Both Ways – Part 2: Dancing in Daylight

The club was on the edge of the old harbour, in a converted warehouse with iron girders and a bar made from reclaimed boat wood. Femke had dragged Robin there on a Saturday in July, insisting that the city's best dancers went there, and that he needed to stop thinking about it so much.

"I'm not thinking about it," said Robin, which was a lie.

"You're thinking about it so loudly I can hear it over the bass," said Femke.

The dance floor was packed and sweaty and loud. Robin lost her in the crowd within five minutes, and then found her again, arms raised, laughing at something a stranger had said to her in Dutch.

He pushed his way through to her. She turned and grinned, and the look on her face made him forget the rest of the room.

They danced for an hour. Not touching much. Just moving together, close enough to share the rhythm. Robin felt lighter than he had in years, as if the honesty by the canal had cleared something out of his chest.

At some point the music slowed. The lights dropped to blue. Femke leaned in, her mouth close to his ear.

"Still nervous?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted.

"Good. Me too."

"Why would you be nervous?"

"Because I've wanted to kiss you since the second week of uni," said Femke. "And I was too scared to say so, because I thought you'd only ever want boys. Then you told me you didn't. And now I don't know which of us is braver."

Robin stared at her. The music throbbed around them, slow and warm.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Femke, and her voice was steady. "But ask me again, after the song. Just to be sure."

The song ended. The crowd cheered. Robin waited, heart thudding, and then asked again, very quietly.

"Yes," said Femke, and pulled him down by the collar.

The kiss was soft and warm and a little clumsy, the way first kisses always are, and then not clumsy at all. Robin's hand found her waist, and her fingers curled into his shirt, and somewhere far away the bass started up again. He didn't care. He was too busy learning the shape of her mouth, the sound she made when he pressed closer, the way she laughed softly against his lips.

When they broke apart, both of them were grinning like idiots.

"Well," said Femke, breathless. "That was definitely a yes."

"Definitely," said Robin.

They walked out of the club into the bright early morning, the sky over the harbour turning pink and gold. Gulls wheeled above the boats. The canal smelled of salt and summer.

"What now?" Robin asked.

"Breakfast," said Femke. "Then I'd like to kiss you again, somewhere with better coffee. And then we'll see."

"Green?" he asked, grinning.

"Green," she said, and took his hand as they walked away from the water, toward the sun.