“And why not?” I call out, the question hanging in the air between us.
He ignores me, continues walking. I run up to him, stand directly in his path. “I asked why not.”
He looks at me, a familiar frustration in his eyes. “I just don’t see you that way, Angelo. You’re my best friend.”
I step closer, trying to keep my voice level, though a tremor betrays my hope. “But I want to be more.”
He looks into my eyes, then down, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry. But that’s not possible. Besides,” he adds, a hint of finality in his tone, “I’m leaving soon for another state. You’ll find another boyfriend.”
He starts to walk away again, and I instinctively reach out, grab his wrist. “But what if I want *you*?”
Without meeting my eyes, he says, “Then find someone else.”
I release his wrist, look down at my feet, the weight of rejection settling in my chest. “I thought I did. But I guess you never cared about me after all.”
A wave of sadness washes over me, quickly morphing into something sharper, angrier. My eyes burn with unshed tears. “I should have known I was nothing to you.” I turn to walk away, needing to put distance between us.
Suddenly, he says my name. I ignore him, focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Angelo!”
I huff out a breath, turn around, ready to face whatever he has to say. “What—?”
My question dies on my lips as his lips meet mine. Soft, tentative at first, then deepening into a kiss that steals my breath. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I stumble, relying on his strength to keep me from falling. It’s unexpected, disorienting.
He doesn’t break the kiss until a long moment later. When he finally pulls back, he looks at me, his own expression unreadable.
“You are something to me,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.
I’m still speechless, still reeling. I stare at him, numb, trying to process the sudden shift. He kissed me. After a year and a half of denying any feelings, he finally kissed me. And then, the wave of sadness returns, stronger than before. He kissed me… after everything.
He’s still holding me, and I slowly come back to reality, focusing on his face.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern etched in his features.
I look at him, a whirlwind of thoughts churning inside me. I step back from him, needing space.
“I… I can’t right now,” I manage to say, turning away to hide the tears threatening to spill.
I run to my room, bury my face in the pillows, and let the tears flow. Hours pass, lost in a blur of grief and confusion. I drift off to sleep, and my dreams are invaded by nightmares—visions of him, of us, replaying endlessly.
Every dream had the same core. Him. Him. Him.
I’m almost relieved when I finally wake up, but then I feel a presence beside me. The person from my nightmares is sitting on the edge of my bed.
“I see you’re awake,” he says softly.
Without looking at him, without moving from under the covers, I mutter, “How did you even get in?”
He points to the window, where we’d set up a ladder for emergencies.
I roll my eyes. “Remind me to take that down and throw it in the dumpster.”
He looks at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Why are you being like this?”
“I’m fine.”
“Says the one sulking under the covers.”
“I’m not sulking!” I yell, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him.
He dodges easily, and the pillow collides with my movie collection, sending them crashing to the floor.
His giggles fill the room, infuriating me. I hate his giggling. It’s not cute.
I peek out from under the covers and see he’s still seated.
“What part of ‘get out’ don’t you understand?”
He gets up, walks toward the door… and closes it behind him.
“I thought I told you to leave!”
Suddenly, he yanks the covers off me and straddles me, pinning me to the bed.
“Hey! What are you doing?” I complain, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He says nothing, just leans down and kisses my cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”
I try to hold back a moan as he quickly kisses my lips, then moves to my neck, sucking gently. I’m shocked, disoriented. I feel pressure building in my pants, and I know I’m getting hard. He must know too, because he starts rubbing his knee against me through my shorts.
“Uhhh what are you doing?” I moan, my voice barely a whisper.
He stops kissing my neck, looks down at me as he grinds his knee again.
“I’m having fun.”
I feel a surge of annoyance. “Oh yes, because I’m only fun to you.”
I roll my eyes, sigh at him.
He looks down at me…
“I’m pleasuring the boy I love.”
I gasp, moan, and he grinds me again.
“Fari? Do you really mean that?”
I ask him, looking up into his eyes through my teary eyes.
He leans closer, kisses me the same way I kissed him.
“Yeah, I think I do…”
“You think?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.
He sighs, shakes his head. “No, I know…”
He sits up, gets off me, and sits on the edge of the bed.
I sit up, look at him.
“I think I’ve always known.”
“Then why have you never said anything?” I ask, the question laced with frustration. He avoids my eyes, shame evident in his expression.
I soften my tone, suddenly realizing something.
“You were scared.”
He looks at me, and after a moment, nods.
“I’m sorry.”
I see him for the first time—vulnerable, honest, and I know he means every word. I lean forward, pull him backwards until he’s lying on his back, and pounce on top of him…
To be continued…
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