“Does anyone have questions?”

God, please say no.

“Yes, I have a few. Can we go over those slides again?” Of course it was Cal.

Kyle just smiled broadly at him. “Of course!”

The second time around, his nerves were much calmer. The board was not his ideal audience—not the guys in the trenches, like them. Largely, these people were stuffy old guys in suits. Some of them were interested in the charity from a medical or public health standpoint and had no investment in the gay community; others were the kind of gays who wore merino sweaters with quarter-zips and looked away from starving kids.

Several board members did care about the cause, and were genuinely great people, but bringing money into it always complicated things. This wasn’t a regular board meeting. They were specifically meeting about bringing new donors on board, in the hopes of acquiring more funds to allocate to different programs.

Kyle had made his programming pitch, but it was up to the board to vote on it. And he had to convince them that they’d made the best use of funding, they just needed more.

“Of the students we surveyed at the entry fairs, few had heard of PrEP. The numbers are a little higher for LGBT-identified students. But if you look at even healthcare providers… it’s still only two-thirds of them who have heard of it. Knowledge is critical at this stage.”

“But, getting back to your LGBT students, that includes lesbians and trans. And… straight-curious men. The ones who just sleep with men but don’t date them. They’re not in our mandate to focus on the health of gay men.”

I could strangle him.

Kyle drew a breath, then smiled. “Our mission statement discusses gay men, that’s true. But in our articles, we use the term MSM, which includes bi men. And those surveys cover lesbians and trans people, yes. Gender identity and sexual orientation are not mutually exclusive. Many trans women are at very high risk, and are frequently involved with MSM, or identify that way prior to transition. Other charities are focused on them, but they may come to us first. And finally, we don’t know much at all about the risks to trans men. Trans MSM in this area have no other charities out there specifically looking at HIV education, prevention, treatment, and advocacy. Our remit is not solely cis people.”

One of the better board members, Andy, was nodding along with him, his hand loosely raised.

Kyle nodded at him to acknowledge him and turned back to Cal. “And there’s almost no research on nonbinary people, but our survey numbers have skyrocketed. Our definitions—MSM, FSF—that fails us when we talk about nonbinary or agender people who we’d see as gay men, but won’t identify themselves that way, or even look like what we picture MSM to look like. So if we’re only focusing on gay men, people who fall within our mandate according to slippery biological definitions are being excluded, and we’re less effective and prepared. We can’t do our work on assumptions. That makes us no better than the groups we’re holding accountable.”

There were grumbles and shifting. He could tell they were judging him for his loud hair and apparel, wondering if he was one of those people himself. Kyle carried on, though.

“Denver and I believe that educating all LGBT students at once does us a lot more good than trying to single out MSM. God, not to mention all the closeted kids who call themselves allies…! Not only do we want to reach high-risk individuals who form their own communities but wouldn’t come to us, but we can help start those conversations among other risk groups. We can be there to help study, and listen to what they need.”

It was a wordier answer than Kyle could have given, but it served its purpose. He sounded prepared, and some other board members were nodding. They at least respected him for his knowledge of the generations close to his own.

“This seems like a large budget increase you’re asking for,” Andy pointed out. It wasn’t accusatory, just curious. “Your primary goal is awareness? What about access?”

Kyle clapped his hands together and nodded briskly. “Right. Good question. We have guides, and there are two online guides that go into more detail than we’re allowed to on generics and nonprescription use.”

“Isn’t condom usage still our top prevention strategy?” Cal held out his hands and looked around the room. “Hasn’t it always been? What happens when all these kids stop using them? Do we even know that PrEP will work like it’s supposed to?”

Kyle had expected this one. He drew a deep breath and laced his hands behind his back, resisting the urge to tug down his skirt or neaten his hair. Cal needed a direct approach.

“First of all, yes, we know it works. Over 99%, near 100%, success rate when properly used, just like birth control. We still continue to advocate condom use, of course, as the easiest and cheapest and most reliable method, but all the data is incredibly promising. We’ve always been on the front line: studying medical research, giving people access to lifesaving measures before policy catches up with us. We can’t fall down on that now, and we are right now. Other countries are looking at introducing PrEP access nationwide.”

“So, PrEP is just Truvada taken before infection?” That was Joseph, one of the older men who tended to ignore the existence of everyone except attractive white gay men. He and Kyle never got along. “It doesn’t build up a resistance, even when all those kids forget to take it every day?”

“Correct. It’s a one-a-day pill, antiretroviral medication—Truvada, yes. There’s no resistance if you miss a dose, but the protection rate is lower. The biggest priority is getting diagnosed ASAP if you are infected,” Kyle explained, trying to stay patient. How Joseph could be on the board of this charity and not know these things boggled his mind. “That way doctors can test your viral load and adjust. The only way you build up a resistance is if the virus is already in your body.”

“Got it.” That was Andy, and he drummed the table. “Explaining that to people is definitely a priority.”

“Well,” Cal said, “can’t we include PrEP education in other campaigns? Like the school presentations?”

God, he was worn out from battling Cal’s questions all throughout the presentation. And they just didn’t seem to stop. He’d objected to every aspect of the budget increase request, from start to finish. It was like he didn’t want to ask any new potential donors for funding. But he didn’t have to—Kyle would fucking do it himself if he had to.

