I turn slowly, because I know whose voice that is and yet I also can’t believe that it is him. That he’s here.
But he is. I see Marcello standing behind me, his gym bag on his shoulder andfuck me, his hair is down, hanging down his back.
He looks like Jesus. That’s literally the first thought I have as I take him in, and then I recall what he just said.
“I’m sorry, Giles,” he says eventually taking one step closer to us. “I shouldn’t have overheard you or interrupted but… Well, I did it anyway, so yeah, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble still trying to figure out if this is really happening.
“No, it’s not,” Tony says, a lot louder than my response. So loud I turn my head back to him. “We’re having a private conversation and you just butt in. And I wasn’t being judgemental about Giles’ three thing. I was just… curious.”
I don’t believe him. Not in the slightest.
“It’s okay,” I say again before looking back at Marcello.
“Right, well, if you’re okay,” Marcello says and he scratches at the back of his neck like he often does but this time there’s all this hair there and his bicep bunches under his shirt and the movement makes his T-shirt ride up revealing the curve of his stomach and the hair that covers it… I never did get a chance to lay my head down on it and find out if it was as soft a pillow as I imagine it to be.
Because I fucked it up.
But what if I can unfuck it up?
“No, what I mean is,” I say and I finally feel like my chest has relaxed and my tongue has found its purpose in my mouth again. “It’s okay, we’re done here.”
I stand up.
“What?” Tony asks, mouth agape as he looks up at me.
“I didn’t want to go on this date, Tony. I’m sorry I set it up and strung you along. I’m sorry I lied and was pretty awful for the majority of the time we just spent together. But I felt like I had to do it. I had to try…”
I drift off. I want to say more. I finally, finally feel ready to say more. But I don’t want to say it to Tony. I need to say it to Marcello.
Even if he doesn’t feel the same way. Even if he doesn’t want to be my friend or train with me anymore after I confess my feelings for him. Even if this blows up in my face just as terribly as I have spent too many hours imagining, I have to tell him.
I have to be honest with him. And myself.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” I say once more, then turn to face Marcello. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“I was just about to go to the gym.” He points in the direction of the changing rooms. “You got your gear here?”
I do. I could walk through there with him and work out and maybe that will help dilute the impact of what I want to say to him, but that doesn’t feel right. I’ve come this far. I want to go all the way. I want to do this right.
“Actually, would you like to come back to my place?”
Marcello’s shoulders drop. “Yeah, I would,” he says with a small smile.
“Ugh,” Tony makes a loud noise and his chair screeches as he pushes it back when he stands. “I’m going to have to change gyms now.”
“No, you don’t,” I say. “I promise to not be… weird.”
“It’s alreadyveryweird.” His eyes ping-pong between me and Marcello. “All I did was ask an innocent question—”
“It didn’t sound innocent,” Marcello says and he crosses his arms.
“No, it didn’t,” I agree. “But I will answer it. Yes, I have OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. And I have an obsession with the number three. It’s debilitating and exhausting and makes me feel like I’m losing my mind half of the time. But I’m pretty sure it’s something I developed as a result of losing my parents at a young age, and for that reason I have this strange, if also totally fucked up, fondness for it. I know I need help. I think I will get it too. I just… I just need to do so in my own time.”
I don’t know when it happened but part way through my little speech, my body has moved from facing Tony to turning to Marcello who is smiling at me like a proud parent. No, not a proud parent. A proud friend. Possibly, a proud boyfriend.
“Ugh,” Tony says again. “Definitely changing gyms.”
