On Thursday afternoon, Kris stared up at the husk that used to be both his place of work and his home. It looked even more awful in the daylight when the sunshine highlighted every charred brick and broken pane of glass. He sighed and chewed his lip. There was a lot of work to be done.

Which was probably why PJ had insisted on meeting here, rather than at Grind for a cup of coffee like Kris had suggested. Kris had wanted to make this a proper meeting with trivial things like a table and some chairs. But if this was the best he could manage, then it would have to do.

Kris looked up to the third floor where his apartment still stood, in theory. He wondered how much of his stuff was still salvageable. It was pointless, because the stairs weren’t going to be safe to get up anytime soon. There was no way to tell how long it would be before he could even think about getting inside there again. Still, Kris squinted through the sunglasses Remi had given him and allowed himself a moment of sadness. It may not have been much of a place, but it had been all his. His own tiny slice of peace and quiet.

He could lick his wounds over that and whatever fucker had taken it upon themselves to scorch his home later. Right now, he had a job to do.

Butterflies danced around his stomach as he walked up to the front doors. He had done this a thousand times. Except, when he had walked inside Bottom’s Up in the past, there hadn’t been the taste of ashes floating through the air.

Inside, where the main bar area used to be there were several floodlights set up as there weren’t any windows to the outside world. A number of guys in hardhats were walking around with purpose, measuring things and clearing debris away. Kris was glad he had worn boots and one of the nicer button-down shirts Chase had given him. But he still felt small and fragile as he looked around at the carnage left behind by the blaze.

Without asking, one of the contractors placed a hardhat on his head, then winked when Kris looked at him in surprise. “Got to keep that face pretty,” said the guy in a friendly, flirtatious manner.

He was gone before Kris could get a good look, but he wondered if he might have been a regular at the bar. Kris had served a couple of thousand customers each week. He knew people were more likely to recognize him than he was them, so he tried not to feel bad. In any case, the anonymous guy’s compliment and care gave him the little boost of confidence he needed as he looked through the room for PJ.

Kris really didn’t need to be nervous. When it really came down to it, he was excited. There were so many avenues that he and Remi had looked into for genuine expansion for the bar. This way they could reach so many more LGBT people than just the young, gay crowd.

While Remi had been at work yesterday, Kris had taken himself into town to meet with Chip Carter, the guy in charge of the LGBT community center project. He had been delighted at the prospect of teaming up with the bar to maximize the impact they could have on the queer community in the area and had offered several ideas of his own.

Kris had stayed up almost all night typing up his plans on Remi’s computer, printing everything out in triplicate to present to PJ today. It had been a while since Kris felt so energized about anything. But this meant a lot to him. It meant he had slept late that morning and missed Remi before he went to bed. But hopefully they could celebrate when Kris got home.

It was crazy how quickly Kris had slipped into a domestic routine with Remi. It was dangerous, really, how easily it could feel like this was normal.

Like they were a couple.

Kris needed to be grateful for the friendship they had. Remi had been by his side throughout this whole process when Kris’s family hadn’t been able to. They did what they could, but between hectic jobs and the pregnancy, they only got so many minutes to call and check in.

Kris’s own friends had busy lives too. But with Remi’s shifts, Kris had found himself someone to hang with almost every other day.

Someone he cared very deeply for.

He shook the thought away. It was just a crush, nothing more. And seeing as there was no chance Remi would feel the same, Kris would take their new friendship with grace and sincere appreciation.

“Hey, PJ,” he called out as he picked his way over the blackened remains of the dance floor. There were a few areas that had been marked off as structurally unsound and already there were several steel support beams in place. But this area looked to be okay, for now. Kris still felt nervous. “How’s it going?”

PJ sighed and pushed his glasses up his sweaty nose. “I’m roasting inside the disaster area that used to be my business,” he said waspishly. “How do you think I’m doing?” He pointed at one of the guys as he walked past. “Hey? What happened to getting some fans in here? It’s summer, for Christ’s sake.”

