far end of the mosh pit, where Colin was leaning against one of the ruined walls, beer in hand, mouth at the ear of some flighty little ditz with blonde hair and a huge smile. Jeremy wasn’t looking. He wasn’t.

“You’ll love this,” Ainsley had told them with a wink. “It’s Liam’s under-eighteen club, and it always runs through the end of August. It’s basically like a music festival, but in the middle of the city, and he gets the best deejays.” She’d nudged Liam with her elbow. “Perks of being the edgy newcomer. Everyone’s falling over themselves to get onto his roster.”

Jeremy had to give Liam some credit — he knew how to make a party.

The club was built out in the middle of some industrial ruins, in a low, flat area behind some of the main buildings of the university. If you stood up on the bar — something Jeremy had found out not thirty minutes before —you could see down the valley to the river, and the whole city surrounded them in a glowing, glittering blanket. The air was still warm, but cool enough to give him some relief from the crowd, and the sun had only just given its last effort along the horizon.

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As far as Jeremy could tell, the only real difference between this club and any other were the big, hand-drawn black X’s and impenetrable wristbands on his hands that made it impossible for him to get anything at the bar other than beer. This wasn’t exactly a problem, given that vodka was roaring through Jeremy’s system — Aggie’s friends had a talent for sneaking booze into places — and making him do things (see: standing on a bar) that he wouldn’t normally do.

At least the music was good. Or, well, not terrible. Which was probably the best he could’ve hoped for.

Jeremy sucked in a breath, letting it fill him from his belly to his chest. His heart was beating in his ears but he felt good, otherwise. A little bit loose, a little bit liquid, a little bit fun. He could be fun, sometimes. He remembered Aggie’s surprise at learning this, all those weeks ago on the night of the ceilidh. Why was it surprising that he could be fun? Was he really so quiet, so boring?

His gaze drifted back to Colin, who still had his stupid mouth at Blondie’s stupid ear. Maybe Jeremy was boring, and his stomach swooped in a terrible, deep way at the thought. Clearly, he wasn’t as interesting as some other people here tonight.

Stop it, he somehow had the ability to tell himself, swallowing thickly. You knew, you’ve always known. That isn’t what this is.

Because it didn’t matter if Colin found him interesting. Being interesting or boring had nothing to do with what they were, what he was to Colin. What Colin was to him.

Clearing his throat, Jeremy pulled out his phone and went into his texts. He felt like he was unraveling, like the loud, kind-of-good music was hitting him in a way that made his body shake and unlearn itself, and he couldn’t handle it, not now.

Me (11:47 PM): Scottish clubs r lit

Less than a minute later, his phone buzzed, and Jeremy smiled down at the screen, something inside him going steady and warm.

Jo (11:48 PM): o ya like how lit

Me: so lit

Jo: thats sooooo littyyyy

Jeremy laughed aloud, even though no one could hear it.

Jo: love that for u

Me: its just like…. a journey of self discovery or whatever

Jo: with shots

Jo: and lots of fried food

Jo: pls tell me theres fried food

Me: I actually havent gotten to the food yet

Jo: !!!!!!!!

Jo: such an oversight. but i can forgive

Jo: all liquid diet?

Me: ah yes

Jo: gross

Jo: love that for u

He laughed again, then narrowly avoided an elbow to the stomach as a group of girls swooped towards the dance floor. Jo always knew, somehow, exactly what he needed to hear.

And then, of course, he made the mistake of looking up again. If Blondie and Colin were standing any closer, they’d basically have each other’s teeth in their mouths. His heart racing, Jeremy dropped his gaze back to his phone.

Me: so im a mess

Jo: what else is new

Me: no rly im like

Me: upset

Me: and i cant get over it

Jo: ah

Me: bc he’s over there

Me: woth this girl

Me: and he isnt looking at me

Me: why isnt he

Jo: Jer

Jo: babe

Jo: even if u cant get over it, know what u can do?

Jo: dance

Jeremy stared down at that word, at that one little word, feeling as if the whole world were rolling through his stomach. He knew that Jo was right. He knew that there was no point in getting upset about something he couldn’t control, something that was beyond his reach, something that had never been shared. He knew that being upset wasn’t the point of this night, of being here, now, with the bass thundering through his body, the lights tracing the edges of his skin. He was only in Glasgow for one night, he was only here for another couple of hours, and no stupid boy was going to change that.

