"Obviously. T2 is a damn masterpiece."
He laughs, marking on his clipboard with a flourish, then looks up at me closely and pauses. "You sure you're good? You seem..." He waves vaguely at my room like he's not sure what to ask.
"I'm good. Just thinking through some stuff."
Tyler hesitates at my door. For a second, I consider telling him. Just opening my mouth and saying, "Hey, so I might be into dudes, same as you, and I'm freaking out about it."
But the words stick in my throat. Tyler only came out a few months ago. He and Ethan are so fucking happy together; it sometimes makes my chest hurt to watch them. Not jealous exactly, just... aware of what I don't have.
"Alright," he says finally, backing off with that careful way he has when he's not going to push. He shifts his weight, clipboard tucked under one arm. "But you know I'm here if you need to talk about... stuff. Whatever it is. No judgment, man."
The offer hangs in the air between us, genuine and safe. Tyler would get it; hell, he's been through it. The whole messy process of figuring yourself out while everyone watches. But the thought of saying it out loud, making it real...Why the fuck are you scared of telling your best friend?
"Yeah. I know." My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. "Appreciate it, Ty. Really."
He gives me one of those looks that says he sees right through my bullshit but loves me anyway, then nods once. "Movie starts at nine. Don't be late, or Drew will pick your seat, and you'll end up squished next to the speakers again."
"I won't be late."
He heads back downstairs, and I listen to his footsteps fade before turning back to my laptop.
The sandwich quiz waits patiently. I've made it through bread; sourdough seemed less suspicious than brioche. Turkey for protein because it felt safe, neutral. The vegetable section took forever. Why did they include cucumbers? That felt like a trap. Went with lettuce and tomatoes like the most boring straight guy ever. For condiments, I picked mustard because mayo seemed too... soft?
Jesus Christ, am I really assigning sexuality to condiments now? Just finish it already. For the data.
Click. Submit.
While it loads, my brain unhelpfully provides a memory: Dad and Uncle Pete on the back porch, summer before high school. They'd been drinking, voices carrying through my bedroom window.
"You hear about the Thompson kid?" Uncle Pete had said, his voice carrying that particular tone of gossip mixed with judgment. "Came back from college all..." He'd made some kind of gesture I couldn't see from my bedroom window but could absolutely imagine, probably a limp wrist or something equally ridiculous and stereotypical.
Dad's laugh had been ugly, harsh in a way that made my shoulders tense even though I was two stories up and nowhere near them. "Always knew some shit was off about that boy." The way he'd said 'off' made it sound like a disease. "Good thing they ran him out of town before he could corrupt anyone else's kids. Last thing we need is more of them around here, thinking they can just... be like that."
Uncle Pete had grunted in agreement, and the conversation had moved on to the Seahawks' chances that season, but I'dstayed frozen at my window, fingers clenched around the edge of my desk.
I hadn't understood then, not really. The Thompson kid was just someone's older brother who'd suddenly moved away. Now, though...
"One of those fucking fruits."That's what Dad had said, voice dripping disgust.
My stomach turns. What would he say if he knew his son was up here taking "What Kind of Gay Are You?" quizzes at 8 PM on a Thursday?
Maybe that's why I dated those girls in high school.
I remember strawberry lip gloss and soft hands. Girls who always smelled like vanilla and wanted to plan our wedding. They were nice. Pretty. Everything a guy was supposed to want.
Except I'd felt nothing for those girls. Assumed I was just focused on football. Told myself sex was overrated when everyone else seemed obsessed with it. Made excuses about being tired from practice, and was always the best boyfriend who didn't pressure anyone. I've had sex, but I was always okay to cuddle.
"That's what a man does."Dad's voice again, from a thousand different conversations. A man dates women. A man gets married. A man provides for his family. A man definitely doesn't wonder what it would feel like to run his fingers through another guy's dark hair or?—
Fuck... Definitely not straight then.
But Tyler's happy. Really fucking happy. And Ethan's not some corrupting influence; he's smart and funny and makes Tyler laugh in a way I'd never seen before they got together.
Maybe Dad was wrong about this, too.
The thought hits suddenly and sharply. He was wrong about needing to hit kids to make them tough. Wrong about Mombeing weak for crying. Wrong about education being worthless if it didn't involve your hands.
So… yeah, he was wrong about the Thompson kid. About guys like Tyler and Ethan, he's definitely fucking wrong.
