The façade of Bonaparte lights up magenta. Scattered over the square, a few people are smoking, the tips of their cigarettes glowing faintly in the night against the background of the bright bar. They're wearing flashy clothes and showing off skin, despite the chilly night air. Edwin is suddenly self-conscious about his comfortable brown trousers and grey shirt. It's what he always wears for casual parties with friends, but here, the browns and greys make him feel like a mouse caked in mud.

They're not even looking at him.

The bar itself is dim, but colourful lights – a shade of pink or purple again – blind him as he enters, Caroline's hand on his arm. There are small chandeliers above the bar that glitter and he looks away. At the back is free space to dance and a DJ booth, but he can't see it well over the heads of the people standing between the high tables and bar stools. It smells musky and the air is hot, but that's the fate of every bar. The music drills through his arms and rips through his shield, through his chest, and the coil in his throat unwinds further and pokes the back of his throat. How can he ever belong here?

The people are his daughters' age or younger. They're drinking and laughing; it was the same in his college days, when he went to bars with Ellen or friends. It's even the same square. It feels familiar.

Edwin relaxes while Caroline drags him to a table surrounded by a group that welcomes her with cheers when they spot them. They're a mixed bunch in their forties or fifties and on second glance, they're not the only group over thirty.

"Everyone, this is Edwin!" A chorus greets him and they throw out names that he doesn't catch and hold. They're too giddy and their energy grates on his skin, even if he's happy to be here, and not alone in his apartment. He's always needed time to blend in with a group.

Caroline joins in on a conversation about the last time the group was here and Edwin is left to observe. It's always been like that. He loves people, loves being out with friends, a good conversation, but he doesn't stand out between other vibrant trees; instead, he's bleak as the earth and nobody looks twice if they don't stumble over him.

When Caroline's conversation winds down, he clasps her shoulder. "Should I order our drinks?"

"Thanks! Beer for me, and more crisps. If we're gonna splurge, we're gonna splurge!" She laughs and it rekindles Edwin's enthusiasm.

It's busy at the bar – everywhere, really – but he manages to attract the attention of a bartender who is swaying to the music and mouthing along. It's a young woman, short blue hair, dark lipstick and dangling earrings. She takes his order with a nod and a smile and the coil in his throat doesn't pierce the tender flesh anymore.

"You lost, honey?" a warm voice puffs far too close to Edwin's ear. The guy has dark eyes accentuated with make-up that almost blends with his brown skin, he's wearing lipstick and jewellery and bright clothes as flashy as the lights. It'd have looked strange if he was 20, but the guy must be at least in his late thirties.

"Me?" Edwin's smile is stiff.

"Is this your first rodeo here? Roped into this by your one gay friend?" He drags his gaze over Edwin's body before looking into his eyes again. The guy's eyes are truly sultry.

"No, she's ... I'm gay."

"You are?" Another once-over. It tightens a vice in Edwin's stomach. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

"Of course I am!" he snaps. "This is an LGBT bar."

"Calm your tits, sweetie. I wasn't questioning you. Nobody here will tell you your sexuality. You're the new face, that's all." He leans back against the bar. "Are you here alone?"

"No." Edwin nods at the drinks the bartender sets down in front of him. "I came with a friend and she already knows people here."

"Too bad. I could've shown you the ropes. Given you some fashion advice ..."

A blush creeps up Edwin's cheeks. An honest to god blush! He's too old for that. He's 56; he can't wear clothes with more hole than cloth and more colour than sense. Admittedly, the guy is definitely older than his daughters and he looks good, but Edwin is not that kind of gay. He's still a normal guy, without the pet names and the make-up and the ... the gay personality.

"No, ... thanks."

"Aw, come on, girl. I'll even tell you my name." Girl. Edwin grips one of the glasses. He should tell the guy to fuck off, but nicer. "It's Vincent." Vincent leans over and whispers it sensuously, as if it's not a name but a promise. Edwin has a crystal clear view of his lips.

"Edwin," he replies, grappling for normalcy.

"Edwin," Vincent repeats. It sounds softer, seductive. "A gorgeous name for a gorgeous dude. Do people sometimes call you Ed? No, you are a real winner." He chuckles at his own joke.

Edwin heats up. He's standing right under a chandelier and people press closer to the bar. He needs some breathing room to cool down. Normal people don't flirt like that. Because it's flirting – a guy is flirting with him. Ellen didn't flirt with him like that. To be honest, he rarely flirted with her either. They just were close, and then closer. She never made him feel as if he's balancing on a tightrope over a ravine.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetie?" Vincent laughs.

Edwin fires back his unease. "No, you're ... forward."

"It's okay. I know not everyone can handle me. Where's your friend? She let a snack like you go off alone?"

"Why should I tell you?" Edwin's feet are slipping on the rope and he waves his words like his mental arms, even though they don't do much for his balance. He certainly feels like a piece of meat when there are sharks like Vincent around. "You don't know her."

"I know most regulars, honey. Have them all wrapped around my finger." He circles his finger in the air and smacks his lips.

