The kettle was taking forever. I tapped a metal spoon against the bench top and willed the water to boil faster. I needed coffee. The biggest mug I owned sat waiting on the bench top, the words ‘Live. Love. Ride.’ printed in bold letters on the smooth white ceramic. I sighed. Even my coffee mug made me think of Low.

I’d lain in bed last night, tossing and turning, while I replayed the moment of Low’s confession in my mind. I had so many questions, but by morning, I had no answers and no sleep.

I liked him. I knew that much. He was smart and funny, and so hot I could cry. But beyond that, I could talk to him in a way I’d never been able to talk to anyone else. He made me want to open up to him. He’d listened as I’d confessed my sins and he’d shared some of his own demons. Low and his friendship were the best things in my life right now.

But HIV? God, that was huge. Every question I’d lain awake thinking about rushed back. Could we even have any sort of romantic relationship? How would people react when they found out? How long would it be before he got sick? I was terrified of Low lying frail and in pain in some hospital bed, like my sister had. And then there was one overwhelming thought that overrode all the rest, one that made me feel like shit, but I couldn’t block out, no matter how hard I tried. Did I still want him?

Stomach churning with guilt, I added milk to my coffee and took a sip. It scalded my tongue but warmed my chest, calming my nerves. Jesus Christ. I was a horrible person. Was I really that shallow, that I’d call things off between us before we’d even really begun? More than anything else, right now he needed a friend. Hadn’t he been there for me when I’d needed one? We might not have known each other long, but there was something between us. Something I wanted the chance to explore.

Shame heating my cheeks, I dialled Bianca’s number and told her I had a cold. Low would be hurt when I didn’t show up for work, and I felt bad for lying to Bianca, but I couldn’t face him. Not yet. I needed time to make a game plan.

I put my phone down and dragged my laptop across the kitchen bench, knowing I couldn’t stick my head in the sand forever. I hit the power button, watching as the screen flickered to life. My leg twitched under me, nervous energy expending itself. I’d avoided Google all night, terrified that the basics I knew from high school health class were only the tip of the iceberg. But it was time to get answers.

Grabbing my stack of Post-its and a pen, I got ready to become a HIV guru. My fingers hovered over the keys while I waited for the Google home page to load. When it appeared, I took a deep breath to settle the churning in my belly, typed in HIV, and clicked on the first website the search brought up.

Hours later, I sat back in my chair and smiled. I had a whole kitchen bench worth of Post-it notes with HIV facts scrawled across them. I had notes on transmission, testing, and the End HIV campaign. But only one had the words I’d most wanted to read. With daily medication, a person with HIV has a similar life expectancy to non-HIV sufferers. Relief flooded me as soon as I’d realised he wasn’t facing a death sentence any more than I was. The tension in my muscles eased one by one the more I read. He’d need a lifestyle change if his tests were positive, but he could still live a full life no matter what.

I clicked my pen a few times and eyed the last tab on the website—HIV and Sex. I’d avoided it so far, but now that I knew he’d be okay, all I could think of was the two of us as a couple. Or whatever the hell we were. Low had said everything we’d done was safe, and I believed him, but I couldn’t just rely on him to learn this stuff. We had to be a team. Every time we were together, the physical attraction between us was electric. It would be impossible to ignore forever. If we kept going the way we’d been, at some point, we were going to get carried away. I needed to know what was safe and what wasn’t. It wasn’t just about protecting myself, but protecting him. He was already so worried about hurting me, I wanted to take some of that pressure from him.

I carefully read through the Dos and Don’ts of a sexual relationship with an HIV-positive partner, each line more encouraging than the line before. My warring emotions came to an abrupt halt, as my fears evaporated, one by one. We could have a sexual relationship. With medication and a few precautions, there would be no risk to me. There were HIV-positive patients with husbands, wives, and kids. My knee-jerk reaction to Low’s confession was ignorant, and my stomach rolled when I thought of the way I’d let him leave. I’d royally fucked this whole thing up.

Pushing away my now cold coffee, I shut the lid of my laptop, folded my arms, and laid my head down on top. My mind whirled with a new set of questions that no one but Low could answer. How long ago had he been exposed? Where was he in the testing procedure? There was so much I wanted to know, but overriding my curiosity was a desire to apologise. My lack of knowledge on the situation had led me to jump to conclusions. Conclusions based on a Hollywood movie made twenty years ago and a few paragraphs of text in an out-of-date, high school biology textbook. My reaction had hurt him, and when I thought about it, that was what had really kept me up all night. I’d hurt him, and I hated myself for it.

My stomach rumbled, and I glanced over at the clock on my oven. Already 1:00 p.m. I’d been sitting here researching for hours, and Low was about to go on his lunch break. I picked up my phone and tapped it on the bench, debating whether to call him. It seemed more like a conversation that had to happen in person, though. I decided to text him instead.

Can you come over tonight? After your shift?

I pottered around the kitchen, wiping down the already crumb-free bench tops while I waited for him to reply. When he hadn’t replied after ten minutes I looked at the clock again. He was definitely on his lunch break. I shot off a second message.

Please, Low. I want to talk about this.

This time he messaged back almost immediately.

Okay.

I sighed. It wasn’t an encouraging response, but I’d take it. I just needed him to come. I could worry about getting him talking once he got here.