Newcastle, Friday night. Bigg Market was packed, the pavement slick with rain and spilled WKD. Outside Greggs, three lads in full black puffers crowded around a corner, passing a vape and laughing like they owned the city.
Inside a quiet bar nearby, Jamie sat hunched over his pint of cider, watching the chaos outside from behind his round glasses. Skinny jeans, tucked-in pink polo, and a nervous energy that didn’t fit in with the noise of the city. He was clever, introverted, soft-spoken — more interested in queer book clubs than club nights.
His best mate, Connor, nudged him. “You see that lad again?”
Jamie glanced across the bar. There he was — the same guy from the other night. Black puffer, shaved fade, smug half-smile. Tall. Built. A proper Geordie lad. He was leaning against the jukebox, sipping a Red Stripe like he’d invented swagger.
“That’s Kye,” Connor whispered. “He kissed my mate Mikey at Flares last week. Next morning, Mikey turned up in an Adidas tracksuit. Said he didn’t fancy brunch anymore. Just Monster and JD Sports.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. What, it’s contagious now?”
Connor nodded seriously. “That’s what they’re saying. One kiss and it changes you. Proper chavvy. Like your brain rewires itself.”
Jamie laughed. “Sounds like a Grindr horror story.”
It wasn’t supposed to happen. Jamie was meant to go home early, finish a draft of his zine, maybe binge some retro anime. Instead, he found himself pressed up against a back alley wall behind the bar, breath fogging in the cold, Kye’s hand at his jaw.
“You’re cute, you know,” Kye said, voice low, accent thick.
Jamie was too stunned to reply. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a stolen Vauxhall.
Kye leaned in. Their lips met.
Jamie woke the next day to the hum of drill music coming from somewhere — except it was his own phone.
His soft pink polo was gone. Replaced with a shiny black puffer jacket, zipped halfway up. His jeans were looser. His socks were Nike. His lips tasted like mint vape and Red Bull. He blinked at the mirror.
His fringe had been trimmed into a short fade.
He tried to speak. “I’m losing my—”
But what came out was: “Swear down, that was a mad night.”
He slammed his hand over his mouth. “What the fu—?”
Kye 💦:
You alright, lad? Don’t fight it. Just ride the vibe. Meet me outside Greggs at 8. Bring your vape if you’ve got one.
Jamie tried to resist. He pulled out his old polo and glasses. But they didn’t feel like his anymore. He didn’t even know why he ever wore them. He tossed them in the bin without thinking.
By the end of the week, Jamie didn’t go by Jamie anymore.
Jay wore his puffer even when it wasn’t cold. He’d replaced his bookshelves with shelves of trainers. He kissed a different lad behind the pub every other night. And every time, he spread it — the virus, the vibe, whatever it was.
The city was changing. Quiet boys, indie gays, art school students — all slowly taken over. All it took was one kiss. Then came the change in clothes. The shift in slang. The sudden craving for Lucozade, trap beats, and corner shops.
It was spreading across the Toon like a storm. Nobody in Jesmond was safe.
Jay stood under the glowing Greggs sign near Monument, vape in one hand, gold chain peeking out from under his puffer. Kye strolled up beside him, matching jacket, matching grin.
“Didn’t think you’d last this long without caving,” Kye said.
Jay shrugged. “Guess I just needed the right lad to chav me up.”
They leaned in, kissed under the orange lights.
Down the street, a nervous-looking uni fresher watched them.
Jay pulled back, spotted him.
“Oi,” he called out with a wink. “You look cold, mate. Want to try on me jacket?”
prguitarman
areudirty
origamiaround
amandla
pixelskylines
izzy806
gracieabrams
