A Friend In Need (Part 1 Of 2) free porn video

A FRIEND IN NEED (Part One of Two): A short story by Tamsyn After being beaten up while dressed, Dylan decides that his days of skirts and heels are behind him. His flatmate sees it for the knee jerk reaction it is, and looks for a way to bring Holly back -for both of them. Ryan Campbell drove into the village, barely noticing that the speed check sign was flashing '45' at him in angry red numerals. The walls of the ancient cemetery flashed past him and he took the bend wildly, the rear wheels of his Audi A1 slipping slightly and making him slow up. He drove past the pub, with its lights and strings of coloured bulbs providing a cheer that he found both insincere and false, particularly after receiving the phone call. "Ryan, I'm sorry, can you come and pick me up? I've been beaten up." The blood had run cold in his veins at the words and, once he knew where he had to go, he'd wasted no time in rushing out to his car and setting off. The journey to Hazleton village may only have been eleven miles, but it seemed to take hours to get there. The road split ahead of him and he cast a quick look at his phone, sitting in its holder on the dashboard, Google maps telling him to go left. His location was only half a mile to go and he sped up the narrow road with its terraced cottages on one side and village green on the other. Ahead of him, under the sodium lighting's baleful glare, was his destination, the Methodist chapel. There was a layby outside, big enough for a couple of vehicles, and he pulled into it, foot slamming down on the brake and bringing the car to a crunching halt. Engine off, lights off, and he was out of the vehicle. He hurried up the steps to the front of the chapel building. There was lighting from behind the tall stained-glass windows, the door open, and he hesitated, uncertain. An elderly lady appeared at the door, all tightly curled white hair and wrinkles, wearing thick jumper and trousers. "Oh," she said. "Are you Ryan?" "Yes," he replied. "I'm looking for my friend." "Come inside." Ryan followed her inside, the smell of old wood and old carpet drifting to meet his nostrils. Wooden pews ran around the inside of the chapel in a U-shape, leaving a small open central area, an ornate pulpit at the far end with the pipes of the organ reaching to the roof behind it. Sat in one of the pews, head down, damp hair hanging forwards, was- "Holly!" Ryan hurried across the chapel. As his friend looked up, he was horrified to see the bruising already appearing around one eye and the crusted blood under the nostrils. There was blood also on the black t-shirt, and the top two buttons from the red pinafore dress were missing. "Oh Christ," Ryan said, forgetting where he was. "What happened?" Tears leaked out. "He got angry," whispered a small voice. "Hit me." Ryan felt rage boil up within him. "Is he at the pub? I'll beat the crap out of him! I'll-" The elderly lady put a gentle hand on his arm, cutting off his anger. "It wouldn't do any good," she said calmly. "You'll only end up in trouble, and your friend needs you." For a moment the battle between his desire for revenge and the truth of her words raged within him, but eventually Ryan relaxed, knowing she was right. "Both of you go home," she continued. "Look after your friend." "Yes... of course," Ryan murmured. He helped Holly out to his car, and after a moment came back in to speak to the elderly lady. "Thank you," he said. "I live opposite, and saw Holly sitting on the steps. It was clear something was wrong, and came over to see if I could help. I'm one of the stewards here." "Well, I'm very grateful. We both are. I'll make sure he-" He checked himself. "That she's safe." She smiled at his stumble. "It's quite all right, dear. Your friend's told me all about his secret." "Oh." Ryan was taken aback. "You're not..." "Surprised?" she said. "Heavens, no. It is the twenty-first century after all, and it's nothing to be judgmental about. Besides, I've seen a lot of this world in my seventy-seven years, and a young man dressing and acting as a young woman is nothing new, believe me. He is remarkably convincing, though. "Unfortunately, the violence is nothing new either. I think he ought to be seen by a doctor before you get home. From what he said it was quite a nasty attack. He may need to take a little more care in future as well." Ryan couldn't disagree with that. He waited as she locked up the chapel and walked her back across the road before getting back in his car. + + + As Holly waited in the car for Ryan, she looked at her face in the mirror in the back of the sun shade, wincing in