The guy’s eyes went wide. He nodded, mumbling something about getting it sorted and ran away.

Still a ball of fucking sunshine, Kris thought to himself. On the outside, he smiled. “Oh, honey,” he said, batting PJ’s arm lightly with the folder he had slipped his proposals into. “This is fine. The insurance will cover it. We’ll bounce back bigger and better than ever.”

PJ scoffed and shook his head. When he didn’t say anything, Kris popped his hip and batted his eyelashes. Knowing PJ was more than a little straight-laced, Kris had kept his makeup to a minimum. Just enough so he felt confident without being too showy.

“About that. I’ve been having some thoughts about when we reopen-”

“If,” muttered PJ, looking up at the balcony where a couple of guys were laughing as they used laser pens to measure something or work out the level. Kris wasn’t sure. He was stuck on what PJ had said.

“If?” he squeaked.

PJ shook his head. “Look, kid. I don’t know what to tell you. I won’t know if it’s commercially viable until the insurance money comes in. There’s only so far a niche market can go.” He shrugged and pulled out his phone to fiddle with.

Kris was flummoxed. “B-but,” he stammered, “the town needs an LGBT center.”

PJ frowned but didn’t look up from his emails. “Aren’t they building one?”

Kris shook his head. “A bar. We need a gay bar. It’s important to the community.”

“And it’s my money,” PJ snapped. He sighed and did Kris the courtesy of looking up at least. “I’m sorry. This is a fucked-up situation. I’ll do what I can. But if it’s not worth it, I’m packing up and heading back to Houston. Someone else can open a gay bar.”

Kris tried not to take it personally. But it felt like PJ couldn’t care less about a place that was so important to so many. Kris thought about young Harrison, coming along and being brave as his true self for the first time. He thought about Chase and Hunter, how their love had blossomed during their date nights here. He thought of the gaggle of bi girls from the local community college who played air hockey tournaments on the tables that were now crumbled away. Not to mention the guys who wanted to make a connection with someone, even if it was just for a one-night stand. Yeah, there was Grindr. But nothing could beat the thrill of actually grinding with someone, feeling that spark on the dance floor as hands wandered and lips met.

This bar was vital. Kris had to make PJ see that.

“If it’s money you’re worried about,” he began, “that’s actually why I came to see you.” He pulled out one of the copies of the proposal he and Remi had worked on and presented it to PJ with a flourish. “I’ve been thinking about ways the bar can expand.”

PJ was reading his emails again. “What?” he said irritably, not looking up.

Kris gave a tiny huff and waved the several stapled-together sheets of paper in front of his nose. “Ideas. For stuff we can do. Not just serve drinks.”

That did make PJ look up. Unfortunately, it was with a borderline sneer. “What the fuck else would a bar do?” he asked.

Kris did his best not to flinch. Just keep smiling, he told himself. “Well, you already have the games tables. Or had, at least. But those will be easy enough to replace. I was crunching some numbers. If, when you do the remodel, you put an actual stage by the dance floor area where the curtains used to be,” he pointed at the end of the room on the right, “people can dance on it on regular nights. But that gives us opportunities for talent shows and drag shows and so on.”

PJ didn’t react, so Kris just kept going.

“And, you know, this place isn’t just a bar. It’s a safe space.”

“Safe space,” PJ muttered with a roll of his eyes. “First my gym, now you. What’s everyone’s obsession with this idea right now?”

Damn. Kris knew what PJ was talking about because Remi had picked up a leaflet from Lift, the gym, to show Kris. He was excited they were introducing classes for people to feel at ease in, and that included queer people. He thought they could tie that into Kris’s proposal, a suggestion that made Kris weak at the knees for its thoughtfulness. It was so damned typical that PJ didn’t understand. Or worse, greeted the idea with disdain.

