I didn't even think. It was just natural, like the occasions when I've kissed female friends when greeting them. I care about Tony. I love him like a brother - no question.

Ya, he's hot. A blind man can see that. He's even beginning to fill out a bit, after being skinny as a post for ages. And yes, I have definite feelings for him - a crush – how can you not ? But that had nothing to do with it.

Thing is, he acted a bit funny afterwards, and for days, which goes to show in hindsight it was a bad idea.

I'll try and remember.

Okay ... but what is happy ? Is happy when a switch is inadvertently flipped inside your head and you can't seem to find your way back ? Is it when you suddenly find yourself nervous, borderline tongue tied, even mildly buzzing whenever your friend is around ?

Or it is insanity ? The brain damage talking, or perhaps an unfortunate byproduct of sheer sexual starvation ? I mean, men in prisons turn to each other out of desperation, right?

What exactly am I saying, here ?

All I know is, I'm in some sort of an inexplicable tizzy, and it's freaking me out bad. Worst thing is, he can tell something's up, cuz he keeps asking me what's wrong and I don't know what the fuck to say. What do you say ? 'Wow, Maxxie, you have incredibly soft lips, can you do that again ?'

To my horror, as the days pass, it actually gets worse. Lots. I mean, try and imagine the intensely disturbing realization that you're fucking daydreaming about your friend's dance moves, that you're hanging on his every word, staring at him a little too long, laughing too hard at his jokes, and then shit like what happened when Effy dropped me off at therapy that time. When he came by later to collect me, from a distance I was completely blown back, ludicrous as it sounds, by the fucking colour of his eyes ! ! Which suddenly were to me of some rare and magnificent hue, apparently, as I actually had to stop myself from turning to the nurse to say, 'do you see that, too ?' All of which then rendered me incapable of riding him like I always do, and lobbing the usual insults.

Sweet christ, it was fucked.

Arguing on the pro side:

Maxxie's got bucketloads going for him and really is a genuine catch. Between his natural gifts for dancing and drawing, his conversational arts and quirky tastes and sense of humor, his toughness and coolness and sheer smarts and then stuff like his total loyalty and devotion in friendship, and what that says about him as a person, plus the added bonus of his looks - I mean the kid is fit ...

1. He's not a bad person to fall for, then, is he ?

and

2. Given how close we've become, it's maybe weirdly inevitable, is it not ?

Arguing very loud on the con side:

BUT ... YOU'RE ... STRAIGHT !

FOR FUCK'S SAKE ! !

So for days, yes, I was mightily twisted up. Couldn't sleep, couldn't bloody think straight, absolutely bloody ridiculous. Then Effy's even asking me what's up ... as if I could possibly explain it or admit to it in a million years.

And so, seeing as I have more than enough problems in my life as it is, thank you ... in figuring out this freakass bizarro apparent crush thing, which didn't so much pass, as be forcibly extinguished (though not, I found, all that easily or successfully) ... I chalked it up to it maybe being a version of that thing that exists in nature called, I believe, 'imprinting', in which freshly hatched baby chicks latch onto the first living thing they see, which in nearly all cases, is of course, their mother, but in some rare cases ends up being instead the family poodle, or a nearby deer or chipmunk, or whatever.

Point being, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to say that waking from coma is like being born. You're a completely clean slate learning everything from scratch; incredibly impressionable, like a newborn. And after I awoke, the first person to make the clearest and strongest impression of all, by far, was, unquestionably, Maxxie.

"No!" he whines as I pull out the dvd for all time my favorite film, Velvet Goldmine. "No glam rock ! Something else !"

"Come on, Tone ! I've had a shit day ! I need my Curt fix !" ('Curt' being Curt Wild, the film's tribute to completely, gloriously, slithering naked manhood.) "At least let's watch the highlights !"

"Fuck's sake," Tony mutters, as I pop the disc into the player. "Haven't we seen his penis enough ?"

"I know you actually like the film, Tone. You always pretend you hate it, then you sit there, enraptured."

"Right," he snorts.

"You do. Don't be such a brat. After, we'll watch your video game thing, or X-men or whatever. Promise."

"Clash of the Titans is not a video game!"

"Whatever," I whisper, rolling my eyes and plopping down next to him on the couch.

He gets right up and begins walking away.

"Where are you going ?"

"Chips – bloody chips !"

