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as though it’s nothing, while I marvel over everything like a moron. I can feel his muscles working against my body, and see his arms making these great, muscular arcs through the water. I’m not even paying attention to the things I’m supposed to – such as fish, and other aquatic wonders – because watching him is almost hypnotic. To be honest, I’m not sure if I’d notice a fish, if it floated by.
    The lesser spotted Steve Stark has my undivided attention.
    And though I know I should feel weird about that, for the first time I actually don’t. The cement seal over my crush has cracked and given way, a little, but I don’t mind. He’s the one letting me put my arms around him. He’s the one diving with me like this. I’m allowed to show a crumb of affection towards him, when that’s the case.
    Aren’t I?
    At the very least, he doesn’t seem bothered by my excitement. In fact, he’s the opposite of bothered. When we break the surface and I let out a little giddy yelp, he briefly puts his hands behind himself, so he can give me a squeeze. And he laughs too. He laughs and tells me “ready to go again”, in a way that reminds me keenly of the fun we used to have. A pang goes through my body to hear it, a second before he plunges us into the water again.
    But it’s a good pang. And it gets easier as we wile away this time, talking in the same way we used to – like friends, I think, like good friends. We’ll never be anything more – I know that now – but I’m happy with nothing at all if nothing at all is this. For a good few hours it’s akin to being in a movie, swimming through water as blue as Steven’s eyes, with him as my own personal merman.
    He dives down deeper when I ask him to, to the point where his fingers almost graze the rolling hills of sand below. And when I pat him he surges back up again, through streams of suddenly startled fish and onward, to the surface. Then once we’ve broken through, the first thing he always does is ask me, ‘You OK? You still breathing?’
    Like it matters to him.
    ‘Just let me know when you want to stop,’ he says, and I answer him in my head:
    Never. Never never never. Just let me stay in the movie Splash , for ever.

Chapter Three
    I can’t deny that, from this point on, the holiday is awesome. It was already going that way around the time he touched my hair, but after the gender-switched version of a Tom Hanks film, I’m practically stuffed full of happiness. I feel as light as he made me seem, while diving through the Mediterranean waters. A weight I wasn’t aware of has been lifted.
    We’re friends again, I think. I have my buddy back. I don’t have to worry that he’s going to say something cruel, because now he’s aware that I have feelings. And I’m not in any danger of touching him in a way that screams something other than friendship, because he keeps touching me like that first.
    He can hardly make fun of me for having a crush on him, when he’s busy grabbing my hand and giving me piggyback rides. By this point, I’d pretty much have to climb on his dick to meet the criteria for unusually affectionate behaviour. I’m safe, I think. I’m totally safe. I get to hang out with him without fear of reprisals, secure in our friendship.
    It’s wonderful.
    If somewhat confusing, on occasion. Like now, when he comes up behind me as I’m stood making drinks. Kimberley wants a Screwdriver and Jason is after some whisky on the rocks, and I’m thinking I’ll have something chockfull of fruit with 17 umbrellas, and right in the middle of all of this normality Steven is suddenly really, really close to me in a darkened room.
    Because now he’s here, it does seem very darkened. There’s only a bit of sunset light coming in through the porthole over my bed, and everything else is practically pitch black. I’m not even sure why I was attempting to make drinks in this gloom – though I accept that his presence is making everything a