Sunday, September 7th 2014

'Do you need any help moving your stuff in?' asked Mark, pulling into a loading dock and starting to help him unload his stuff onto the footpath outside the entrance to his building.

'No,' Jack replied, probably too fast, 'I'll be grand from here. I don't have that much stuff.'

Jack's stomach twisted as he stared up at the apartment. Too late to turn back now. He had rehearsed what he'd say a hundred times, but no version of it felt right. He wasn't gay. He wasn't. The thought of seeing Ciarán again, of Ciarán looking at him like he knew something made Jack feel like he might actually throw up.

'Are you sure?'

'Cinnte, thanks though.' He couldn't risk Mark meeting Ciarán. Not before he spoke to him.

'Fadhb ar bith, Jacko,' he said, placing the last of Jack's bags onto the ground beside him.

'You off down to Limerick now?'

'Myself and Laura were gonna go for dinner first, then I'll probably hit the road.'

'Fair. When ya back next?'

'I probably won't be in Dublin for a few weeks now, but I'll see you at home, sure?'

'Sound. Go on so. I'll talk to ya. Thanks again.'

'Slán, a mhac,' Mark replied, giving Jack a quick one-armed hug and then climbed back into his car, 'and remember, if you can't be good with all these Dublin girls, at least be careful!' He gave Jack a wink and he smiled.

'Always. Gur'bh míle. See ya soon!'

And with that, Jack was alone; standing outside the entrance to his new apartment with a large rucksack on his back, a huge O'Neill's gear bag from his home club in either hand, and a duvet set he had bought in Penneys on the way down from Galway. It wasn't a lot of stuff, but he didn't need a lot in Dublin yet. He had planned on moving things down bit by bit anyway, but there was no point with this place as he'd be out of there as soon as possible, all things going well. He took a deep breath, and text his landlord that he was outside. A few seconds later, his phone pinged.

Keys under the mat. If ya need anything, shoot me a text!

He shut the front door quietly behind him, but as he placed his gear bag onto the floor, a voice that sounded vaguely familiar cut across the room. 'How in God's name did you get in here?' Ciarán had just entered the room and was standing in front of him, staring with bewilderment. Jack said nothing for a moment. He simply stared back at the boy whose bed he had slept in just days previously. 'Do you...Are you...'

'I just moved in,' Jack finally mustered.

'What a small world,' replied Ciarán, his shocked face contorting into a smile, 'what are the chances of that? I suppose that's Dublin for ya!'

Jack stared blankly at him. He felt like he was going to get sick. Ciarán laughed awkwardly again, approaching Jack with a smirk on his face and clapped him on the shoulder and went in for a hug. Jack pulled his shoulder out of reach, and Ciarán's smile faded slightly, replaced with a look of confusion.

'Are you alri-'

'I don't know what you think happened the other night,' Jack said, his voice too sharp, too defensive.

Ciarán's smile faltered. 'What are you doing?'

Jack's jaw clenched. 'I was drunk off my face. I didn't know where I was. You kissed me.'

Silence. Ciarán's brows lifted, then furrowed. He actually looked amused. 'I kissed you?' he echoed, voice light but laced with something dangerous. 'Alright, calm down, girl. You're safe in your closet-'

Jack stepped closer, his pulse pounding in his ears. 'If you tell anyone...' He swallowed. 'If anyone finds out, I'll break your arm.' Ciarán's smirk vanished. Jack barely registered how his own hands were shaking until he felt the fabric of Ciarán's hoodie balled between his fists. 'If you tell anyone anything...If anyone from home or here finds out about this, I'll break your arm. I just needed somewhere to stay-'

'Get your hands off me,' ordered Ciarán calmly, but firmly. Jack held onto him for a second longer, and then threw the boy back.

Jack said nothing. They stared each other down for a few moments, until Ciarán finally spoke again.

'You may have been king of the muckers back home, but here?' Ciarán's lip curled. 'You're nobody, bai. And nobody gives a fuck about your little identity crisis.' Jack's breath hitched. 'But if you ever lay a hand on me again?' Ciarán took a step closer, voice dropping. 'I'll ruin your life.' Jack stared back at him, 'I won't say anything though. Make yourself at home...fucking prick.'

Jack's phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn't move. He felt sick. Ciaran maintained eye contact for a second until the phone rang out, and then rolled his eyes up to heaven, skulking to his room and slamming the door behind him. The vibrating resumed and Jack pulled the phone from his pocket. His mother.

'Gimme a sec,' he muttered to her, stepping out of the sitting room and into his own room, closing the door behind him.

'Jack, love! Just checking in that you're all moved in ok? How's Dublin?'

'Grand, yeah. Good,' he said, keeping his voice light, already bracing himself for whatever interrogation was looming, 'literally just unpacking now.'

'Good, good. I was just at Mass there this morning —Father O'Reilly was talking about that dreadful referendum next year. Imagine—trying to change the definition of marriage! The world's gone mad, Jack. I hope they knock that nonsense on the head.'

Jack stared at a crack in the ceiling. 'Yeah,' he muttered, barely listening.

'You've not seen any of that carry-on up there yet, have you?' she asked lightly, laughing like it was a joke. Jack's hand tightened around his phone. His flat was literally opposite the most famous gay bar in the country.
'No,' he lied, 'haven't noticed.'

'You'll keep your head screwed on, won't you, Jack?' His mother's tone was light, casual—like they were talking about the weather. 'Dublin's a big place. Full of all sorts. But you've got a good head on your shoulders. You're not like them.'

Them. She didn't say the word, but Jack could hear it anyway. His throat felt tight. His flat was literally across from the most famous gay bar in Ireland.

'Of course, Mam,' he murmured.

'Sorry Jack. I don't mean to worry...it's just, you're my little boy and you've flown the next. Take care of yourself, won't you now? I love you.'

'Love you too, mam.'