I don’t really know how to tell this story. For a start, there are some logistical difficulties – I’ll get to those later – but even without those, I don’t know how to explain it all. I guess I’ll start when we saw each other at the club after four years apart. That night, my head was pounding with noise and my heart was burning with hurt, and I’d come to the club alone – a stupid move for a girl, some part of me still said, though I hadn’t looked like a girl in public for over a year. I threw myself into the sweaty, rainbow-hued crowd prepared to try to lose my mind. I couldn’t have ever anticipated the direction my night was going to go. Was I surprised to see him at that club, his bronze hair grown out to shoulder-length since high school, a rainbow stick-on tattoo smeared across his cheek? No, of course not. And he couldn’t have been surprised to see me in a black button-down shirt, open over nothing but a pink-and-orange chest binder, my hair shorn into a buzz c...
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