But the truth was, I was afraid to hear his voice, afraid of what I’d feel, and even more afraid of what I wouldn’t.
We’d launched the webtoon that day. There was champagne in paper cups and Korean BBQ with the team. Jasper called itour little queer comic baby,and Bennett gave a toast that made everyone cheer.
I laughed so hard I got sauce on my shirt—for the second time that week—and didn’t even care.
We took pictures under the neon restaurant sign, with me wedged between Jasper’s arm around my waist and Bennett’s ridiculous grin. I posted the best one with three sparkles and a pride flag. It got more likes than anything I’d posted all year.
For a minute, I forgot the ache.
Jasper was the kind of guy who talked about his high school boyfriend like it was nothing. Who ordered extra just soeveryonecould try the scallion pancakes. Who flirted with the waiter and didn’t flinch when the waiter flirted back.
And I thought—not for the first time—what it would be like to be with someone like that.
Someone who didn’t ask me to hide.
Someone who didn’t panic at the wordgay.
Someone who hadn’t once cut me out of his life just for loving him.
The walk to the subway was warm and heady with alcohol and June heat. Jasper walked close beside me. Too close.
“You looked really happy tonight,” he said. “Like… genuinely.”
“I am.”
Iwasn’t lying, but the happiness felt slippery, like it could slide off if I stopped moving.
We reached the station steps, and he touched my arm lightly. Deliberately.
“Hey,” he said. “Can I?—”
I knew what he was asking. I smiled, hesitated, then stepped back.
“Sorry,” I said softly. “I’m kind of… not there.”
He nodded, easy. “Fair enough.”
No drama. No guilt trip. Just a quick squeeze of my shoulder before he turned away.
I walked home alone. Again. The city shimmered around me, but I felt dull and unfinished, like I’d missed my cue in a scene I’d written myself.
I used to think soulmates were anchors. Turns out, they could drift too.
That night, I dreamed about Dare.
We were in middle school. The hallway smelled like floor cleaner and deodorant. My books slipped from my hands. Laughter echoed off the lockers—too loud, too many voices.
“Faggot,” someone muttered. I knew the voice.
His voice.
Dare shoved me. I stumbled into a locker, the edge biting into my shoulder.
My cheeks burned. I crouched to gather my stuff. My hands shook.
He walked away without looking back.
The hallway stretched, twisted, reshaped itself.
