Page 45 of Men in Shorts

“Show him you get it. Even if you can’t give him what he needs, at least he’ll know you know him. He’ll know you’re thinking of someone besides yourself. Understanding’s not the end, but it’s a start.” Fergus’s voice turned as soft as the falling dusk. “And you can’t get anywhere without it.”

Chapter13

“Wa-hey, Campbell! You’re alive!”

A firm arm wrapped around Brodie’s waist as he entered the student-union lounge where the LGBTQ club was hosting its “I Will Survive (Exams)” disco party.

“Barely alive,” he told his friend John, stooping to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you.”

“I know, I’m looking extra cute tonight.” He gave Brodie a self-mocking wink. It was true, though. The dark brown of John’s animated eyes and sleek, straight hair was accentuated by his cream-colored button-down linen shirt, the subtle white stripes of which had a nice slimming effect on his brawny frame.

Brodie surveyed the room, which had transformed into a convincing imitation of a dance club, complete with flashing lights, pounding music, and more than a hundred bouncing, laughing students. He’d considered staying home, but six days in bed had restored his strength and left him climbing the walls with restlessness.

And part of him—okay, all of him—hoped Duncan would show. Before leaving for the dance, Brodie had slid a note under his flatmate’s bedroom door, re-extending his invitation to the party, on the small chance Duncan returned from his parents’. He’d no idea how they could work things out, but he wanted to try. If nothing else, they should talk, rather than ending on a bitter note.

“How are you getting on with your nurse man?” John shouted over the music’s thumping bass. “Ever have that sponge bath?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Brodie spilled it all, everything from his and Duncan’s first kiss to their breakup after the Shettleston match. “I just couldn’t look at him without seeing the way he tried to punch that defender. And the way he laughed afterward, like it was nothing. I felt a coward for not being able to shrug it off like he does.” He added with shame, “There’s a very scary part of me that wants back in the closet.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.” John gestured with his plastic beer cup to the crowd of loons and quines. Loads of them were paired up dancing or kissing, but just as many hovered alone at the perimeter, looking awkward but hopeful. “It’d be a hard thing to give up, this freedom to be who we are. I imagine it’d feel like dying.”

Brodie thought of the asylum seekers John’s charity was helping, and felt guilty for his own fears. So he’d had a Fanta chucked at him at a football match. There were people in this world who’d been jailed or murdered for being gay.

“But what do we do about the bullies?” he asked John.

“Ah, now that’s a proper dilemma. If you ignore them, they escalate. If you complain about them, they escalate. Ultimately it’s down to us to stand up for ourselves.”

“Easy for you to say.” Brodie gestured to John’s muscular chest. “I’m so scrawny I’m practically transparent. When I walk down the street, eighty-year-old wee wifeys stop and offer body-building tips.”

John laughed. “You’re not that bad. Besides, fighting back doesnae have to be with your fists. It can be outwitting the bullies, or finding strong allies, or even turning the bullies themselves into allies.” He took a sip of beer, his expression going dark and distant for a moment. “Becoming someone they cannae afford to fuck with.”

Brodie waited, wondering if that had been John’s own solution.

Then his friend brightened again. “Anyway, the key is to show them you’re not afraid.”

“But I am afraid.”

“Right, right.” John made a backpedaling motion with his hands. “Step two isbeingbrave. Step one ispretendingto be brave.”

“But why is it down to me? Shouldn’t the bullies be the ones to change?”

“Ideally, yes, but we cannae wait for that to happen. We cannae give them that power.”

“We could just avoid them,” Brodie said.

“Where? Mind, you thought a Warriors match would be a bully-free zone. Then when it wasnae some harmonious gay paradise, you cast away the lad you fancy, instead of fighting for him.”

“Fighting who for him?”

“Yourself. Your fears. He fought for you, didn’t he?” John glanced past Brodie at the door. “Oh! Another newcomer. Sorry, mate, I’m a crap social director if I don’t welcome folk. ’Mon, let’s show him how fucking friendly we are.”

Brodie followed—not that he had much choice, with John tugging his arm—but stopped short when he saw who it was.

Duncan stood just inside the door, scanning the room with anxious eyes.

John noticed Brodie’s hesitation. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s him.”

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