The words feel heavier saying them out loud, like they’ve been sitting in my throat for days waiting to hurt all over again.
Peter blinks, then sits up straight. “He saidthatto you?”
“Yeah.” I force a laugh that sounds more like a choke. “Said I was basically just experimenting. That I’d ‘see clearer once I got my head on straight.’”
Peter’s jaw tightens. “Jesus Christ.”
“I mean…” I trail off, staring at the floor. “I knew he wasn’t gonna throw a parade or anything, but—he’s my dad. I thought he’d at least try to understand.”
Peter’s quiet for a beat, and then he exhales sharply. “That’s not okay, man. I don’t care if he’s your dad or the fucking Pope, that’s not okay.”
I look up, startled by the edge in his voice.
He shakes his head. “You tell someone you love them, and then you turn around and call who they are aphase? No. That’s coward shit.”
The bluntness almost makes me laugh, but my throat’s too tight.
Peter leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t break anything. You’re still the same guy you’ve always been. And if he can’t see that, that’s on him—not you.”
I swallow, blinking hard. “You really think that?”
“I know that.” He meets my eyes, steady and sure. “My brother came out when we were teenagers. Mom cried for a week, and Dad just… didn’t get it. But you know what? He learned. Because that’s what you do when you actually give a damn about someone. You learn.”
I let out a slow breath.
Peter leans back against the wall, still watching me. “You don’t owe your dad an explanation for existing. You don’t need to prove to him—or anyone—that you’re the same guy. Who you like is your business. You’re just done pretending for everyone else. And that’s okay.”
Something cracks open in my chest at that. Not a break—more like air getting into a place that’s been sealed off too long.
I drag a hand over my face, trying to hide the way my eyes sting. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”
“Don’t tell Daniel that,” he says, deadpan. “He’ll want to braid friendship bracelets or some shit.”
That pulls a real laugh out of me, one that actually feels human.
Peter grins. “There it is. Thought I lost you for a second.”
I shake my head, still smiling, even though my throat aches. “You didn’t.”
Silence falls between us again. Peter going back to scrolling through his phone.
I clear my throat, and he glances up expectantly. “Thanks, man. For—” I shrug, unable to find the right words. “You’ve been great.”
Peter waves it off. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t think I’d be half as good at it.”
He tilts his head. “Yeah, well, newsflash—you don’t win points for suffering in silence. Let people show up for you, dumbass.” He yawns, setting his phone aside. “Get some sleep, Captain. Tomorrow’s practice is gonna suck enough without you looking like a corpse.”
I huff out a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah.”
He kicks off his shoes and flops back on his bed, already half-asleep before I can say anything else. The lamp on my nightstand throws a dull glow across the room, catching on the clutter, the empty takeout boxes, the quiet mess that’s still my life.
I lie back, staring up at the ceiling. The laughter from random students returning in the hall fades. The hum of the heater fills the space Peter’s silence leaves behind.
My phone sits on the nightstand beside me, screen dark, but I can feel it there—like it’s waiting. Logan’s last text still unanswered.
I miss you.
