Soren Choi is jogging up to me, one of those star-striking smiles playing at his lips.
His hair's a mess, earrings crescent moons, sleeves rolled up as a dragon peeks from his forearm.
His feet keep moving as the slight breeze pushes him forward, feet padding on the pavement, down the sidewalk, and finally, up to the front of the school where I stand, a grin pulling at the corner of my lips.
"Damien," he says through quick gusts, hands resting on his knees before he straightens up, running a quick hand through black strands of hair.
"Soren," I say, a grin rising to my lips as he slides his hands into oversized jeans, one hand leaving his pocket to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead.
Students bustle past us and into the school that looms behind where we stand, Soren's eyes smiling once they catch onto mine.
It's strange being in the whole in-between phase. That phase we're you're not just quite friends, but no one's slapped a label over anything, because you're still wading into the waters, too tentative to officialize anything.
For example, Soren and I have essentially texted all weekend, haven't exactly seen each other face-to-face since the kiss, with the exception of Soren's spontaneous video calls, where he swears profusely, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket as he only exposes his forehead and eyes to the camera, the rest covered by his blanket burrito.
Sort of like we're friends, except with added differences like the occasional slight flirts woven into Soren's texts, which I didn't exactly realize were flirts until Santiago had hit me upside the head and bluntly stated: "open your fucking eyes, tonto."
So, yes, the in-between phase isn't necessarily a bad place to be, but it definitely has my face heating up every time a smile rises to his lips, and it definitely causes me to overanalyze every single thing I'm saying or take five minutes too long to respond to a text because I'm trying to form a good response.
Other than that, Soren's smile still makes my heart do gymnastics and seeing him has an inevitable smile rise to my lips.
"Hey," he says, taking a step closer to me as he pushes hair behind his ears, eyes meeting mine. His hands fidget at his sides as though he's trying to figure out what to do with them.
We never actually talked about how we'd continue in school. Are we going to continue as we always have, as close friends? Do people already think we're together because of the Unfuckables list? Am I staring at him for too long?
Should I talk now? I should talk now. Shaking the thoughts away, I meet Soren's gaze, fingers wiggling in a slight wave. "Hi."
Shit. Was that dry? Pursing my lips, I try to gauge Soren's expression, but he's still as windblown and smiling as ever, and somehow, it eases some of the tension building up in my shoulders as I exhale.
Soren juts his head towards the school doors. "Wanna head in?" he's smiling still, and I nod as he gives my pointer finger a slight tug, a flash of a smile crossing his lips as he heads into the school building and I fall into step with him.
Our shoulders brush against each other's, and I'm certain this is going to fuel all of the rumors that are probably already circulating. Somehow, though, Soren's bright smile seems to overpower the other stares, if only slightly.
Walking through the school halls, it's nearly scary. Scary because the last time I was here, I saw my name pasted onto a list, someone assuming and then broadcasting to the whole school that I was queer.
They were right.
They were right that I was queer, but they were fucked up to out me, to put my name on a list and shout my identity from the rooftops like they knew shit about me.
My chest hurts, and I'm hit with the memory of me backing away, hiding away in my car, my head falling against my headboard as I tried to will the angry tears from falling.
Evelyn got her coming out the day before, likely what landed her on the list, but at least she got that. Soren never hid who he was, so naturally, assholes pasted him there, but it didn't bother him as much as it could. Riya was out and proud, so she couldn't give less than a shit. E was simply E, used to bullshit he never should've been used to.
I never really knew who I was, so the entire experience was jarring.
The idea just never occurred to me. Not like I assumed I was straight, but I didn't exactly assume that I wasn't. I just was and that's always been fine with me. I liked Maria Delgado in eighth grade, and I like Soren Choi now.
That list didn't allow me to just be, so being back in the school halls is disconcerting.
I exhale and Soren glances up at me. The back of his hand brushes against mine. "You good?"
Ignoring the eyes that feel like they're burning into my skull, my volume slightly dips. "I'm just..."
"Stressed about the list," Soren says, his hand reaching out like he wants to touch me, but isn't sure whether I'd be okay with that.
