I wakeup from the most insane party of my life with Drew’s arm draped across my chest. My head pounds from last night’s beers, but the memory of identifying his ass in front of everyone makes me grin like an idiot. The morning sun streams through his window, highlighting the stubble on his jaw.
“Stop staring at me, creeper,” Drew mumbles without opening his eyes.
“Can’t help it.” I press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re pretty.”
He cracks one eye open. “Pretty? That’s what you’re going with after last night’s performance?”
“Would you prefer ‘owner of the most identifiable ass in BSU history?’”
“Better.” He stretches with a satisfied, smug expression. Then something more serious settles over his features. “Hey, Jacky?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready to tell everyone the truth? Because I am. I’m tired of the Ice Queen’s games. Tired of people questioning us. We passed her stupid test, but you know she’ll come up with another one. And another. Until we speak out.”
“I’m so fucking ready.”
Drew’s smile is blinding. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I need coffee first. And pants.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting on Drew’s bed, freshly showered and caffeinated. His phone is propped up on a stack of textbooks, the recording app open. My hands won’t stop shaking. I think about all the moments that led us here. The Polar Bear Plunge. The roller rink. The art performance. Lastnight. Each memory is etched into my skin, written in the language of touch and want, and something that started fake but became the most real thing in my life.
Drew hits record. “Hey everyone,” he starts, his media training evident in how easily he addresses the camera. “Drew Larney here with Jackson Monroe. We wanted to address some things that have been circulating on campus.”
I wave awkwardly. God, I hate being on camera. Give me a football field any day over this. But Drew’s hand finds my knee, grounding me.
“So,” I jump in before I lose my nerve, “you all know about the Ice Queen. Well, she was right about one thing—this did start as fake.”
Drew nods. “After the Polar Bear Plunge, everyone immediately assumed we were together.”
“Which was ridiculous to us at the time. Because we weren’t,” I add. “We really were just friends. Really close friends who maybe stared at each other too much and found excuses to touch, but still. Friends.”
“And then, one night at the Lobster Shack, we saw someone taking pictures of us,” Drew continues. “That was when I came up with the idea for Jackson and me to fake date. To be seen in public, being as much of a couple as Elliot and Gerard. The hope was that people would move on to something or someone else once they tired of us being so damn cute.”
I laugh, but it comes out slightly hysterical. “Except somewhere along the way, the feelings that we’d always had for each other became too much to ignore.”
“For me, it was the roller rink,” Drew admits, glancing at me with soft eyes. “When we ended up in the bathroom and dry humped each other? That wasn’t fake. That was real. Raw. Feral.”
My throat grows tight. “For me, it was earlier. I kept telling myself I was straight, that this was to help out a friend. But every time Drew touched me, every time he smiled at me, every time he called me Jacky…” I have to stop, overwhelmed by the truth of it.
Drew takes over seamlessly. “We were both pining for each other while thinking the other was simply playing along, doing as asked. It took a sensual art performance to get us to admit it.”
“And now we’re here,” I say, finding my voice again. “Really together. Really in love. Really fucking confused about how we got this lucky. We’re not perfect,” I add, surprised by how steady my voice is now. “We’re still figuring things out. I’m still learning what it means to be with a guy, to be out, to be this visible. Drew’s still learning how to let people in. But we’re doing it together.”
“This is our truth,” Drew finishes. “Take it or leave it.”
Drew ends the recording, uploads it to social media, then tackles me back onto the bed.
We did it. We told the truth. The whole messy, complicated, beautiful truth.
“Think people will believe us?” Drew asks, suddenly vulnerable.
I think about the journey we’ve taken. The fake that became real. The friendship that became everything.
“Does it matter? We know what’s real. That’s more than enough.”
Drew’s phone buzzes. Then again. And again. The video’s only been up for thirty seconds, and already the reactions are pouring in. But I don’t want to read them. Not yet. Right now, I want this—Drew in my arms, the morning sun making patterns on the wall, the truth finally setting us free.
