Page 10 of All We Are

His eyes narrow. “As if you don’t already know.”

I shrug. “Humor me.”

Sighing, he pushes back completely to sit up. His jeans and boxers are still hanging haphazardly off one leg, his softened cock resting against his thigh. He gives a little shake of his head, his brow furrowing, and he begins righting his clothes to cover himself.

“Way—” I start to say, but he just shakes his head more firmly, silently telling me to give him a second.

Following his lead, I tuck my dick away, zipping and buttoning up my fly.

Concern twinges my chest as I watch him run his inked fingers through his hair, shoving the dark strands back. It doesn’t escape me how fidgety he suddenly appears.

“I feel like an asshole,” he says, cutting me a troubled look. His knee bounces, and I reach out, setting a steadying hand on it. Emotion pinches his eyes, his voice dropping to no louder than a hush. “There’s nothing wrong with a guy wearing makeup.”

“No, there isn’t,” I say simply.

His lips whiten at the corners.

“But in case you haven’t noticed,” I say, arching a brow, “I’m not a fan of wearing it myself either. Especially if it sparkles.” I shudder in a mock show of horror. “Keep that shit the fuck away from me.”

He huffs a surprised laugh, shaking his head.

I widen my eyes. “I’m serious. I’m pretty sure there’s still traces of it in my hair from last Halloween.”

He rolls his eyes, the tension visibly melting from his body.

I duck my head to meet his gaze. “I get it, okay?”

His eyes dart between mine. “Yeah?”

I swallow thickly. “Yeah. You know, once I decided to come out—like, publicly, I mean; it was never really a secret within my family—I second-guessed everything I did. The way I talked, the way I dressed. What music I listened to. The things I liked to do.” I pause. “At one point I thought I was going to have to quit football, just because people and society got in my head and had me convinced I’d have to change who I was just to be accepted as a gay man.”

Something like anger dances over Waylon’s features, darkening them.

“Not so much by my friends and teammates,” I quickly amend. “Everyone who mattered was pretty great about it, and honestly those who knew me—like really knew me—weren’t even surprised.” I blow out a breath. “But up until college I didn’t really have any queer friends. The ones who were out at my school…” I smile ruefully. “Well, I don’t think they liked me too much.”

Waylon’s frown deepens.

“And the guys I hooked up with, usually from other schools, and even a couple in college before I met Zayne…” I lift a hand to my head, driving my fingers through my hair, tugging my head back to look up at the pitched ceiling. “Well, they had this tendency to sort of be, I don’t know, condescending about it? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but it’s what it felt like. I always got the impression that they seemed to think I was…struggling with accepting my sexuality, and would try to like…help me. They’d constantly reassure me it’s okay and I can be me…as if I wasn’t already being me.” I give him a furrowed look. “Not that their intentions were bad…just misguided. It’s like they thought I was brainwashed by the straights or something, and were trying to deprogram me.” I chuckle weakly.

A hand finds mine, gripping it tightly.

“And I wanted to belong,” I admit quietly before he can say anything. “To both worlds. I just wasn’t sure if either would ever accept me forme…unless I started…”—I wave a hand—“you know, conforming to the stereotypes by”—I huff bitterly, and make air quotes—“‘acting gay.’ Hell, even my teammates seemed to want that, which sounds so convoluted but—”

“So they wouldn’t see themselves in you,” Waylon interrupts softly.

I snap my gaze to him.

He shrugs. “It’s why being around Jeremy growing up never really got to me, you know? Not that he’s ever been like…super flamboyant about it—especially back then. But…we were never really alike, and it…it helped.” He scrunches up his face and looks away. “Made it easier to lie to myself.”

Nodding slowly, I say, “That makes sense.” I pause. “Yeah, saying all this out loud now feels very woe is—”

He turns abruptly, shaking his head firmly. “Don’t.” His gaze is fierce as it locks with mine. “Just ’cause you had it easier doesn’t cancel out all the shit you still had to go through.”

A lump builds in the back of my throat, emotions searing my eyes.

His hazel eyes burn just as hotly as he stares at me. “You should’ve never been made to feel like you weren’t enough. That’s on them, not on you, and if you ever try to make light of that again, I’ll—stop smiling like that.” He huffs grumpily.

I reach up with my free hand, cupping his cheek, smudging a thumb over his dimple fighting to peek out.

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