Page 19 of Who The Hell Are You?

“Come again?”

“My friend Jemmy runs a bar in town and twice a month she throws an open mic night. We like to get a group together, have some drinks, which are half price and some of us get up and sing.”

His eyebrows jump in surprise. “You sing?”

I hold down my next blush, feigning confidence. “I diddle.”

“Can I come if you promise to never say the word diddle again?”

I laugh. “Sure, I promise to remove it from my vocabulary. What other words do you recommend as its replacement?”

“Oh, there's par-take, dip your toes in, try your luck at, play in, have a go at–I could go on. In other contexts it means to dupe, trick, bamboozle.”

We laugh and chat for the entire walk to class, which goes too quickly, but I love glimpsing his giant brain. I soak in his intelligence and it makes me happy that he doesn't doubt mine. Sometimes I can be quiet whilst someone does the talking, but It's not like that with him, and I can't stop thinking about that for the rest of the week.

8

The bar where I first met Cass–unknown to him–has a vibrant buzz, the crowd sitting at every available space facing a corner that has been turned into a small stage. I've never seen it this busy, and I assume the heavily tattooed woman behind the bar who is always here, is his friend Jemmy.

Letting the door close, I pull at the collar of my denim jacket because the packed heat turns my cheeks rosy. The wall lights casting a burning warm glow, spotlights aimed towards instruments placed on the stage. All the patrons are talking in their casual groups and despite a few of them clearly being from the rugby team, there's no rowdiness that makes me uncomfortable. My openly queerness hadn’t gone well with the sports team in my secondary school, so sometimes large groups of men make me squirm. I'm happy that I followed him to practice after his last class the other night, because I recognise a few faces now.

Shaking off the thought because the vibes are good here, I give the bartender a small smile before gazing over everyone to locate Cass. I’d text him when setting off and he'd replied that he was already here with Harris, Emery and his sister Lilia, who was visiting.

I spot Harris first because he towers over their table, even when sitting, Emery is flapping his arms as he talks and a dainty silver haired girl I assume is his sister, sits opposite laughing. My heart stills when my eyes fall upon Cass, his fitted black polo-shirt stretching over his broad chest, with all the buttons open. The dark tattoos on his arms and throat make him look like a hellish god–a delicious Hades. He throws his head back and laughs at his friend, his curls falling into his eyes and he swipes them back with his thick fingers.

All at once my mouth is painfully dry, my own hand tugging at my loose waves. Before I can take even one step in their direction up by the front, a familiar mop of wild curls, dyed a pink rose tone, appears in front of me. My house mate Teddy stands with his arms crossed, tight long sleeve, pink crop top standing out amongst the crowd of dark clothes. He's also sprayed glitter in his hair, making sparkles bounce against where the lights catch it. It's so drastically different from his daytime preppy look, but my friend changes his style with the slightest breeze. Seasonally, emotionally, politically, any change he experiences brings out a different side of his wardrobe. Scowling up at me, I realise him being here means our course friends will be too, because they're the only people Teddy leaves the house for. That means Grace is here. Ugh.

“I asked you to come to this last week! You said no.”

“Receipts or it didn't happen. Hey by the way.” I roll my eyes, moving around him to stand at the bar. A couple of people are already waiting, so I lean my hip against the wood and scan the crowd again. As I suspected, Grace and a few of our friends sit right next to Cass’s table. Like he can feel me staring, he turns and the moment our eyes meet, a wide grin spreads across his face. I can't help but grin back. I probably look psychotic.

The volume of my happiness must tip Teddy off, because his head snaps to where I'm staring, before returning back to me. “Oh no Miles, Grace’s boyfriend is not a good idea. He's straight!”

I ignore the last part, because it's obviously not true, but I'd never out someone. “Not her boyfriend anymore.” If possibly my smile gets more manic, and he’s now out of his seat. He moves around chairs, heading to me.

“They broke up? That bitch didn't even say anything. Oh well, it's still a bad idea.”

I shrug. “Don't look then.”

“Miles! That man is straight, you can't play with him. He likes things like…vulvas, boobs–I don't know, the taste of cherry lipgloss?” He's spiraling, hands flailing as he notices Cass now approaching. “You can't!”

Keeping my voice low, I lean forward but my eyes remain on my future husband who is feet away. “I can wear cherry lipgloss.”

“Miles!”

“Hey Miley, you made it.” Cass says reaching us, his smooth voice like a balm on my nervous system. He reaches for me and pulls me to him by my wrist, slotting himself next to the bar and slightly behind me. This catches Teddy’s attention and he straightens, because straight men who aren't interested in my opinion, aren't touchy feely like he is. I don't think he knows he's doing it half the time, it's like we just melt together. He's always touching me and I fucking love it.

“Hey Teddy, right? You're Miles's roommate?” I’d spoken about my friends on our unofficial coffee date, but it's impressive that he paid attention.

He nods a little frantic. “Yeah, Hi–that’s me! We were in halls together first year, and now he can't get rid of me.”

“He's like a fungus.” I deadpan, but Teddy just grabs my cheeks surprisingly in a strong grip and shakes my face, squishing my lips.

“You love me.” He bats his eyelashes, before letting go of my face. “Anyway, it's lovely to meet you again Casper. Good luck with this one.” He trails his eyes down me in mock disgust, however giving Cass a friendly smile and wave goodbye.

I rub my cheeks. “I don't know what he means, I'm a delight.”

He chuckles, “Oh I bet you can be a little wicked.” His eyes glint. “What do you want to drink? Have you been to an open mic night before? Do you go to bars often? Sorry, I’ll not bombard you with questions.” He blushes and rubs at his neck.