I dip my chin, giving him my best teacher look—just the right mix of disapproval and amusement, the kind that tells him to keep it light.
“No beer. Soda then. Got it.”
He gives me a little wink before he’s off, walking toward the concessions with an easy swagger. But then, just as I’m trying to let out a breath, Joey and Chuck are suddenly near, sitting too close, leaning in like they’ve got questions that aren’t really questions.
“So, you and Darius have been hanging out lately?” Joey asks, his tone too casual, like he’s just making small talk. But his eyes—there’s something a little too sharp in them.
Chuck nods. “Glad to see it. You. With Darius. How’s that going? With the two of you.”
I feel my heart skip. It’s not that I don’t like them—they’re cool, I guess—but this? This is pushing it. Do they know he’s gay? I’m not trying to out him. I shift, uncomfortable, my gaze flicking to where Darius disappeared. They don’t seem to care. It’s just casual, right? But why does it feel like they’re waiting for me to define and announce something?
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “We’re good.” It comes out flat, but what else can I say? I can’t explain the discomfort in my chest, or the way their curiosity feels like a weight on me.
Joey leans back, smirking. “Cool.”
“Yeah, cool,” Chuck says.
I blink, unsure about what just happened, but I think Darius’s hockey buds interrogated me. Or their version of it, anyway.
Darius returns with popcorn and sodas for everyone. He passes the refreshments out, and sits next to me again, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as the game resumes.
After the Mariners defeat the Norfolk Admirals to the cheers and excitement of the crowd, we bid farewell to Joey and Chuck and head to Darius’s car. It’s a cloudy night and without the stars, the darker city streets feel endless as the crowd dissipates the further we walk. The silence presses on me like a weight, until finally, Darius takes my hand as we walk down the empty street.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft.
I nod, but it’s half-hearted. Watching him with Joey and Chuck—laughing, teasing, high-fiving like they’ve known each other since birth—brought back a feeling I thought I’d left behind. That twinge of being just outsidethe circle. Like when my dad and brothers crowded around the TV for game night, talking stats and trash like it was their native language, while I lingered at the edges, invisible. They bonded over sports; I learned how to disappear.
It’s not that Darius made me feel that way. Not exactly. But the echoes shook me.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, hoping that’s enough for him.
We get in the car, and as I buckle my seatbelt, I notice my fists are clenched. My heart races as the weight of the evening presses down on my chest. Darius pulls out of the parking spot, and we head toward my apartment.
After a few minutes of silence, my hands are still balled into fists, my head spins, and the words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“We’re too different, Darius.” I keep my eyes on my lap. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
He looks over at me, confused. “What? Harry, what are you talking about?”
I blink, pull my lips in and turn to face him. “The hockey game, your friends—everything. This.” I point to his hat. “I feel like I’m trying to be someone I’m not. You’re . . . you. And I’m . . . me. And I like you. I really do. But I don’t know if we should keep doing this.”
There’s a thick silence in the car. Darius doesn’t say anything for a few blocks. Then, that soft gentle voice of his breaks the tension. “Harry, if you like me, why does it matter if I like sports? Or who my friends are? Or if I always wear a hat?” He reaches up and runs his finger along the bill. “I just like wearing a hat. Always have.”
“The thing is, I was trying. Am trying, but the way Ifelt in there. With your friends. With the entire crowd. Smaller. Less than. Like I don’t fit. I don’t like feeling that way.”
“Harry, I don’t want you to feel that way. Ever. Fuck. I thought we were having such a good time.” He takes a deep inhale. “Was it Joey and Chuck? Did they say something when I went to the bathroom?”
“No. I mean, yes, but nothing bad. They know something.”
“Of course they do. Just because you didn’t have a clue about me, doesn’t mean my friends don’t know.”
They knew. Know. That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.
“It’s not them. It’s me. I’m just too . . . different.”
Silence stretches between us, and finally, we pull up to my place. Darius is quiet as he stops the car and looks at me, like he’s trying to figure out what this all means.
“Goodbye, Darius.”