the harsh glare from the interior light at the bruise, and felt her side tenderly. She supposed she only had himself to blame, she thought. She should have been more open earlier on, but it had been so wonderful to be treated just like a girl that she'd gotten carried away. Before going out earlier that evening, she'd curled her shoulder length blonde hair and put on the pinafore-style dress with a black t-shirt underneath it, finishing the look with black hosiery and knee height suede boots with the three-inch heels. She kept her make-up light, not wanting to look like she was on the pull. Ryan had complimented her on her appearance and, after blowing him a kiss cheekily, she'd left, her flatmate's warning to be careful, and to call him if she ran into problems, trailing down the stairs after her. She'd gone to a nearby pub and ordered a white wine, enjoying the feeling of being able to pass as a girl. She was only eighteen, and had a slim frame and facial features that were a wonderful canvas for feminisation. It was a surprise when a guy had come up and offered to buy her a drink, introducing himself as Mark. They'd struck up a conversation and Holly, enjoying the attention, had readily agreed when Mark suggested they go on elsewhere. She wasn't too worried; she had no intention of letting things go too far. That elsewhere had been another pub, where, despite her promise to herself to go steady, Holly had taken in enough alcohol for her judgment to start slipping away. Mark suggested going back to his place, which turned out to be in this village, and driven them both there. After a stop at the village pub for another drink, where she'd enjoyed flirting playfully with a couple of Mark's mates, they'd come back out into the cool night air. Mark had pulled her close, Holly lost in the moment and enjoying the feeling of being held by him. Dylan had never thought of himself as gay, or even bisexual, but Holly was certainly enjoying it, and when Mark had kissed her, she'd responded with enthusiasm, sliding her arms around him ecstatically and kissing him back passionately. Mark's hands had slid down her back, squeezing her cheeks, and she'd smiled with pleasure at the feeling. By now Mark's tongue was conquering her mouth and she drew closer, her breast forms pressing against Mark's chest. Breast forms? Oh, yeah, she thought muzzily, perhaps she ought to tell him about that. Inna minute... In the shadow of the wall Mark's hand had moved onto Holly's thigh, sliding under her skirt. It wandered upwards to her crotch, pausing at the top of her stockings and running over her suspenders -she was a traditional girl at heart- and he smiled evilly at the discovery. The grin disappeared when he discovered something else, his fingers brushing against something most unfeminine, and he pulled back with a start. "Fu- what?" he stuttered, looking at her in shock. Dylan was instantly sober, a look of horror on his face, the passion he had felt as Holly now evaporating into the night air. "You're... a man!" Mark finally exclaimed, his voice sounding strangled. Dylan found his voice too. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm-" Out of nowhere Mark hit him, the punch landing squarely on his nose. He saw stars, his legs wobbling, and Mark grabbed the front of his dress and hit him a second time. At this Dylan fell, buttons pinging off the front of the dress, and he hit the ground, everything spiralling around him nauseatingly. "You shitty fucking cunt!" Mark shouted, and drew back his foot to kick Dylan in the midriff. The breath shot out of him and he felt the pain shoot through his body, rolling over onto his back. For a few seconds he thought he was going to throw up, trying to catch his breath, and through a mist of pain he saw Mark turn away. He took a couple of steps before turning back around and giving him a second kick. "Wanker," he told him, and finally left him alone. It was a few minutes before Dylan was able to get to his feet, pain searing down his side. Disorientated -not helped by the alcohol in his system- he looked around him owlishly, wondering just where they had come. He had to get away from the pub, and he staggered down the road, breath catching in his throat as the pain shot up his side, leaving the bright lights behind. As he did so he fumbled in his handbag for his mobile, phoning Ryan. "How's it going?" his flatmate asked. "Everything alright?" "Ryan, I'm sorry, can you come and pick me up? I've been beaten up." As he spoke, he began crying as the shock and emotion burst out of him, and it took a few minutes before, between them, they were able to work out where he