His feelings could wait for tomorrow. Tonight, Jeremy had better things to do.

So he sent Jo a line of heart emojis, tucked his phone into his shorts, and made his way around the mosh pit. Aggie was sitting at one end of the bar in the middle of a group of her school friends, and she didn’t realize he was there until he had his hand on her arm.

“Come on,” he half-shouted, tugging her towards the dance floor.

She grinned and hopped off her stool, tucking herself into his side. Together, they pushed their way into the mosh pit, past sweaty limbs and clouds of vape smoke, and stumbled into a small, unclaimed space about fifteen feet in front of the stage. Aggie looked up at him, her expression fierce and burning with pride, then grabbed his hand and started jumping.

After that, everything was a blur.

As the music throbbed and ebbed, as the crowd seethed and writhed, Jeremy let himself go. He stopped thinking, stopped caring what he looked like, stopped remembering where he was, who he was with, who might be watching him. For a brief moment, the lack of control, the willing surrender to sensation, to the presence of the moment, rattled him to his core, but it passed. Then, he was just another teenager on the dance floor, his feet pounding into the dirt, his hands rising into the air, his body twisting and melting, his eyes closing as the music swallowed him whole. He became a face in the crowd, and something about that anonymity, that freedom, made him grin and shiver, made him pull Aggie close and sway against her.

Jeremy felt rather than heard her laugh, and she leaned into it. They were dancing together now, Aggie’s hands on his arms and his on her waist, and it was closer than they’d ever been to each other before, even though they’d shared a bed. It was kind of weird, but also not weird at all, because Aggie knew, and she was comfortable with him doing this, and she wouldn’t expect anything else from him. It was actually nice, having someone to dance with like this — it reminded him of Jo, of the way she would just grab his hand and squeeze sometimes. He missed it, he realized, having a friend who would hug him and ruffle his hair and just…

He missed not having boundaries. He missed not having to worry about who might see, because when it was Aggie or Jo, no one cared.

Jeremy shook his head, snapping himself out of that train of thought, being careful not to let his gaze wander over to a certain area outside the dance floor. He knew, he knew that nothing good would come of thinking like that, of wanting something that he couldn’t have. So he kept dancing, kept moving, laughing when Aggie shimmied against him like a lunatic.

He was here to have fun, and dammit, he was going to have fun.

Some twenty minutes later, Aggie pulled him out of the mosh pit, her chest heaving as she fanned herself. “Come on,” she shouted to him over the music. “I need a drink and some air.”

Jeremy nodded, trying to catch his breath as well. He was sweaty, exhilarated, some of his hair sticking to his forehead, his feet throbbing in his Converse, but he didn’t care — he felt incredible, undone. He followed her to the crowded bar, where she managed to squeeze in between two girls who were clearly trying to weasel some liquor out of the bartender.

“Two club sodas, please,” Aggie said to the bartender, then she snagged a little dish of pretzels and started crunching away. “Wow,” she said to Jeremy, shaking her head. Now that they were in the pooling, indirect light of the bar, he could see that she was sweaty as well, but her eye makeup was somehow still in place. “That was fun. I haven’t done that in a while.”

He smiled, taking a handful of pretzels. “I’ve never done that, if we’re being honest.”

“Really?” She smiled back at him, giving him a sideways sort of look. “You seem like an old pro, Jer. Are you sure you weren’t a party animal in your past life?”

He snorted as the bartender slid them their club sodas. “What do you think?”

Aggie hummed, taking a sip of her soda. “I think you lead an elusive, ultra-secret double-life that involved sneaking into fancy parties, with lots of champagne and women in tiny dresses—”

“Aggie,” he said, “I think that last Daniel Craig rewatch really did something to your brain. Something bad, something evil.”

“Or something brilliant. Mr. Craig has given me some lovely dreams, thank you very much.” She winked at him. “So, you like dancing?”

Jeremy smiled, then downed half his soda in one gulp. “I guess so.”

“I know so.” Aggie leaned back against the bar, scanning the crowd. “Jer, now that we’re in the city, you have a lot more options than you do on Rowe. We could find you somebody. Nothing serious,” she quickly added, once she saw the way his eyes almost fell out of his head. “Just, you know, something for the night. No harm in that.”

