Page 123 of Faithful

He threatens to call the police.

At the mention of the word police, I remember that I still have one foot in the closet and that an arrest record is forever and actually easily traced. Some curious schmuck from a TMZ knockoff will figure it out.

I leave voluntarily.

* * *

Meanwhile, the world is discussing Kai’s sexuality.

The fans. The tabloids. The TikTok influencers.

The 7-Eleven parking lot photo of him hiding my face against his chest while we’re in his car has been circulating online ever since the night we got caught, and his silence over the image has only added more fuel to the fire.

There are clear divisions between all those talking, and they fall into three factions. One third still believes Kai is straight and I’m just a famous friend whose identity can’t be revealed for a number of reasons. Another third thinks Kai plays for both teams and I’m a random hookup and the lack of comments from him means he doesn’t know what to tell his female fans (some of those female fans do think it’s hot, so go figure). The last third nails it, though. These are the most dedicated fans of the band, those who are convinced I’m the person who inspired the lyrics of “Kneel” and that the tat on his wrist is also somehow connected to me. These people thrive on so-called investigative/borderline obsessive journalism. They like details and they like to think out loud and provide irrefutable proof.

What’s even more disturbing is how accurate some of the fans get in their commentary online when describing the exact nature of our relationship using the song as the starting point. They don’t even know who I am (thank fuck for that!) but they’ve already labeled us as a hate/love canon. Because the third word of so-and-so line of so-and-so chorus was different and therefore a reference to so-and-so thing Kai said on so-and-so date during his interview with so-and-so magazine.

Yep. That’s basically how those things go. How those theories are born. How they are turned into rumors and then into realities.

I shouldn’t even be reading it, but I’m weak like that. It’s a mix of curiosity and fear that pushes me to do so, to see what people are saying about us. Even with the world literally falling apart around me, I’m still wondering if we’re ever going to be accepted as a couple.

* * *

Eventually, the Christmas decor leaves the snowy streets of Seattle, and the city returns to its cool monochrome color scheme. I wish heartbreaking memories could be stashed somewhere in a box out of sight, just like all the garlands, candy canes, wreaths, and angels.

Sadly, life doesn't work that way.

To make matters worse, I have to endure the torture that happens to me on a daily basis at work. I can’t exactly tell anyone at the office what’s going on between Kai and me, and Val and Winona are under the impression we’re a hot item in our honeymoon phase. They keep on asking questions. Some are very basic: “So where did you guys go for your first date?” And some are very weird: “He doesn’t drink human blood, right? Just yours, yeah?”

“I think violence against women is horrible,” I tell Winona after her latest freaky inquiry, “but you’re literally putting your face in the trajectory of my fist.”

She snorts out a laugh. “He’s got jokes, ha!” Then she has the audacity to ruffle my hair. I’m helpless here.

“Oh, and he’s blushing,” Val coos from behind her desk.

They both giggle.

All I can do is roll my eyes and continue pretending I’m fine, continue allowing them to treat me like a little brother you tend to pick on in that obnoxious loving manner. It’s just I’m the gay little brother now.

And perhaps because it hurts so bad, because my head doesn’t feel well enough to see right from wrong, to know what’s acceptable and what’s not, I do the one thing I never thought I would do in a million years.

I reach out to Danny via his Instagram.

I’m not positive if he even has access to his account. Kai mentioned once or twice in the past that the band members are no longer allowed to do any social media posts or read their messages until either Willa, their publicist, or someone from her team screens the comment section and the inbox for trolls, and they also have to approve the content the guys want to put out. It’s because of all the threats.

So, basically, I just throw a line out and wait to see if the fish comes.

The fish does come two days later.

Danny responds to my message with an offer to talk on the phone and I supply him with my number.

He promises to give me a call when he has a chance, which happens shortly after I finish work and am on my way to the parking lot.

The snow has been falling all day and my car is now completely white and glittering under the stream of light from the streetlight. I quickly brush my gloved fingers over the door handle, aching to get inside and hide from the freezing cold, when my phone rings in my pocket.

The number is unfamiliar. “Yeah?” I rasp out, secretly hoping Kai got a new line to talk only to me. Or something along those lines.

“It’s Danny.”

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