I chuckle. “Ha, yeah. It only took running away from home to change things.”
Oh. I went there. Oops.
His head jerks, and he shuffles upright to face me, sitting cross-legged and wide-eyed. “You ran away from home? Like as a kid?”
The truth hangs on my tongue for a moment before rolling off it with way more ease than I thought was possible. “No, in January. I transferred colleges in secret and climbed out of my window at one in the morning to catch a bus.”
A slow twist of unease circles my gut as Ian's mouth hangs open, intensifying with every second of sustained silence that passes.Is he judging me? Is he going to make fun of me? Is he going to kick me out because he doesn't want to host a fugitive?
Oh, god, he's?—
Hugging me.
Ian is hugging me again. The gnawing in my stomach dissolves. He’s almost a foot shorter than me, yet he's the one wrapped around my shoulders like I’m small.
“Fuck, Callum,” he mutters. His grip tightens, grounding me to the point where I almost don't care about the pity that's about to follow. “It’s so fucked that you had to go through all that. It sounds awful.”
There it is.
“But that was so brave. I'm glad you made it here.”
Like an idiot, I melt into Ian. I don't even care about how weird it is for me to feel as safe as I do when I'm with him like this. He said I needed a hug when I first moved in; I did back then, and my god, I still do now. I’m getting everything I never had and always missed.
He pulls away after a while, and I have to fight the urge to keep my arms around him. His mouth is pressed shut, we’re staring into each other’s eyes, and this is nothing other than intimate. Too intimate. His face, hislips, are so close to mine, and something primal is begging me to lean forward.
And kiss him.
I want that so bad, but Ian surely doesn’t, and I can’t let myself get carried away.
“So yeah,” I say to break the silence, “I’m here now, and I’m loving it. Freedom and all that.”
We’re both quiet again, and nerves prickle in my core—Ian wanted to hang out with me tonight, not listen to my sad origin story.
“Anyway, that’s how I got here. Should we talk about something else?”
“Sounds good, man,” Ian says, grabbing two seltzers from the mini fridge and handing me one. “On amuchlighter note, how are you liking college so far?”
“It’s freaking awesome,” I reply. “Like, academically, it’s hard, but it’s so different from back home. It’s exactly what I needed.”
Ian taps the edge of his can against mine and takes a sip. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“Yeah. It’s eye-opening, like how the flashy application pamphlet said it would be, since it’s diverse and whatever.”
He snickers. “Ooh, sounds scary.”
“Shut up,” I reply, laughing back at him. “It’s notscary. I like it. I mean, look at Sabrina and Laura—it’s so cool that they can be, you know, open.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “Uh-huh. I love it. Not just for them, but everyone.”
Ian digs his fingers into the side of his can, leaving a dent. “So, you’re cool with…that stuff?”
“Uh-huh. Of course. I mean, I’ve found that everything my parents hate is actually completely normal,” I joke, even though it’s true.
I was avoiding eye contact purely out of instinct, and when I return my gaze to him, he’s smiling gently.
“On that topic,” he starts, “I don’t remember if it ever came up, but I’m bi.”
