Eighteen Years
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 1
It's All Too Much.
The booming bass from the speakers didn't just fill the room; it vibrated straight through the floorboards of the Flamingo Rose, Chester's only real gay venue for a Saturday night out. The club was small, with sparkling coloured lights that bounced off tiny mirrors on the ceiling, and packed to the rafters with a sweaty, joyful crowd.
For eighteen-year-old Aled, it felt like stepping onto another planet, it was both nice and alien at the same time.
He stood near the edge of the bar, small-framed and slim, clutching a bottle of cider like a lifeline. He'd spent the morning up to his shins in mud on his family's sheep farm just outside Mold, and the contrast was dizzying. With his wild, unkempt dark hair curling erratically from the humidity and bright, nervous eyes darting around the room, he looked like a beautiful, startled woodland creature caught in the neon strobes.
Then, the crowd shifted, and Harry appeared.
Harry was twenty-one, from London, a university student who radiated the effortless, loud confidence of someone who grew up in a city that stayed alive all night. He was tall and broad-shouldered—built like a rugby fly-half—with a mop of dirty-blond hair and a laugh that carried clean over the pop-remix blasting from the DJ booth. He was mid-sentence, joking with a group of friends, when his eyes swept across the bar and locked onto Aled.
The atmosphere surrounding him instantly charged. It was a physical jolt, sudden and electric.
Harry blinked, his loud demeanour dropping away for a fraction of a second. He excused himself from his mates and without breaking eye contact he started moving across the packed dance floor. He didn't weave; people just seemed to move out of the way of his sheer presence.
Aled's heart began beating fast. He considered bolting for the toilets, but he felt glued to the floor.
"Hey," Harry said, suddenly right there beside him, leaning on the bar. Up close, his presence was palpable, a mix of nice cologne and warm skin. He had to look down to meet Aled's gaze, a grin spreading across his face. "I haven't seen you here before. And trust me, I would have remembered."
Aled swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his neck. He offered a shy, fleeting smile that made his bright eyes crinkle at the corners. "I... I only started coming a few weeks ago," he said. His voice was soft, carrying the unmistakable, melodic lilt of the North Wales valleys.
Harry's grin widened, his eyes darkening with immediate, intense interest. "Oh, wow. A local. I'm Harry."
"Aled," he murmured.
"Ah-led," Harry repeated, testing the Welsh name on his tongue, his London accent pronouncing it with a strange, immediate reverence. "That's beautiful. What do you do, Aled? Are you at the uni here?"
"No," Aled said, his shy smile returning, a bit braver this time. He looked down at his slim, boyish hands, as if they might reveal his occupation, "I work on my family's farm. Over the border. In Wales."
Harry let out a low, appreciative whistle, moving a fraction of an inch closer. The fabric of his t-shirt brushed against Aled's arm, sending a shockwave of pure adrenaline through the younger boy. "A farmer. Jesus, you're reading from my exact fantasy script, aren't you?"
The blunt, shameless flirtation made Aled gasp a little, his eyes widening. In London, Harry's world was fast, explicit, and cynical. But looking at Aled—so raw, so fit and lean, completely untouched by city pretense—Harry felt a sudden, fierce pull in his chest that went way beyond trying to pull a guy at a club. It was a craving to protect him, and a desperate urge to ruin him, all at once.
"You're very confident," Aled whispered, though he didn't step back. His eyes dropped to Harry's chest, to the way his shirt stretched tight over his shoulders. The sexual tension between them was suddenly so thick it felt like it was crowding out the rest of the room.
"I am," Harry admitted, his voice dropping an octave, becoming low and private amidst the chaos of the club. He reached out, his large, warm hand hovering for a second before his fingers gently brushed a stray, wild curl of hair away from Aled's forehead. His fingertips lingered, just a moment, on Aled's warm skin. "But I can be quiet, too. If we go somewhere else."
Aled's breath hitched. The sheer, magnetic weight of Harry's gaze was overwhelming. Two opposite worlds had just collided under the cheap disco lights of Chester, and neither of them had any intention of looking back.
"Okay," Aled breathed, his shy demeanour melting into something heavy and longing. "Let's go."
