Page 66 of Level Up
“No!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was a secret or?—”
“It’s not a secret,” I argue. “But it’s still personal, and I—Just because I might be ace doesn’t mean I can’t date anyone ever?—”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s a spectrum anyway! It’s not like I can’t—” I stop before I embarrass myself further, taking a deep breath to continue, more calmly. “Sorry, this is just—It’s something I’ve been struggling with lately and it’s a sore subject. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s okay. I get it,” he says quietly.
And I believe him.
I nod my head, trying to figure out what to say next, but it doesn’t come to me. Instead, I watch his face, trying to notice subtle shifts in his expression. I don’t really register that it might be weird to stare at him like this, because his eyes are slightly downcast—looking at his monitor and not his webcam—and it makes me forget that he can see me, too.
Either way, it doesn’t seem to bother him. He smiles a little, and I can’t help but smile back.
“What time?” I ask, and his eyebrow quirks up in question. “Tomorrow, I mean.”
As expected,Victory has no problem moving our Saturday coffee date to the morning, especially since Pal has the afternoon off so they can spend time together. As if they don’t do enough of that already.
She seems to think it’s promising that Damien wants to hang out in person again, after the awkward rejection last week, but I know it doesn’t mean anything like what she’s thinking. I didn’t bother telling her about our conversation last night.
This whole time, Damien has known that I’m asexual—sort of, probably, maybe—and he assumed that meant I don’t date. Which is technically pretty accurate, since it has been over five years—and even then, I didn’t care for it much. But in theory, Icoulddate.
Still, he wants to hang out with me knowing—presuming—that I have no interest in him like that. Which means he has no interest in me like that. It’s pretty straightforward.
And, despite the fact that I have other friends now and losing him wouldn’t make me a loner again, I still don’t want to lose him. In the span of a month, he’s managed to lodge himself into my life with so much force that removing him would leave a gaping wound that I don’t want to have to try healing.
So whatever might be going on in my head—or other places—around him can just stay there. Telling him any of this would be hazardous to my health.
But upon seeing him in person for the first time since theaforementioned awkward rejection, a torrent of emotions overwhelms me, and I wonder if coming here at all was a mistake. And when he hugs me hello out in front of his building when I arrive, I just know I’m going to say or do something stupid.
I finally get a chance to meet Damien’s other roommates as they are on their way out, so now I at least know that they really exist—and vice versa. They are definitely not as outgoing as Malcolm, but I imagine it would be hard to live with him times three.
They’re both extremely introverted, Damien tells me after they’ve left, but they’re weird and nerdy in different ways than him or Malcolm, and sometimes they clash a bit with each other. But the four of them have been friends since university, living together this whole time.
The only reason he doesn’t lose his mind living here, he says, is that none of his roommates are home nearly as much as he is. None of them work from home like he does, and they actually have social lives that don’t exist solely on their computers—even Nathan, who barely said a single word to me, which is a little surprising. As for Malcolm, he’s currently out doing a costume fitting for his RPG friends, which is a little disappointing because he’s pretty delightful, in his own obnoxious way.
There’s a heavy awkwardness in the air when Damien and I get to the living room, as if something has changed since the last time I was here. But nothing has changed, not really. Except my feelings for him, but those shouldn’t count because he doesn’t even know about them. So maybe the awkwardness is all in my head.
He makes us both tea and we pick out a movie to watch—How to Train Your Dragon, since I already made him watch my favourite movie. His commentary somehow makes it evenbetter, though I can tell that this movie means something to him, even when he’s roasting parts of it.
By the end of the movie, I’m all warm and cozy from my tea, slumped happily against the back of the couch with my legs up on the seat, criss-crossed. Damien is similarly slouching in his seat, but his legs are outstretched, crossed at the ankles, with his feet on the coffee table. My knee has been digging into the side of his leg for the last half hour, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“So, ifFrozenis my favourite movie because I have issues with my sister,” I say, rolling my head to the side to smirk at him, “does that mean this is your favourite movie because you have issues with your father?”
“Ouch,” he says with a laugh. “I mean, yes, but ouch.”
“I’m only teasing.”
He laughs again. “I know, but honestly, there’s probably some truth to that,” he says. “I was the weird kid who wanted to figure out how stuff worked; I wasn’tnormallike my brother. But unlike the movie, my dad still hasn’t come around to the fact that maybe I’m okay as I am.”
“I’m sorry,” I say more seriously. “I really didn’t mean to?—”
“It is what it is,” he says with a shrug. “And I’m okay with how I am, so it doesn’t really matter if he agrees or not.”
“I think you’re more than okay as you are,” I tell him, but my voice cracks a little. It saddens me—angers me, even—that anyone could think he’s not good enough. He’s the most good.
