1. Isaiah #2
Isaiah hadn’t seen Uncle Carl since he was ten years old, when his uncle had fallen out with Isaiah’s father over some business deal right at the start of his tenure as a sports agent.
The families hadn’t spoken since, and any mention of Carl in their household was seen as a cardinal sin…
almost as bad as being homosexual, apparently.
He felt his mind start to drift, to pull him back to that day just over a month ago, in the room that had been his since he was small.
His father’s harsh words as he rushed to shove whatever belongings he could into a bag.
His mother silent beside him, not even meeting his eyes.
Isaiah dug his fingernails into his palms. They’d be horrified if they knew he was meeting with Carl.
That thought alone made him feel better about the meeting; if nothing else, it would really fucking piss off his parents. 5
Despite the mental pep talk he was giving himself, Isaiah’s heart still skipped a beat when his uncle walked through the door.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as the man who looked like a fitter, if slightly older version of his estranged father offered a hesitant wave and made his way to their table at the back of the coffee shop.
Isaiah’s knee started to bounce uncontrollably under the table. Jacob stilled it with a nudge.
“Isaiah,” Uncle Carl said as he arrived in front of them. “You’ve changed a bit since I last saw you.”
Isaiah’s laugh was high-pitched and shaky.
“Can I get you lads some coffees?” Carl asked.
Malek nodded, suddenly far more shy than Isaiah had ever seen him, and Jacob jumped in, requesting a mocha for himself and Americanos for Malek and Isaiah. Isaiah may have had a lot of shit in his life, but he had the best fucking friends.
As Carl left to order their drinks, he gathered himself.
“It’s just a chat, Zay,” Jacob said. “We just want you to have someone in your corner with a little more sway than two mates and a prat of an ex-boyfriend who took off halfway around the world with his posh friends as soon as things got real.”
“He’s not my ex. We’re on a break.”
“Of course you are.” Jacob rolled his eyes. “I’m serious though. You worked so hard to get onto the BPhil programme; I don’t want you to lose out in your final year because your parents are shit.”
Malek nodded. “You deserve to have a safety net and to be able to pursue your doctorate without this hanging over your head. Carl’s a good guy.
He’s really trying to make a difference for queer athletes lately.
We had a long chat about it before I even considered mentioning you.
He really cares—I think it’s his way of trying to connect with his son.
” Malek’s voice was soft, but Isaiah heard the message loud and clear: Let him help you.
Carl returned with their drinks and settled on the wooden bench across from the three of them.
His sharp blue eyes felt like they were dissecting Isaiah, uncovering every part of his psyche.
Isaiah shifted in his seat as Carl looked down at his drink.
His friends were right though, he needed this.
He thought of his bank account, dwindling away despite the top-up the past three days of camming had given it, and took a breath.
Carl wrapped his hands around his cup, letting the steam fog his glasses for a second before he looked back at Isaiah. “You still running? You used to love cross-country.”
The question made Isaiah laugh, the sound bubbling up out of him before he could stop it. Of course his uncle was so immersed in the world of athletics that that would be the first thing he thought to say.
“Do you still have the same hobbies as when you were ten?” Isaiah replied, then ducked his head. “But yeah, I am. That’s how I met these interfering arseholes.”
Carl nodded as though that settled something for him. What, Isaiah had no idea.
Jacob bumped his shoulder, and Malek grunted. He probably shouldn’t make his friend look bad in front of the agent he so desperately wanted to sign with.
“I’m glad Malek said something the other day, Isaiah… I…” Carl stopped himself. “Listen,” he said, tone careful but not pitying, which Isaiah appreciated more than he wanted to admit, “your friends mentioned uni. What are you studying these days?”
It surprised Isaiah how fast the knot in his chest gave way to warmth.
“Philosophy.” And then, unable to help himself, he said, “I’m doing the BPhil at Oxford.
This year’s all about the thesis and preparing for doctoral studies.
I published a paper on agency in the arts last year, which is getting a lot of traction.
I’m thinking of using it as, like, a jumping-off point. ”
Carl’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s…not nothing.”
Isaiah smiled, for real this time “Yeah, it’s kind of unhinged.
