Did I really want to be friends with Leo? Obviously, I liked him. There was a reason I started kissing his neck. It wasn’t just physical either — it was easy and fun to talk to him.
“Yeah. Why not?” I said.
Leo smiled shyly at me, up through his lashes. I mentally moved him from the ‘potential boyfriend’ box to the ‘friend’ box and told myself sternly not to forget.
“Well,” I said, straightening up, “I should probably go so I can finish my freak-out in the comfort of my own home.” I passed him my phone so he could put in his details, and afterwards, he walked me down to the ground floor, which wasn’t necessary but appreciated.
“Well, goodbye,” I said, giving him an awkward wave. It felt too awkward to hug him like I did with most of my friends, which was weird because fifteen minutes ago, I was ready to have sex with him. However, he wrapped me up in a big hug before I could go. Not a bro hug where guys slap each other on the back and avoid pressing up against each other. No, Leo squeezed me like a teddy bear, and when he pulled back, he was grinning.
“See ya, Eddie,” he said.
I dashed off as fast as I could.
4
To Atticus,
I know this sounds ridiculous, but it’s true: I didn’t mean to stand you up. I went to the cafe like we agreed (I arrived early, and that’s probably part of the reason for the mixup) and thought someone else was you, so I went off with him. It wasn’t until later I realised he wasn’t you.
I’m sorry that it seemed like I stood you up. I’m not writing this to make excuses, just to let you know there was a misunderstanding. Although, if I knew your name was Atticus, all of this could’ve been avoided.
Edwin.
After coming home from that disastrous ‘date’ with Leo, I checked the email I sent last night. Still no reply. Well, I couldn’t say I was surprised.
“What’s wrong?” Rome asked as he fell into the seat beside me, dumping his backpack on the floor under the table.
I’d met Rome last year when we’d both taken a subject called “The Magic of Movies” as an elective with a reputation for being a GPA booster. In our classes, all we did was watch famous movies and have a short discussion afterwards, and the assignments consisted of creative pieces that were marked very generously.
This semester, we’d both decided to take Introduction to Business Law because it was another GPA booster. The end-of-semester exam was multiple choiceandopen book. I suspected no one actually cared about the subject. Right now, theclassroom was full of half-asleep students sipping coffees, and the tutor still hadn’t arrived even though the class was supposed to begin by now.
“Nothing,” I told him automatically, then thought better of it. “You know Lygon Uni Love Letters?”
Rome’s mouth tugged down as he pulled out his laptop and placed it on the table. “Why?”
“Not a fan of the page?” I asked.
“I don’t have anything against it,” he said. “Some people post crappy things on there, though.”
I suppose that was true. There’d be angry submissions addressed to someone’s ex or posts like “I cheated on my partner. Should I confess?” As far as I was aware, the page was meant to be somewhat moderated, with anything racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, etc., not being posted, but sometimes unhinged things fell through the cracks.
“Okay, so I posted something on there,” I said and told him the story of my first ‘date’ with Leo. As Rome listened, his look of apprehension slowly tuned to full-on laughter as I finished the story, and it was nice that at least someone found the story entertaining.
“So, do you think you’ll go on a date with this Atticus guy?” he asked.
“I don’t think he wants to see me,” I said. “His email sounded really mad.”
Rome clicked his tongue. “At least that Leo guy was understanding. Some men would’ve taken you coming on to them as an opportunity to swing a fist.”
“Yeah, he was weirdly relaxed about it.”
“And you’re friends now?”
“Yeah.”
After I arrived home yesterday, Leo and I exchanged social media handles via text. This morning, when I was sure I’drecovered enough from my embarrassment to look at photos of him without cringing, I stalked his posts. Unsurprisingly, Leo was a social butterfly, with several photos of him with groups of people. There were pictures of him in class, posing with tiny cardboard buildings or bridges made of pasta. There were photos of him with friends on hikes, or at the beach, or sitting on a lift in the snow. There were a few of him at a party, cheeks flushed, and one of him at the gym with some friends. They were posing goofily, not flexing like typical gum bros, but still, I didn’t want to look at his shiny biceps, so I scrolled past that photo very quickly.
Rome gave me a look, the kind of look I’d give a friend if they told me they decided they were going to be “just friends” with a straight man.
