thought of people worrying, or looking for him. Then he’d stay gone, and the guilt of their worry

would hopefully stop weighing on his mind.

Except, he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to leave yet. Pathetic, he told himself. His fork

pushed a hard piece of nut roast around the plate. Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“C-can I go to the bathroom, please?”

Ginger looked up from the newspaper he was pretending to read. “Mate, you don’t have to ask. You

know where it is.”

“Thank you.” Fizz was relieved to escape. He wanted to get out of there before his eyes started

streaming with tears.

As he reached the door, Ginger called out, “If I hear any puking noises, I’ll make you finish this

entire dinner, and then some.”

Fizz paused. The words were on the tip of his tongue, I’m not bulimic! But what did it matter?

People assumed all kinds of things about him, and what difference did it make? He nodded silently,

then left the room.

Out on the landing, he heard voices below. Curious, Fizz peered over the bannister, down two

flights of stairs. The door to the pub had opened, and Ryan came through it, leading a procession of

colourful, punky-looking lads up the stairs. Fizz ducked back and ran along to the bathroom. He

wasn’t up for meeting anyone else right now. Matt, the pub’s grumpy chef, had already scared the crap

out of him earlier. A towering brick shit-house of a man, with an angry glare to match.

Then there was Sammy, the loud twink who never seemed to stop talking. It took more energy than

Fizz had just to keep up with what he was saying. There was also Pete and Rachel, who were polite on

the surface, but Fizz recognised that curious, judging look in their eyes.

No, he didn’t want to meet anyone else.

Inside the bathroom, he shut the door and locked it. There was another toilet down the hall, literally

just a toilet in a room, but Ginger had told him it was blocked. Apparently, there’d been a big drama

about that, but Fizz hadn’t really paid attention. So this was currently the only bathroom for all the

staff.

Fizz sighed in relief. He felt...tired. More tired than usual. Since sleeping in his room here, almost a

week now, he’d felt really lethargic. Like the small amounts of energy he did have had just drained

away.

It was really weird. Especially considering he wasn’t on his pills right now. He should have loads of

energy. Or maybe years of taking the meds had wiped that out of him?

Just don’t cry. Don’t cry.

At the sink, Fizz splashed water over his face, willing himself to keep it together. He avoided his

eyes in the mirror, as always. Running wet fingers through his hair, he could feel by the length that it

was nearly time to cut it again. That meant he had to decide which was worse; finding someone who

was willing to cut it for him, or cutting it himself and look in the mirror for endless minutes. It

seemed so pathetic, and yet the thought of either scenario had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

Fizz forced himself to breathe in and out. Steady breaths, just stay calm. He sat on the edge of the

bath and gazed out of the window. Someone had left the frosted glass pane open, to air the room after

a steaming hot shower. It had a view of the buildings nearby, and the pub’s beer garden below. Fizz’s

thoughts strayed to wondering what it would feel like to fall from a window so high up. Or more

realistically, to jump.

Just leap, then splat. No more worrying.

Except he couldn’t help thinking about the people down below, and what they would have to deal

with. Imagine how awful it would be for them, if they were enjoying a quiet drink in the garden, and a

body fell out of the window. And what if the fall didn’t actually kill him, only mangled him? Fizz

shuddered. He knew he was too much of a coward anyway.

His mind wandered, aimless. Strangely, the bathroom felt relaxing. The air here was fresh and light.

Nothing at all like his bedroom. The air in his room felt...weird, and stuffy. But again, that was

probably his own fault.

Fizz wasn’t sure how long he was in the bathroom for. He heard voices, obviously Ryan’s friends

flitting about down the hall. He heard Ginger too, a quiet, low hum as he spoke to them. Ginger rarely

raised his voice.

A blaring car horn from the street jolted Fizz in surprise. He hadn’t even realised he’d closed his

eyes. How on earth could he be so tired? He hadn’t exactly done anything. Fumbling to the sink, he

splashed more cold water on his face, this time to wake himself up. A quick pat dry with a towel, and

Fizz left the bathroom. He didn’t want Ginger battering down the door.

It was strange that the air in the hall felt closer than the bathroom had. It felt hot and stuffy. Fizz

ran fingers through his hair, brushing it off his face. He glanced to the side with sleepy eyes, seeing

that one of the big windows was open wide, letting in the afternoon breeze. It still felt like there was

no air though.

Fizz was on auto pilot, slowly descending to the half landing that led back to the kitchen. Too busy

gazing at the window, he only just noticed the other figure, who was waiting patiently to come up the

stairs. “Oh,” Fizz said in surprise. “Sorry.” He stepped back, pressing himself against the bannisters.

He wanted to shrink into nothing, embarrassed for causing the other person to wait while he dithered

about.

The other boy smiled, and slowly ascended the three steps that separated them. “No worries,” he

said easily. Dark, almost black eyes flitted up and down, checking him out. A flush heated Fizz’s

face. He hated being looked at, but it was doubly awful to be scrutinised by someone so good-looking.

The boy’s unusual appearance was intriguing. Rather than pasty white and scruffy like everyone else,

he could easily be model material. Caramel skin, shiny back hair, and those gorgeous dark eyes. His

clothes looked a little too clean and stylish to make him a hardcore punk. Fizz could picture him

modelling for some trendy, rock-inspired fashion shoot. From the confident way the boy smiled at

him, Fizz knew he would be a natural.

“I’m Ash,” he said, holding out his hand. Fizz stared down at the proffered hand, then blinked at the

boy. He’d been so caught up in unexpected thoughts – fashion shoots? Really? – that he hadn’t

prepared for an introduction. The outstretched hand, whether a friendly gesture or something else

entirely, was more than Fizz could cope with. He couldn’t make his voice work, let alone maintain eye

contact. Shying back against the bannister, he hung his head and averted his eyes. How he wished the

floor would swallow him up right now.

“Hey, you okay?” Ash asked softly, a note of concern in his voice.

Fizz cursed himself for not staying in the bathroom. Then his saviour appeared. Ginger, likely

having heard Ash speak, stepped out into the hall. “Fizz,” he said firmly. “Come and finish your

lunch.”

Taking that as his excuse to run away, Fizz kept his eyes low and scooted around Ash. His arm

brushed the cool leather of Ash’s jacket, sending a tingle over his skin. Hurrying down the steps, he

rushed past Ginger and back into the stuffy warmth of the kitchen. Ginger stayed where he was, giving

Ash a parting look. “Bathroom’s just up there,” Ginger pointed out, then re-entered to the kitchen.

Fizz couldn’t have been more embarrassed. He sat himself down and took to the task of finishing his

dinner in silence.

* * *

Ryan leant against the warm brick of the building, gazing out at the street. The midsummer sun was