was. "I'm on my way," Ryan told him. Dylan had found himself sitting on the steps at the Methodist chapel, and texted that info to Ryan before the lady from across the road had come over to ask if he was alright. She offered for him to wait in her house, but had instead unlocked the chapel when Dylan explained that Ryan would be collecting him from there. + + + Ryan listened in silence as Dylan related the story of what had happened, only interjecting to ask him about the pain from the kicks to his body. At the end of the tale he sighed. "You were bloody lucky," he told him savagely. "God knows what would have happened if he'd only found out when he got you into bed. What on earth were you thinking?" Miserably, Dylan said nothing. "If you want to snog other men then that's up to you. I'm not saying nothing, but make sure they know first," Ryan continued. "He could've had a knife, you idiot." "Yeah, I know." "Or he could've gotten his mates from the pub to join in. Why did you do it?" "I just got carried away," Dylan explained. "I'd had a few drinks, was feeling good, and he seemed to be a nice guy. I honestly didn't think it would get that far. I was going to tell him-" "Oh, before or after he'd put the condom on?" Ryan's voice dripped sarcasm. "That's not fair." "Not fair? Didn't I say to be careful?" After a minute or two of silence, he spoke again, more calmly. "Do you need to see somebody about where he kicked you? You might have a broken rib." "Leave it until the morning," Dylan said. "I don't want to go to a hospital like this. Just wanna get home." "Okay." They continued the journey without any more conversation. Ryan and Dylan's older brother Harry had been best friends in school in Woking, and still kept in contact, even after both had gone to separate universities. With an interest in astronomy and the night sky since he was very young, Ryan had graduated with a degree in astrophysics and had joined a research team near Oxford where he was working towards his Master's. He'd rented a reasonably-sized flat in Didcot and had settled into his working life. After a couple of years, Harry had asked a favour of him, and he'd happily agreed for Dylan to move into the spare room and share the rent. The younger man had gained a ticket office job with the Great Western Railway at Didcot Parkway, with a view to learning to be a train driver. "Some kids never grow up," Harry had told Ryan ruefully. He'd brought Dylan and his stuff over one weekend in a van, where they'd had a lads' night out with a good time had by all. Dylan settled in well; though there was seven years between the two of them they got on very well. The youngster hadn't changed match; he still had a mischievous sense of humour and was quite outgoing, and after a year of living together a strong bond of friendship had formed between them, cemented after an unusual event a couple of months after the younger man had moved in. One Sunday afternoon Ryan had noticed something unusual lying under the table in the kitchen. He picked it up, and realised it was a tube of lipstick. What it was doing there was quite a mystery; he had not had a girlfriend for several months and asked Dylan if he was bringing somebody home. Oddly, Dylan had been very cagey about it, stammering that he wasn't and he didn't understand where it came from. His reaction automatically raised Ryan's suspicions; it was evident Dylan certainly knew something about the lipstick, and Ryan started to take note of certain things. If he was going out Dylan was always inquisitive about what time he would be back. If a transvestite character appeared in a television programme, he would get strangely embarrassed about it. And on one occasion, when Ryan had grabbed his phone playfully, Dylan had become very agitated when he teased him that he would look through his photographs. That Dylan was hiding something was becoming clear. Though he was pretty sure what it was, due to the fact that it was his name on the rental deed Ryan figured he had to find out what, and one Saturday afternoon when Dylan was out, he sneaked into his room. Feeling incredibly guilty, he discretely started to go through his things. It took less than a minute to find out Dylan's secret; the collection of women's clothing hung in the wardrobe, along with the underwear in one of the drawers and the several pairs of women's shoes under the bed said it all. And that was even before he found the make-up case under the desk Dylan used when he was painting his wargaming figures. Feeling like an absolute shit for poking around in his friend's belongings, Ryan left the room as it was and had a long think. Most