Sage leans in close and whispers, “You see that? That’s you. All light, broken up and put back together to make something even more beautiful.”
I swallow, not sure how to reply, but Sage doesn’t wait for my answer. He just bumps my shoulder, grinning. “Let’s go find Nate before he steals an installation.”
Nate is by a sculpture made of glass shoes, pretending to pose for a Vogue spread. Someone snaps his picture, and he winks, utterly unselfconscious. I watch him for a long moment, wondering yet again what it would be like to have every nerve turned outward instead of inward. To feel seen and not shrink from it.
Hours later, we’re sprawled on my living room floor with takeout noodles. My shoes are off, my feet are sore, and the mesh shirt sticks to my back where Sage dumped water on me earlier. Nate sits cross-legged in front of me, twirling noodles and talking with his hands.
I’m curled up with a fork in one hand, Sage’s feet in my lap, when Nate suddenly blurts out, “Liam proposed last night.”
Sage drops his fork into the noodle cup, mouth hanging open. “You’re shitting me.”
Nate beams, face softening in a way I’ve never seen. “Nope. Ring and everything. He took me down to the docks at fucking midnight, all serial killer-like and proposed—no wait, he told me I’m marrying him.”
That… should be disturbing, but Nate is clearly in love.
I look at Sage, who blinks twice, then screams—a full-volume screech that’ll probably make my neighbors hate me forever. “Oh my god, you’re getting married? To Liam? Holy shit, I need to sit down. Wait, I am sitting. I’m going to need a minute. I mean, I knew you two were disgusting, but engaged? What’s next, matching tattoos? Swapping blood in a weird cult ceremony?” He shakes his head, still processing. “Congratulations, you chaotic disaster.”
There’s something in the way Nate owns it, the way he’s at ease in his own skin, that makes my chest ache. I can’t help it—my eyes linger on the faint line of a tattoo on his hip, the way his nails tap against the floor.
I catch myself staring too long again, and he notices, eyebrow arched. “What? You want the top? I’ll lend it to you for your next date night.”
I snort, but my laugh comes out softer than I mean it to. “No, it’s not that. It’s just—how do you wear that and not feel everyone’s staring at you?” I blurt, my words spilling out fast and messy. “I mean, I love it. I wish I could wear stuff like that. How do you not care?”
He tilts his head, considering, then shrugs, all casual bravado. “Because I don’t owe the world anything. I feel hot, so I wear it. End of story. Nobody gets a say, not even Liam. The world’s always going to have an opinion, but I get to decide which ones matter. People can stare all they want. They’re not paying my rent.”
Sage stretches, sitting up and grinning. “He means,‘fuck ‘em if they don’t get it.’Seriously, who cares? You look good, you feel good, you wear it. That’s it. No one else’s comfort is worth sacrificing your own.”
Nate nods, stirring the noodles. “Besides, Liam loves it when I wear lace. Like,lovesit. It makes him all feral—”
Sage fake-gags. “TMI! I do NOT need to know about Liam’s kink for mesh and lace, thanks. Some of us are trying to keep our noodles down.”
I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt, but there’s still something knotted up inside me. I glance at Nate again, his ease, the way he glows in whatever he puts on, and before I can stop myself, the words tumble out.
“How do you… I mean, I like wearing lace. Sometimes I wear heels. And lately… Damien calls me Babygirl and good girl, and I love it. But I don’t want to be a girl. I don’t even want to look like one. It’s just—when I’m alone, when I wear those things, I feel… beautiful. But only when I’m alone. The rest of the time, I feel like I’m playing dress up. Or hiding. I only ever feel beautiful in the mirror when it’s just me.”
There’s a stunned silence. Sage and Nate look at me, wide-eyed, but it’s not judgment I see—it’s surprise. Sage’s mouth splits into a smile, all teeth, all sunshine. “Wait—you and Damien aretogether? How long?! When did this happen?”
I flush, embarrassment crawling up my neck. “It’s really new. But I’m happy. He makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I just don’t know what to do with this confusion over wearing girly things and not feeling like one. I don’t feel like I fit anywhere, and I keep thinking it’ll go away, but it doesn’t.”
Nate leans over, bumping my shoulder with his. “That’s because it’s yours. It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else, and you don’t have to pick a label. I’m a mess of things—femme sometimes, soft sometimes, mean as hell most of the time. I wear what I want, love who I want, and that’s enough. You get to be all of those things, or none. No one gets to tell you what makes you feel good.”
Sage smiles, his whole face bright with it. “You’re gorgeous, Noah, and you know what? I wish I had your legs. You in heels can only look iconic. Damien’s a lucky bastard.”
I try to laugh, but it catches in my throat. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
Nate rolls his eyes. “It’s hot. I think you’re brave as hell for even admitting this to us. You should wear what makes you feel good, and if anyone says shit, I’ll fight them. Seriously. I once bit a guy in the locker room for less.”
Sage cackles, then reaches over and grabs my hand. “You don’t have to be overly confident like Nate, or brutally honest like me. But if you want to show the world how beautiful you are, we’ll help you. We’ll hype you up. We’ll scream about your ass in those jeans until you believe us.”
I feel overwhelmed but grateful. “Thanks. I just… It’s easier when you’re here. When I’m with you guys, I feel less… weird.”
Nate smirks wickedly. “Babe, weird is the best thing about you. And if Damien’s smart, he’ll remind you every day that you’re the prettiest Babygirl at Blackthorne.”
Sage grins, leaning back on his hands. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass. Or have Nate do it. He’s scrappy.”
I laugh, loud and helpless, the last bit of shame shaking loose. “You’re both idiots.”
“Yeah, but we’re your idiots,” Sage says, leaning into me. “Now, eat your noodles and show us the uncropped version of that photo you posted earlier. It’s always hands.”
