“Hey, come on. You know I won’t tell anyone, Mick. Not if you don’t want me to. We can have our identity crisis together, yeah?”
“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’m having a crisis, exactly. I’m normally gay. I mean, I’ve always been gay.”
I sigh. “Well, I suppose that makes me abnormally bisexual, then.”
He laughs, and it’s a real one this time. It’s what I’d been aiming for with the joke.
“You’re an idiot,” he tells me fondly. Picking at a stray thread on his bedspread, Micky keeps his eyes on his hand, pale lashes hiding his eyes. “You know, it’s okay to just like people. To not care about gender at all.”
I lean forward, and kiss the top of his head. As I knew it would, it brings his eyes back to mine. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, just as I knew they would be as well.
“Thanks, Mick. So, you’re in the closet, then? I won’t tell anyone,” I say quickly. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off, if you want to.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, you know I spent some time in foster care.” I hum an agreement. “Being different in the system isn’t a good thing, so I never told anyone. Before that…well, my parents wouldn’t have liked it. My dad called me a pu—well, he used a lot of slurs even without knowing I was gay, so…yeah. Just made sense to hide, that’s all.”
It’s right on the tip of my tongue to ask him for more information. This is the most he’s ever shared about his family in all the time I’ve known him, except for when he told me both his parents died when he was young. But the room is thick with discomfort, as tangible a presence as me or him. If I push him on this, it’ll hurt him.
“Your dad sounds like a dick,” is what I go with instead. It’s the right thing, because it earns me both a smile and a nod of agreement.
“Yeah, he was. So, are you going to try and make something happen with Marcos or is that what you’re here trying to decide?”
“I feel like I’ve already decided, but I have no idea where he stands. We’re kind of just friends right now, which is fine,but…” I shrug, sitting up and reaching for my hot chocolate. “I think I’d like to actually go out with him. Grab dinner, or something. We get along great—dating would be like getting to spend time with one of my buddies while also getting to kiss them. Best of both worlds.”
“Well, that’s true, I guess.”
“I tell you what, though. I’m not sure about anal. I can’t imagine anything less sexy than accidentally pooping on someone. And the internet says it hurts, so…I don’t know. Maybe the butt was only ever meant to be an exit, you know?”
Micky, who had unfortunately been taking a sip of his hot chocolate, sputters and starts coughing. Reaching over, I pat his back sympathetically as he does his best to hack out his lung.
“No,” he says, once he finally catches his breath enough to speak. “No way. We are not talking about that. This is where I’ve got to draw the line. I love you, but I can’t.”
He holds his hands up like he wants to ward me off. I pout, and try to give him the puppy dog eyes that used to work so well on my mom. He points a finger at me, threateningly.
“No, Nate.”
“How do you feel about manscaping? Necessary or no?”
“Get out.” He points toward the door, but when I groan dramatically and make to stand up, he stops me. “I’m just kidding! I don’t want you to leave. Sorry if that was rude.”
“I knew you were kidding, Micky.”
“Still…I don’t want to talk about buttholes or dicks or body hair, okay? Can we just talk about…” He trails off, obviously unable to think of an appropriate conversational point.
“How’d you know you were gay?” I ask curiously. He gives me a side-eyed look of disbelief.
“How’d you know you liked girls? Or Marcos?”
“Touché.”
“I don’t think manscaping matters, one way or the other,” he says suddenly, voice stronger. “It wouldn’t to me, anyway. I’d just be happy that someone, well, liked me.”
I shake my head mutely. Micky has terrible self-esteem and can’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that someone else might find him attractive. The funny thing is, he’sveryattractive: tall and broad, with dark red hair and so many freckles it looks like someone flicked paint all over him. He’s got pretty brown eyes, which I noticed even before my bisexual awakening.
“It’s too bad we can’t just date each other, huh?” I muse.
He laughs awkwardly, and blushes again. The reaction has me raising my eyebrows and looking at him more closely, reading embarrassment on his features.
“Micky,” I prompt.