“When people, like the LGBT community, feel vulnerable, it’s good to know there’s somewhere you can go with other people who are like you,” Kris explained cheerfully. “And that doesn’t always necessarily involve clubbing.” He cleared his throat and PJ grunted. Kris took that to mean he was listening and carried on. “Karaoke nights, bingo afternoons – in fact, I have a whole page here on senior citizen activities. There is a real lack of community services for the older LGBT generation.”

That had been Chip’s suggestion. Apparently, his aunt was very interested in something like that. But PJ still didn’t take the proposal from his hand. Kris took a slow breath and tried to remember what else he had wanted to say.

“We could run makeup tutorials,” he said, getting his flow going again. “Dance classes, maybe even theater productions. This could be a space for actual queer plays to be put on, even if they’re small and run by amateur drama companies.”

PJ was shaking his head again. “I’m sorry. I thought these were all things the new center was going to be providing. I went to that meeting. They were saying all these ideas as well.”

“Yes,” said Kris, doing his best not to get thrown. “Well, no. We’ve come up with a ton more exciting ideas as well. I spoke to Chip-”

“You did what?” PJ asked. He raised an eyebrow.

Again, Kris refused to be intimidated. He and Remi had gone over and over this proposal and he knew there were so many good ideas inside.

“Chip. He’s in charge of the LGBT center development. We’re proposing to run schedules in tandem. Obviously, Alcoholics Anonymous couldn’t run here. That’s ideal for the center. But we could run a Queers Without Beers night, for over-eighteens who want to socialize but can’t drink yet.”

PJ pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn’t a good sign. “And how much money would I lose on a fucking nonalcoholic night, exactly?”

Kris felt strongly about this, though. “The gay community has, en masse, a drinking problem,” he said as confidently as he could. “By offering a night where people could enjoy themselves without booze, we would not only be giving a chance for younger queer people to enter the community in a safer environment, but it would also show our regular patrons they don’t have to get shitfaced to have a good time.”

PJ jabbed his phone so it locked and shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll skip the part where, yet again, you seem to have missed the point that this will lose me a whole night’s revenue because, guess what? Fucking cola doesn’t cost a fraction of the whiskey you add to it.” Kris went to open his mouth, but PJ shoved a finger into his face. “Let’s get to the part where I have a bunch of baby gays running around my bar. Who’s going to protect them?”

Kris scowled. “From what?” he asked. “They’re old enough to be in relationships.”

“Have sex, you mean,” PJ sneered. “Yeah, I’m sure all the thirty-something leather daddies would fucking love that.”

Kris felt like he’d been slapped in the face. “It’s not just about sex,” he said.

“Says you,” PJ shot back scornfully. An icy sensation slid down Kris’s guts.

“This isn’t about me,” he said. He heard his voice waver and cursed it.

“No, it’s not,” PJ agreed. “I’m here trying to save an actual fucking business. You come skipping in here trying to convince me to encourage minors into an adult environment and waffle on about a bar not serving alcohol. Has all that bleach in your hair seeped into your brain? Look,” he said, holding up his hand, “I’m sure you mean well, twinkle toes. But you don’t even fucking drink. You have no idea what you’re talking about. So – consider yourself free of the obligation. Go get another job, and if I manage to salvage this tinderbox, I’ll call you about coming back. All right?”

Kris willed himself not to cry. How had this become about his sex life and sobriety?

“You’re firing me?” he asked in a small voice.

PJ already had his phone out again, typing furiously on it with one thumb. “There’s nothing to fire you from,” he said, barely pausing tapping as he spoke. “You don’t have a job here anymore anyway. Look, we can’t even think about reopening until the insurance gets sorted out, and that could take months. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

His phone rang, jumping to life in his hand as it lit up in the gloomy room. PJ didn’t even give Kris another glance. He just answered the call with a loud “Talk to me, Bob!” He turned and walked away from Kris, his hand on his lower back as he yelled at whoever Bob was and looked up at the wrecked ceiling of the bar.

Kris couldn’t believe this was happening. He’d come in with a cheery ‘what was the worst that could happen?’ attitude.

It turned out, this was it.