"Love looks not with the eyes,
but with the mind, and therefore
is winged Cupid painted blind."

-William Shakespeare

Although Alan would not admit it, deep down he knew Hugh was right about Manchester. It could seem like a depressing city at first sight. And the second sight, and the third. He held his sleeve in front of his nose to keep out the penetrating stench of the soot-filled air.

Shakily, his bike came to a stop. Less than a week after his arrival in the city he longed for the familiar surroundings of Bletchley. His life had always been a succession of moves and landladies. Never again. He had promptly bought a house just outside the city with his savings, hoping to make this place feel more like home.

However, it didn't. In fact, he had never felt so lonely.

Placing his bike against a wall in Oxford Street, his gaze wandered to the sky, as it often did when he was in a melancholic mood. The smog that Chris so detested formed an oppressive grey mass in the sky, even more so than in London.

As long as there are stars in the sky, I will be with you. The stars were not there and he was grateful for that. The only good thing in this city was the permanent layer of clouds that shielded him from his tormenting memories.

Alan quickly shook off those words before they could have any impact. As if the move had not already brought enough commotion, he increasingly felt a stab in his heart. That physical pain was presaged by the emotional pain he felt after his encounter with James; old wounds had been reopened.

Thus he chose to focus on everything but that pain and shifted his attention to the growling of his stomach. Alan glanced at his watch, which told him he could afford another lunch break before his working day began.

With his bike in hand, he set course for the restaurant he had dined at on his first day and had remained loyal to ever since.

Lost in thought, he dragged himself along, back arched, eyes focused on the uneven ground in an effort not to trip. As he reached his destination and slowly lifted his head, something caught his eye.

He froze in his tracks, the hairs on his arms standing up. It couldn't be true.

He ducked into the first alleyway and hid himself behind a movie poster hanging on the glass wall of the cinema. Alan pretended to be very interested in a film about a flying elephant.

From the corner of his eye, he caught another glimpse of the blue eyes that belonged to a small young man, he estimated his age to be around twenty. Nonchalantly, he leaned against the façade of the restaurant and ran a hand through his blond hair.

Everything in his existence screamed one word. One name. Chris. He didn't need some relativity theory to know that was nonsense. Still, his feet started moving. Still, he reached out to tap the boy's shoulder. The way the weak sunlight shone on his golden hair, it felt unreal. Up close, Alan could see how the slender body turned to face him. It was as if he saw a ghost.

The man raised his head, it was only when the chilly blue eyes met his that reality dawned on him. This boy was not a mixture of sunshine and oceans, rather a typical Manchester rainstorm.

Alan felt a negligent yet questioning look pass over him.

As if being pushed back by an invisible force, Alan recoiled. The adrenaline rush had not yet left his body.

"I- I apologise." Stammering, the words rolled across his lips before he could even stop himself. "I thought you were the root of negative one, because you seem to come straight from of my imagination."

Before his mind's eye, he saw Hugh clapping slowly. The message was clear; leave the mathematical flirting to the chess master.

The boy dully inspected his black-painted nails.

Alan tried to pull himself together. "Are you waiting for the restaurant to open?"

"I live here." He jabbed his index finger in the air.

With difficulty, Alan tore his gaze away from the black nails and followed the direction in which they pointed. He had never noticed the neglected-looking flat above his favourite restaurant before.

To make Hugh at least somewhat proud, he had the decency to mention his name and invite the young man to lunch.

To Alan's surprise, the corner of the boy's mouth crept up. "I won't turn down such an offer," he replied. Though he doubted the skinny stranger would ever turn down an invitation to eat. With a graceful gesture, he held the door open. "Arnold is the name, Mary-Ann for the friends," he complemented with a wink.

Less than a minute later, Arnold greedily sank his teeth into a chicken sandwich. Still, he managed to continue talking with his mouth full.

Impressed by what had just happened, Alan let the cascade of words wash over him.

"Until you attempted that terrible maths flirt, I honestly thought you were asking for a quickie in the back alley."

Alan choked on his tea.

"This is Oxford Street for a reason." The boy grinned from behind his loaf of bread.

Alan wanted to deny that he did not know this street was known as a meeting place for homosexuals, but that would be a lie. Had he invited an escort for a meal? His mental Hugh raised a thumb. His cheeks coloured red.

"Don't worry, I don't do that. I feel sorry for people who simply offer themselves for money," Arnold answered his unasked question. "Look at me, after my army service I returned to school, unemployed. I could use money. But the war is taking its toll on everyone. Lonely souls walk this street looking for love that cannot be bought."

Alan felt addressed and turned his gaze to the ominous thundercloud outside the window. "Are you one of those lonely souls?"

