And there my thoughts went again, in the same circular pattern they’d gone in countless times before. I just couldn’t stop wondering how long it would be until I became Toby in truth.
“What can I do?” he asked abruptly, cupping my face in his hands. “I don’t want to see you cry, Toby.”
“Can I not eat tuna every single lunchtime?” I asked, aware that it was such a tiny request in the grand scheme of things. Yet it was something I thought I had the best chance of getting. Everything else was already written in stone, but this was new enough to where I thought I had a shot.
He blinked at me. “I thought you liked it,” he told me.
“I’m not a real cat,” I said as gently as I could.
“I know that,” he told me, looking a little offended as he drew back away from me. “But it’s still a treat, isn’t it?”
I wordlessly shook my head, bracing myself for a negative reaction.
Instead, he sighed. “All right. I’ll find something else for you to eat.” He sounded a little defeated, even, and I didn’t know if that had something to do with failing to make me happy or me not being properly grateful for what he was giving me.
I had to hope it was the former. As long as he wanted to make me happy, we’d be on the same page, and I’d have a chance of getting through this. He’d still do what he wanted, obviously, but if he wanted me to want him, he’d have to give in to me.
It felt… cheap somehow, wrong, but at the same time, there weren’t any other options. I had to make him happy, so wasn’t it only fair that he had to make me happy?
Fuck, how was it possible that I could even find happiness here with him?
Accepting what was happening had been the first step, and now here we were, in some weird sort of… relationship, almost.
The thought of that sent a chill through me because I never should’ve thought of it that way.
But it wasn’t one-sided anymore. He’d only cared about what he’d wanted at first, and now… Now he actually seemed to give a fuck what I wanted, at least a little. Maybe he did want to see me happy there.
“Thank you,” I told him, and I rested my forehead against his in an act of intimacy that felt like it was almost a little too much. Yet it was better than a kiss, and it felt right.
He clutched my upper arms, staying close to me, and for a moment, we stayed there like that.
I could almost accept this, in that particular moment. I was so far removed from my reality, but this was a moment of real affection. Strange as it was, it was still there, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Would anyone?
I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and there we were in a moment that should’ve been reserved for lovers. We weren’t that, no matter how much he wanted us to be. But in that moment, I could almost pretend I wanted to be there with him.
I could almost pretend it wasn’t that bad.
I could almost pretend I was really Toby.
10
GRIFFIN
He was coming around.
Little by little, bit by bit, he was becoming my Toby.
He might not have realized it or understood it, but I could see it each and every day as he gave in just a little more.
The steps had been huge at first, requiring him to give up so much of himself, but now they were tiny — and I was letting him take them slow.
Mostly.
I couldn’t wait forever for him to decide he wanted me, especially when I wasn’t sure he ever would — not as long as he clung to his convictions about his sexuality and insisted he couldn’t like a man that way.
I couldn’t bring myself to believe that either. If it was true, it meant everything I’d worked for would be for nothing, and I couldn’t bear that.