"Hang on a minute," Harry said, leaning in so his breath brushed Aled's ear, sending a fresh spike of goosebumps down the boy's neck. "Let me just tell my mates I'm heading out. Don't move. Seriously, don't disappear on me."
Aled nodded, but the moment Harry's warmth left his side, a sudden, cold panic gripped his chest. He watched Harry's broad shoulders push back through the dense crowd. Aled's mind immediately began to spin. He's not coming back, a cynical voice inside him whispered. Why would a guy like that want a farm boy from Wales? He's probably just playing a joke. Aled gripped his cider bottle tighter, feeling incredibly small and foolish, half-tempted to slip out of the club before he could get his heart broken.
But then, through the pulsing strobe lights, he saw the dirty-blond hair moving back toward him.
Harry hadn't lied. He was coming back. But as Aled watched him, he also noticed Harry's friends—a group of loud, trendy-looking guys—staring directly over Harry's shoulder right at Aled. One of them nudged another, whispering something with a grin. Aled's stomach did a nervous flip, and he instinctively pulled his head down, trying to shield himself behind his wild hair.
"Right, sorted," Harry said, arriving back with a triumphant grin that instantly cut through Aled's anxiety. He noticed the slight tension in Aled's frame. "How did you get here tonight? Did you take the train?"
"No, motorbike," Aled said, his voice carrying that soft, melodic lilt. "I've got my bike parked down the street."
"Brilliant. Well, I live very close," Harry explained, leaning in closer to be heard over the booming dance beat. "Parkgate Road. The halls of residence."
Aled blinked, his bright eyes widening as he took a step back. "You're at university?"
Harry studied him, the immediate surprise on Aled's face catching him off guard. The younger boy looked almost intimidated, a flicker of doubt clouding his expression. Harry's smile softened, wondering if he'd just hit a roadblock. "Yeah. Is that a problem, the university?"
"I... I don't know," Aled muttered, looking down at the floor. The divide between them suddenly felt massive. Harry was a sophisticated Londoner studying at a proper university; Aled spent his days dealing with livestock and tractors. He felt entirely out of his depth.
"Hey," Harry said gently, reaching out to catch Aled's chin, tilting his face back up so their eyes met. "It's not actually on the main campus, alright? It's just off-site, an accommodation block. And it's completely okay for you to come. So long as we don't make too much noise and wake the other inmates."
Harry flashed him a massive, wicked smile, his eyes practically dancing with a mixture of charm and blatant sexual promise.
Despite the heat of that smile, Aled was obviously still nervous, his hands fidgeting with his drink. The sheer speed of everything—the loud city boy, the university, the impending intimacy—had his heart pounding almost as loud as the music.
"Can we take your bike, or do we walk?" Harry asked, his voice cutting through the thumping beat of the dance floor.
"I'd prefer to take the bike," Aled said, a note of genuine anxiety creeping into his soft accent. "I don't like leaving it here by the club all night. It's not safe." He paused, looking up at Harry's broad frame. "I've got a spare helmet in the top box."
Harry grinned, bumping his shoulder against Aled's. "Blimey, you come prepared, don't you?"
But the joke fell flat. Harry watched as Aled's face fell, his jaw tightening as he looked away. The younger boy looked incredibly serious, worried almost, as if he thought Harry was mocking him or judging him for being too cautious.
Realising he'd stepped on a nerve, Harry's playful demeanour vanished. "Hey, I'm joking. Sorry," he apologised quickly, his voice sincere. "A bad joke, didn't mean anything by it." He reached out, his large hand wrapping in a light, reassuring grip around Aled's arm. The warmth of his palm felt reassuring. "Really, I'm sorry. I really like you," Harry whispered, leaning down so only Aled could hear the fierce honesty in his words. "Really!"
The directness and conviction seemed to qualm Aled's doubts. The tension melted out of his shoulders, and he offered Harry another one of his fleeting, beautiful smiles.
Together, they turned and made their way out of the loud, crowded club, bursting through the heavy doors into the cool, crisp Saturday night air.
Chester's historic centre was a maze of dark back streets, flanked by ancient black-and-white timbered buildings. Away from the neon glow of the main strip, the alleyways were quiet, cast in deep shadows with only the occasional amber hum of a streetlamp illuminating the cobblestones. It felt a million miles away from the sweaty dance floor.
