I Still Need ✓

8. I die and I don't know what it means

Dylan and I talked for hours.

About how he found out about his sexuality, how he managed to find the courage to ask a boy out and come out to his friends, and about how his dad accidentally found out about it by walking in on him kissing with a boy in his room.

"For some reason, he threw open the door like a fucking madman—I still don't know why to this day—and Rick was literally right on top of me. There was no way we could play it off as wrestling or whatever. It was immediately dead silent. No one said a word. And I already knew he wasn't very fond of queer people, but I didn't know how he'd react to his own son making out with a boy."

"So what did he do?" I asked curiously.

"He walked out," Dylan replied. "He turned around and left the room, so I thought he was.... sort of okay with it."

"Understandable."

"But then he came back. He didn't come near us. He simply stood by the door and told me with a cold voice that Rick needed to leave. And that's all he's ever done since. He never does anything. He just expresses his distaste whenever I'm with a boy and calls me names and all that. He's never retorted to physical violence."

I hummed, pulling my feet under me and leaning back onto his bed, where we were sitting side by side. "It's not ideal, but it's better than other people's situations, I suppose."

"Yeah, it's alright. As long as I have a roof over my head. I rarely talked with him before anyway, so I don't miss anything."

"Why not? Have you never been close with him?"

"Nah, we never... clicked. I was much closer with my mom."

I stared at Dylan for a moment. His voice always sounded sad when he mentioned his mother. I'd often wondered why he only lived with his dad, but I never dared to ask anyone.

He caught my curious look and sighed. "She passed away."

"Oh..." I immediately glanced at the small sculptures on his dresser. "Didn't your aunt... pass away too? The one who made those."

"Yeah, her sister. They died because of the same disease."

"You don't have it, do you? That disease?"

"Why?" he asked, leaning closer to me with a smirk, all sadness gone like the wind. "You don't want me to die?"

"Well..."

Why was it suddenly so easy to talk with Dylan? It was an odd, unfamiliar feeling, but I was also surprisingly, really enjoying myself. Was this what it was going to be like from now on? Instead of hating each other, we'd be having fun conversations for hours like friends? It was so strange. But I kinda liked it.

I opted for the smart reply, "I don't want anyone to die."

"Right. Just admit it." He moved even closer—our thighs were almost touching. "You'd miss me."

"You'll be dearly missed, Dylan," I said with an eye-roll. "Everybody loves you."

"That's not what I asked. Would you miss me, Hugo?"

"Why do you always ask such... sentimental questions?"

"Because I'm curious."

I hesitated to answer. I was so confused. For the past few years, all I'd ever done is dislike the guy, but I couldn't say that I did anymore. I didn't dislike him... but did I like him? I had no idea where we were currently standing.

I looked up at him and admitted slowly, "I guess I would. Does it make you happy to hear that?"

"Yes."