importantly, he was mightily relieved that Dylan was not doing anything illegal that could end up with both of them thrown out of the flat. His suspicions that Dylan was a crossdresser had been confirmed. He was not angry about it; he was quite open minded and, if anything, he felt bad that Dylan felt that he had to keep it a secret from him, and resolved to do something about that. He shouldn't have to hide it away. A couple of weeks later he was planning to go into town, and as usual Dylan asked him what time he would be back. "About five. Maybe a bit later," he lied, and made a point to arrive back at the flat at half past three. Letting himself into the flat quietly he crossed the hallway and just as he was about to open the door to the lounge Dylan appeared at the kitchen door, mug of tea in hand. Ryan hadn't quite known what to expect, but whatever it was it had not been the good-looking girl standing in front of him, a look of shock on her face. She was wearing a white sleeveless t-shirt, black bra straps visible through it, with the material knotted beneath her modest bust to show off her belly button ring, and a black leather miniskirt secured by a wide belt with a silver buckle. Black fishnet tights and black ankle boots with a medium heel completed the ensemble. She wore a number of bangles, her nails painted black, and she had brushed her blonde hair back, an alice band keeping it in place. Her make up, while not heavy, veered towards the Gothic, and hooped earrings hung from each lobe. As if he walked in every day to find his flatmate unexpectedly wearing girls' clothes, Ryan just said casually, "Is the kettle just boiled? I could murder a cuppa." + + + When they arrived home, Dylan hurried across the road painfully, anxious to be indoors. The flat they shared was in a sprawling town house that had been converted into five properties. Two of them were on the ground floor, there was a basement flat and the first and second floors were separate flats. They lived on the second floor. With Ryan following him up the stairs Dylan let himself into the flat and made straight for the bathroom which, like the rest of the rooms, led off a sizeable hallway. There he looked at himself in the mirror, the bruising around his eye even more prominent. He removed his make-up, stripped off and got in the shower. His skin down his left side was painful from the kicking, the area very sore and tender, but he was sure no serious harm had been done. It would be stiff and painful for a while. Towelling himself dry, Dylan threw on a nightshirt and went to bed. Sleep was a long time in coming, not helped by the pain from the beating, and he tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, thoughts churning in his head like clothes in a tumble dryer. Dylan Franklin had started to wear women's clothes when he was about nine or ten, gaining a fascination for them from somewhere. He still didn't know where, but his first inquisitive steps had been in trying on some of his mum's knickers. They had felt so different compared to his own boxers, and he had soon followed them with bra and tights and then some of her outer clothing too. He had to be careful about it; theirs was a full household. As well as Dylan and his parents, there was Harry, his eldest brother and Tessa, their sister, who had been born between them and was three years older than him. As such it was often difficult to get time on his own, but he had often raided her wardrobe. They were of a similar size and she had a much more interesting range of clothes. His mum's wardrobe seemed to be stuck in the 1990s. Tessa had eventually picked up that somebody had been in her wardrobe, and under her interrogation he'd wilted and admitted his liking for girls' clothes. She had been mad at first, but after she had calmed down, she decided to take him under her wing and teach him how to look and act as a girl. With her mentorship he had become practiced in applying make- up and how to walk and act as a girl, and had even taken his first steps outside the house while dressed, calling his female persona Holly. Though keeping it from their parents they had brought Harry in on the secret and, between the three of them, Holly became a part of the family. After Tessa had followed their brother to university Holly had taken a step or two back, and had not fully re-emerged until Dylan had moved to Didcot. There she had started to come out again, but only indoors. Dylan was wary of going out while dressed in a town he was still unsure of. He'd explained all this to Ryan when he'd gotten over the shock of seeing his flatmate standing in the hallway that