QHO-0002: The Badge He Never Wore

A small tin badge with a pink triangle. Found still pinned to the inside lining of a school blazer. Hidden there for nearly four decades.

It wasn’t even a rainbow. That would’ve been too loud. Too modern. This badge was quieter. A white circle, a pink triangle, and no words.

He got it from a stall near Piccadilly on one of the rare Saturdays he was allowed “to go into town”. He didn’t meet anyone’s eye. Just bought it, stuffed it into his pocket, and walked away like he’d stolen it. Maybe he had.

He kept it pinned to the inside of his blazer lining, where the stitching had come loose. Right behind the music block, he’d sometimes sneak his fingers in and touch it. Just to know it was there. Just to remind himself that someone, somewhere, might understand.

Wearing it publicly was never an option. Not in a school where “poof” was just another word for Tuesday, where the RE teacher warned about AIDS like it was divine punishment. Section 28 hadn’t passed yet, but the silence already had.

No one ever found it - not his parents, not the school. It survived inspection, PE, a scraped knee in front of his crush, and at least three near-death experiences involving jam sandwiches and panic. It was never seen, but it was worn. In the place closest to his heart.

He didn’t throw it away. He just… forgot it was there. Until years later, when the blazer resurfaced in a charity shop donation pile. The badge was still pinned, bent slightly. Still defiant.

Small things carry revolutions. Even the quiet ones.