I see him as soon as I turn the corner that night. He’s standing outside the club, checking his watch and oblivious to the admiring glances he’s getting from a group of men nearby. I’m not surprised they’re admiring him, because he looks fantastic. He’s carrying a coat under his arm and is dressed in skinny black trousers, a white shirt and a thin black tie. They’re formal clothes, but the sleeves of the shirt are rolled up showing his tattoos, and he’s wearing combat boots. His wavy hair has been tamed and slicked back, showing off the sharp angles of his cheekbones and those lazy eyes.

I look down at my outfit. I’m wearing grey skinny trousers with a subtle check and a black shirt. My contacts are in and I feel good for the first time in ages. I feel a buzz of excitement in the base of my stomach, but I’m so used to having that when I’m with him, I hardly notice anymore.

He looks up and sees me and that huge, wide-eyed grin crosses his face. “Noah, you look amazing,” he says as he nears me, and I breathe in deeply as he grabs me and hugs me. For a second he tightens his grip and I feel all of that long body against mine and have to fight not to hold tight and grind against him. He breathes in sharply and jumps back.

“We’d better get in. It’s freezing out here and you haven’t got a coat.” I stare at him because he’s almost babbling, a sure sign of nervousness in him.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Of course I am,” he says stoutly, and I shake my head and follow him to the queue in front of the club. Luckily, it isn’t a long one, as he’s right I’m bloody freezing. A shudder thuds through me and he turns instantly. “You’re cold, babe. Here, take my coat.”

“No,” I protest. “I’m fine. That’s yours.”

“We’ll share it then.”

He smiles happily and wraps the coat around me. I gulp as he steps into me and slips his arms around my waist so that we’re both enveloped in the folds of the coat. I then sigh almost instantly as he always gives off a lot of heat, like he’s my own personal radiator.

In a way, I think fancifully he’s been the main source of warmth in my world since we met. My home was a cold one. My mother was not an emotional woman. I knew she loved me, but it was a formal sort of love that had conditions attached to it. My home was therefore full of expectations about study and homework and grades.

There was very little joy until Sage exploded into my life with his colourful, wild family next door. Tallulah, his mother is lovely, but she’s so laid-back she’s nearly comatose, and consequently the three boys were left to run feral. His brothers were living wild before it was fashionable, but Sage migrated to me and never left.

At his home, there was a never-ending queue of men lining up to be with Tallulah. They’d last a few months, enough time for Sage to start hoping they’d stick, and then they’d be gone again. The only one who’d stayed a while was Dennis. He’d been a large man and a brilliant, if erratic, tattoo artist. It came as no surprise to me that Sage chose the same vocation. In my opinion, he’s always been seeking approval from men.

The line moves, dragging my attention away from my thoughts, and within five minutes we’re inside the toasty warmth of the club. Sage joins the line to check in his coat, and I wander around the outskirts of the foyer, checking periodically to see if my nemesis is here. Len, the head bouncer.

Sage comes up beside me and laughs. “He’s behind you,” he says in a pantomime villain’s voice.

I jump. “Shit. Don’t say that. He hates me.”

He snorts. “You did throw up on his shoes.”

I shake my head. “Don’t remind me. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“To be fair it wasn’t his. They were new shoes.”

I shove him. “It was your fault giving me those Thunderball shots.”

“Yes, the way I held your head back and forced you to drink them was epic. I recall the whole thing very differently. In my memory you bought the shots, announced you needed to have fun for fuck’s sake, and then kept buying them.” He laughs. “Fun was had… in Len’s shoes.”

Just at that moment a deep voice comes from behind me. “Evening, gentlemen.”

I jump about a foot in the air and turn to find Len standing behind me looking like a bald Vinnie Jones.

“Oh, Len,” I flute, my hand going to my chest. “You startled me.” Sage chuckles, and I can’t blame him. I sound like a heroine from a historical drama.

Len steps back slightly, which is now his automatic movement around me. “Alright, Noah. Just got here?”

“I haven’t drunk anything,” I blurt out, and Sage laughs.

A tremor crosses Len’s lips and he nods sombrely. “Well, drink responsibly tonight. Remember rethink, rather than drink. That applies to my shoe leather as well.”