Saturday afternoon. "How'd you know?" he asked after the other man had breezed past him into the kitchen and calmly made a brew. Ryan leaned against the worktop and sipped from his mug. "The lipstick, you muppet," he told him. "Neither of us are seeing anybody and it certainly didn't belong to me. There was only one answer." "You're not..." Dylan tailed off. "Angry? Mad? Disgusted? Nah. Why should I be?" "Some would." Ryan shrugged. "I might've been shocked if I'd walked in on you like this out of the blue, but I've been putting a few things together and this was the only answer." "You don't mind?" Ryan was surprised by the question. "No. You live here, so wear what you like." "Really?" There was a note of excitement in Dylan's voice. "Really." Dylan was stunned at this turn of events. "I can't believe you're being so cool about this." "Hey, you meet all sorts at uni. We had transgendered students, so it's not a closed book to me. How'd you get into it anyway?" After telling him his story Ryan nodded. "Well, if you still want pizza this evening why don't we go into town? Take in a film as well?" "What? Like this?" Ryan shrugged. "Why not?" "You asking me out on a date?" Dylan asked, smiling mischievously. "'Cos I don't kiss on a first-" "No, you twat, I'm not," Ryan told him firmly. "But if you're uncertain about going out like that I'll be happy to help. If you looked like a boy in a skirt, I wouldn't be so enthusiastic, but I have to say that you look amazing. Nobody could think you're a boy." Despite himself Dylan blushed. After he'd changed into something a little more mainstream -a pink t-shirt, denim mini skirt, patterned tights and trainers- they'd gone out, enjoyed a pizza and a film and had a great evening. Just as they often did, except one of them was wearing something different and the choice of film was not something Dylan would normally have picked. Ryan watched the rom-com without complaint, noticing how Dylan was perfectly confident and natural as a girl. With Holly now out if the closet, so to speak, Dylan took the opportunity to dress as such more often. His job at the railway station, where he worked in the ticket office, was the only time Ryan could guarantee he would be in male clothes; other times it could be either. He went out often as Holly, and her wardrobe expanded considerably. But now... He awoke at five, after finally drifting off for an hour or two. The side of his body was painful, and he moved about stiffly as he padded silently to the kitchen, returning to his room with a roll of black bin bags. A little while later he dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, deciding against having a shave. He wasn't in work today, which meant he would not have to come up with a reason why he had a black eye just yet. By now Ryan was up, and Dylan found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table in his dressing gown and staring at his open laptop moodily as he worked his way through a bowl of muesli. "I didn't say thank you," Dylan told him. Ryan looked up from the laptop, regarding him over the top of his glasses. "You didn't have to," he replied. "How are you feeling?" Dylan pulled up his sweatshirt, showing off the bruising down the side of his body. "It's agony." "I'll bet," Ryan winced, and took a sharp intake of breath. "Look, I'll take you over to the minor injuries unit when I've had a shower. I have a study day today. And, I didn't mean to be angry with you, in the car. I'm really mad with the bastard who did this to you and I guess you caught some of it." "I know. You were right, anyway. I shouldn't have let it get that far." "Be more careful next time." After a moment's hesitation, Dylan said, "You needn't worry about that. There isn't going to be a next time." "What d'you mean?" "I've put all my girls' stuff in some bags. They can all go to the charity shop later." Ryan regarded him thoughtfully. "It's a bit extreme, isn't it?" Dylan shrugged. "I think it's for the best." "But it was just a mistake. You were pissed." "Maybe, but I don't want to go there again." "I get that, looking at your bruises, but it doesn't mean you have to give it up completely. I mean, learn from your mistakes by all means, but don't do something you'll come to regret later." "I won't regret it. Can you help me to take them down to the charity shop at the weekend?" Ryan sighed. "I guess so. How many have you got?" "Five bags." "Jesus, five?" "Yeah." "If you want." "Yeah." + + + The nurse at the minor injuries unit established that Dylan had a couple of bruised ribs, and told him they would take a couple of weeks to heal properly. The rest of his physical