"Yeah," I exhale as we make our way down the halls. Running a hand through my hair, I continue, "it's just scary as shit, being here." A pause. "It's like I'm out and people are already thinking things about me and watching my every move."
My eyes find his, mouth moving carefully, "I'm scared." Shaking my head, I say, "I don't know what to do with them watching me. I just want all eyes off me." Which has always been true. It's funny, how Santi thrives off attention, and all it does is make me squirm.
Especially when said attention is less than positive.
"Hey," Soren says as we turn down a different hall, the gazes around us unwavering, "look at me for a sec."
I do. He doesn't even have to ask, because my eyes were already on him. This time they meet his eyes. They're firm and careful and so understanding I can feel something soft pierce through my chest.
Finally, he speaks, "you don't have to come out or anything, and don't feel pressured to hold my hand if you're nervous." A soft smile, one that reaches his eyes and shines through them.
"We don't have an official label, and I don't want you to feel uncomfy. Being outed is shitty, and I understand one hundred percent why you might feel nervous or tentative." A nudge. "You're completely valid."
He sends me a gentle smile. "And if you want space or need anything, don't be afraid to ask. I'll understand completely."
My lips part as my eyes rest on his because that has to be the softest thing anyone has ever said to me. There's no judgement, no frustration, just understanding laced with empathy. My voice is soft when I say, "thank you."
Soren's grin widens. "Don't thank me."
As we walk through the hallway, Soren talking a mile a minute about the base he's completed for the painting he's working on, I feel somewhat calm, safe with him, so safe that I don't even have to explain everything I'm feeling for him to understand.
So, I allow myself to breathe, to spite whoever it was that wrote the list.
Not for them, but for me.
I let myself take a little leap, because right now all I really want is to feel Soren's hands in mine, or mine in his. At the same time, I'm not certain if I'm ready to take that much of a plunge, and it's okay if I'm not.
I inhale, then exhale.
Finally, my eyes drift down to Soren's ring-clad fingers, his hand swinging by his side.
Then, I slide my little finger into his.
He seems slightly surprised at first, his eyes flicking up to mine. Instantly, though, his pinkie stays interlocked with mine. And neither of us really say anything about it, just carefully hold onto each other's little finger and continue down the hall, Soren talking about the color theme of his painting as though nothing happened.
After a few minutes, Soren is cut off by another voice.
"Dame and Sore," is exclaimed from somewhere down the hallway, quickly followed by quick footsteps and an arm swinging over either of our shoulders.
Weston's head pokes between us, and a wide, toothy grin rises to his lips.
Almost imperceptibly, his eyes drift to our interlocked pinkies before his gaze returns to the front, grin unfaltering.
"Sore is genuinely the worst nickname you could've ever made," Soren says, laugh escaping his lips as West blinks in faux offense.
"I worked real fucking hard on that." A pause as West shoots Soren a sharp glance without much malice. "Asshole."
"Anyways," West says, "I have some good fucking news."
"What?" I ask as the three of us make our way down the hallway, Weston's head turning to face me.
"Well," West says, hands clapping together. "I'm going to Brooklyn for college, got admission."
"Nice," Soren says, and a grin rises to my face as I allow myself to give West an encouraging nudge.
"My grandpa died," West says in the same tone and my eyes pop open.
"I'm so sorry," I say, and Soren exhales a: that's terrible."
My eyes find West's, searching his, "you okay?"
West blinks. "I don't know how I feel. I only met him once or so, and he was homophobic. So, it's all sort of complicated. We're going to his funeral in July. I feel numb, I guess? Everything's just happening all at once." He blinks once more. "Moms are coming to town next month and they're going to help me move all my stuff and shit."
Soren's eyes widen slightly, eyes finding mine at the word moms.
"They hate it here, but they love me." West says, nodding to himself, "as they should." He plows on, "and they're helping me move all my shit and pack everything. Grandma's coming, too. We're moving in with my moms."
"I'm really happy for you," I say, a smile rising to my lips as we continue to make our way down the hall as Soren nods along with me.
