Page 80 of Faithful

“I don’t know how to do this,” I tell him, brushing my lips over his ear to make sure he hears me over the music.

“Do what?” he asks, pressing his cheek to mine in return.

“How to be what all these people are.”

“You mean queer?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how to dress or talk or…”

Kai releases the back of my jacket he’s been grasping for dear life and rests his palm on my mouth. “Dumbass,” he says, holding my gaze. “Wanna know a secret?”

I nod because I can’t move my lips anyway.

“There’s no right way to be gay, Dylan. It’s not about the kind of clothes you wear or things you say or even friends you have. It’s about not pretending to be someone else.”

He stops moving, and we’re the only immobile couple on the floor, staring at each other while the others continue to ebb and flow, and though he’s drunk and I’m no better, I begin to realize that among all the brilliant things he’s ever said to me, that is by far the most compelling.

The song wobbles and starts changing and another pop hit comes on next. Not suitable for slow dancing anymore, but for some reason I don’t want to break this spell, this bubble of heat Kai and I have created.

So I draw him back to me, into my greedy arms, and we keep on shuffling in that same spot while Ellie Goulding is begging someone to love her in that honey-sweet voice millions of people have come to adore.

“Have I miscalculated?” Kai questions at some point, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”

“Should I have asked you first if you wanted to come here?”

“It’s too late now.”

“I know, but it was fucking selfish of me, to assume that you would be okay with this… or that you would want for people to see us together…”

The music devours some of the words he says next, but I get the gist of it. There’s a certain level of regret there in what he did, in how he ambushed me. A fraction of me is still rattled, but for the most part, I’d freeze this moment if I could and stretch it out and make it my whole life. The music. The warmth. The lips lingering on my skin. The hands clinging to my body. The vulnerability he’s unknowingly revealing.

If I could remain in this rapturous bliss with him for the rest of my days…

Fuck… Just thinking about this ending, thinking about him not being a part of my miserable existence makes me sick to my stomach.

What is this?

You know, Dylan.

You’ve known for a while now.

You’re just scared to call it its rightful name.

You’ve fucking fallen for him.

The realization–or rather the shock of the admission–makes me do something incredibly stupid for someone who’s this deep in the fucking closet.

I kiss him.

Right then and there on the lips.

When he pulls back seconds later, he says the strangest thing. “I feel like getting some ink. Wanna tag along?”

* * *

We leave the club the same way we arrived.

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