Chapter 77: The Horrors of Self-Discovery
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Panic surged through me, a physical, all-consuming discomfort, starting in my chest and radiating outwards. I straightened up. "No reason."
She looked at me.
I looked back.
Holy fuck...
This lasted all of three seconds before her face shifted from patient understanding to sheer delight, which meant my expression had given something away.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed.
"What—"
"It’s Damien the Hottie, isn’t it?"
I inhaled wrong, leading to a genuine coughing fit that offered no cover. "It’s not—"
"It is."
"It is absolutely not—"
"Oliver," she said, grinning widely, the sort of smile she used when she was gearing up to have fun with something she had just discovered. "A certain six-foot-something, blue-eyed, annoyingly put-together roommate wouldn’t happen to be part of this conversation, would he?"
Fuck...kill me now.
My face was aflame. My ears were on fire. Honestly, my whole head was probably radiating heat at this point. "I hate you."
"You love me."
"I’m reconsidering that actively."
"You can’t reconsider it. It’s already been established." She pointed at me like she’d already won the argument. "It is Damien."
I buried my face in my hands, staying there for a moment in the dark behind my palms while I weighed my options. Limited, to say the least.
"You’re the worst," I muttered, muffled.
Her laughter filled the back corner of the café, bright and completely unrepentant. And somewhere at a table by the window, a customer glanced over, quietly curious about what had happened, deciding it was none of their business.
Slowly, though, her laughter softened, the teasing settling into something warmer. I cautiously lowered my hands.
Maya was looking at me differently now, not the gleeful, I-knew-it smile from earlier, but something quieter. A friend who’d made her point and was done making it.
The fact that I had realized that I was bi as well, didn’t mean I was ready to come out as one so soon. There was still a lot I had to come to terms with, and a lot I had to explore while doing so.
I just needed more time.
"Hey," she said.
I met her gaze.
"It’s okay." She said it simply, without any fanfare, like it was just a plain truth. "Whatever you’re figuring out, it’s okay. You do know that, right?"
Something in my chest loosened, a small but significant relief, like a tense knot that finally got some slack. Not completely relaxed, but better than before.
"You don’t need to have it all figured out today," she went on. "No labels, no clear understanding of what it means, or what comes next. You’re allowed to just...be in the question for a while."
I glanced at the table, out the window, and then back at my now-cold coffee, which I drank anyway because it gave me something to do with my hands.
"It’s just," I began, but then I hesitated. "Just what?"
"It’s been a weird few weeks." That was an understatement worthy of a chuckle. "I went on a date with Melanie."
"I know."
"And it was nice. She’s great and she likes me, which is—" I shook my head. "Nobody just likes me. Like, that doesn’t happen."
"Oliver."
"I’m being truthful."
"You’re being wrong, but go ahead."
I ignored that. "And then I’m sitting there, having a good time, and she kissed me, and it was a perfectly fine kiss, and my brain just—"
I stopped, trying to gesticulate my mixed-up thoughts. "Went somewhere else."
Maya waited.
"And last night, Damien took me to a hockey game," I said, quieter now. "And there was a kiss cam. And he—"
I choked on my words, cleared my throat. "And I can’t stop thinking about it."
I fell silent for a moment. Then, since she’d been honest with me, I owed her the same. "The thing is, I already know something, but I just didn’t want to admit it."
She waited.
"I’m sexually attracted to him." The words came out steady, surprising me with their calm. I thought they’d feel heavier but maybe the truth has a way of wearing in over time.
"That part isn’t...I’m not confused about that anymore. It just is." I exhaled. "That part is just true."
Maya held my gaze for what felt like ages. Her expression was hard to pin down, something warm and proud, like she was witnessing something she’d been hoping for without wanting to scare it away.
"That’s a big deal," she said. "Saying that."
"It doesn’t feel like a big deal."
"That’s how you know it’s real," she leaned in a little. "The truths that matter usually feel obvious once you stop fighting them."
I mulled that over, thought about the weeks I’d spent wrestling with my own feelings, all the energy building walls against something that seemed to have already made up its mind.
"The part I’m stuck on," I admitted, "is everything that comes after."
"Everything that comes after?"
"What it means, what I want, and if I’m—" I searched for the right word, "—ready to act on it. I don’t even know if I actually have romantic feelings for him, or if Damien even likes guys for real and he was just messing around with kissing dudes and shit."
Maya nodded slowly. "That’s fair."
I shook my head because that last part was the one I hadn’t found words for yet, and some things need more time than just one sleepless night.
Maya watched me, then reached across the table and lightly bumped my arm with the back of her hand. "You know what I think?"
"You’re going to tell me anyway."
"I think you already know more than you think you do," she said. "And I think you’ll be okay."
I looked at her. "That’s very optimistic."
"I’m a very optimistic person."
"You told a customer that their latte art looked like a car crash last week."
"I was being honest with him. There’s a difference between that and being pessimistic." She smiled. "You’ll sort it out, Oliver. The rest of it...what comes after, it just takes time."
For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, feeling the need for something lighter after fifteen minutes of deep conversation: "For the record, this conversation never happened."
"Completely understood."
I deadpanned, "You’re going to tell Joey, aren’t you?"
"Instantly."
"Maya—"
"He’s going to be thrilled!"
"I will quit this job—"
"He already suspects. He’s just waiting for confirmation."
I put my head down on the table. She gave it a gentle pat, like you would to something you find endearing but slightly defeated.
"For the record," she said from above me, "your roommate is objectively, distractingly, almost irritatingly attractive. So it’s not your fault if you’re gay for him all of a sudden."
"Maya—"
"I’m just saying, I understand the confusion."
"You are breaking me."
"That’s my job."
She laughed. And then, despite everything, the three hours of sleep, the identity crisis, the keychain on my nightstand, and all of it.
I laughed too, head still on the table, laughing at the ceiling of Joy’s Café at 9:30 in the morning because sometimes the only thing left to do is laugh.
The rest of my shift passed with a surprising ease, better than expected after the dread. Not that anything was resolved, not really, not the important stuff.
But something shifted in the way unexamined feelings do when they’re finally acknowledged. They stop being monsters and become just what they are...still complicated, but at least understandable.
By early evening, I was tired again, but in a different way, the kind of tired that comes from releasing something heavy instead of holding it too tightly.
The walk back to Preston Hall held that familiar quality all evening walks have after a long day...the city settling into itself, the air cool and infused with the scent of autumn.
Students passed by with their backpacks and uncomplicated destinations, and I felt a pang of envy, which faded quickly as I let it go, a skill I was learning.
My hand found its way to my jacket pocket without me even thinking. Fingers closed around the keychain, my small metal mascot, a bit warm from being carried all day.
I paused my walk for a moment.
Gazed down at it in my palm.
The tiny piece...a few dollars at a souvenir stand in an arena, picked out quickly, and the matching one in Damien’s pocket or wherever he’d put it. Just the fact that there were two of them.
I closed my hand around it again.