Dominic used to say you're so good for me, bunny. You're so good for me, bunny. You're so good for me. I wanted to believe it meant that I were good for him just as he were good for me, that we were compatible as a couple despite the differences that people who didn't understand would criticize. Of course, it never did. It meant I were good for him, I were good for him. He mined the pleasure he sought after with ease because I were good and didn't resist, because I were good and said I enjoyed it too, because I were good and never told him to stop.

I don't know why or when I ended up outside Dominic's old apartment building, but I stare at what used to be his window from the street opposite. Though I'm fully aware he don't live there anymore, I imagine storming up the stairs and banging on his door until he comes to open it. Even better, until Iain comes to open it.

'I've gotta tell ya summat,' I'd say without introduction — D'you remember me from eight years ago? I remember you. 'Your boyfriend's a cheater. A groomer too.'

Iain's face would fall yet there would be relief etched somewhere between the fourth and seventh layers of skin because a part of him has always known and now he finally has confirmation. He silently invites me into the flat and Dominic slowly looks up from his lunch — no, from his work which he does on a laptop as he drinks his third cup of coffee. For two-thirds of a second, he tries to smile until terror sneaks in.

If Dominic opened the door, I would say nowt. Words would crumble in my chest. Maybe he would invite me inside. 'Please, one brew,' he'd say. 'I insist.'

I'd hesitate on the doorstep but what am I supposed to say now when I were the one knocking? Sorry, wrong flat? He'd know I'm lying.

I end up sitting across from him at his table. Is the table the same small kind that only fits two, or four at most? Or does he have a larger one now? Maybe he and Iain have a well-formed friend group with other couples and they host dinner in turns. So the table is large enough to fit eight. I sit across from him with the wide expanse of birch spread out on either side like the no-man's land during battle and yet our hands could so easily touch.

He only loves me in the trenches. Maybe I'm only loveable in the trenches.

'How've you been?' he asks, his smile so bright that he don't look a day over twenty-five.

I have to fight the urge to look away, to tangle the string of my tea bag into the handle of the mug until it'll have to be cut off with the scissors forgotten on the table. Unless he's left them there on purpose to prove how easy it will be for him to cut me open.

'Aye, can't complain... You?'

'Grand.' Dominic has always known how to smile at the same time he talks. It should've been a warning, shouldn't it? There's no reason to keep reminding me of his teeth. 'You really look good, Miles.'

The compliment makes my insides squirm.

'I've not seen you around.' It's not a question but I answer it anyway.

'Aye, I live in Brighton now.'

'Brighton? Wow, you really went all the way south.'

The way he says it makes me feel like a traitor — worse, a coward, like I've had to run away from him. He's won some war over Leeds and in my losing, I've lost the entire north too. 'It were for my mum's work,' I defend myself. 'We moved when I were in year twelve.'

'Right, I remember Jacob mentioning summat like that...' Dominic pauses to drink his brew. I've not touched mine. 'So are you seeing someone?'

I nod. 'He's perfect... What about you? Are you still with Iain?'

Dominic is entirely unfazed by me bringing up Iain. He don't get caught in lies. 'No. We split years ago.'

'Oh. Did he find out you're a rapist or were it summat else?'

His face falls. Before either of us knows what I'm doing, I've seized the scissors forgotten on the table and stabbed them right through his hand. You'll never touch anyone with it again.

'You ruined my life. You got any fucking idea how much you fucking ruined my life?' For the first time, I'm on top of him. The scissors pierce his flesh until there's more blood on the floor than in his body.

Of course, it wouldn't happen like this. He'd give me one compliment and there would be no squirming in my insides or cold sweat at the back of my neck. I'd melt, I'd become perfectly malleable for him.

Maybe after talking for half an hour or twenty minutes after he finishes his brew, he would kiss me. Or am I too old for him now? Are the muscles in my arms too visible? Would I be able to tell him to stop this time? Or would his fingers anchor into my hips whether or not he knew I had a boyfriend to work me like playdough?

If he pushed me onto the bed, I would let him, even if it were a king-sized with a wedding photo on the nightstand. I don't know how to say no, especially to him. If I did, would he listen to me? Would such explicit crossing of boundaries be where he draws a line or would he force me down, tangle my wrists into my shirt so I'd be unable to fight back, and go at it?