A mocking laugh left the mouth of the man opposite of him. "Are you asking for a friend?"

Alan suddenly became very aware of his uncombed hair, his unwashed shirt.

Arnold blew a strand of hair out of his face and bent over. From this close, he wondered how he could ever have mistaken him for Chris. The freckles on his nose and the sharp jawline were strange to behold, and the smell that invaded his nose smelt of Manchester, anything but vanilla.

The man let himself fall backwards. "That's what I thought." He continued in a whisper. "And yes I am one of those souls, should you really want to know. I dream of the perfect relationship with a woman. The house- garden-baby life. Who wouldn't want that?"

Alan was momentarily confused by those words, until he convinced himself that he too had wanted to fulfil that dream with Joan. Still, he saw the "but" coming from afar.

"On the other hand," the boy continued, "I don't want to pretend either when I'm among men. You know?"

A tortured laugh escaped his throat. "When you live like that, life sometimes seems surreal, a lousy play." He was startled by the bitterness in his own voice. "And I'm a horrible actor."

"I must agree, flirting in the middle of the road is not exactly subtle." Arnold's fingers played with the chain around his neck from which two metal plates hung, almost teasingly.

"I don't think I should hide it, I embrace who-"

A sharp snort interrupted him. "Just make sure the rest of the world doesn't hear that. If you have one shred of intellect, you know that such statements could get you killed. And yet you had just almost said it out loud, to someone who has known you for ten minutes tops."

A wave of unease flooded Alan. Was that a threat? At that, it was late for his working day and meanwhile, he was pouring his heart out to some young man.

Alan pushed back his chair and threw a pile of cash on the table. Without a word, he walked out of the restaurant. Although the food was delectable, he would not set foot inside it again, knowing that the man lived above it.

He abruptly took his bike off the wall. As Alan lifted his leg over the saddle, he realised how childish his behaviour was. He didn't care. He started cycling.

As a mathematician, he sought an escape from reality. He did not like being thrust into the cruelties of this world. The fact that love was a crime, it was as simple as that.

Alan was pulled out of his thoughts by two hands gripping his steering wheel. He kept his gaze fixed on the paving stones, but the black nails clasping his bike indicated that Arnold had followed him.

"Thanks for the sandwich." The man's hesitant voice was followed by a sigh. "I admire you for daring to expose yourself like that. I myself tried that once, my father was not pleased." He crossed his arms and the rolled-up sleeves revealed a chain of scars. "Am I wearing nail polish in protest? Yes. Do I get scolded on the street for being a Nancy? Sure. But I can't be arrested for that. For what you were about to say, you can though. I panicked.

Now Alan did look up. Arnold's face was surprisingly cheerful.

"Will I see you again?" He immediately regretted those words.

Arnold stepped out of the way and winked. "In your dreams?"

Alan settled for that answer and put his feet on the pedals. In the distance, he heard Arnold still calling after him.

"Can I have a ride on your ladies' bike then?"

A smile spread across his face.

"The goal is simple," Womersley addressed him.

Alan listened with only half an ear. His gaze wandered all the time from the bald head of his new boss to the expensive paintings on the walls. Mentally, he was still in the restaurant, staring into a pair of stormy eyes. There was something about the man that intrigued him.

Womersley snapped his fingers in front of Alan's nose. "We convince the Congress that our design for an electronic calculator is the future, only then can they advance us the necessary money."

Alan was reminded why they were here. Although he and Womersley did not get along well, he needed the man for his knowledge of physics, and his charms as a businessman. He had left it to Womersley to find investors for his computer idea, immediately the latter had declared himself boss of the project. He thought it was pathetic that they had to beg for money for scientific research.

He nodded briefly.

Womersley gave him a dubious look. "And for once, Turing, behave yourself." With those words, he threw open the oak door. "Lord Darwin, how nice of you to receive us."

Alan followed his colleague into a huge conference room, with a stack of papers under his arm.

"A descendant of Charles Darwin?" he whispered to himself. He could not help but gawk at the man at the head of the table. Alan had to force himself to stay in position before he walked up to the man to check if he wasn't just a figment of his imagination. Darwin had been the most advanced scientist of his century. Or at least in his opinion.

Womersley bowed in the direction of the seated man and replied to Alan with clenched jaws, "A grandson and the head of Congress."

Alan continued to stare stubbornly. But to avoid a repeat of his encounter with Einstein – in which he had stumbled over his words and then had taken to his heels – he bit his tongue.

Darwin, whose moustache and clean-shaven chin looked almost nothing like his grandfather, pushed back his chair and held out a hand.

