"Okay."
"But Liam—" He paused. Chose his words carefully. The way he did before delivering an argument he knew would be unpopular. "Can I say something you don't want to hear?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"This person has power over you because you're hiding. That's the leverage. The photo, the texts—none of it matters if people already know. If you were out, that photo is just... two guys kissing. There's no threat in it."
"Noah—"
"I'm not telling you to come out. That's your decision. Your timing." He held up his hand. "But I need you to understand the math. The longer the secret exists, the more power anyone with information has over you. Every day you hide is another day someone can hold this over your head."
"So what—I just announce it? Walk into the boathouse and say hey everyone, I'm bi and I've been fucking Alex Harrington?"
"That's one approach. Lacks finesse."
"This isn't funny, Noah."
"I know it's not." His voice softened. "I know. And I'm not making light of it. I'm telling you what I see—which is my best friend getting smaller every week. The lying. The performing. You're disappearing into this secret and it's eating you alive."
I stared at the floor. The carpet was stained near the door—coffee, from the first week of freshman year when Noah had tripped over my shoes. We'd never cleaned it. It was part of the room now.
Noah leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. And then his voice changed—harder, frustrated in a way that wasn't about the photo anymore.
"You know what gets me, though? You walk in here after three days and the first thing you do is hand me your problem. Not hey Noah, how are you. Not what have I missed. Just—here, fix this for me."
I looked up. "What?"
"Do you even know what's going on in my life right now?"
"Yeah. You're doing the debate thing."
"The debate thing." He repeated it. Let the words hang there.
"What?"
"This is what I'm talking about, Liam. You get into all of this—the secret, the threat, the Alex of it all—and then you don't give a shit about anyone else. I'm your best friend. And you call the biggest tournament of my semester 'the debate thing.'"
His words hit me in the chest. A dull, heavy impact. Because he was right. I was doing it again. Being the worst version of myself—the version that only looked outward when he needed something.
I defended myself anyway. "Well, you haven't been here."
"And you don't know why."
"You've been with some girl—"
"Some girl." Noah tightened. "Her name is Priya. And she's not some girl. I've been seeing her for three weeks. She's in my political theory seminar and she's the smartest person I've ever met and I think I'm falling for her. But you wouldn't know any of that because you never asked."
The room went quiet. The radiator clicked. I could hear my own breathing.
"I've came back wanting to tell you about her—" Noah said.
"Then tell me—"
Noah continued. "And it's sad that I'm not surprised that you didn't ask. Because your thing is always bigger. Your thing always matters more."
"That's not—"
"It is, though. It is exactly that." He wasn't yelling. That was the worst part. He was just tired. "I still feel like I only exist when you need something."
