He didn’t need to know everything that was going on in the underworld of legacy families.
I didn’t want to talk about anything that had to do with me anymore, so I asked, “How’s your... thing going?”
“My thing?” Ethan looked down at his crotch. "I think it's still there."
That got a smirk out of me. “No,” I said, waving my hand. “Your situationship.”
His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Wow. Harrington asking about my gay love life. Should I record this for evidence?”
I rolled my eyes, but the corners of my mouth tugged upward. “You make me seem like the worst friend ever… just answer.”
He laughed. “It’s going. Ish.”
“What's that mean?”
He shrugged. “It’s whatever. He’s cute, he’s terrified of commitment, and he thinks labeling feelings is a government conspiracy.”
“It sounds confusing.”
“It's fine for now. We hang out, we make out, we don’t define anything. It’s chill.”
Chill. The word landed in my chest like a stone.
I tried to imagine being that open, that unbothered. Seeing someone because I wanted to, letting myself want things without calculating consequences or fallout. Ethan lived in a world where desire wasn’t a threat. Where attraction didn’t have to be hidden or rearranged into something straighter, safer.
I swallowed. “Is that what you want?”
“I like this Alex.”
“What?” I turned to look at him.
Ethan wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “The Alex that doesn't mind talking about gay shit.”
Some kind of joy pushed up in my chest, almost like I wanted to laugh. A giddy feeling. I made eye contact with Ethan.
“Thanks?" I said.
Ethan smiled a genuine smile. " Honestly, if he stopped pretending he isn’t obsessed with me. And just commit I'd prefer that.”
I barked a laugh like I knew exactly what he was going through. In some way I did. And I think he knew much more than he ever let on. I saw it in the look he gave me. I had someone on my side… my gay side.
I should’ve left it there. But the question pushed its way up anyway.
“So... what was it like?” I said. “Coming out.”
Ethan's arm slipped off my shoulder. We kept walking while he paused.
Then, he said, “Hard. At first. Not because of my parents—they were cool. Too cool, honestly. My mom made a cake.” He shuddered. “Rainbow frosting. Very traumatic.”
I gave a small laugh.
“The weirdest part wasn’t telling them, it was hearing myself say it out loud. It was real all of a sudden.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “After that, life just... kept going. Got better, honestly.”
“Makes sense.”
