Shawn Bestalel Everlieu has been questioning his sexual identity ever since he found himself interested in one of his seniors at the university he's currently studying at. However, he fears what the answer might be that's why he tends to go to such...
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PROLOGUE
Have you ever accepted yourself for who you truly are, your capabilities and their limitations, the way you unconsciously act, the way you communicate, and everything that serves as scraps of your whole existence?
In my case, I tried.
Since we were young, everyone tells us to accept who we truly are - to accept everything about us, so we could be free to express ourselves.
But how could we ever do that when the ones who remind us about those are always in the ends and sides of directions we choose, looking out for our possible second takes?
Those clenched brows and wrinkles on their forehead, those filthy words coming out of their mouth, and those eyes that show disgust when they can't accept who we truly are - they are hypocrites. They shouldn't have said those if they can't even -
"What are you writing?"
It was too late before I could feel his presence and his hot breath on my nape that gave shivers down my spine.
I stopped typing, saved the file, and I closed my laptop before heaving a sigh. "None of your business. What are you doing here?" I clasped my hands and crossed my legs.
He lazily sat on the chair infront of me and it created a loud thud but not enough to disturb the other people around us because of the heavy rain outside. For a while, his sight roamed around me with a hint of wonderment as if I was a long lost trophy in his collection.
Ah, he's still the same as ever; his hazel eyes are still giving me the creeps, his pitch black mullet hair with strands of brown, his dry lips that give sexy grins and smirks, the time it takes for his adams apple to move up and down, the way his pinky finger's unconsciously tapping the table, the way he moves his body inch by inch - I knew how every one of them works, 'cause after all... even if it was for a short passing of summer breezes, he used to be mine.
"Hmm..." he acted like he was giving a thought of something.
I mentally scoffed in disbelief and forced a chuckle. I'm still the same person I was, too. He still makes me nervous but at the same time at ease. I'm still always in a deep anticipation for him to call my name, and he still has the power to make me accept myself and everything despite the forthcoming discrimination, hate, and fear.
For a moment, everything that happened between us was played in my head like a series of phantasmagoria.
'Meet me at the parking lot.'
'Make me.'
'Love me.'
'I love you...'
'You are the best thing that ever happened in my life.'
'I'm sorry...'
'Shawn...'
Everything was clandestine. And it ended with a sunset in the last day of our summer 'thing'.
But this time, if I will finally accept myself for who I truly am... would that make a better difference?