A remarkably handsome man who had been waiting at the door – Alan was surprised he had not noticed him until now – took the hand first. "Charles Eryl Wynn-Williams." He spoke with a Welsh accent, it sounded almost lilting, "Doctor in physics and engineering, specialising in the operation of electronic devices."

Alan was not surprised that Womersley had not consulted him before recruiting new members.

Womersley immediately interfered. "A brilliant new addition to our team. What would we be without an engineer." After a short laugh from both men, he also introduced himself. "John Womersley, doctor in mathematics."

Darwin turned his back to Alan to greet the engineer and mathematician. Alan took advantage of that moment to roll his eyes. The two could boast of their title all they wanted, why would that convince Darwin of the success rate of their project.

He now held out his hand himself. "Alan Turing, doctor in the perception of homophily in Ancient Rome."

He saw Womersley stiffen, a deadly look coming his way. Darwin's hand continued to hover in the air.

"I have several papers to show for it," Alan continued, "in the form of reports with a red zero on them."

Darwin broke the awkward silence with a shockingly loud laugh and shook Alan's hand. "That's not something you hear every day. How interesting." He displayed the same enthusiasm Alan had just had at hearing his name. "Did you know that my grandfather researched homosexuality among spider monkeys? Two males would adopt an outcast youngling. Nature finds its way. Would you like to read the report?"

"That sounds incredibly fascinating," Alan said coolly, casting a triumphant glance at Womersley.

His boss dabbed the sweat from his bald forehead with a handkerchief. "Actually, Turing is a distinguished mathematician, one of the best. Or so I have been told by the intelligence service. He worked there on a secret machine you see, a real connoisseur of computers. Genius but daffy, which is why I'm the supervisor." He whispered that last part, still loud enough for everyone to hear. He turned to Alan. "Watch this. What is a primitive function of the cosine?" The man looked over his glasses at Alan, eyes full of expectation, as if he had just asked a monkey the most difficult question in the universe.

Alan hesitated, not because of the maths, but because he was trying to figure out whether he was mocking him. "The sine," he finally replied.

The engineer next to him chuckled amusedly. "What a doltish question."

"But what if I had answered it wrong," Alan added, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Believe it or not, you can't embarrass yourself any more than you already have," Womersley snapped at him.

Darwin agitatedly drummed his fingers on the wooden table. "So you are trying to make an," with narrowed eyes, he stared at a piece of paper Alan had brought, "electronic calculator. How much money are we talking about?"

"The test rig will cost ten thousand pounds." A forced smile appeared on Womersley's face, knowing he was asking for an immense sum of money.

Darwin shoved the pile of papers away, as if his decision had already been made.

"The Americans are working on making a similar computer," Alan jumped in. "However, the so-called EDVAC is less efficient than the design we have right here. They copied the idea from me, but I am the only one who can lift it to its potential." He pushed the stack of papers back towards Darwin, with the blueprint on top.

However, the latter did not look at the intricate drawing. Alan avoided his gaze, but still felt it resting on his head. "And what is that potential then?"

"The Americans only want to use it for one purpose.' Alan thought of his bombe, which only could crack Enigma. However incredible others thought that was, it was far too limited. "We want to build an actual brain. A machine that can learn just like humans. One that can solve mathematical problems as well as compose a piece of music. One day, people will take their computers for walks in the park and say to each other, "My little computer said such a funny thing this morning!" That's our goal." Alan sealed his lips again, overwhelmed by his own enthusiasm.

Darwin scratched his moustache thoughtfully. "That's a very ambitious goal, even if it sounds almost impossible. People will say that creating a brain is only something a God could do. Do you consider yourself a God, Turing?"

Alan glanced at Womersley, who was hiding his head in his hand in despair. Alan shook his head frantically. "Not in the slightest."

A smile appeared on Darwin's face. "My grandfather would have been thrilled with your idea." He tapped the table with his hand and stood up. "I will put in a good word for you with the Council. The British government will fund the realisation of a Turing machine."

As Alan skidded his bicycle to a halt, he thought back with a smile to Womersley's stink eye when Darwin had called their computer a Turing machine. Usually, he did not derive pleasure from jealousy, but the man could sing a take it down a notch, because this daffy had just brought their plan to success.

For a moment he was proud of himself. Until he looked around and the smile soon slipped from his face.

He had driven blindly down Oxford Street and stopped at the restaurant. It was silly to think Arnold would be waiting for him, or that he would ever see him at all. A boy as handsome would not even remember someone as dull and unkempt as him. He felt the joy flowing out of his body, only now realising how hard he had hoped. If only to have a conversation partner, someone to buy a chicken sandwich for.

Alan shook his head and put a foot on the pedal as he heard his name echoing down the street.

His head shot up. Through the open window above the restaurant, he saw a blond-haired boy beckoning him.