After the amazing press conference scene, in the midst of which the very straight Curt publicly snogs the very pretty and very bi Brian Slade ... out of the blue he asks me,

"Have you ever been with a straight guy ?"

I look at him.

"Wow," I laugh. "A new sex question ! I thought you'd asked me every single possible one ! "

"Shut up, tosser. Answer the question."

"Why in fuck should I ? Answer that."

He shrugs.

"Cuz. Curious. The guy in the film, he's straight, right ? Yet he falls for the fairy queen, and they actually have sex."

"Not that we get to see it," I grumble.

"Ya ya - christ, whatever. Answer the question: Have you ?"

"Ya," I shrug. "I have. A couple."'

An eyebrow arches.

"A couple ? Like a threesome ?"

"No shithead," I laugh. "I meant -"

"-You and two straight guys at the same time? Cuz that would be sorta-"

"-Sorta what ?"

He shrugs.

"I don't know. Unprecedented ? But then, who knows what you pervy queers get up to."

"Go fuck yourself, Tone. We have mind splittingly great sex and I'm sure there's rarely more than two of us at a time, except in porn, and anyway, it doesn't interest me."

"Okay, whatever, but ... so you were with somebody straight ?"

"Yes, Tony. I don't think it's all that uncommon at our age."

"It's not ?"

"No. I mean, this was last year – me and this kid were both 16. Sometimes people are still figuring themselves out."

"Well but ... the two guys – how in fuck do you know, I mean, what the fuck makes you think they were even straight to begin with ? Versus just maybe closeted ?"

"Okay, one of 'em was Josh Miller, who you probably don't remember, but he was a pretty big deal at our school; big football player who went for years with fucking Sienna Spiggot-Smith, the head girl at the posh school – huge tits, totally fake by the way, but she was top of everyone's list."

"Okay, but so how the fuck'd he end up with you, then ? Sick of the spiggot ?"

"Ha ha. No, it was just ..." I sit back and reflect. "We sat side by side in English, which he was horrid at, of course, and he was always insulting me and calling me 'shirt lifter' and 'poofy' and shit, and then we had to do an assignment together for fucking Canterbury Tales, a huge report which took weeks, and to my surprise outside of school he actually had somewhat of a likable personality, it was really easy to make him laugh, and one time we stayed late to finish it – we were in study hall, and the whole time he was teasing me and then out of the clear blue he just leaned over and kissed me. Almost fell off my bloody chair."

"Jesus. So what happened ?"

"I don't know, we just ... it was so shocking – this kid had every girl in that school. He was notorious."

"Huh."

"It took a minute for it to register, but by then he'd clamped his hand over my crotch."

"Jesus !"

"Seriously ! Which was rather presumptuous of him, I felt, but that's always the way with straights. Annoys the shit out of me, actually. They get all nervous – 'ya I'll work alongside him', 'I'll play sports with him', or whatever, 'I just don't want him checking out my arse.'"

Tony bursts out laughing.

"You know what ? Fuck you, het-boy, for thinking simply cuz you're male, that all gay guys will automatically want you. What makes them think we're that indiscriminate, firstly, that literally any male, no matter how ugly or stupid or how much of an arsehole he is, is hot to us ! I mean, fuck !"

Tony continues laughing but nods his head in agreement.

"Ya- totally right ! Never thought of that. So, but did you fancy him ?"

"Well ... yes. Totally. Talk about muscles."

We laugh.

"So what happened ?"

"Oh ... well we gave each other a quick wank, and that was it, really."

"Wow, okay. Shit, that's amazing. A straight guy wanting to wank you, though?"

I grin.

"I'm hot."

Tony laughs.

"But still."

I shrug.

"I know, Tone. What can I say ? It's not like we sat down and discussed his motivations. I'm sure he was just curious, or whatever. Some people are."

"Okay, but so, afterwards ...?"

"It was awkward. We never said a word about it, and nothing else happened, and that was that."

"Did you finish the project at least ?"

"I finished it. He was too much of an idiot."

We laugh. He shifts in his seat.

"Okay, but ... what if ... what if he'd decided he liked you, and shit. What if it triggered something in him?"

"What about it ?"

"I mean, would you have, y'know, gone with him ?"

"Had sex with him, you mean, or gone out ?"

"No. Just ... gone out."

"I don't know. Maybe. He wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, though, and that's always a turnoff."

"You like brains ?"

I laugh.

