Orlando

Part I: Jack

Under his pathetic, fully grown for the first time beard, Jack still wasn't sure he looked older than eighteen.

He did hope so. Although Pulse was known to do the craziest things to please their clients, letting sixteen-year-old teens in wasn't one of them. Frustrated, but determined to get in, Jack had gotten himself a fake ID, allowed a short stubble to grow although it itched, and bought the kind of clothing the Internet said people usually wore to go out at night. And although a voice at the back of his mind had insisted that it was a horrible idea since he came up with it, and his heart had rioted during the fourty-minute bus ride,  there he was now, standing in front of the brawny security guard as the latter scanned his ID. The man's gaze wandered from the plastic card to Jack's face back to the plastic card back to Jack.

After what looked like ages, the man handed him the ID and stepped aside so that Jack could get in, muttering a 'Have fun' as he reached for his phone inside his pocket. Bewildered, Jack managed a husky "Thank you," and entered the bar before the man could change his mind.

When he stepped inside the real world vanished, replaced by a Wonderland of chiaroscuros and melodies. The atmosphere was slightly surrealistic—everything seemed unreal, just like something you would dream and wake up remembering for its scandalous uniqueness. Every room had its brand colour, and attentive employees in shiny and daring garments roamed them looking for clients in distress. From the speakers in the ceiling came loud electronic music, the kind Jack had never even come across when looking for reccomendations on Spotify's Daily Mixes. Artificial smoke thickened the air, making him cough, and laser beams danced and chased each other inside the puffy steam, streaks of light that made Jack see the rest of the people like they were statues that changed their positions every time the lights went out.

This reminded him of Doctor Who's weeping angels, and at first he smiled at his own reference. Then he thought maybe Pulse wasn't the best place to be a BBC nerd, at least if he wanted to hook up. Which he didn't know yet, but just in case, he tried to feel manly in his beard and fake ID.

Someone bumped into Jack, and screamed most deafeningly, "Christian's in tonight with Axel and Nackovy!" When the boy turned around he saw a couple holding hands—or rather, holding one hand while the taller, dark-skinned man grabbed the shorter, Asian guy's butt. "We gotta go see, darling."

Seeing them touch each other so nonchalantly left Jack slightly out of breath. Because it made him wonder how it would feel, being free to touch another man without fear. Unwillingly he thought of Mateo, of his dark curls, and he tried to imagine how it would feel running a hand through them without it feeling wrong.

Then he looked away, because thinking of Mateo meant remembering he would never, never let Jack touch him that way.

Again, he was feeling lonely in the middle of a thick crowd. But this wasn't high school, and if he had ended up there was precisely to free himself from the overwhelming solitude of hiding from everyone, even if just for the night. Here he could be Jack completely, not just the part of Jack that was acceptable, and hell to the world. No one was taking that away from him, not even himself. So he shook his head and tried to decide where to start. As he had thought he wouldn't make it anyway, he had only planned as far as the getting in. Now that he had managed somehow, he was feeling a little lost.

In the end he went inside a particularly loud and packed room. Seductive pink and garnet lights swayed from one end of the room to the other, turning the dancers into otherworldy creatures. Men and women moved their bodies to the rythm of the music frantically, never missing a chance to rub against whoever stood close enough. It was mesmerising, and although Jack wanted to be part of it badly, he didn't know how to dance. So he stood near the door and watched the dancers.