“It’s whatever makes you listen,” he shoots back with a grin, turning toward the hallway.
I watch him go. Every step. Until he’s out of sight. And that two-hour wait suddenly feels like the longest part of my day.
Peter comes out of the showers with a towel around his waist, hair dripping, steam still rolling off his shoulders. He slows when he sees me still sitting there instead of already gone.
“You look…” He gestures vaguely at my face. “…deep in existential thought.”
I snort. “Is that the polite way of saying I look fucked up?”
“No,” he smirks, dropping onto the bench beside me. “This is the polite way of saying you look like someone whojust got kissed stupid in the locker room and hasn’t recovered.”
I shove his shoulder weakly. “Shut up.”
“Not happening.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Can I ask you something? And you can tell me to screw off if it’s too much.”
I sigh. “You’re gonna ask anyway.”
He nods once. “Yeah. So…” He hesitates, which is rare for Peter. “…when did you know? That you were gay.”
My breath stutters—just a little—but he’s not mocking me, he just sounds curious.
I stare at the floor for a long second. “A long time ago.”
He doesn’t move or react.
I press my tongue to my cheek, fighting with the words. “It wasn’t like one big moment. More like a bunch of little ones I kept ignoring.”
He shifts slightly toward me. “Like what?”
I exhale slowly. “Logan and I played together in high school. And every time he chirped me, or got in my face, or shoved me into the boards during drills—I felt something. Something I definitely wasn’t supposed to feel.”
Peter blinks. “Damn. So you liked him back then?”
I shake my head. “I didn’tletmyself like him. I shoved it down. Buried it. I dated girls; I pretended it didn’t mean anything. But… yeah.” A small, broken laugh escapes me. “Then he tried to kiss me after Nationals and the way my body reacted kind of… destroyed any illusions I’d built.”
Peter whistles low. “So you’ve been hiding this for years.”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens. “From everyone. Including myself.”
He doesn’t sayThat sucks, orI’m sorry, orman, thatmust’ve been hard. He just kicks my foot and says, “No wonder you’re messed up.”
I laugh—really laugh—and it cracks something loose inside me.
“But seriously,” he says, voice softening, “I think it’s pretty damn brave. Letting yourself be honest now. Not a lot of people would do that.”
My chest pinches at that.
“And for what it’s worth?” Peter says, tying the towel tighter at his waist as he stands. “Anyone who has a problem with you being who you are can eat my entire ass.”
I choke on a laugh. “Jesus, Peter.”
“What?” he shrugs. “I mean it. Full meal. Plate and silverware included.”
I shake my head, smiling. Peter grins back like that’s exactly what he was aiming for.
He slips his clean clothes out of his cubby and starts tugging on his joggers and t-shirt. “Alright, lover boy. Let’s go. I’m not leaving you here to daydream yourself into dehydration.”
I snort. “I wasn’t daydreaming.”
