I look up.
"Tell him it's okay if he's bi. Or gay. Or still figuring it out." She shrugs. "None of those words make him less. They're just words. He's still him."
I swallow.
She continues.
"Tell him he doesn't owe anyone a performance. Not his family, not strangers, not some reputation they build for him in their heads." Her eyes soften. "His life is his. Not theirs."
"And about the guy?" I ask quietly.
She smiles a little. "Tell your friend he doesn't have to rush anything." She taps her fingers on her knee. "But if being near him feels right? If he feels safe and seen and more like himself?"
She tilts her head. "Then he's allowed to want that. Even if it scares him." Daisy nudges my shoulder with hers.
"He can take it slow," she adds. "He can talk to the guy. Be honest. Set boundaries. But he shouldn't kill something good just because other people might not get it."
I stare at the floor. "And if no one ever supports him?"
Daisy doesn't even hesitate.
"Then he finds the people who will," she says. "Because he deserves that. Your friend deserves people who actually want him to be happy, not just acceptable."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Tell him that from me, okay?" She smiles. "Tell your friend he's not disgusting. He's not broken. He's not wrong for wanting what he wants."
My eyes sting. I blink hard. "Yeah," I say. "I'll tell him."
She watches me for a second like she wants to ask a million extra questions.
I let out a shaky breath and stand up.
"Thanks, Daisy."
"Anytime."
I step out of her room and close the door quietly behind me.
In the hallway, alone again, I press my back to the wall.
Tell your friend his life is his. My life is mine. The thought scares me.
But it also feels the tiniest bit hopeful.
38) You’re Both Dead
Rava
I groan, rub my eyes, and reach blindly for the glass of water I swear I left on the nightstand last night.
Instead of the cool touch of glass, I get a sharp gasp, not from me. From someone else.
Daisy sits right across from me at my desk, staring at me like a psychopath.
I sleep to avoid people's stares and now people stare at me while I sleep.
"What the f— Jesus." I jump, nearly knocking the lamp over.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