They walked in an electric, charged silence until they reached Aled's bike—a sturdy, well-maintained machine that looked a bit rugged, perfectly fitting its owner. Aled unlocked the top box, pulling out the spare helmet and handing it to Harry. As they both climbed onto the bike, the sheer logistics of Harry's size became apparent. Harry was much taller and broader, and as he settled onto the pillion seat behind the slim farm boy, the bike compressed under their combined weight.
Before Aled could start the engine, Harry couldn't resist. Peering over Aled's shoulder, he muttered, "I hope you know how to drive this thing?"
Now feeling safer in his own element, away from the prying eyes of the club, Aled caught Harry's eye in the wing mirror. The nervousness was gone, replaced by a spark of mischief. "First time," Aled joked back deadpan.
Harry let out a big, booming laugh that echoed off the brick walls of the empty street. "Brilliant. Just my luck."
As Aled kicked the engine to life, the motor roaring a steady, powerful purr into the night, Harry's laughter died down, replaced by a sudden rush of alarm. He wrapped his thick arms securely around Aled's slim waist, pulling himself flush against the boy's back. Aled shifted into gear, the sudden proximity of Harry's hard, rugby-player physique pressing against him sending a thrill straight down his spine as they pulled out into the dark.
Harry entered the code into the keypad with practiced ease, the digital beep loud in the quiet night, and ushered Aled in through the heavy front door.
The building smelled of detergent and cheap floor cleaner, with the unmistakable bleakness of student accommodation. They climbed the echoing concrete stairs to the first floor, their footsteps a rhythmic thud against the silence. Harry's room was along the corridor, right at the very end, tucked away from the main stairwell.
As Harry slotted his key into the lock, he paused and turned back to Aled. "It's really small," he said, offering a slightly sheepish look. "Only a single bed."
The word single hit Aled like a physical blow, and the panic flared up in his chest all over again. A single bed meant absolute, unavoidable closeness. It meant there would be nowhere to hide, no room for hesitation. In his mind, the vast difference between Harry's confident, city-slicker world and his own quiet, isolated life on the farm felt like a chasm. He felt his throat tighten, the urge to run pulsing through his veins.
But before he could act on it, Harry flicked on the light and clicked the door shut behind them.
The lock turned with a definitive snap, and Aled realised Harry hadn't been exaggerating. There really wasn't much space at all. The room was a classic student box: a basic desk cluttered with textbooks and a laptop, a single window looking out into the dark, and a narrow single bed pushed against the wall.
Harry threw his jacket carelessly over the back of the room's only desk chair and immediately sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs giving a slight groan. He looked up, expecting Aled to follow suit, but the younger boy just stood there by the door. Aled was entirely rigid, his helmet clutched tightly in both hands, his bright eyes wide and darting around the small room like he was looking for an escape hatch.
"You okay?" Harry asked, his loud, boisterous club persona completely gone now. He looked a little concerned, his brow furrowing as he took in Aled's tense posture. He reached out a hand, though he didn't touch him, keeping his voice soft. "Put your stuff on the desk. Sit down."
Aled moved slowly, like a clockwork toy running out of steam. He carefully placed his helmet and jacket onto the cluttered desk, his hands trembling just a fraction. He hesitated for another long second before he eventually walked over to the bed.
He sat down, but he deliberately placed himself at the very foot of the mattress. He kept a distinct, careful distance between them, his knees pulled tightly together, his shoulders hunched as he stared fixatedly at the poster on Harry's wall, desperately trying to catch his breath.
Aled's eyes locked onto the poster above the desk, and he felt his cheeks burn hotter. It was a stylised, anime-style Yaoi print of two young men caught in a passionate, breathless kiss. To anyone else, it was just typical student decor, but to Aled, it felt incredibly graphic, a stark reminder of the fast, unapologetic world Harry belonged to. It was intimidating, pushing his anxiety right to the edge.
Watching him intently, Harry suddenly had a revelation. He looked at the way Aled sat rigid at the foot of the bed, at the wild hair, the fidgety hands, the pure vulnerability radiating off him. Welsh country boy, farm lad, painfully nervous, only maybe his second time ever in a gay club, totally on his own. The pieces clicked together.
