OUT

Chapter 35

Tuesday, February 17th 2015

'So two white hot chocolates with marshmallows, and one crepe. That's eleven euro fifty. Cash or card?'

Paul handed the girl behind the counter money, passed the crepe to Jack and took the cups from her, 'thanks so much.'

'Cheers. Keep the change.'

They wandered out onto the promenade and found a bench that looked out onto Dun Laoghaire harbour. It was dark even though it was only seven o'clock, the evenings were well and truly gone. The dart rattled passed beneath them, roaring loudly as it did, and Jack glanced down at the carriages crammed full of commuters clad in suits, bet in like sardines to the carriages.

'Thanks for that,' Jack smiled, taking a bite of the crepe and handing it to Paul as he took a sip of his hot chocolate, 'next one's on me.'

'Don't worry about it,' Paul smirked, 'what's the point of a sugar daddy if I don't treat ya now and again?'

He sat close to Paul on the bench, but distant enough for those walking by not to second glance. Deliberately making the pair of them look like friends as opposed to anything more; catching up for a chat as opposed to being on another date. He had grown quite fond of Paul over the last few weeks. He wasn't quite sure the direction they were moving in, but it felt nice.

'I've never actually been out here before,' Jack admitted.

'You've never been to Dun Laoghaire?' Jack shook his head. 'Well we have to walk the pier, so.'

It was a weirdly quiet evening considering it was dry. From other people's Instagram posts, it was usually thronged, but there weren't too many out tonight. Although it was bitter outside, and the sky looked like it could burst into tears at any moment. He liked the privacy though.

They sat on the end of the pier, dangling their legs over the edge and listening to the waves gently smacking against the wall below. It felt weird to be out in public on a date with a guy, he still hadn't gotten used to it even though they had now been on a few. There was something that felt so taboo about it, like he was living a double life. Jack did feel anonymous in Dublin though, at least.

'Can I kiss you?' asked Paul after a few moments. Jack glanced around instinctively. There was no one nearby. He smiled, and gave Paul a wink. 'See that's called consent. Ever heard of it?' he added, placing his hand under Jack's ear and pulling their smiling lips together.

'Maybe I wouldn't have gobbed you if you hadn't gotten me so drunk,' Jack retorted after a few seconds, pulling away from him momentarily. It was the first time Jack had ever kissed a boy sober, and it felt weird. Good, but weird.

'Careful now,' Paul sniggered, kissing him again.

Jack could feel an excited cluster of butterflies forming in his belly. He felt excited, which was reflected in his pants too. He wanted more. 'You're so hot,' he said as their lips broke again for a moment and Paul smiled. Jack felt a droplet of water hit his head, and a few seconds later, the heavens opened up.

'Feck!'

'C'mon, let's get going,' Paul said, jumping to his feet and pulling Jack to his, 'as much as I'd love to be in a rom-com and kiss in the rain again, I don't want a cold.'

The pair of them ran hand-in-hand back towards where Paul's car was parked as it lashed down. It did feel very rom-com-esque in fairness. His mouth kept forcing itself into a giddy smile as the pair of them ran like drowned rats along the pier back towards the town. What he was doing felt wrong, but also right.

'Let's wait under here,' Paul said, pulling Jack into a sheltered stage halfway along the pier. It looked almost like a carousel without any of the horses on it, and they sheltered from the rain as it bucketed down onto them. 'Jaysus, that came down fast.'

'Honestly.'

And suddenly they were kissing again. Their chests pressed together, and Jack's hands wrapped around Paul's lower back, pulling them even closer together as he grabbed Jack's face between his hands, cupping his cheeks in his palms. The rain hammered down on the roof above them, which was weirdly peaceful.

'Faggots!' roared a voice from somewhere ahead of them, and Jack pulled away from Paul suddenly as he came crashing back to earth. As he looked up, a glass bottle smashed a few metres in front of them, which was followed by a chorus of sniggering. Instinctively, he jumped back in shock and let out a little gasp. There were four young lads who couldn't have been older than fifteen just ahead of them, clad head to toe in black tracksuits and runners. They looked rough, and surprisingly intimidating considering how small they were.

'What did you say?' challenged Paul, angrily approaching them as Jack watched in horror.

'What are you doing?' he asked frantically in a half whisper.

'I called yiz faggots!' roared one of the lads again, and Paul ran towards them as the group scattered back towards the town. Jack reluctantly chased after them, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to catch up.

'Come back here and say that to my face,' yelled Paul.

As they ran after the children, they tossed another empty glass bottle through the air in their direction, and Jack had to sidestep to avoid it colliding with his head.

What the fuck.

'Queers!' teased another as the group split in two as they reached the end of the pier.

For a moment, Paul paused, trying to decide which group to pursue, but Jack grabbed his hand.

'Don't,' he pleaded, and Paul sighed. Jack was afraid of them. He was afraid of a group of young teenagers.

'Fuckin' scumbags,' spat Paul as he roared after them, then took out his phone, 'I'm calling the guards.'

Jack led him to a bus shelter as the rain continued to pour down, heavier this time. Now that the mood had changed, so had the feel of the rain on his skin. He realised now that his clothes were soaked through and he was actually freezing. He could feel it in his bones.

'Hi, I want to report an attempted assault. Me and my friend were walking along Dun Laoghaire pier and we were attacked with glass bottles.'

Friend.

Jack sat in silence, the word faggot echoing through his head. They had said it with such venom. They had called him a faggot. He hyper-fixated on a piece of chewing gum crushed into the tarmac in front of him, listening to Paul's phone conversation with the Gardaí.

'No, they ran off. We're just here under one of the bus shelters.' He couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but based on Paul's body language and clear annoyance, it wasn't good. 'No, it wasn't. They roared faggots at us too. It was a hate crime.' Jack felt himself cringe. He wasn't sure he wanted the guards down here. He just wanted to go home. 'I should be allowed kiss a lad, and not be attacked for it! I don't feel safe right now! They could still be close and my car is-' He was cut off from the other side. Jack turned to look at him. 'What's that supposed to mean?' Paul put the phone down.

'What?'

'Those fucking rats just hung up on me.'

'What did they say?' Jack asked.

'They said not to be kissing each other in public if we're not sure of who's around. Can you fuckin' believe that shite?'

The rain continued to flood down from the heavens as they stood under the bus shelter. Jack sighed.

'C'mon, let's just leave it.'