“Right,” he said, his mouth turning to fuzz. He tried to make his face do something bland and flat. “No harm at all.”

Aggie sighed, squinting a little. “It’s a shame I don’t go to school with blokes, I can’t think of anyone I know. Colin’s useless as well, he could be sitting in a room full of twinks and bears and he’d never know the difference. His gaydar is awful.”

It took all of Jeremy’s self control not to burst out laughing. He just nodded, then tried to gulp down the rest of his soda. It caught in his throat and he stifled a cough, his eyes burning.

“I guess I could ask Ronnie,” she went on. “She knows everybody, a little too well, if you know what I mean. I swear, the balls on that girl — she once walked right up to someone she’d never met and asked about their brother’s girlfriend’s new nose. We all just about died laughing, but she didn’t care at all.” Aggie sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “To have such confidence.”

He had to put an end to this, he had to. “Aggie, don’t, really, I’m fine.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” she fired back. “You’ve spent most of the summer trapped on a tiny, isolated, hetero paradise of a Scottish island, don’t tell me you don’t want to snog someone senseless.” And she looked right at him.

And then, Jeremy just. Didn’t say anything. Say something, all his instincts screamed at him, uselessly, to no effect. Say something, you goddamn idiot, or she’s gonna—

“Unless.” Aggie’s eyebrows scaled her forehead, giving him a flash of her flawless eyeliner. “You already have someone.”

Jeremy swallowed, his breath catching in his lungs. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he say anything? Why?

“Jeremy,” Aggie began, but then, much to his absolute, simultaneous relief and humiliation, Colin appeared at her shoulder.

“Aye aye,” said Colin, sneaking a handful of pretzels. “How are we?”

“Great,” Jeremy blurted, firing off a smile that probably looked insane. Aggie stared at him like he had a second head. “Sweaty. Sticky. Glittery.”

“Delightful,” Colin said, shrewd and dry, giving him a look that was way too calculating.

Jeremy leaned back against the bar, gesturing to his rumpled body. “Don’t mock the teenage dream, Col.”

The corner of Colin’s mouth twitched as he signalled the bartender. “What you took for mockery was actually just lighthearted derision. Completely different thing.”

“What a relief,” Jeremy deadpanned, turning his attention back to the dance floor.

Aggie was watching them like a tennis match, her expression inscrutable. Jeremy’s heart, however, had lodged itself in his throat and filled his ears with a relentless pounding that drowned even the horrible bass line coming from the speakers. At least the lights were too low and too colorful for his blush to show. Small mercies, he thought. Very small.

“And you?” Jeremy said, just for the sake of something to say. “Are you having fun?”

Colin gave a small shrug as he took a sip of his beer. “Sure.” His gaze found Jeremy’s, and it was warm, fond. “Not really my scene.”

Jeremy scoffed even as butterflies burst in his stomach. “Oh, please, this can be anyone’s scene. You just have to pick who you want to be and roll with it.”

The music changed, and all too suddenly, Jeremy realized what song it was — a horrible, wonderful pop song that he hadn’t heard in years, not since middle school, when he’d built an entire playlist that was just this song on repeat. He froze on pure instinct as the opening notes blasted across the dance floor, and the crowd screamed like a pack of wild animals.

Colin noticed his reaction and frowned. “What?” he said, but then—

“Come on!” shrieked one of Aggie’s friends, appearing out of nowhere, grabbing Jeremy and Aggie by their wrists. Kiera, Jeremy’s brain supplied. “Let’s go!”

Something surged within him — something like excitement and pure joy, and he could only grin like an idiot as she pulled them onto the dance floor.

Somebody said you got a new friend

Does she love you better than I can?

Jeremy lost track of his body, his mind, everything, as he lifted his hands to the sky and screamed the lyrics, feeling years of stifled, angst-ridden emotions swelling in his chest. This stupid song — it followed him like a fly, buzzing in his skull, in the back of his brain, never leaving him alone. He’d even listened to it on his own, not that long ago, deep in one of his endless nights, his mind so wired into his clarinet that he couldn’t feel his own face. This song brought so much to the surface, so much that usually lay hidden and dark, and his memory would take an involuntary turn towards the few, fleeting moments he’d spent in another person’s arms. He would listen, and he’d think about the people he’d walked away from, the glances and the touches and the kisses that faded all too quickly, lingering even when he didn’t allow it.