"Me fucking too," West grins as we come to a stop, ready to split into our different classes, "so, how about we just hangout after school? Macky's."
My eyes drift to Soren before flicking back to West, "sounds good."
"Cool," West says, grin wide before he gives me a pat on the back and makes his way down the hall. As he walks backwards, he gives me a salute, "on you! Because I'm broke as hell."
I exhale a laugh as Soren laughs too, waving him goodbye with the hand that's not partially linked with mine.
"Ready to head to class?" he asks, smile playing at his lips.
Nodding, I swing our interlocked pinkies, just slightly, "ready."
***
"Missed it."
I exhale a soft laugh as the piece of popcorn flies to the part of the pale couch where Soren is seated, making an attempt to snap the popcorn out of the air.
My living room is the same way it's always been, detailed designs, a couple of paintings here and there, and a cream color scheme. The last time Soren was here, he only momentarily got to breathe it in, because a few hours after, it was swarmed by students.
After having head over to Macky's after school with West, we'd essentially stuffed ourselves with the hot wings and massive Macky's burgers as West talked a mile a minute about conspiracy theories that he'd discovered online.
Then, I drove Soren over to my house, the two of us settling onto a couch in the living room, legs entangled as we toss popcorn from opposite ends of the couch.
"Alright, catch," Soren says, tossing a popcorn into the air, and I catch it in between my teeth in midair, grinning as I exhale a laugh, finished with the popcorn.
My eyes flutter shut for a second as laughter continues to escape my lips, before they fly open, only to see Soren staring at me, a small smile playing at his lips.
"So, you're scaring me," I say, eyebrows raised as my grin remains unfaltering.
"Wait," Soren says, slipping his phone out of his pocket. Before I can make any move, I see a flash, then a grin as Soren sets his phone down. "I have that pretty-ass image saved now." A tilted grin. "I could make another painting of you."
"You're going to draw me like one of your French girls?" I ask, my lips twitching as I lean back in the couch from where I'm seated, Soren's eyes flicking over to mine.
Soren exhales a laugh, a slight redness rising to his features. "Well, first, I'm gay." He's laughing, face still flushed as he continues. "But yeah, I mean, I'd draw you any day."
"Yeah?" I say, leaning forward as I try to ignore the heat swirling to my face. "That's kind of hot."
"You're kind of hot," Soren shrugs, grin widening, a flicker to his eyes.
"Are you flirting with me?" I ask, lips parting slightly as he leans forward, that grin unfailing.
He leans forward, lightly flicking my forehead, his breaths a ghost on mine before he whispers, "nah."
My eyes find his, a thumb brushing over my jaw as Soren grins.
"Hey!"
Soren leans back, exhaling a breath as our eyes dart to the voice that rises to the air. Sure enough, it's Santi. His hair's pulled back as usual, eyes darting toward us as a toothy grin spreads across his lips.
"Santi," I say, leaning back as my eyes land on him. Soren's eyes flicker to mine.
Santi meets his gaze, "you're Soren Choi." Santi's gaze flickers to mine almost devilishly. "I've heard a shit ton about you."
"Okay!" I say, clapping my hands together. "Let's not do that."
Santi waves me away, clapping his hands together. "Ignore him," he says, "anyway, welcome to our humble abode," he outstretches both arms, doing a little spin.
"Thanks," Soren says, eyes amused as Santi wades into the living room, plopping onto the armchair adjacent from us.
"Anyway, carry on," Santi says, as he grabs the remote, turning on the TV. He nods emphatically, making a simple gesture, "I'm not even here."
Soren and I exchange glances, my eyebrows raised as Santi browses through Netflix, eventually settling on a movie.
As the movie progresses, Soren sits up, and I lean against him almost instinctively, my head resting on his chest as his fingers run through my curls absentmindedly, Santi's occasional cackles filling the air.
"I think I'll crash here," Soren whispers after a few minutes have passed, and I think I nod, vaguely catching him pull his phone out of his pocket, fingers typing a message to his mom.
