Title: Mission Skyscraper
Author: Eule Grey
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 09/02/2025
Heat Level: 1 – No Sex
Pairing: NB/NB
Length: 28100
Genre: Contemporary YA, contemporary, general lit, YA/young adult, NB, neurodivergent, gender queer/gender fluid, pansexual, ND/neurodiversity: autism, immersive daydreaming, fantasy world, art, transitioning, school, coming of age, first kiss, family drama
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Description
So, anyway, the world doesn’t make sense. By day, I’m a student who avoids teachers, parents, and rules because all they do is shout. I wish they’d leave me alone and stop calling me a lad when sometimes I’m a lass. Oh, plus, I can’t remember where I lived last year. By the way, have you noticed the handsome boy who keeps chatting with me after school?
There’s more. By night, I’m a spy on a mission, strong and essential, see? Some call it dreaming, but I know better. My assignment is to track two people who are trapped inside a skyscraper. I’m scared, and so are they. What if I’m not brave enough to save them?
So, yeah, things are tricky in both worlds. Two realities and a lot of questions are about to collide, and when they do, nothing can prevent the truth from spilling out. What’s inside the heart of a skyscraper? I’m about to find the answer. See you on the other side.
Mission Skyscraper
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved
A voice woke Cullen from a deep sleep.
“For fuck’s sake. What you doing in there? Your mum said you’d gone to the park.”
Nobody ever came to the hut. Cullen struggled to make sense of the situation. His heart stuttered into a terrified rhythm, pounding blood. Was the intrusion a punishment for allowing the memory about the art?
A torch was thrust into his face. “Is it you?” Though a familiar voice, Cullen couldn’t think of the name to go with it, still dazed by the unexpected appearance of another person in his space.
The kid held out a phone. A circle of light quickly filled the hut. “Got a smoke?”
Cullen blinked furiously. He hunched into his hood, wishing the kid away. “It’s me. Doing nothing.” He died of horror. Samir was here.
And Samir had made an effort with his appearance, but Cullen was unsure why. Samir’s shoes had been polished to perfection, and instead of standard school brogues, he wore yellow boots with laces. And a waistcoat. He’d styled his hair into an unnatural shade of white-yellow, resembling an ice mountain with peaks and slopes. Samir had brown skin, like Simon and Jake, Cullen’s stepdad and little brother, and eyes that wouldn’t stop looking, no matter Cullen’s hood. He also walked differently from the other kids, drawing attention rather than trying to hide within the crowd.
For months, Samir had only meant another encounter to dread. Following the teacher’s orders, they’d sat together during Art and Maths. But their relationship changed after Christmas when Cullen began thinking about Samir a lot.
Once, on the walk home from school, Samir had asked questions about Cullen’s life.
Where was he from?
Before?
Whom did he fancy?
Until something embarrassing and apocalyptic happened during Art. Cullen caught sight of Samir’s work and couldn’t look away. Samir drew faces with startling depth and expression, with long, clever fingers that made Cullen want and want. Now, Cullen couldn’t get enough. The depth of his wanting frightened him.
Ever since, Cullen had thought constantly about Samir, his fingers, his art, and why he wanted to walk together. Nothing would stop his body from secretly, or not so secretly, misbehaving when Samir was around or even when he wasn’t.
In bed, after the inexplicable thing happened for the first time, Cullen had been shocked and fascinated. Now, he wanted it all the time, as a boy and as a girl.
It was too much.
Cullen wanted to be around Samir, and he didn’t. None of it made sense. He’d successfully evaded Samir for the last two weeks by setting off to school half an hour early. They were in the same English, Art, and Math classes, but Samir had started seeking him out at lunchtime, too, chatting when Cullen only wanted to watch Samir’s hands move.
Stiff from sitting in the cold, Cullen stood awkwardly. He stepped out of the hut and into the playground. His secret place had been spoiled for today and maybe forever.
“It’s you.” His voice came out angry even though he wasn’t.
Samir tugged at Cullen’s jacket, appearing not to notice the uncomfortable atmosphere. “Let’s sit on the swings. We need to discuss the competition.”
Usually, Cullen avoided the swings, especially in windy weather. The rocking of the seats made him sick and dizzy, fascinated and caught by the motion and the question of what would happen when the swing stopped moving. But at Samir’s touch, the swings became irrelevant. Instead of running, Cullen died of horror and happiness, of every emotion known to humans. He couldn’t look at Samir, but he still sensed Samir gazing at his face.
They sat on the swings. Samir fiddled in a pocket and then fished out cigarettes and a lighter, which meant he intended to stay. “You can have one of mine. What are you doing up here anyway?”
Cullen glanced at the hut to determine what answer would be palatable. But a lit cigarette thrust into his face couldn’t be ignored or refused, not without risking severe consequences. A year of school had taught Cullen that much.
He shrugged, taking the cigarette reluctantly and gingerly. “Nothing. I’ve got to go soon.” The cigarette was warm and solid against his fingers. He had a horrible urge to speak very fast, to say the words Samir might like to hear, to do anything to keep him close.
Samir swung back and forth, feet dragging the ground. “I come here sometimes to get away, so I wondered if you do the same. Never seen anyone in the hut before. What’re you doing?”
Cullen inhaled the cigarette, choked, and coughed. He somehow managed to carry on, looking away from Samir. “Get away. Same.”
Samir spoke softly. “I saw them today at school, right before you legged it. Saying stuff about him and being stupid. You should tell.” He bent to pick up a twig from the ground. His deft fingers twisted and crafted the wood and turned it into a stick man.
Cullen became utterly enchanted by the beauty and grace of Samir’s fingers teasing and pulling. “Show me again.”
Samir glanced at him, smiling but not sure. “You watch me a lot—in Art.”
The ground swallowed Cullen up whole. “I’m sorry.” In his fantasies, Samir held his hands, or drew while Cullen watched his fingers holding a pencil, owning the page. Sometimes, Samir held his hands while they faced each other. Mostly, they didn’t talk at all. In the darkness at home, beneath his quilt, Cullen imagined Samir discerning the girl inside Cullen, maybe calling her Colleen.
Slowly and deliberately, Samir shifted in the swing so he straddled the seat, facing Cullen. “It’s okay. I watch you too. Just so you know. I like the way you talk. You’re not like the others, are you?”
An easy answer. “No, I’m not.”
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Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!
She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!
For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.
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