Because that’s the unavoidable thing, really, Jeremy thought as he twisted and jumped, electricity surging through his body. People leave things behind even when you don’t want them to.

And this song, this song— it was so sad, when you took the music away and just listened to the words, something he was guilty of doing more than once. And he hated that it made him feel sad, that he knew what it was to feel sad about this stuff, about watching someone that you could never have to yourself.

Unbidden, his gaze found Colin, back at the bar. He was right where Jeremy and Aggie had left him, leaning against the countertop, beer in hand, watching. And he was looking right at Jeremy, his face and his eyes doing this thing Jeremy had never really seen them do before, which was saying something, because Jeremy had seen Colin’s face do lots of things.

Colin was smiling, but not in a big way. It was small, nervous, and then— he blushed.

Something in Jeremy caught fire, and he started jumping even harder, pounding the beat of the song into the dirt. Butterflies had burst in every inch of his body, and he was soaring, because Colin, Colin, was looking at him like that, like he might actually—

Stilettos on broken bottles

I’m spinning around in circles

Aggie’s hand on his arm, pulling him in as she laughed, and Jeremy was forced to look away from the bar, to focus on the girls in front of him, to grab them and spin them, to scream along with them to the music. He felt like he was drowning and burning all at once, brilliant and alive in the middle of the dance floor, and he was the only one who knew it, he was the only one—

And he felt beautiful, he did, and he never felt like this, he never felt like he could live in the world and have it all to himself, never felt like he could reach out and find someone who looked at him like that, like he was the most wonderful thing in the world, and it was dazzling, it was overwhelming, it was more than he’d ever thought he have, and it was here, in this place that didn’t know him, where he was a stranger, something new, that he’d found it. Maybe, Jeremy thought, closing his eyes as his mind drifted back to the horizon, and the way that Amalga looked into the sky, her bright green gaze seeing things that he never could. Maybe miracles do happen.

At some point, whenever it was that he took a moment to breathe, his gaze went back to the bar, a smile splitting his face in two as he looked for Colin—

Who had moved down the bar, and was busy talking to the blonde girl from before. Smiling. Their faces not six inches apart. Colin’s hands moving as he told her something, her hand on his arm as she laughed—

Jeremy looked away, swallowing thickly as his stomach flipped and his hands shook, as something fell deep inside him, falling and falling and falling until it shattered, but he was too numb to feel it.

I’m in the corner, Watching you kiss her

I’m giving it my all, But I’m not the guy you’re taking home

I keep dancing on my own

It doesn’t matter, was his first thought, as he forced himself to grin and give Aggie another turn. You’re not together. You were never together. It doesn’t matter.

Because, as much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to march up to the bar and kiss Colin full on his stupid, pretty mouth, that was the truth of it all. They didn’t owe each other anything. They never talked about what they did, about what they were, and that had its price.

Up until this moment, Jeremy had never thought that what he had with Colin might cost him something, someday. Now, he knew the truth of it. He knew what it meant to be something and nothing. He knew the difference between someone and no one.

Not long after that, the song ended, some Imagine Dragons came on, the drum line throbbing into the ground, and Aggie leaned on him, breathless, grinning as she took a sip of vodka from Kiera’s flask. She passed it to him next and he took a gulp, gasping and tearing up as it burned his throat. Always the cheap stuff, he thought, before taking another gulp.

“Whoa!” Aggie screamed as he passed the flask back to Kiera. “Leave some for the rest of us, you animal!”

He grinned at her, leaning in close, feeling the alcohol lick a fresh fury in his gut, burning through his arms and legs. “Gotta get it while it’s hot!”

She stared up at him, her mouth hinged on a grin, but then her eyes flickered and she frowned, putting her mouth to his ear. “You okay?”

“I’m great!” Jeremy put his arms up to the sky, turning his back on the bar. “I’m fucking incredible!”

Aggie nodded, stepping back, and when he started jumping in time to the beat, she gave him a smile and joined him, grabbing his hand and reaching for the stars.

He lost track of time after that. He lost track of everything. All he knew was how the ground felt under his feet, the press of a hundred other sweaty, overheated bodies against his skin. He knew Aggie’s hand on his arm, her eyes wide and bright in the lights from the stage, he knew the way his heart twisted and pounded in time to the beat. Then he looked up and he was alone, Aggie and Kiera nowhere to be seen, and he was in the middle of it all, drowning in the music.