Then, he slips the phone back into his pocket, fingers returning to my hair as my head moves to rest on his legs. I don't notice when my eyes flutter shut, when Santi's laughter melts into the background, when my breathing slows and my world does too.
All I notice is a feeling of safe that surrounds me as I drift off, Soren's presence all around me.
***
A buenos dias is what wakes me up, my eyes fluttering open as I feel a blanket draped all over me.
I don't remember it being there before, or how it's gotten there in the first place, but I just exhale a yawn, pushing the thought away. Likely Mama.
Rubbing at my eyelids, I notice Soren rise to his feet, and I mirror his actions, albeit sluggishly as we make our way to a bustling kitchen.
Mama's already smiling at me as her gaze flicks over to Soren. Santi's rummaging through the cupboards for some cereal, and Papa is next to him, not much words leaving his lips. That's how he always is, after all.
The two of us are nearly painfully introverted, one of the primary reasons why Mama always insists we understand each other best.
Somehow, despite me knowing all of this, a slight fear rises to my chest as my mind flies with millions of thoughts, including the fact that my parents likely saw me fall asleep in the arms of the boy who's not quite my official partner but who I've kissed and like kissing.
Shit.
Instead of completely losing it, I plaster a grin onto my lips. "Buenos dias," I say somewhat generally in return to Mama's original greeting as my eyes fly around the room, from both of my parents to Santi who's using a silver spoon to stir his bowl of cereal.
"You must be Soren," Mama says, leaning against the counter as Papa watches over the pots. Her eyes meet Soren who stands next to me semi-awkwardly, hand rising in a wave.
"Yeah, that's me," he says, stepping forward to go for a handshake, although Mama dives in for a side hug instead before pulling away with a bright grin.
Papa turns around to send us both a half smile, his usual form of communication. Papa still doesn't say much, and I have to keep reminding myself to stop being paranoid, because Papa is normally quiet.
That doesn't mean that he's angry with you, that doesn't mean that he knows.
"What're you up for this morning?" Mama asks, sending Soren a smile. "Don't hold back, we've got plenty."
Soren's eyes flicker to me, stating a silent help before flickering back to my mom.
"Soren le gusta tostadas," I come to his rescue, a grin rising to my lips, "not too crispy, I don't think. Maybe la torrija?" I propose, wading further into the kitchen as Mama nods.
"Bien," she says, shooting Soren a grin, "come on in, sweetheart."
So, he does, eyes on me as I give him a slight nudge and we make our way further into the kitchen, Soren sliding onto a stool behind a kitchen island, eyes flicking about the space.
I slide onto the stool next to him, and my eyes catch onto his. "By the way, I told her you wouldn't mind French toast if that's okay."
Soren blinks, grinning slightly. "Yeah, of course." He nudges me, shrugging slightly, "I do like French toast, so."
"Good," I exhale, and a smile rises to Soren's lips as I rise to my feet, making my way to the stove and popping up next to Papa as Santi makes his way to the kitchen island and pulls him into conversation.
"He's a nice boy," Mama says, nodding carefully as a familiar smile remains on her lips. Something in her gaze is knowing, and it shouldn't be surprising, not when I've made it so painfully obvious.
I nod in return, and somehow, my eyes drift to Papa's, and he stands next to me, right in front of the stove as his gaze lands on mine.
Then I see it.
I see a flicker of a smile, a flicker of understanding fly across his eyes. A man of few words. Still, I see that expression slightly trace over his features, and he nods so carefully I could've missed it if I wasn't careful.
And in a second, my mind flicker back to this morning, the blanket from earlier today arriving at the forefront of my mind. It wasn't Mama.
It could've been easily been her, but Papa's the type to go to sleep late, grabbing a midnight glass of water.
In that moment, I know that it's not only Mama that's likely caught onto the slight glances exchanged between Soren and I, and the connection that's there and present.
I catch the flicker of a smile on Papa's lips, and once we settle down on the dining table, each diving into our own dishes, I don't see his smile disappear once.
And mine doesn't either.
***
hi :') <3