With a nod, he moves off in a stately fashion. I stare after him. “Oh, my God. Did he just make a joke?”

Sage tugs on my hand. “Never mind that. We need a drink.”

He pulls open the door and a wave of sound hits me. The dancefloor is full tonight with bodies grinding and swaying, and as I follow Sage’s procession through the crowd I inhale the scent of aftershave, sweat and hair products.

Sage is greeted left and right. A few men pull him over to thank him for tattoos. Others hug him and whisper what are obviously invitations in his ear. He smiles at everyone, discusses tattoos and declines the invitations, all the while holding tightly to my hand.

We finally end up at the bar. He orders Thunderball shots with a curving twist to his mouth, and I shake my head. “Fuck off. This is just asking for trouble.”

He laughs and hands me the drink. “Down them and then we dance.”

As if synchronised we throw the drinks back and I gasp as the alcohol burns my sinuses. Then I’m being pulled onto the dance floor, Sage holding firmly to my hand so he doesn’t lose me. He pushes his way into the middle just as one of our favourite songs comes on. All around us people twist and writhe, and my blood starts a low simmer as Sage pulls me close and starts to dance.

We’ve always danced well. We sneaked into our first club together aged sixteen, and we’ve always loved it. On the dancefloor is where I know that we would be a perfect match in bed, because our bodies move as if they’re connected by glittery ropes, echoing and following each other’s movements without any cues. Turning and twisting in perfect harmony.

It’s a painful knowledge and the reason why I haven’t been to many clubs with him over the last year or so. To be this close and then to be pulled away, created an ache inside me which has grown to painful proportions.

We dance for a long time, sweat dripping from our bodies, and tonight I push my reservations aside because I’m in too deep. Too deep in the feel of his body as it moves against mine, sliding sinuously to the beat of the music. Too deep in the scent of bergamot and the almond of his shampoo which intensifies as we get hot.

He turns and backs up to me, grinding his arse against my crotch in one of our well used dance moves. Usually, I’d move back slightly. But suddenly a feeling of recklessness fills me, and instead I grab his narrow hips and pull him into me, and I know the exact moment he can feel my cock which is hard and pulsing.

For a second he stiffens, and I expect him to pull back and make a joking remark. We grew up together and have talked and been through so much, what’s an erection between friends? Instead, I reel as he pushes his arse firmly into the cradle of my crotch and starts to move. Only now it’s a slow glide and pulse, echoed by the sultry song that’s starting to play. For a second I stand still, shocked and insanely turned on. This isn’t us. This is the us I dream of and know I can’t have.

Then the sparks from the alcohol kindle the embers in my blood, and instead of making a joke I gather him close to me. I pull his hips in further, my fingers digging into the sharp hipbones, before sliding under his shirt and caressing the sleek skin drawn tight over the sharp lines of his abs. My fingers move as if they’re being compelled, and I don’t think I can stop this, or if I even want to. My thoughts and doubts grow indistinct as I hear him moan under his breath, and I switch my brain off.

In the middle of a mass of bodies we writhe together. He rubs his arse firmly over my cock, almost riding it so that the pressure nearly blows my brain circuits. I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips and he shudders as he hears it, and then he cries out as I send my hands up his chest under the shirt and twist his hard nipples. I know in theory that he’s very sensitive there because he’s told me many times. Theory, however, can’t describe the feeling of power and protectiveness and teeth clenching lust inside me when he utters a sharp cry and pushes back against me, before grabbing one of my hands and bringing it down to his cock. I grunt as I feel the hard bulge under the cloth, and he groans.

I actually don’t know what would have happened next, because all of my brain has shut down, narrowed to the point of my existence, which is rubbing my palm over his cock for the first time. I’d like to say we wouldn’t have fucked on the dancefloor, but I’m so far gone at this point I can’t say for sure. However, we aren’t tested, because I hear a shout of Sage, and someone pushes me away from him.

I look up and groan as I see Richard, Sage’s ex-boyfriend, standing there. I’m not surprised to see him as he’s often in here and he’s obviously the one who pushed me. He’s standing in front of Sage, who is ignoring him and reaching for me.

“Are you alright?” Sage shouts over the music, and I nod before glaring at Richard.