It was incredible.

He felt an unfamiliar hand on the small of his back, saw a curling smile, dark hair cropped close, a wide, friendly nose. The heat of the other guy’s body against his back, his thighs, shivering when a hand snaked under his shirt to rest low on his belly, another hand gripping his hip. He pressed into it, leaning back on the guy’s shoulder, his face turned up towards the sky. He closed his eyes, felt a mouth lick hot and sharp up the side of his neck, and he grinned, static building a perfect hum beneath his skin, grey and endless and completely without feeling, any feeling—

They danced, but it wasn’t dancing, it was a press of skin against skin, muffled mouths, explosive heat. He didn’t want it to end, he was drunk on the way those nails felt as they grazed across his belly, teasing just under the edge of his shorts—

Then — and Jeremy didn’t know why — he opened his eyes.

And there was Colin. Pushing his way through the crowds of people, and Jeremy’s heart stopped working, his head thumping as he tried to process the image in front of him — of Colin, Colin, his jaw set and his face like stone, parting the sea of half-drunk teenagers like the world’s most ginger boat. Something misfired in Jeremy’s brain, something important, and he couldn’t think, he couldn’t, but he stumbled forwards, out of the guy’s reach, knocking into someone’s shoulder.

He almost went all the way down, almost hit the ground, but then he didn’t, his gaze spinning a little as he righted himself, and then, then—

Colin’s hand, hot and insistent on his sweaty arm, his face alarmingly close as he leaned in to Jeremy’s ear. “Come on! Let’s go!”

Jeremy reacted on instinct, his free hand coming up to grip Colin’s other arm, stopping Colin from dragging him off the dance floor. “Why?” he shouted back, staring into Colin’s face. “Why should I?”

A small symphony of beats passed, throbbing in Jeremy’s ears, as he watched Colin, as he watched something small and wounded show in Colin’s face.

Fuck this, Jeremy thought, a fresh wave of anger burning hot and wonderful in his stomach, edged with defiance and, to his surprise, bravery. “You could’ve had this!” he shouted. “You could’ve danced with me! But you didn’t!”

Then, to his astonishment, Colin blinked, his fingers digging into Jeremy’s arm. “I know!” he shouted back. “Fucking hell, I know!” He was breathing hard, and there were so many things happening in his face that it made Jeremy feel dizzy. “I just—” he tried, then he shook his head. Jeremy almost couldn’t hear him through the music. “I can’t, I don’t know…”

Jeremy watched him for another moment, watched Colin shake under the brilliant lights, his beautiful face electric and sad all at once, then. He shifted, putting his hands on Colin’s hips, and Colin let him, his mouth forming a silent question. Jeremy pushed him to the side, so that Colin was facing the stage, his back to the bar, and Colin’s hands automatically went to Jeremy’s hips, squeezing him like he was going to fade away.

Jeremy pressed his back up against Colin’s chest, slotting his face into the dip of Colin’s neck, loving the way Colin shivered a little in reply. He put his other hand to Colin’s jaw, his mouth just a breath away. “Dance with me.”

Slowly, unsteadily, Colin started to ease into him, to follow the way Jeremy shifted his weight, guiding them from side to side in time to the beat. It took a few moments, but eventually, Colin relaxed, and he started to move with a fluidity that surprised Jeremy, making the air catch in his throat and his heart thud painfully against his ribs.

It was wonderful. It was perfect. They were just another two people in the crowd — no one knew them, no one cared. And they were dancing.

Colin pressed a kiss to Jeremy’s neck, small and careful and way too endearing, and finally, finally, Jeremy smiled, pulling him close.

----------------------------------------

The next morning, Jeremy woke slowly, like he was coming out of a vacuum or a grave or something equally soul-sucking and full of dirt. He blinked, the room around him coming into blurry focus, and winced when a bolt of pain ricocheted through his head.

Ah, he thought, rubbing his eyes. Vodka.

He had a vague memory of drinking lots of water the night before, followed by a few too many pieces of leftover baguette and one or two painkillers. A glance at the coffee table told him his memory was correct — he could see a half-empty glass of water, a smattering of crumbs, and further along the table, a blurry hunk of something golden brown and white. More baguette.