But I wouldn't fight back. I would let him do what he wanted even now. Even now, I need him to like me so desperately that I'd cut off my own hands with nowt but the string of a teabag if he asked me to.

Maybe I'm no better than he is. If I'd cheat on Ziri with so little effort on Dominic's part, maybe I'm no better than him. If nobody likes me then I'm the common denominator, aren't I? I'm the bad person. Maybe it really is my fault and even if not, I probably deserved it.

            The summer has officially been declared a heatwave with temperatures breaking thirty, the warmest it's been since 2006. Though I've left the house right after breakfast and have no need to hide my tattoos, I don't take my hoodie off. I keep my hands buried deep in my pockets. The sweltering heat might be the only thing keeping me alert enough not to walk under a car.

I'm too out of it to process my name being called until someone jogs up beside me. 'Miles! Oi, mate!'

I turn to see Jacob's flushed cheeks. My mind is still too far in the attic to string together a greeting. What am I s'posed to say, Hi, I've just been fantasising about violently murdering your cousin. How's things?

'Didn't I tell ya to let me know next time ya came up? You brampot, I'm gonna start thinking you're avoiding me.' I try to pin together a smile but he smacks my arm and I've become so unaccustomed with lad behaviour that the impact knocks the smile right off. 'C'mon, let me buy you a drink. Or a brew — I dunno if you wanna drink at one in t'afternoon and all, if you've gone all southern.'

'They day drink down south too.'

'Do they?'

'Aye. But I actually don't drink anymore so...'

'Brew then. I've got fifty minutes of my lunch break and you're rid of me.'

'I really should...' Potential excuses to get back to my grandparents' circle in my mind but as soon as I imagine stepping through the door, cement pours into my ribs. Upon second thought, I'd rather have an awkward chat with Jacob than face Ông, Bà, or Má. Or Iris, in complete honesty. 'Aye, alright. Go on then.'

Jacob cheers, fist-pumping the air, and a smile grows on my face. When has anybody been this excited to talk to me?

He keeps his arm around my back as he leads me to a café down the street. Jacob offers to buy me food too, "a muffin at least", but my appetite is nonexistent which he accepts the fourth time and instead insists on carrying my tea.

He places the comically large mug on the table between two armchairs. 'Happy birthday, mate.'

My surprise gets the best of me. Nobody remembers my birthday without a Facebook notification and I haven't seen Jacob in six years. Barring Ziri and Sonia's phone calls, he's the first person to say that to me. I thank him after far too long a pause.

The armchair tries to swallow me. I have to lean much further than I'd like to find the backrest; it forces my chest open into a wide target. I sit on the edge instead, hunched forward.

Jacob on the other hand, is perfectly comfortable with the sprawled slouch the chair forces. He holds his mug with both hands and beams at me. 'How've you been?'

Fine is already on my tongue when I say instead, 'I've been better. But I've been worse... You?'

'I'm reet grand actually. The job's going well, I've just moved in with my lass.' His smile grows so wide I'm sure it hurts his cheeks. 'What about your fella?'

My mug slips dangerously in my hands. I preemptively flinch from the scalding of my skin, feel it ripple and blisters even when I barely spill a drop and I slide the mug back on the table, untouched. 'What?'

'Your fella. Who you were up with last time. How come he's not with you? You didn't split up, did ya?' When I continue to stare in horror, Jacob laughs. 'C'mon, Miles, a blind man could see it.'

I have to suppress a shiver even as I sweat. The café's AC stops working and my clothes become a trap for heat again. My eyes dart to the door, mapping the fastest path through the crammed tables. I shouldn't have come here. It's a trap–

'I don't have a problem with you being gay.' My stare snaps back to Jacob as his brow furrows. 'Are you gay? Or one of em other ones.'

'No, I'm gay...'

This is bizarre. First Iris and now Jacob is more accepting of me than I am? Jacob, who made that's what she said jokes at every opportunity and never failed to call me a bender for wearing sunblock.

'My lass is pansexual so I'm trying to learn the terminology and that... But, in all honesty, I ain't even know what a spatula is.'

