"I love a theme."
The funny thing is... his life is already full of chaos and noise before I showed up.
Mine only just started to feel like it means something.
For him, hiding will probably feel like just another task on his daily to-do list. Fuck around, flirt, run from cops, dodge family drama, keep me a secret.
Another Tuesday.
For me, this is the only thing that's going to fill me up for a while.
"It's kinda funny when you think about it," I say.
Gio laughs. "Funny? If they catch us, they're sending both of us straight to the execution center. Especially you. At least my mom already accepted I like guys. Your family has no idea, I think. And wait till they find out you pickedme."
I smile, even though it's not actually funny.
He's right. For me, the damage is double. I'm suffocating just thinking about it.
"I still wanna risk it," I say quietly.
"Am I allowed to send nudes?" he asks, grinning.
I laugh. "I think it's mandatory." I look at him.
The most painful part is... all of this makes me appreciate every little thing more.
Because a straight couple? If they want someone, they can just walk up and say it.
I like you. I love you. I want you. Be with me.
Nothing complicated. Nothing riskyin the same way. No family apocalypse attached to the confession.
Me? I have to learn to live off crumbs.
Off stolen, fast glances.
Off the way our knees touch under the table and neither of us pulls away.
Off the way his arm brushes mine when he passes behind my chair.
Off his foot resting against my ankle under a desk.
All those tiny, stupid things become codes. Signals.
A whole secret language that means I see you, I want you, I'm here, without us ever saying it. This is how I have to learn to give and receive affection, through hints and pressure points and accidental-on-purpose touches, while other people just walk outside, hold hands, kiss in public, say "this is my boyfriend" and call it a day.
Because the world is cruel.
Because it's stuck in this bubble of what itthinksis right and wrong.
Because we grow up breathing that air until it sticks to us, too, and we start feeling guilty for things that were never wrong in the first place.
"Am I allowed to send nudes back then?" I ask, laughing. "If you don't send them," he says, "I swear I'll show up myself, strip you, take the pictures and send them to me."
I throw my head back, laughing.
"Do you really think we'll pull this off?" I ask. "With so many people around? My family, your family, work, the hotel... all of it?"
