I laugh, the first real one of the day.
He watches me, and there’s something in his eyes I can’t place. Not the usual confidence, not even the self-deprecating charm he uses as armor. Something more like hope. Or hunger.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “We’re good, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. We’re good.”
He reaches across the table, not touching, just letting his hand hover. I stare at it, at the way his fingers splay out, ready to close around whatever I give him.
For a second, I almost do it. I almost take his hand.
But instead, I reach for my sandwich, peel back the wrapper, and start to eat.
It’s a start.
—ΠΩ—
Aaron breaks first, which is new. “I, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry,” he says, not quite making eye contact. “For… everything, I guess.”
I blink. “You didn’t do anything.”
He shakes his head, tearing the napkin into smaller pieces. “No, I did. I was a jerk. Especially about Natalie. And… other stuff.” He glances up, the weight of guilt clinging to his eyes.
“It’s fine,” I say, but my voice makes a liar out of me.
Aaron shrugs, the movement tight. “I just… I was trying to be cool. It was easier to play a part than be honest.”
The napkin is now a white pile of shreds, which he gathers into a little heap and pushes to the edge of the table.
I stare at the grilled cheese in front of me, the shellac of fake cheese glistening under the lights. It feels like a prop. “Sometimes I wish I could be anyone else,” I say, surprised by the bitterness in my own voice.
He laughs, but it’s not unkind. “If you figure it out, let me know.”
The pause after is long enough for the fridge to cycle twice. I pick at the crust, tearing it off in strips.
Aaron runs a thumb along the seam of the vinyl bench, not looking at me. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod, throat suddenly tight.
“When you told me—about Jessica—were you scared?”
“Terrified,” I say. “I kept waiting for the part where you would… I dunno. Laugh. Or get pissed.”
His mouth pulls into a lopsided grin. “You really thought I’d be pissed?”
I shrug. “You were looking for a girl, so…”
He cuts in, sharper than I expect. “That’s the thing, though. I wasn’t necessarily.”
My brain stalls. “You—?”
Aaron leans forward, elbows bracketing the napkin shreds. “I mean, I like girls. But I like guys too. I’m here with you, aren’t I?” He glances away, his hands drumming the edge of the table. “Most people don’t know.”
“I get it,” I offer, the words limp, but he gives a small nod like he appreciates the effort.
“I kept thinking, maybe it’ll be different with someone who gets it. But that night, in the closet… I didn’t know what to do. I thought it was just a game, and then it wasn’t.” He lets out a breath, fogging the plastic cup in front of him. “It wasn’t, was it? A game?”
“No,” I whisper. “Not after.”