I laugh. It feels so good after so much time that I let it go on for longer than natural, but Jacob don't seem to think owt about it.

'So, your fella?'

'Aye. Ziri.' My laughter fades into a grin, then into a flat line. 'He's... ill right now.'

He phoned me this morning to wish me happy birthday, and though more hyperactive than usual, he didn't appear to have completely lost reality. He just asked me what style to do on his hair and told me about how the neighbours have been doing renovations all day and night which I'm a hundred per cent sure ain't happening anywhere but his head, but it could be much worse.

'Aye, we're good.' Even in mania, the thought of him eases the tension in my shoulders and I finally drink my brew. It hardens like cement in my stomach. 'Did you know? That I'm gay, like... always?'

'Nah. Just last time when I saw you with, er–'

'Ziri.' I exhale his name with relief.

'Ziri. As I said, blind man could see it. I were too preoccupied with my own quote-on-quote "turmoil" as a teenager to really notice owt bout anybody else. You could've turned into a llama and I wouldn't've looked twice.' Jacob chuckles, and I smile.

There's summat so comforting in him. Maybe it's the thought that I don't have to completely lose everything I've known to be happy, that some things and some people might actually follow with me. Maybe it's just that he's a little stupid and I don't feel like I have to constantly prove myself.

'But I wouldn't've had a problem with it then either. My cousin — you remember Dom? — He's always been gay. I mean obviously, he's always been gay, but he's always been out as gay for the family. Since I were I kid anyway.'

This information hooks me like a fish. Will I ever be able to not care? 'He's always been out?' I ask, trying to keep my voice from contorting.

'To the family.'

He told me we could never do owt in public, that I could never show up to his flat, that I couldn't tell anyone — and most of all, never Jacob — because he were closeted. I've known for months now but hearing it exposed outright as yet another lie, I can't stop my anger from resurfacing and then sinking to bring forth the realisation that I'm such an idiot.

A groan chafes my throat and I abandon my tea again to bury my face in my hands.

'You alright, mate?'

'Fine.' I drag my palms down, screwing my eyes shut before tears have the chance to build up. 'Sorry.'

Why am I so fucking stupid? Honestly, it's like I don't even have a brain. Falling for it at sixteen is one thing, but not understanding what's so obvious at twenty-four is another.

'You sure you're alright?'

I've already nodded when the words get away from me, 'We used to date and that.' My eyes lock onto a marker drawing on the table someone has done their best to scrub off. 'Me and Dominic.'

'Like... long distance?'

'GCSE year.'

My breath clogs as I wait for him to leap to his feet, yell or throw his tea in my face. There's summat satisfying about the burn, the skin that slides right off bone.

When nowt happens, my eyes flick up to find Jacob frozen, a bite of his tart halfway up to his mouth. 'Wha...? But... You serious?' His spoon clatters onto his plate and he shifts as if to stand up only to drop back into the armchair. 'But you... And he had a fella then. That's well fucked up, mate.'

'I'm sorry.'

He expels a single breath of laughter. 'You're still doing that then?' When I stare at him in confusion, Jacob explains, 'Apologising for stuff that ain't got nowt to do with ya. Swear down, I could complain it's raining and you'd apologise.'

'You're not cross with me?'

'Why would I be cross with you?'

'For having sex with your cousin. Ain't that like... against the bro code or summat?'

Jacob stares at me with a slack jaw. 'Wha? Miles, I'm cross with my cousin for having sex with my sixteen-year-old mate.' He grabs his head, trying to squeeze the information into his brain.

'I ain't– it were legal. I ain't gonna, like, make a big deal of it.' I wring my hands in my lap, shifting closer to him, closer to the edge of the seat. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't've told you.'

Trapped in his own thoughts, Jacob don't seem to hear me. 'You were weird that whole year. I reckoned you were stressed for exams.' He shakes his head. 'Can't believe I had no idea.'

I realise that the splinter in his voice is genuine remorse. He really ain't angry with me — not only that but he's sorry. So I'm not just crazy and overly sensitive. If I told him about Má, about my family, would that make him angry too the way a good friend (and he seems to consider me a friend) is on someone's behalf?