"Why do I feel sort of insulted here ? Yes, Tony."

"More than muscles, though ?"

"Well ... shit, I mean ... all I know is, when I'm horny, I want is muscles. When I'm lonely for a boyfriend, I guess it's brains."

"So brains trump muscles, ultimately."

I shrug.

"I guess. Ya. Of course, the ultimate would be the beautiful, talented genius with the ripping bod, but I don't know how many o' those are running around."

He laughs. I take the dvd player off pause, but he won't shut up.

"Okay, could he, the guy, still be straight, but be attracted to you in some small way, or just not sure what the hell's going on ? I mean, it might be nothing, but then what if it's something ?"

I mash my thumb down on the pause button.

"Huh ?"

"Y'know, like ... what if you kissed him, but you didn't mean anything by it, and meanwhile the guy's afraid he might've got something out of it cuz he felt a tingle afterwards, and maybe he thought about it for days, like. Would that make him gay ?"

I squint.

"Christ, Tone. What the fuck are you on about ? How should I know ? It depends. Maybe. Maybe not. It might just make him bi. Or it might be nothing. Again, some people are curious, or unsure of themselves, still trying to figure themselves out, and shit. Me, I've always known I'm gay - since I was little."

He looks at me a moment, then nods.

"Huh. Okay."

"So ... back to the movie, then, or do you have any more weirdo hypothetical sexual scenarios you wanna run by me ?"

Three further weeks down the road with Bill, and I'm convinced I've struck gold. After the evening's second spectacularly satisfying fuck, we collapse in a heap onto his bed.

I turn. I kiss him.

"You're amazing, you know that ?"

I lean for his lips again, when I hear it - my mobile ringing. Who on earth is calling me at two in the morning ? ?

I go to move, then stop. Fuck it. I can call whoever it is back.

"Maxxie, get it. What if it's important ?"

I groan and lunge for my trousers, pull it from the pocket, and throw it open against my face.

"Hello ?"

"'S'me," Tony says, all nonchalant. "Watching Velvet Goldmine. What does it mean when he says the thing about meaning being in between things ?"

"Huh ?"

"Remember ? Wait, got it on pause; lemme look. It says 'meaning isn't in things, but in between them'.

"Tony, it's two in the morning."

"I know, tosser. That's not why I called. Effy's sick, and since mum's away, you'll have to bring me to therapy."

I slump. I really had wanted the day off.

"When ?"

"In like, 5 hours. It's the early one. 7am."

"What about your dad ?"

"He's halfway to work, then Max. Every day at that time. Obviously you've forgotten this."

I climb back into bed - it's a bit drafty out here with no clothes.

"Okay."

"So what's it mean ?"

I briefly look at Bill. This is more than a little awkward.

"What, Tone ?"

"The thing about meaning, Max. Remember ? Velvet Goldmine ?"

"Oh. Right."

"Is that Oscar Wilde ?"

"No. No, that was um, Norman O. Brown, I believe."

"Who ?"

"He was a professor, philosopher guy. He wrote books on eroticism, I think."

"Huh. Okay, well thanks. Don't forget to collect me."

"I won't."

"Alright. You can go back to fucking now," he says, and hangs up.

I look at the phone in disbelief.

"How did he know ?"

"Know what?" Bill asks.

"That we just fucked."

He pulls me up, so that I'm laying against his chest.

"He's got a sixth sense about you."

I nod.

"Ya."

The following week, I'm gripping the headboard and squealing into the night air as I am plowed, good and fierce. We come within seconds of each other and fall wearily to the mattress.

"That," I pant, breathless. "That's what I want him to experience."

"Huh ?" he kisses my ear. "What are you talking about ?"

"Tony, Bill. He hasn't had an orgasm in a year. He says he can't even remember what it feels like. Tragic. Can you imagine ? So awful."

He rolls onto his back.

"I can't fucking believe this."

"What?"

He looks at me.

"What do you mean, 'what?' I can't believe you keep bringing Tony into the bed with us, that's what."

"Bill, I just-"

He stands.

"-You just what ? Maxxie, I swear to god, I pummel you for a solid half hour, you come like an absolute maniac, and then the very first thought in your head, the very first thing out of your mouth is about Tony ?"

Oh my god. Major, sickeningly inappropriate faux pas. Akin to calling out someone else's name, only maybe worse.

What is wrong with me ?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bill. I just ... I didn't think."