Moving with the urgency of a snail, Jeremy shifted on the sofa, squinting at the windows. A pale, friendly morning light was filtering through Ainsley’s pretty lilac curtains, and along with the throbbing in his ears, he could hear a thin trickle of birdsong and the quiet rumble of traffic.

Frowning, he started looking for his phone, and was surprised to find that he’d changed out of his clubbing outfit and into a pair of sweatpants and an ancient Muse t-shirt. Mine, he thought stupidly, which was a good sign, even as his brain wheezed and chugged along. Wearing his own clothes meant that he’d probably been able to dress himself, which was a small comfort.

His phone was on the floor, and Jeremy winced as he turned on the screen. It was just a few minutes past seven, and this rattled him so deeply that for several moments, all he could do was stare at the wall. Seven o’clock. Seven in the bloody morning. Why, some part of his brain finally managed to spit out. Why are you awake?

Grumbling, he sat up, which hurt like hell, because his whole body was sore from dancing more than he’d ever danced in his life, but it meant that his glass was within reach. He drained it, the liquid sliding cold and flat down his throat, and realized, all too quickly, that to get more, he’d have to stand up. And find his glasses.

Ainsley’s apartment was quiet and beautiful in the early morning sun. As Jeremy shuffled out of the living room, he stepped into what was essentially her studio. It was a huge room with bare, west-facing windows, packed with lighting equipment and backdrops and a few other things he didn’t recognize. There was a desk in one corner with a fancy computer on it, the surface covered in a mess of notebooks and cameras and empty mugs. He took all of this in with a glance, even though it made his head thump, and as he neared the doorway to the kitchen, he heard voices.

“—that’s not what she’s asking, Col, and you know it.” Ainsley’s voice was low but packed with frustration. “You’re just being—”

“I’m not being anything,” Colin fired back. He sounded brittle, hard-edged, and it made something wriggle in Jeremy’s stomach, something that felt a lot like sympathy. “I have my rules, and I stick to them. It’s the way it’s been for years, and I don’t understand why you think I should—”

“Oh, please.” There was a small clatter, then the sound of a stifled whistle — the kettle, Jeremy realized. “Don’t give me that crap about your precious rules. It’s been long enough, Col, and she’s just going to keep trying. It’s not fair to do this to her, you know it isn’t.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Colin said, “about fair.”

A ringing silence fell, and Jeremy slowly stepped away from the kitchen, his head spinning with what he’d just overheard. Water could wait.

At some point, he fell asleep again, and when he woke for a second time, he opened his eyes to see Colin lounging on the opposite couch. He was close enough that Jeremy could see him even without his glasses. Colin glanced up, and Jeremy noticed that his eyes were a little red and his hair was exceptionally terrible, the way it got when he couldn’t stop running his hands through it.

The corner of Colin’s mouth twitched. “Good morning,” he rumbled, putting down the scrap of newspaper he’d been working on. It was a half-finished Sudoku.

Jeremy’s headache had eased a little, and this made it possible for him to think. He’d never known that Colin did Sudoku. But, as he watched Colin spin the pencil in his fingers, he guessed that it made sense — it was one more way for him to keep moving.

Jeremy sat up for the second time in as many hours. “This is where I do the Gandalf bit about good mornings.”

Colin gave him a full smile now. “And this is where I say, ‘All of them at once.’”

Jeremy hummed, scrubbing a hand through his disastrous hair. “Are we going on an adventure, then?”

“Of a sort.” Colin nodded at the doorway to the hall. “Ainsley just went to wake the beast. She’s taking us for a full English.”

Just the idea of bacon made Jeremy’s stomach groan with longing. He nodded. “I like this plan. What time is it?”

“Quarter past nine.” Colin leaned down to pick something up off the floor, then slid Aggie’s thermos across the coffee table. Jeremy stared at it in bemusement, then caught a whiff of coffee.

He had his hands on it in seconds, and he sucked down his first gulp without a single care for the way it burned his tongue. “Thank you,” he mumbled, gripping the thermos like it was a lifeline. It was better than saying what he actually wanted to say, which was—

Colin looked way too amused and way too beautiful in the midmorning light. “Sure,” he said, his voice doing a weird rough-soft thing that melted Jeremy’s insides.