"Aled," Harry said, shifting his broad frame on the mattress to turn and face him fully. "Is this your first time?" he asked softly.
Aled blushed a violent, bright red, the colour rushing up from his collar right to the tips of his ears. He'd been found out.
Shame and panic tangled in his chest. I should leave, Aled thought desperately. I need to get out of here right now. This isn't working. He convinced himself he wasn't what Harry was looking for at all. Harry was a confident, experienced Londoner; he wouldn't want a frightened little virgin who couldn't even look him in the eye. Aled braced himself for the rejection, his muscles tightening to stand up.
But Aled was wrong. He was exactly what Harry was looking for. In a world full of superficial club hookups and cynical games, Aled was entirely genuine and real. Harry felt a fierce wave of tenderness wash over him, and he absolutely did not want to scare him away.
"Aled..." Harry's voice was incredibly gentle, stripped of all its usual loudness. "You're safe here, with me. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do tonight. I mean it."
Aled stopped, his breath catching as he looked up through his dark fringe.
"I just... there's something between us, Aled. I feel it," Harry whispered, his eyes locked onto Aled's with absolute sincerity. "I felt it the exact second I saw you, right across the other side of the club, through the crowd. I couldn't look away."
The honesty in Harry's voice acted like a balm. The tight knot in Aled's stomach began to loosen, and his shoulders visibly dropped as Harry talked. The terrifying city boy was gone, replaced by someone warm, patient, and intensely focused on making him feel secure.
"Come here," Harry patted the mattress right next to his thigh.
Aled hesitated for a heartbeat, and then, slowly, he shuffled along the bed.
Their bodies were now almost touching, the heat radiating between them in the small room. Sensing Aled's permission in his proximity, Harry closed the final inch. He leaned in, his broad shoulder brushing against Aled's slim one, bridging the gap between their two worlds completely.
"Aled, can I kiss you?" Harry asked.
For Aled, the entire world simply stopped. The music from the club down the road, the hum of the ventilation, the sound of his own breathing—it all vanished. The graphic image of the boys on the poster flashed through his mind, followed by a dizzying rush of his entire life up to this moment. The years of keeping his secret locked away on the isolated farm, the aching, hollow longing late at night, the impossible, desperate dream of ever finding someone who could love him for who he was.
It was all too much. The sheer emotional weight of eighteen years of hiding had culminated in this exact point, here in this tiny bedroom with Harry—a boy he didn't even know, yet felt so violently drawn to.
Before he could even attempt to answer, a hot wave of pressure built behind Aled's eyes. Tears welled up, thick and sudden, and Harry sat as the silent witness to the dam breaking. Aled burst into tears. They flooded down his cheeks in hot, heavy streams. His shoulders shook violently, and he instinctively brought his hands up to his face, trying desperately to muffle his sobbing, terrified of being too loud, terrified of looking weak.
Harry didn't hesitate. He did the only thing his heart told him to do.
He leaned across the small gap, wrapped his broad, strong arms entirely around Aled's slim frame, and pulled him tight against his chest. He held him like Aled might shatter if he let go, rocking him slightly on the edge of the single bed.
"It's okay," Harry murmured into Aled's wild hair, his voice a soothing, soft friction against the quiet of the room. "Let it go, Aled. You're safe. I've got you. I've got you, mate."
To confirm his words, Harry squeezed tighter, burying Aled against the solid warmth of his chest, absorbing the tremors racking the younger boy's body. He didn't care about the tears soaking into his shirt. He just held him, providing a human anchor in the middle of Aled's storm.
As Aled's tight grip on his own emotions finally collapsed, he buried his face into the crook of Harry's neck, his hands clutching at the fabric of Harry's shirt like a drowning man.
Feeling the raw, absolute trust Aled was placing in him, something shifted deeply inside Harry. The loud, confident London boy was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, protective devotion he had never felt for anyone before. The words slipped out of Harry's mouth before he could even think to stop them, whispered with absolute, heavy certainty into the quiet room: "I'll never let you go."
And gently, reverently, Harry pressed his lips to the top of Aled's wild, unkempt hair, holding the boy safe against the rest of the world.
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