” The words were tumbling faster now. “The BPhil is crazy enough; it’s a two-year research degree, super small cohort.
Very intense. Like, you spend a year thinking you’re hot shit because you got in, and then the first term just absolutely humbles you. ”6
Malek smiled into his coffee. Jacob watched with that soft, proud look he got when Isaiah talked about things he loved. His friends were sappy as fuck.
“My first year was…” Isaiah winced, then grinned.
“Brutal. Incredible, but brutal. Tutorials every week where you bring in work you’ve agonised over for days, and then some professor who’s been thinking about the same problem since before you were born just…
gently dismantles you. Or not-so-gently, in the case of some of them. ”
Carl huffed a laugh. “Sounds character-building.”
“Oh, massively,” Isaiah said. “Last term I took this class on moral responsibility—free will, blame, all that. We spent six weeks arguing about whether coercive circumstances mitigate moral culpability, and I got way too invested.” He gestured with his hands now, animated.
“There was this paper on structural injustice, right? About how systems can be morally blameworthy even when no individual agent is. I wrote my essay arguing that personal responsibility doesn’t disappear, it just gets redistributed,7 and my tutor basically told me I was both brave and wrong. ”
Jacob snorted. “Highest praise.”
“Exactly.” Isaiah beamed. “He said it made him rethink his position, which is catnip to people like us.”
Carl watched him closely, something unreadable in his expression. When Isaiah finally trailed off, breathless and a little embarrassed, Carl smiled at him. It was small but felt genuine—an expression he’d never seen on his father’s unnervingly similar face.
“You love it,” Carl said.
Isaiah shrugged, suddenly shy. “Yeah. I really do.”
“Tell me more about this thesis? Agency in the arts, you said? What does that mean?”
Isaiah grinned. Malek and Jacob let out a perfectly synchronised groan.
“You really shouldn’t get him started if you have anything else to do today,” Jacob ribbed, the good-natured smile on his face softening the barb.
Carl smiled. Isaiah laughed and ran a hand through his faded blue hair. “He’s not wrong.”
There was a pause then, the atmosphere shifting. Carl set his cup down with a decisive clink and leaned back against the bench. “Maybe we should catch up on it another time, because, well, I’ve got some thoughts,” he said.
“About my thesis?” Isaiah asked.
“About your situation,” Carl said gently. “I’m not good at this, talking around things. I used to think I was, but it always gets me in trouble, so let’s cut to the chase.”
Isaiah’s stomach dipped.
“Your parents,” Carl continued, voice steady but edged with something sharp, “are some of the worst humans I’ve ever had the displeasure of coming across, and being related to them is a cross we both bear.” He exhaled through his nose. “But you shouldn’t have to suffer for their ignorance.”
Isaiah stared at him, throat tight.
“I don’t know you very well,” Carl went on, “and I won’t pretend I can make up for lost time. But I know talent when I see it, and I know stubborn pride when it’s staring me in the face.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “You wouldn’t take a handout.”
Isaiah opened his mouth to protest, but Carl held up a hand.
“So don’t. Work for me. You know I run an agency.
That means athletes, contracts, logistics, and media wrangling.
I could use someone sharp who can write, think, and argue without throwing a punch.
” He met Isaiah’s eyes. “Work in the office on breaks and let me send you the occasional ethics question during term. In exchange, I cover your tuition, housing if you need it, and give you somewhere to stay over the holidays. Hell, you might even uncover some interesting research questions there.”
The world went very, very quiet.
Jacob’s hand found Isaiah’s knee under the table. Malek’s eyes met his, as he gave a subtle nod.
“You planned to offer this before you even came.” Isaiah narrowed his eyes at Carl.
Carl shrugged, like he was offering a spare room for the night instead of changing Isaiah’s entire life. “Maybe I did. But I wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t think you could handle it. You keep your independence, you keep your degree, and if you hate it, you walk. No strings.”
“And you get off our sofa,” Jacob added.
Isaiah swallowed. His heart was pounding, loud in his ears.
“Think about it,” Carl said gently.
By the time he was settled back in on Mal and Jake’s sofa for the night, he’d made a decision.8