“I was truly in remission in a way I hadn’t been – and that’s over now.” He sighs, momentarily tearful that the illness returned just as he was exploring his own physicality. “I was getting off on how much control I felt I had over [my body]. I learned when I was young that your body just does stuff. You have no control. You’re almost riding it, you know? If I exercise things will grow. Just because I am sick again, in my body and spirit, I know that I have access. That will make it easier to go back.”

Throughout our conversation I sense a defiance to Hadreas’ spirit. His demeanour is intense and fragile, but strong. He experiences moments of connection and joy, making small talk about inconsequential things: the size of the table, the weather, a small dog that comes over to greet us. He isn’t trying to be opaque when discussing some topics – like gender, or his health – he just seems incapable of articulating them fully. Maybe the music speaks for him, and maybe that’s always been the case. We reminisce about a time we met previously, at Latitude Festival in 2012. It was in a caravan that a music blog had set up for sessions with performers and Hadreas had come to perform Madonna’s Oh Father on his keyboard. I’ve never forgotten it, the most nervous performance I’ve ever witnessed. He shook throughout, working through whatever was affecting him that day with that song. Today he is less nervous than he was then. Yet, in spite of his willing company, his radiance, his talk of sledgehammers and physicality, a shade of self doubt lingers. He seems conflicted. He scratches his hands. “I’m not very confident talking about how I feel right now. I don’t have a handle on it,” he says, eyes darting. “It’s not fun. But it’s thrilling.”

Set My Heart on Fire Immediately sees Hadreas reuniting with producer Blake Mills for an album that leans into moments of swooning Americana – a conscious decision, he explains. The opening track Whole Life sets the tone, sounding a little like an update of Unchained Melody, and there are nods to 50s American pop circa the Everly Brothers, Elvis and Buddy Holly throughout. Crucially, the nostalgic charge is subverted by the subject matter – paeans to queer desire written in classic melodies. “There’s something about me doing that,” he smiles. “I’ve listened to those songs my whole life but don’t feel included in them.” He was inspired by swaggering cowboys who were vulnerable and unafraid to share, writing himself into the history he was raised on. On reflection, Hadreas himself admits that No Shape was written from a place of restraint aspiring to freedom. Set My Heart on Fire Immediately is the response: full-bodied, unsuppressed.