"I see you've met Vincent," a woman says behind Edwin.

"Caroline, my queen!" Vincent exclaims. "You're the friend! Should have known you'd take a poor guy under your wing."

Edwin turns and Caroline is right behind him. He immediately finds a shoulder to keep him steady in her presence. A shield, too.

"I wondered what took you so long," she says. "Guess you were bound to meet Vincent."

"You're here just in time," Vincent quips. "I'd almost whisked him away." Caroline shakes her head while grinning. "I guess I'll leave you be. Have a great evening! And give Edwin here some fashion tips for next time if you will, Caro, dear?" Vincent wiggles his fingers in a wave. "Toodles, girls." He disappears into the crowd.

"He sure is something." Caroline shakes her head again. "Let's go back." She's grabbed her beer and crisps before Edwin has found his footing.

The other people in the group still seem to talk in another language, even when they're talking to him. From the chatty woman next to him he learns there's a couple on the other side of the table that has children, and a single woman that also has a child, but nobody else is a father like him. They're all comfortable. Out. Gay. Whatever that means. Something he isn't.

"So why haven't you come before?" Eliane, his neighbour, asks. "If you've known Caroline since highschool? She's been coming for years now."

Edwin settles on: "I wasn't ... out of the closet." That should leave a better impression than "I didn't know I was gay".

"You weren't?" Her voice climbs in surprise. "But Belgium's been pretty safe for a while now. You weren't out at all? Never even been to a bar like this? Met up with a guy? You're gay, right? Or something else?"

"Gay," Edwin replies gruffly. "And I was married."

"Oh right. I didn't want to assume. Single dads exist, you know? Or you could have had kids with a partner. Or an accident. Everything's possible, baby!" She laughs. "That must've sucked. I don't think I could even fake attraction to a man."

"It wasn't that hard. She was my best friend." The words curdle in Edwin's mouth to a sharp longing for those days when he and Ellen were just friends. She was his best friend and now there's ... nothing between them, except an ever-widening chasm. Their relationship wasn't even real and they still fucked it up.

"Still. Can't have been easy. I imagine being free and yourself is a revelation then. I know my first time to a gay bar was magical because I finally wasn't that one girl anymore." She spreads her arms as if to embrace the whole bar.

"It is." It isn't. But it also is. "It's strange. I've been this other person for so long and now I have to be ... me. I don't know who that is. Nobody knows."

"Of course. You still have time to figure that out. To experiment. Find yourself and all that shit. You should talk to some gay guys. Not be stuck with an old lesbo like me." She chuckles and glances around the table, but everyone else is tied up in conversations. "Anyway, maybe not tonight, but I'll make sure you can talk to some of the guys next time. You'll feel right at home before you know it!" Edwin doubts it, but he doesn't protest. That was enough honesty and emotions for the day.

The conversation turns to jobs and the conservation of the old buildings around the square after that and there, he knows his way. It could have been a conversation with any acquaintance, if not for the appearance of people that is so different from his usual crowd but also not, or girls dancing close together, men kissing in a corner, a wink when he catches the gaze of a young guy, not a day over thirty, who has tattoos all over his muscular arms.

When he leaves with Caroline, she asks: "How was that for your first time?"

"Alright." It's true enough.

"I'm sorry you were only able to talk to Vincent and Eliane. Everyone was a little occupied with each other, it seemed. They're nice, though. You talked with both of them for a while."

Eliane is nice. He doesn't know about Vincent. The guy has no boundaries and he clearly enjoys pushing people's buttons. "They're chatty." They pass another bar with a drilling bass. "What's the problem with my clothes?"

"Your clothes? Oh, what Vincent said to me! Don't take that too seriously."

"But what did he mean? He said it to me too, before you were there."

"You look ... like a straight man who has been married for a long time and never once worried about what to wear. Sorry, Ed. It's not horrible, but you don't have ... much style. Queens like Vincent, they ... appreciate fashion. It's a stereotype, but it has a grain of truth. Don't wear this if you want to hook up."

Edwin nods. He still doesn't see what's wrong with his clothes, but if he had to guess, he should wear more colour. Or show more skin. Be gayer, if he wants to fit in or hook up. He's not diving into that right away, but the desire and curiosity are free and one day, the current will be too strong for him to resist. For now, it's still something for another person, a faraway concept. Maybe he should do a little more ... research first. Those fifteen seconds yesterday don't count.

***

In the course of this novella, I'll recommend a few ONC entries from writing friends. This week, we have CeeMTaylor and Weaver.

"When a simple job goes horribly awry, ghosthunter Anya must prove she has what it takes to do spirit work or risk losing her job, her brother, and a second chance with the One Who Got Away." If you like great world building and compelling writing, this one is for you!

We've also got KGBuchanan and Kare Means Boyfriend, Dumbass.

"Oliver is an egotistical jackass. So is Jun. Soon they'll discover that not only opposites attract." If you need a fun and quick read after the tension of Weaver, read this!