I grabbed my phone and scrolled. ‘Bags’ by Clairo was the first that came to mind, but Troye was my go-to guy when it came to nailing my moods. A moment later the soft opening ofStrawberries & Cigarettesdrifted through the flat.
I went back into the kitchen for my coffee, Troye’s voice filling the quiet, singing about the kind of love you never quite forget.
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks. Even my playlist’s calling me out now.” When he started singing about love that lingers long after you think it should be over, I rubbed the back of my neck. “Six years,” I muttered. I let the music play, the bright pulse of the song filling the flat.
Funny how a song about not hiding who you love suddenly felt a little too on the nose.
I stood in the kitchen, coffee cooling in my hands, my pulse still uneven. I replayed every second of the conversation and wondered if Theohadheard me after all, if he knew.
Part of me hoped not, but part of me wanted to see that knowledge in Theo’s eyes, just once.
I sighed, set the mug down, then rubbed my face. “Smooth, Walters. Real smooth.”
The sofa bed sat open in the living room, the sheets tangled, a silent witness. I glanced at it, then at Theo’s closed door.
“Temporary,” I whispered, echoing Theo’s word, and let out a rueful laugh. “Yeah. That’s gonna go well.”
Then I realised our conversation had opened a door.
He knows I’m gay.
I don’t have to hide.
I’m free to be myself.
That freedom meant one thing to me.
I’m not about to hide how I feel. What he does to me. What he makes mewant.
It was time to take the gloves off.
Theo
The morning had started quietly enough.
I spent it on my bed, the table strewn with notes, my laptop open, the low hum of traffic drifting through the window. My second monitor glowed with lines of code that refused to stay in focus.
I had work to do—a system diagnostic, an update request from a client—but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. Every time I tried to trace the logic of a network path, it looped back to last night.
That sound.
That realisation.
The stillness after.
Cameron’s confession had changed everything.
Did he think about me while he jerked off?It wasn’t vanity that prompted the thought, but hope. Part of me wanted to believe I’d made an impression.
The other part told me not to be so fucking stupid because ifGarycould see into my murky little mind, he’d castrate me.
I’d taken a shower, hoping to rinse it out of my system. It hadn’t worked. The music coming from the living room hadn’t helped, either. It wasn’t the volume but the lyrics. I recognised Troye Sivan’s beautiful voice, and it didn’t surprise me.
Cameron doesn’t have to hide now, does he?
I’d retreated back to my bedroom and closed the door.
Except Cameron had gone out, and now every quiet moment between keystrokes echoed too much.