injuries healed well over the next few days. The bruising around his eye yellowed and faded, as too did the bruising and pain on his body. But Ryan was concerned at how this normally sparky personality withdrew into himself. It probably was not surprising given what had happened, but he was hopeful that give it a couple of weeks and it might start to appear again. He noticed, however, that Dylan had not even mentioned Holly's name. He made an excuse not to take the bags of clothes down to the charity shop, deciding that Dylan really would regret it if he did get rid of them. He'd done some reading, and became familiar with the concept of purging, when crossdressers, out of guilt, got rid of all their female clothes, only to replace them later. While Dylan's situation was slightly different Ryan could see the guilt that he had brought it on himself, and he felt sure that Holly was a big enough part of him that she would reappear sooner or later. Instead he put the five bags into the attic of the house, to which all flats had access, and told his flatmate that he had removed them to the charity shop when he was at work. If truth be told, it wasn't entirely altruistic. A couple of days after Dylan had been beaten up, Ryan had a sudden self-revelatory moment that caused him to see things from a very different angle. He was in town one morning waiting to meet a friend in Starbucks, and was scrolling through his mobile disinterestedly when it came to him unbidden, like a sudden jolt of lightning. His relationship with Holly differed to his relationship with Dylan, that much was certain. With Dylan, it was quite laddish in many ways, raucous laughter, dirty jokes and competing on the Xbox. Allied to that was a certain amount of big brother responsibility, which he felt simply because Dylan was the younger brother of a good friend. Not that he would admit that to him, of course. But when Holly was present it was very different, driven in part because she behaved quite differently to Dylan. She was a quieter and calmer figure, still quite playful and with a sharp wit, but there was no laddish behaviour between them. She wasn't so competitive, had something of a klutzy streak, and if they were watching telly whereas Dylan would slouch in an armchair, she was more likely to sit on the sofa next to Ryan, feet tucked underneath her neatly. It made him very comfortable, so much so that one evening Ryan had found himself rubbing her leg gently. It was something that he stammered an apology for when he realised what he was doing, though she had found it quite amusing. The thing was that, to all intents and purposes, Holly was as female as any woman he had known, and he behaved around her as he would around any woman. He noticed that since he had surprised her walking out of the kitchen that Saturday afternoon, he had not sought out female companionship elsewhere. The realisation hit him like a bolt from the blue, and he sat there with his latte halfway to his lips, rocked by the thought. He liked Holly a lot, but could it possibly be that he had romantic feelings for her? Was that why he had been so enraged and vengeful when she'd been beaten up, why he'd threatened to find the man who did and beat seven bells out of him? He would not have felt the same had Dylan been attacked, he was sure; yes, he would have been angry, but what he'd felt that evening was far beyond concern for a flatmate. And was that why he had not been willing for Dylan to let her go? Because he, Ryan, was falling in love with her? But that was crazy, he told himself. Holly was not a woman, she was Dylan, his flatmate. Ryan had never countenanced the idea that he could be gay; he'd never been attracted to the thought of intimacy with another man. And yet... Holly was not 'another man' though, was she? She was a very attractive girl, funny, sexy, very endearing... and everything any man could want in a woman -despite the fact her sexual organs were the same as his. He sat there, gazing into his coffee, not even noticing that somehow things were clicking into place around him, resolving themselves into some kind of order. For an astrophysicist Ryan had a poor understanding of how the universe really worked. His friend arrived at that point, shaking him out of his reverie, though he did have to ask Ryan if everything was alright. He smiled. "Fine, mate," he said. "Just thinking about a girl I know." "Oh, yeah?" his friend asked. "Seriously thinking? Or just thinking?" Ryan shook his head. "Not a clue, really." "That's women for you. Totally confusing." He raised his latte to his lips. "Believe me, you have no idea." As it happened, Dylan