I'm Not Gay

12

“Understanding stock market trends is extremely important. Of course not everyone can spot signs of market weakness, but every uptrending market reaches a point when selling activity overtakes buying.”

Harry looked longingly at the door.

“Do you agree, Harry?”

“Sure, man,” Harry said with a forced smile. He hoped that bore didn’t guess that Harry didn’t remember his name.

He thought the guy’s name was Dave, but he wasn’t sure, so he didn’t want to make things awkward if it wasn’t. In Harry’s defense, he’d always been terrible at people’s names, and it had been years since he’d last seen that guy. When Andy had told him that it would be a small get-together party with some people from their school, Harry had thought Andy had invited, like, ten blokes for some beer and chips, not fifty people Harry barely remembered and had little in common with.

Now Harry wished he hadn’t come. He hated parties like this. They had become downright unbearable in the last few years. Everyone else seemed to be at some fancy school or had some great job. Harry always felt like a bit of a loser at these things. An outsider. A guy that everyone knew as that popular jock from their school days but no one really respected as an adult.

Harry pulled his phone out, pretended that someone was calling him, and turned away. He felt lame, but anything was better than having to make small talk with some self-important prick in a suit that cost more than what Harry made in a year.

Still pretending to be on the phone, Harry walked away from Maybe-Dave, eyeing the door with longing. Would Andy get offended if he ditched his fancy party so soon after arriving? Probably.

“Why are you faking a phone call, you loser?” a familiar voice mocked him gently from behind.

Harry froze before slowly turning around. Zayn was smirking at him a little, nursing a drink. 

Harry beamed, a wave of relief washing over him. Zayn was looking at him, looking at him like he used to, with fond exasperation and amusement. It felt like it had been ages since Harry had last seen Zayn, not one day.

Zayn’s dark eyebrows crept upwards. “Are you feeling all right?” he said, taking a sip from his drink. 

“Yeah. Why?”

“You were looking like someone’s died, but now you’re grinning like an idiot.”

Harry scowled at him, but it was half-hearted at best. Was it ridiculous that he’d missed being on the receiving end of Zayn’s good-natured ribbing?

“Oh, fuck you,” he said with a smile, glancing over Zayn’s nice button-down and trousers. He wanted to rib Zayn for being overdressed, but to be totally honest, Zayn didn’t look much different from the other guests. If anything, Zayn seemed to be the one who stood out in his tatty t-shirt and jeans. He was the one guy who didn’t look like the others. 

Harry’s smile faded. He crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the sudden self-consciousness.

“What is it?” Zayn said, eyeing him with a slight frown.

Harry had to admit it was kind of nice to have Zayn’s concerned gaze on him, proof that he still cared. Harry was man enough to admit that he’d been scared. He’d been scared that they weren’t really friends anymore, that Zayn had stopped giving a damn.

It was reassuring to know that he still did. But it was also weirding him out that Zayn could act so normal, so nonchalant and friendly, as if he wasn’t the same hard-eyed man who pushed him around, fucked him, and whispered horrible, humiliating things into his ear as he took Harry apart.