The Queerest [🗸]

so damien cortez is my muse

My chest feels so fucking nervous, it's hard to breathe.

I have a pressing question in the back of my mind, one that I've wanted to ask ever since I felt Damien Cortez's lips on mine. Likely even before then. I exhale, the school bell ringing as I make my way down the hall.

Damien's head rests against his locker as silent thoughts fly through his mind. The stud in his left ear glows beneath the lighting, vintage t-shirt tucked into dark jeans, sneakers resting on the flooring.

His side profile is so fucking sharp that I'm tempted to use charcoal to draw him. Again. I have more than a few portraits of Damien Cortez. Some where he's on his phone, bottom lip brought beneath his teeth, eyes shadowed by dark eyelashes. Others where he's smiling— based on images I took of him to savor the moment in time.

He almost seems to sense my presence, because he leans slightly away from his locker, his head turning in my direction, eyes meeting mine, a little smile playing at his lips as he snaps his locker shut.

 When I approach him, a grin rises to my lips as I give him a slight nudge in the side. I almost want to reach out, link my little finger with his, but I know he gets nervous sometimes, eye flicking about the hallway before returning to me. 

Usually, if we ever link pinkies, our little fingers unlatch after a second or two. After all, even with all the changes that have been made— this is still Aspen High, and it's still small-town Midwest. 

Even outside of that, coming to terms with who you are is a large step in and of itself, but being out and proud within a month or so of finding out? It's a whole fucking lot to expect.  

And even though we both know it is, I still see that apologetic, guilty look cross Damien's eyes whenever we walk down the hallways, silently wanting to hold hands but not being able to. Or whenever we link pinkies for half a second and let go before anyone can see us.

It's there on his face now, his eyes flicking to my eyes, to my lips, to my hands. Lingering. Some days it's easier than others. Damien seems more hurt about it than I do, whenever the nerves rise and he's not sure what to do.