Great workout tonight, Ray Swanson thought to himself as he climbed the well-worn, paint-splattered wooden stairs of the boxing gym. This was his Friday ritual – two hours of intense circuit training to work up a hefty sweat, and the occasional joust in the ring at the end if he was feeling particularly stressed – which always helped to clear his head after stewing away in front of a computer screen all week.
            Ray worked in a call center in Glasgow, one of the inconspicuous office blocks around George Square that blend into the surrounding architecture like plainclothes police officers. Like most others in that field, he enjoyed the pay, but fucking hated the job.
            He reached the top of the stairs and was confronted by the busy street. Nervously, almost involuntarily, he glanced down the street to his right before heading off to the left; he had a destination in mind.
            He checked himself out in almost every window he passed. After the workout he’d taken a quick shower and changed into a pair of skinny navy chinos, a fresh pair of Sambas, and his favorite blue-and-white striped cotton shirt, buttoned up to the throat. His hair was cut short, slightly shorter at the back and sides and he’d ran just a touch of wax through it to give the impression of nonchalance. He nodded to his own reflection.
            He could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, checked the screen and felt his own buzz diminishing: Murdo Calling.
            “Fuck sake, man,” Ray said aloud, frustrated, “can they no last two minutes without me!” He gave a one-two glance around him, took a deep breath and answered.
            “What’s happenin’, Murdo, ma man?” his voice, theatrically loud and obnoxious, revealed nothing of the irritation that clung to him. “Youz need yer auld da there to buy youz a drink eh!”
            “Swanny, man!” Murdo replied in his nasally, heavy East Kilbride accent. “Where are you? The lads are all here, the pints are in!”
            “Aye, I’m on ma way boys, just got some business to take care of eh,” Ray said, catching the eyes of his reflection.
            “Ha ha! Aye I get you, Swanny, nae worries, geez a text and I’ll have a cold ain waitin’ on you with open arms.”
            “Fuckin’ better, mate!” Ray said and hung up.
            Perfect timing. Standing at the entrance to a cocktail bar was a tall, well-groomed man in a black polo shirt tucked into light-washed skinny jeans. His black hair had been combed back into immaculate, glistening trenches and he raised slick eyebrows as Ray approached.
            “Your pals, I assume?” he said, the question dripping with irony.
            “Aye, I’m sorry,” Ray replied sheepishly, and they embraced in an almost textbook man hug, awkward in its tenderness.
            “How long do I have you for tonight, then?” the well-groomed man asked with a sad sigh, shaking his head but maintaining indulgent eye contact. “Are you ever going to tell them, your pals?”
            “At least an hour,” said Ray, dropping his head. “I’m sorry, Paul, I really am. I promise I will, just… Not yet, not tonight.”
            Paul gave a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay, let’s head down. I can hear a couple Aperol Spritz calling our names,” he said, leaning his head towards the stairs with raised eyebrows and pushing his ear out slightly with an index finger.
            Ray looked up with a smile like sunrise, and as they retreated into the safety of the doorway, they clasped hands, kissed, and descended the red velvety stairs towards the dark comfort of the cocktail bar.
            A few empty cocktail glasses later, Ray and Paul were sat on cushion-topped benches at the bar, laughing away, oblivious to anything and anyone outside of their cozy little orbit. The oil lamps suspended by bronze-painted chains above them cast a warm glow on the back of their hands resting on the bar that would connect and retreat as naturally as the ebb and flow of the tides.
            Just as a pair of frosted martini glasses were placed in front of them, Ray felt that unbearable buzz in his pocket. His smile darkened as he silenced it through his jeans.
            “Out of time, I suppose?” Paul said, with an edge of spite, taking a long sip.
            Ray couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead, he picked up his glass and turned in his stool to lean against the bar with both elbows, exhaled slowly and took a sip.
            Just as the glass reached his lips, he froze and felt his heart plummet into uncharted depths.
            “Swanny!” one of his pals, Mitch, exclaimed loudly as he swaggered towards him. “No your usual habitat, eh no?”
            He slapped Ray amiably on the shoulder, a huge grin dominating his face. “Didnae ken you were pals wi Murdo’s wee cousin! How you doin’, Paul?”
            Paul was sitting stiffly, eyes pinballing from Mitch to Ray, “Emm… not bad, Mitch, not bad. What are you doing here?”
            “Cheeky bastard, eh!” Mitch laughed, and gently elbowed Paul in the ribs. “On a date with a wee Tinder number, tidy like!” He thrust his thumb over his right shoulder, and Ray’s eyes focused on a table in the corner almost shrouded in darkness, occupied by a woman in a red dress. Her features appeared haunted by the pathetic flicker of a lone candle as she smiled and waved over to them.
            Mitch gave them a once over, “So, what are youz up…” he suddenly stiffened, eyes widening as he slowly clocked the numerous empty glasses, their intimate proximity, “are youz… on a date?”
            Paul sat frozen, slowly swirling his glass on the bar with his fingertips.
            Ray was sinking. He laughed nervously and took a long, awkward sip of his drink.
            Just as he was about to attempt some joke to pass it off, he met Paul’s eyes, pleading him on, and once again felt the thunderous buzz from the phone in his pocket.
            His anger surged, “Fuck it, aye! We’re on a fuckin’ date, you happy? Go and tell the boys their pal, Swanny, is intae men, is intae fucking men! I’m sick ae hiding it, I’m sick ae…”
            “Woah woah, easy, mate!” Mitch said putting his hands on Ray’s shoulders to calm him down. “We’re no bothered aboot that, mate. To be honest, we’ve thought it for ages!” He laughed a little and shook his head, “We just werny sure if we should ask or not, thought you might’ve taken it the wrong way, ken?”
            Ray was paralyzed. Shock and relief tore through him like a hurricane, eradicating the fear and doubt he’d been hoarding for years, piece by piece. A wave of euphoria soon followed and gently crashed over him, bathing him in a cozy release of tension. Finally shedding that lingering, gnawing anxiety, Ray wanted nothing more than to just close his eyes and devour the moment. He shook his head slowly and grinned. Fuck sake, man.
            Paul smiled and downed his drink.
            “Mon, gents,” Mitch said, wrapping his arms around both their necks and bringing them into a close huddle, “let’s get a few drinks in, then go meet the boys and celebrate, they’ll be chuffed!” He leaned in closer to Ray, a mischievous grin dancing onto his lips, “Murdo wilny be too happy aboot you pumpin’ his wee cousin, but!”