I do not, however, have a solid dwarven bladder, and suddenly, even without sixty billion cups of sad caffeine, I really, really have to pee.

Gods.

I stand up, and the room is suddenly so loud, and it feels bigger than it was.

Public bathrooms. You know that thing, where, ingame, you stand outside a door and check for traps. It’s like that, except the traps are people, and they’re everywhere, and I don’t know which ones are set to blow.

The threat of fists and pee-stained porcelain and fingers prying where they shouldn’t blares inside my head. Every story I’ve ever been told of people like me has that scene.

Time stops outside those doors and I’m trapped inside this fear. Can’t go forward, can’t go back.

I can’t.

Until someone pushes past me and a blast of lemon bleach and bathroom air sets me free. Sickened, shaky, I walk back to the group, telling myself that I don’t need to go anyway.

Dwarven constitution. Everything is fine.

*

And so it is. We settle into this new life, my friends and I.

I’ve taken to arriving at school early. I’m a nerd, I know, but there’s something about this place while it sleeps; a sort of buzzing promise. A belonging. I’m here, psych homework and a still-warm bagel in my bag, and there’s a table in our room with a view beyond the playing fields on to the woods. It’s mine.

I breathe in floor polish, pencils and high hopes. Pause at the Upper Classes noticeboard.

Sports rosters and study groups and Mr Boules’s Thought of the Week. Crisp white posters: WINTER BALL. DECEMBER 6TH. COMMITTEE SIGN-UPS BELOW. HAVE YOUR SAY, AND PARTY YOUR WAY.

“What you looking at?”

I freeze. Matt DeFranco.

“Notices?” I say, wishing my voice sounded stronger.

“You’re not going to the ball, eh, twinkletoes?”

I shrug, don’t look at him. “Not really my thing.”

“Yeah … what would you wear anyway? They don’t make clothes for –” he gestures at me, up and down – “whatever that is.”

I back up, put a few more steps between us. “Yeah. I gotta go.” And I flee, not daring to turn or breathe until I’m in the common room and he hasn’t followed me in for five full minutes.

Breathe.

I cross the room, slowly set up my books and unwrap the bagel.

Breathe.

It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s OK.

*

“I brought snacks!” Justice tips protein bars and lentil crisps on to Tro’s dining table.

“Argh! Don’t dump your health food on my maps!” Tro swipes the snacks aside. “Gross. Don’t worry, crew, I commissioned cupcakes from the greatest chef in Chrull.”

Sabre glances sheepishly at Justice, then grins. “They’re walnut. And salted caramel.”

I’ve missed this. For the last few weeks our lives have been all settling into new routines. But tonight I’m not Scout Corrigan, I’m Borók Delvedeep of the Toothnail Caves; dwarf barbarian. My friends are not a gentle French-Morrocan foodie and an anxious metalhead, they’re a half-orc wizard and a elven bard. None of us have homework, just a city to defend…