NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

18: status: going to die alone

            Sasha sometimes jokes about starting to charge us rent considering we practically live at Spectrum most weekends, but sometimes we go to other places too. On the third Saturday of September, none of us are working and we give Sasha a breather. The night takes us to Shot Locker on the other side of the city, a bar that specialises in, well, shots. Either they have the best music or the best liquor because there is never a single person not dancing.

It's a small bar with a single counter and one dance floor. Somehow it never runs out of space though, as if we all enter a new dimension where we're able to glide through each other. The Isley Brothers untether our atoms into mist.

It does get fucking sweaty, though, so when Caleb asks me to step outside with him, I'm more than happy for the break. Unfortunately, September has been exceptionally warm and we don't get the refreshing wash of cool night air I were hoping for. Summer heat lingers; my skin stays sticky. You rarely hear Mancs asking for more rain, but I wouldn't mind a drizzle right now.

'D'ya wanna find somewhere to sit?' I ask, glancing at Caleb's drooping eyes.

He nods, slotting his sweaty hand into mine.

The building complex across the bar is under renovation and wears an exoskeleton of scaffolding, a graffitied tarp slapping the lowest levels of the frame with every blissful breeze. There are no ledges or flowerpots in sight and we have to walk a while before we find a bench. Caleb rests his head against my shoulder.

'You alright?'

He digs out his phone, finds his AAC app, and types. The robotic voice answers: 'I were starting to get a little overstimulated.'

Understanding the request for silence, I'm content to people-watch while Caleb rests his eyes. Two people I assume are a couple pause on the opposite side of the road. One is wearing a lace-up bodycon dress and high heels that make my ankles hurt just from the sight. The other wedges off their trainers and nudges them to their partner. The one in the dress smiles. Once they've swapped shoes, they continue toward their destination, holding hands. Love halos around them.

I think Caleb falls asleep for a few minutes. At least, when he sits up, he looks just as energetic as he did when we met for pres at his and Eilidh's apartment, which used to be his and my apartment before I had to find summat with space for Cece. He still don't say owt, though he smiles and absentmindedly braids three of my locs into a plait.

Tonight, I've accessorised them with gold cuffs and a few seashell charms along with my usual wooden beads and the coin I always hook to the front. It has a jaguar on one side and an anaconda on the other, crafted with some cheap alloy that'll probably melt if I ever make it to a country warmer than England. But Papá made it for me.

My wardrobe is so limited that I really only own one pair of nice trousers, a burnt orange corduroy. Since it's still so warm, I've paired them with a printed shirt that Rishi sewed for me, unbuttoned a generous bit down, and a white vest under it. Layers of necklaces cover whatever chest is visible.

I barely ever buy clothes—I like feeling good about myself as much as anyone else but it's much more important that Cece has clothes they don't feel dysphoric in and I only have so much money left after bills—but accessories are my weakness. And it don't help that they are in abundance at charity shops if you just have the patience to mine for the good ones. Pair any plain outfit with the right jewellery and no one will guess you only own five pairs of trousers, and that's including the gym shorts.

Caleb bounces to his feet. 'Okay, I'm ready to go back.'

It's already—correction: only!—two am and my energy has settled from the peak it were at on the dance floor. I kinda wanna just go to bed. But I take Caleb's hand again. Even if I did go home, I wouldn't get any sleep, and since I'm not drinking in case Cece phones me with summat important, I am also the designated driver for those of us headed south.