They sat like that for a moment, looking at each other, the events of the previous night hanging between them like a spiderweb. Glossy, thin, fragile.

Even now, Jeremy wasn’t sure how long they’d danced together. It had felt like years and minutes when it was happening, long and short eternities that built and shattered in time to the music. In spite of the vodka, it was Colin’s body, Colin’s hands, that had made him feel drunk, like he was walking on an edge that he didn’t know existed right until that moment. They’d kissed, but only a few times, because anonymous or not, he’d discovered that Colin was still shy, still hesitant, about doing that sort of thing in public, which he found frustrating and endearing all at once.

Magic, he thought now, as he’d thought several times the night before, because it was how everything had felt. What else could explain the way his stomach flipped and trembled, the way his hands felt fuzzy and unsteady? No, there was something — some invisible force that shook them, pulled them apart as it threw them together.

At some point, when they were deep in the trenches of a song that Jeremy had never heard, Colin had pulled away, tapping him on the hip. “Jer,” he’d shouted. “Your pocket—”

It had taken several long moments for Jeremy’s brain to work that one out. He’d fumbled, his hands skating across his own shorts, before he’d managed to pull out his phone, frowning at the texts flashing on his screen.

“It’s Aggie,” he’d shouted back to Colin. “We have to leave!”

Colin had nodded, his face showing none of the disappointment that Jeremy felt mounting in his gut. Not yet, he’d wanted to say. Not yet.

But then he’d felt something he hadn’t expected. A warm, rough hand grasping his own, firm and a little sweaty. Colin’s. Jeremy had frozen, staring at him, and was absolutely useless as Colin leaned in and brushed a kiss to his cheek before pulling him off the dance floor.

They’d separated before they met Aggie at the bar, but for the rest of the night, Jeremy’s hand had tingled like it was waking up from the world’s longest nap.

Even now, he could feel it — the surprise, the blinding satisfaction of Colin holding his hand. He couldn’t remember if they’d ever done that before; they’d definitely never done anything like that in public. Maybe it was a stupid thing to think about, a stupid distinction to make, because there was that time behind the pub, and a few times in the truck that weren’t quite so secluded, but.

But.

And now, here. Colin was just sitting there. Looking at him.

“So,” Jeremy said, and it felt like cracking an egg. Impossible to take back. “Last night was… uh…”

A moment passed, then the corner of Colin’s mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

----------------------------------------

Dunsegall looked completely the same, of course, which was somehow disappointing, even though they’d only been gone for about thirty-six hours. Once they were back at the cottage, Jeremy hopped out of Aggie’s idling Jeep and cast a glare at the sky, where a dark set of rain clouds were steadily closing in on the island.

“Shit,” said Aggie, her voice carrying through the open driver’s window. She, too, was looking up at the sky. “Might have to put tomorrow’s plans on hold.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes as he shouldered his rucksack. “Figures.” He shot a glance at Colin, who nodded. “Just keep me updated, I guess.”

“Will do.” Aggie shot him a grin. “Hey, let us know how your mum’s doing. That was one hell of a bomb we dropped on her Friday night.”

Jeremy scoffed and grinned back. “Yeah. I think we broke her brain.” He stepped away and gave her a salute. “Thanks for taking me, Aggie. It was… yeah, it was incredible.”

“Anything for our Yankee boy.” And with that, she shifted out of park and started to turn around. “Now go take a nap!”

“I will!” Jeremy laughed, giving them a final wave. He turned back to the cottage and went through the front gate. But before he could reach the door, it swung open with a bang.

Jeremy froze, his mouth dry, as he took in the sight before him. “Mom. Hi.”

Rochelle was standing in the doorway, her eyes bloodshot, her eyebrow twitching, and her hands shaking. She stared at him, and he slowly realized that she was wearing the same sweatshirt from the day before, but now with a pair of ancient pajama pants and a single, ratty slipper he didn’t recognize. Her hair had a strange dent in it on one side, there was a tiny piece of popcorn stuck to her cheek, and he could see what had to be a fresh coffee stain on her collar.

In short, she looked completely insane. But, he realized, maybe this was what she’d looked like in college.

Jeremy was still getting his brain up to speed, so it took a moment for things to slot into place. “Ah.” He nodded. “Do I have enough time for one last cup of coffee before you drag me out back and kill me?”

His mom shook her head, then stepped aside and held open the door.