“What the fuck was that for?” I shout, and Richard shakes his head.

“I always knew there was something going on between the two of you,” he shouts.

“You’re delusional.” I shake my head disgustedly. “Those steroids have rotted your brain. We’re just friends.” The words sound horrible in my mouth, and his face twists in anger.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the fucking truth, you wanker.”

He sticks his face close to me, rage red on his skin. “So, Sage and I didn’t end our relationship because he was in love with you, then?” he hisses.

I stagger back feeling like he’s punched me, and Sage pushes forward.

“What?” he asks urgently. “What did he say?”

Richard shakes his head and pulls Sage off the dancefloor, leaving me staring after them.

I come to when a smaller man starts to grind against me. Shaking my head, I push my way off the dancefloor and through the crowd. It takes me a few minutes, but finally I find them. They’re standing to the side of one of the bars, and the music is a little quieter here. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Richard is waving his arms around and Sage is standing staring at him. Arms folded over his chest, he has a mulish look on his face.

Standing here like this feels so familiar. Me watching them arguing or laughing or kissing in clubs. I close my eyes. I remember so clearly when we met Richard. He joined our college in the last year of our course, and being tall and sporty with shiny blond hair he immediately caused quite a stir. He became friends with Sage, bonding over a shared love of football, and gradually inserted himself into our group. He seemed to dislike me from the start, but had hidden it for a long time.

At the time, I hadn’t paid him much attention because I was struggling with the intensity of my feelings for Sage. They’d crept up on me steadily, until I came to realise that I was in love with my best friend. I’d always been attracted to everything about him, but one day I said something and he laughed loudly, his head thrown back and his eyes creased, and I realised that he was everything I wanted.

The realisation was both exhilarating and utterly terrifying, and I fought it for a long time because the thought of confessing my feelings and having him reject me was too awful. I could lose him and our friendship in one go, so I hesitated. I hesitated for too long.

I still remember that day. We were sitting in the canteen at college. Sage was chattering about a local band he wanted to see. Richard was listening to him intently as usual, while I fiddled with my sandwich, trying not to concentrate on the fact that Sage’s thigh was touching mine and the warmth of his arm lay along the back of my chair, his fingers playing with the ends of my hair. Sage was always incredibly tactile, and sometimes it drove me mad because I was seventeen and could pop a boner seemingly at any second.

At that point, I became aware of a silence. I looked up to find Sage looking at me questioningly and Richard rolling his eyes.

“What?” I asked, and Sage opened his mouth, but I never heard what he was going to say, because Richard broke the silence.

“I’ll take you,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and staring at Sage. “I love that band.”

For a second Sage stared at me. His expression was enigmatic, but his body seemed to be thrumming with repressed energy. “What do you think?” he finally said. “Do you want to go?”

I looked at them and I remember it to this day. They were sitting side by side and they looked amazing with Sage’s dark beauty against Richard’s golden looks, and I felt a deep despair. Sage was obviously just being polite and inviting his best friend along so I didn’t feel left out. I felt all my hopes and dreams fall away and could almost hear the sound they made when they hit the floor.

I made myself shake my head and stood up from the table. Gathering my tray, I smiled. “Nah, I’ll give it a miss. You go with Richard, Sage.”

I remember Richard’s triumphant smile like it was yesterday, but the thing I remember most is the strange look I saw on Sage’s face. Part disappointment and part something that looked very much like devastation. However, it had cleared immediately, and he smiled and accepted Richard’s invitation.

They started going out together after that date and were together for four years. Meanwhile, I pushed my feelings down deep and quietly accepted an offer to go to a university far enough away that I couldn’t come home often. I kept in contact with Sage and our friendship survived, but there was a small fissure running through the previously intact surface that was caused by my feelings.

I loved university and had put down the foundations of myself. I slept with men and identified my preferences through trial and error, but nobody ever came close to Sage.

A man stumbles into me, breaking my thoughts. I look over and they’re still talking angrily, but Richard is closer to Sage than he previously was, and suddenly I’m sick of this. I’m sick of standing on the outskirts watching the two of them. It isn’t healthy. This is exactly why I joined the dating app, and yet here I still am. Mind made up, I turn and make my way towards the exit. I don’t trust myself to talk to Sage at the moment.