“We do, but it’s a huge topic in itself.” Kyle shook his head. “We have to explain who’s best suited, answer questions, talk about the anti-anxiety effect it has on people, set them up with a good doctor, help people figure out insurance companies… The materials all need to be updated, and we need to increase testing availability so we don’t create other dangers like resistance.”

“Right, right, but… I guess it seems like an inefficient use of funds,” Cal spoke slowly. “What else… you said you’re working with all the LGBT… non-gender… people… don’t transsexual, or transgendered, or whatever, men have women’s health concerns that we can’t really cover? Would it be cheaper to focus just on men?”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Here’s the sum total of the research we’ve got: trans men probably are more vulnerable because medically, they’re more likely to experience bleeding in receptive sexual positions after taking testosterone, before bottom surgery. And we recently had it brought to our attention…” you have no idea how, hah, “that there are no standard safer sex options for post-surgery trans men who don’t opt for a, uh, total phalloplasty. We’re passing out thousands of condoms to MSM, but some of them can’t use them. We just don’t know what the HIV rates for trans men and nonbinary MSM are locally, if this is causing an undue mental health burden, if there’s access issues… we know nothing. And knowledge is power.”

“So we might not be able to help,” Cal surmised. “Even with an increased budget.”

“No. I said we don’t know what we don’t know,” Kyle patiently told him. “So maybe there are things we can’t help with, but maybe there are. They’re a small proportion of the population we’re mandated to work with, but we have to start getting that right, too. The number one problem is making sure they aren’t experiencing the kind of infection rates the charities for trans women have told me that they see. That’s always been our first mission: prevention.”

“Right,” even Cal had to admit.

“Then we work backward,” Kyle said, “and figure out how to integrate our findings with our mission, and include education about and for trans men as well as cis men like we’ve always done. Just like when we did studies on racial factors, this is important. But the survey groups are a really small proportion of the funding increase we’re asking for. I think you’re blowing it out of proportion.” He flipped back a few slides, showing the group the total funding allocation request, where the money was going. The token payments for qualitative survey participants accounted for a relatively small proportion of the total. Hell, they’d pay triple that amount just in increased printing costs for PrEP booklets.

“So, time to vote? Anyone else have questions?” Andy asked, looking around. Cal was silent. “I’d like to get a move on this.”

The next few minutes were the most nerve-racking, but Kyle glowed with absolute pleasure when the votes were totaled. Eleven to two, the PrEP program increase was approved. Eight to four with one abstaining on the expanded gender and sexuality resources, but he’d take it—it was still a win. They were turned down for the budget increase to hire another part-time staff member, but they’d expected it. It wasn’t a top priority, now that the new email system should reduce that workload drastically. And they flat-out denied they had enough funding to pay him for his after-hours work—right now, meetings with a group of local doctors who had questions about PrEP after having seen their educational materials.

Kyle wasn’t worried, though. He did a lot of unpaid after-hours time already. It would have been nice, but money was finite. If they wound up with more donations after the next donor recruitment dinner, maybe that would change.

He was proud of himself as he headed out of the board meeting to let them wrap things up, but exhausted.

Defending everything I work for gets exhausting sometimes.

For a moment, he had a flash of empathy for Nic. He’d seemed so relieved and grateful to learn that Kyle knew a little about what he was doing, and Kyle could see why. It was his life, just like this was Kyle’s. Even if Kyle was negative now, this bled into every area of the LGBT community, so in many ways, it was still an enormous part of his life and had been for years now.

Kyle fought back the crazy impulse to call Nic and ask his opinion on the trans men’s survey groups. They had a volunteer to handle that, and he’d specifically chosen Ash because he thought he could do it without damaging relations with that segment of the community.

For now, he had to celebrate the victories. He composed a quick text to River—Got most of what we asked for! PREP A GO. Gender & sex yes. No to new staff and overtime funding. Thats OK.

River’s response was swift. FUCK YES. Except that the cheap bastards always turn you down for overtime and you do it anyway.

It needs to be done, Kyle told him, smiling as he climbed into his car.

Before he drove, the phone went off again.

You can put yourself first once or twice, darling. Then several kissing emoticons.

He sent back a few more and shoved his phone into the cup holder, then started up his car with a sigh.

The closest he’d come to putting himself first was when River had made him go flirt with Nic.

That had been nice. That had been fun. Nic made him feel sexy in public and in bed. And smart, talking to him like an equal at the progress update meeting, like Kyle knew what PHP or whatever was. And he made Kyle laugh, and he…

Fuck. Nic wanted more than he could give. River was right, Kyle did work a lot, but River also never said he should stop. His best friend knew too well that he wouldn’t.

When was the next status update? Next week? God, an entire week without seeing Nic’s cute face in his office was going to be hell. He could see him earlier, but then he’d have to call him up and invent some excuse…

It took him a mile to realize that he was daydreaming about a date with Nic.

Ohhhh, no. Fuck me if I’m doing that.

“Dinnertime,” he said out loud to keep his thoughts on track, drumming the wheel in time with the radio. “Chicken? Maybe chicken. I can do chicken. Yes.”

Though his lips were busy mouthing the lyrics to top 20 pop, his traitorous hands trembled on the wheel, and his heart kept racing all the way home.