Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
What have I done?
SIX
ZACH
What have I done?
I’m still in bed with Ruben, as close to the edge of the bed as I can be without falling off. Every second since has stretched on and on, even as the sky got light. I haven’t slept at all, but I’m forcing myself to stay still, so I don’t make things weird.
Weirder than they already are, anyway. Because holy fuck.
I kissed him. Or he kissed me. We kissed each other, I guess.
And I liked it. I was drunk, but not so drunk I can’t remember that. It was one of the best kisses of my life. It practically blew my mind, how good it was. But that makes no sense, because he’s a guy. I want a girlfriend. Like, when I think of my future I think of myself with a wife, a house, and a dog. The only thing that’s changed about that picture since childhood is how expensive the house would be. That doesn’t line up with the kind of guy who kisses another guy and loves every second of it. It just doesn’t.
Ruben stirs next to me and I nearly jump out of my skin. I get the impression he’s faking being asleep, though, his movements seem a little too deliberate. He settles back down with a soft moan, burying his head in the pillow.
His back is well muscled, and his hair is short and messy. He’s so clearly a dude. Still, the kiss was hot and sweet and all-consuming, everything I want a kiss to be. I don’t think I’ve wanted anything as much as I wanted to keep kissing him, to never stop kissing him.
It’s not the first time I’ve ever thought of kissing a guy, of course. But those thoughts have only lasted a few seconds. They’re anomalies, things I think when I’m tired or drunk or—
Or are they?
I’ve had fleeting feelings for guys that are something like tiny crushes. The sort where you start to notice someone like that, and then they force their way into your mind at random moments, and you can’t stop your eyes from wandering to them whenever they’re near. When they start to become really important, more than a regular friend. Normally it happened with a soccer teammate, and I’ll admit my brain did go to mush one time when I was talking to our captain, Eirik, and he pulled up his shirt to wipe his brow mid-conversation.
After times like that I wondered if I could be gay. But I’m not. I’m not. I’ve fallen for girls before, hard. Gay guys have to pretend when they’re with a girl, and I’ve never had to; kissing and sex has always been great. Hannah completely took over my world when I first fell for her. I don’t think it’s normal for a gay guy to have romantic feelings for a girl, nor for them to get their heart broken by one.
Obviously I know there are more options than gay or straight, too, but none of the other things have ever felt like they matched me, either. My crushes on girls have been a steady, recurring presence throughout my life, and the idea that it would happen again once I got over Hannah was extremely comforting. Like, I could tell myself it’s fine, because I knew I would like someone again eventually, when I was ready. The crushes I got on guys were weird blips, things that would catch me by surprise and cause me confusion, and maybe a little panic, until I forced them out of my mind. Then I’d get a crush on a girl and she’d be all I could think about, and I’d get all swoony and happy and mostly forget about ever micro-crushing on a dude. That I even could crush on a guy, even if it was a small crush. I’m sure it’s common to get such minuscule crushes on other people. It doesn’t mean I’m queer. If I felt the way about guys that I felt about girls I’d know it.
But then, last night had felt a lot like kissing girls.
If he was a girl, I’d have known I’d found the next person I’m into. But it’s Ruben. My very male best friend and bandmate.
So, essentially, what the fuck?
I sit up in bed, hoping he’ll stop faking being asleep. He doesn’t react, so I clear my throat.
Ruben opens his eyes, and smiles automatically when he sees me. But then his face shifts, his smile fading. I’m hit with a pulse of ice. The familiar old panic of what does this mean plays through my mind. I feel like I’m naked onstage.
“Hi,” he whispers. His voice is uncertain.
“Hi.” I can barely force the words out.
We fall into silence. I study Ruben. He’s gorgeous, sure. But is it gorgeous in an “I want to consensually pin you down” sort of way, or an “I want to be you” sort of way? Every other time I noticed how handsome Ruben is, I thought that was just appreciation, or aspiration. Now there’s no missing that there’s at least some desire there. Probably because I know what it’s like to kiss him.
Something flickers across his face, and he sits up a little. There’s an uncomfortable-as-hell conversation coming up and there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. Other than, like, sprinting out of the room, which does sound pretty appealing.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
He hesitates, scanning my face. “Not as bad as on the flight over here.”
“Yeah. Same. Although, mine’s pretty bad today. I was wasted last night.”
I want to be a million miles away so I don’t need to navigate this fucking conversation. So I don’t have to see him looking at me like he’s gotten his hopes up and now I’m hurting him. Like I’ve led him on.
Holy fuck, I have. After all that shit with Christopher last year, using Ruben to figure himself out. And, what, it’s been a week since that straight guy at Angel’s party hit on him? Not to mention countless other encounters that have caused Ruben to shut down against the world, bit by bit. All the crappy dudes using and undervaluing him that pissed me off so much.
Now I’m one of them.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Even if I did want him last night, why did I act on it?
“I assume you remember last night?” Ruben asks, and there’s maybe a sliver of hope left. “Not that wasted, I hope?”