did start to come out of his fugue after a few weeks had passed, though he made no mention of crossdressing, or of Holly, and instead picked up a renewed interest in his wargaming. He also had his hair cropped very short -almost to a buzz cut- and decided to grow a beard. That he was blond and his facial hair took a long time to grow made it look like nothing more than a thick fuzz. With his ribs healed he signed up to a gym as well. He even had a couple of dates which saw him spend an occasional night away at some girl's flat. Nothing serious, he explained, just fun. "I want a go in your sportscar." Ryan told him one day as he saw him mixing up a whey protein shake. "What sportscar?" Dylan asked, puzzled. "You're picking up girls and trying to get fit, so a sportscar will be next. But aren't you a bit young for a midlife crisis?" "I haven't got a midlife crisis." "You're going to the gym. Looks like it to me." Dylan sighed. "I'm just doing things differently," he explained. "You look at things a bit different after somebody beats the crap out of you." "And going to the gym will sort it?" "I'm not going to get beaten up again. And that's another reason I'm not going out as a girl anymore." Ryan looked at his slim frame, thinking that it would take more than a few gym visits and regular protein shakes to enable Dylan to hold his own in a punch up. He didn't say anything, however. "Besides," Dylan was wittering on. "You keep fit." "I run and play badminton. Not kill myself in a modern-day torture chamber." "It's not-" "Well, the way you drag yourself in here after going to the gym, it looks like somebody's trying to kill you." Dylan whisked up his shake. "This is what it's going to be like, so just get used to it." And, saying no more, he marched out of the kitchen, shake in hand. On the one hand Ryan was pleased that his friend had come out of his slump, though he still wasn't sure if the visits to the gym and the short haircut were the answer Dylan was looking for. Nevertheless, over the next few weeks Dylan persisted with visiting the gym, though Ryan noticed that, for all the effort, his frame wasn't building up much. He still made no mention of Holly, and the catalogues that came with her name on went straight into the recycling bin. He seemed determined to forget all about that part of his life, though there was a certain broodiness about Dylan these days. Ryan had given a lot of thought to his road-to-Damascus moment in Starbucks. Firstly, he realised that he was missing Holly a hell of a lot. And that was strange as Dylan had not gone anywhere. But it confirmed that his attraction to Holly -not Dylan- was real and not imaginary. He still got on as he always did with Dylan, despite his more serious approach to many things. There was absolutely no interest in him from a romantic point of view, but Holly's absence was affecting both of them. It was about three months after the attack that Ryan was notified that he was to receive an award for some work he was doing at the observatory. In the big scheme of things, it was not a hugely distinguished award, just a certificate issued by an optics manufacturer to hang on the wall, but it was still something that he was delighted to receive, something to pat him on the back, shake his hand and tell him well done, he was doing a good job. The award would be presented at a dinner in Oxford, and the invitation requested the presence of him and a companion at the event, which would be a black-tie event with a dance afterwards. It gave him an idea. "I'm impressed," Dylan said, reading the letter. "No, you aren't," Ryan corrected him. "You think we're all a bunch of nerds." "But a better class of nerds than me and my wargaming geeks. You look at real things." "No, I spend my timing looking at figures on a screen that represent real things." "Whatever. Who are you going to take?" "I'm not sure." "What about that Emma you've mentioned a few times? From your work." "I'm sure her boyfriend won't mind if I ask her. He plays rugby, by the way." "Oh." "I'm sure something will turn up." Ryan knew exactly who he was going to ask, but he let it go and, over the next couple of weeks, every time Dylan asked him if he'd found anybody or if he'd asked a certain person, he would mournfully shake his head. "No, mate," he'd say, or, "She's not able to." Or even, "I'm not that desperate yet." Eventually, with only two weeks until the award evening, Ryan decided to give things a push. He'd noticed that Dylan's gym membership was seeing less action, as the inevitable rush of early enthusiasm waned, and the protein shakes were less in evidence. Perhaps it was time...