Chapter 1

"Let's go home."

Home. The offer within Christian's words reverberated in Syed's ears as he reached his hand out towards Christian's back. Christian wasn't hanging around, he was striding through the square as if his life depended on it. Which in a way, it did, thought Syed.

Home. The family house across the other side of the square, where even now his parents would once again be stymied with embarrassment at his behaviour in front of the community. Where Bushra would be picking holes in their excuses for his absence, in the same way that she would be pretending to pick shreds of stringy meat from between her teeth.

Home. The flat that Christian had spent so many hours decorating so that Syed and Amira could be together. Yet they hadn't ever lived there, just a few moments of desperate fumbling on the floor, trying to make the place special, theirs, somewhere to nurture and build a love that was never going to be. His lasting memories of that flat would be Amira's beseeching face, as she knelt before him, begging him to stay with her, taunted by the graffiti on the wall above the bed they'd never slept in.

Home. Pakistan. The country of rich colours and warm spices, beating sunshine and teeming, chaotic streets. He'd only ever been there once, but heard so many stories from Zainab he felt as if he could shut his eyes and transport himself there, smelling the dust and the heat mixed together with the noise of the bazaar. Pakistan – the country without any homosexuals.

Home. The small flat with the blue front door. The flat he'd left so many times - in the middle of the night and the early morning, after arguments, leaving Christian lying in bed, arms stretched out, not wanting him to leave. He hoped he'd never have to leave again.

Syed's fingers felt through the damp material of Christian's sleeveless T-shirt, to the hard, taut muscle of his back. Christian's arm was heavy around his shoulder, the two of them walking in perfect rhythm, their strides matching each other, pulling closer to each other until their hips were touching. The blue front door was in sight now and Syed turned his head towards Christian as they stopped walking and their eyes met It was Syed who reached out first, placing his hands on Christian's hips and pulling him towards him.

"Christian." There was something wrong with his voice. He couldn't seem to get the words out. They were turning into gulps.

"Sy. It's ok. You don't need to…"

"I didn't say…"

"You don't need to. Your eyes say it for you. They always did."

Syed tilted his head slightly, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Well?"

Christian looked at him, his expression unchanging.

"Well what?"

"I…" Syed hesitated, uncertain that he'd gone too far. "Nothing. Come on, let's go in and get a shower."

Christian looked down towards the ground then up again. He took Syed's hand in his and placed it back against his cheek, where Masood's fist had struck the day before. "Syed – feel how swollen my cheek is?"

Syed nodded, his eyes fixed on Christian's. "That's what you mean to me, Sy. And the whole Queen Vic knows it. But can I please stop getting beaten up because of you?"

Syed placed his arms round Christian's neck and pulled him close. He could smell Christian's sweat and feel the heat of his body melting into his own. His fingers ran through Christian's closely cropped hair and his cheek buried into the crook of Christian's shoulder. He felt Christian's arms tighten round him and hold him securely. They stayed like that, silent for a long time, unaware of the passers-by in the square throwing them curious looks. All Syed was conscious of was the steady pattern of Christian's breath on his neck, and the thudding of Christian's heart. Home.

Christian opened the front door to the flat and stepped to one side, waiting for Syed to go in before him. "Go on, then. What are you waiting for?"

Syed hesitated, hovering on the step, unsure what to do. "After you."

"For God's sake, Sy, if we're going to be this polite with each other we'll never get past a first cup of tea." With an exaggerated sigh, Christian pushed past Syed and into the flat. "Would you like to come in?" his hand made an overly-grand sweeping gesture into the flat's main room. Syed caught his eye and smiled slightly. "Thank you."

"Right, niceties over. You know where the kettle is. Put it on, will you. And then you can tell me what the hell's been going on."

Christian threw himself onto the white sofa and stretched his legs out, kicking off his trainers as he did so. Syed leaned over him, raking his fingers through Christian's short, cropped hair. "You don't want to take a shower?"

Christian arched his neck into Syed's touch. "Yes, but I want you in there with me and unless I've got this all wrong and you're planning on doing one of your vanishing acts in a few hours, I think we've got some talking to do first." There was a question in Christian's voice.

"I'm not going to do a disappearing act, Christian. I told you: I choose you. In fact, I choose you and me. Together, as a gay partnership. Christian and Muslim."

Christian's mind cast back to their first meeting, remembering Syed getting flustered at their introduction. "Was it coriander, or parsley?" he said out loud.

"What?"

"When we first met, I told you my name was Christian and you replied saying you were a Muslim. You were holding a bunch of herbs. Was it coriander or parsley?"

"I don't know – I've blocked out that particular memory," Syed grabbed Christian's chin between both hands and gently stroked the bruise caused by his father's fist with his thumb. "I owe you an apology. I've messed you around, blanked you and rejected you, married someone else in front of your nose and all because I couldn't bring myself to admit that you were what I really wanted. I don't know why you've stuck around until today, but I want you to know that I've made up my mind for good."

Christian traced a pattern on Syed's palm with his index finger. "Sy, I don't know anything about Islam and I don't know what it's like to believe in something so strongly that it can control who you are or how you live your life. But I've witnessed how you've been torn apart the last few months, battling between who you are and what you believe. What's changed so suddenly to bring you here?"

"I told you I've been in therapy." Christian nodded silently, not wanting to interrupt. "It's like I said to you earlier in the square– I've realised that I can't change who I am. And trying to be something I'm not, well, it just ends up causing havoc and damage to me and people close to me. Look at what happened to Amira, to my parents – to you. All because I wouldn't accept the person I really am. Well, it's time to live a different way. And yes, this will hurt people too, but at least I'll be honest and true about who and what I am. And I think that's what Allah would want me to do.

"Christian, I want to be with you. And I believe that I can be who I really am with you – gay man, lover, friend, partner, Muslim. What I'm trying to say is, if you'll have me, I'm here to stay."

Christian took Syed's face in his own hands. "Sy. I don't think anyone's ever seen who you really are. I'd like it if you stuck around to show me." Christian's hand stretched out into the room again. "It's not much, but you're welcome to share it."

Syed moved his hands to cover Christian's. "I don't have much – in fact, " he looked down at his shirt and jeans "- right now I don't have anything except what I'm wearing. No clothes, no underwear, not even a toothbrush. I left it all behind."

Christian smiled at him. "If you've turned up so ill-equipped, we'd better get in the shower then. You don't need anything in there."