I've fancied Minho for three years. Trapped in a maze with his boyfriend is not how I pictured spending my 18th birthday. I shouldn't have let Thomas tag along. Minho is my best friend, I wanted to spend the day with him. And now he's nowhere to be seen. But he insisted I meet Thomas; I've put it off long enough. I faked a cold when they invited me for coffee last month. And I said I had 'Wi-Fi issues' when Minho tried to arrange a three-way video call the week after they met. He's definitely noticed. But if he knew how I felt, maybe he'd understand why I've been so reluctant to meet Thomas. The boy he loves. It should be me. But he's my best friend, I'll be his best man at their wedding...if they last that long.
'Trapped' might be an overstatement. The twelve-year-olds running past us seem to be getting on brilliant, like they have a mental map of the maze engrained in their brain. Maybe they were here last year. Neither of us have been before. The town has a festival each summer: unnaturally pink candy floss; rides that haven't had a safety check since the '90s; stalls with giant teddy bears that no one ever wins. Typical American carnival shit. I've lived in Ohio since I was eight, but this place is like a scene from a film. Minho probably overhyped the fair as an excuse for Thomas and me to meet. But I've got to admit it's pretty cool. I'm grateful he didn't suggest my place for us to hang out. That's our thing. Any other year, Minho and I would be playing Smash Bros on my couch. But this isn't any other year. It's his first year with a boyfriend.
It was slightly less excruciating when he had a girlfriend. Which he'd hate to hear me say out loud. It's just, after endless what-ifs, maybe-he-coulds, what-if-I-just-told-him-that-I-like-wait-I'm-never-saying-thats, I thought...I'd be his first boyfriend. When I had that "OhshitI'mgay!" moment at fifteen, I was super grateful Minho didn't give a shit when I came out because he's cool like that. It sparked a fuzzy ember of feeling towards him, that only grew stronger when he told me he was bisexual. That feeling is a raging bonfire now. No other boy could come along and put out that flame. It'd take a lot for me to fall for someone else. A boy would need a giant fucking Super Soaker to extinguish this fire. WAIT NOT LIKE THAT!
Of course Minho had to abandon us. He's such a goody two-shoes that he had to help his 60-year-old neighbour with her stall for the next 4 hours when her grandson pulled out at the last second. The corn maze shouldn't be hard to escape if we work together. But that won't happen anytime soon. Each time I suggest we take a right, Thomas heads left, and each time I suggest we go left...well, Thomas heads left. He has this theory that if you stick to one side of a maze, you'll eventually arrive at the exit. If it's true, it's taking bloody forever.
"Thomas." I stop following him, planting my feet firmly into the rusty soil.
He scrapes to a halt, turns, faces me, and leans against a particularly dry stalk. He's wearing a lilac T-shirt. "Newt, I promise we're going the right way."
"It's not that," I say. "It's just, you're not listening to me."
"You haven't said anything."
I look down. Not just because the sun is in my eyes. How can I expect him to hear my silent protest?
"Newt." He pauses, wipes his glistening forehead, and sighs. "This isn't easy for me either."
I take a step back, glaring at him. This is easy for him. He's the bloke who stole Minho from me. He has what anyone could ever want.
"I tried talking to you in the car, but I kinda zone out when I'm driving. Any distraction freaks me out a bit" He smiles awkwardly, running his hand over the back of his brown hair. If I wasn't aware of the crime he'd committed, he'd be kinda cute. He is my type. Not that I really have one.
"You had no problem speaking to Minho."
"I kinda had to!" He says, defending himself. "He's my boyfriend."
Don't remind me.
"Look," he starts.
I don't want to hear it. I lie down on the ground. Mentally screaming at the stones sticking into my back, and telling the sun to shuck off. I fold my arms over my eyes.
Thomas laughs. "What are you doing?" His footsteps crescendo towards me. "What is this kid doing?" He whispers to himself, but I can hear him standing right over me.
I groan into my arms, as he shuffles to the ground. The muffled cry, too exaggerated to be genuine. Like dogs playfighting or like Minho rolling his eyes at Thomas on the drive here.
"Oh don't start," he says. "I'm not that bad." He pokes me in the rib and I unravel my arms to defend myself. The sun, a blade piercing my temporary world of darkness.
"Heyyy!" I scramble to face him. It's painful to do so, but at least the discomfort is mostly physical now. He's sitting cross-legged, I sit up and do the same. We're across from each other now. "I'm bloody ticklish as well. I can't stand it."
"Oh? So you wouldn't like it if I did this?" His eyes widen, he opens his mouth, and he theatrically pulls back his arm. Ready to strike.
As his hand shoots towards me, I grab it. "Don't even think about it."
"Okay Newtie," he teases, not letting go of my hand.
This is weird. Minho wouldn't like this. I'm surprised Thomas is okay with this. We only met today. I'm even more surprised when I interlace my fingers with his. His hand is firm, yet soft. I haven't held hands with a boy before. I don't even know if this counts.
Our interwoven hands lay in my lap. He smiles at me. I stare back at him.
After a moment of eternity, he asks, "Should we get up now?" Except it's not really a question because he's already let go of my hand and stood up in a conflicted heartbeat.
He extends a hand, and helps me up. We collectively clear ourselves of rocks, and dirt, and feelings we should not have.
"Let's get out of here," I say, as we continue our escape along the lefthand side of the maze. But with more conversation this time.
***
Tiny people, hot dogs and screams, and the maze we should have solved much quicker, fade into a distant memory as we ascend higher on the Ferris wheel. He bought me pink candy floss. It's my absolute favourite. It melts on my tongue. A screaming temporary heaven. Before fading into nothing.
"What's your favourite colour?" Thomas asks, sitting across from me.
"What?!"
"Well, we hardly know each other." He leans back against the metal grating. "I want to know more about you."
"About me? Your boyfriend's best friend?'' I sigh. "I suppose it's not completely illogical."
He stares at me for a moment before saying, "Well? You haven't answered my question."
"Does it matter!" I throw up my hands. "I don't have one, okay?"
"You don't have one? Bullshit. Everyone has one."
"I don't! I really don't. I like all types of colours," I explain.
"How inclusive of you."
"And it changes all the time," I continue. "It'll be orange for a while, then blue a couple months later."
"Well, what colour is it right now?" He asks.
I eye his shirt before looking up and smiling. "Purple."
He laughs, lightly kicking my shin with his foot. "You are something else, Newt. I like you. Minho did say you were funny."
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I'm not sure if it's from the indirect compliment from Minho or the other thing he just said. I guess he's not totally awful to be around.
***
It's kinda dark outside now. We're sitting in Thomas' car. It's large and red and truck-like. Typical American shit. He's in the driver's seat because it's his car, and I can't drive, and even though the car isn't moving it'd still feel wrong. Like I'm crossing a line. I'm the passenger seat. Where Minho sat on the way here. We'll see him in thirty minutes. And for the first time today, I'm not looking forward to it.
"What do you like about Minho?" I ask.
"He's cute," Thomas says.
He is cute.
"He's kind," he continues.
He's definitely kind. He held my hand when I told my parents I was gay. Tears of relief running down my face, as Minho and Mum squeezed me. "Yeah, he's a great guy. You're so lucky."
Thomas raises an eyebrow at that but doesn't say anything. After a moment of silence, he says, "I'm glad I met Minho, because I met you."
"So, uh." I fumble over my words. "Is that the best part about meeting Minho?" I ask, smiling.
"No. No, no, no. Minho has been the friend I never had in high school. So I really appreciate that about him. And besides, I think you know the best part about dating Minho." He wiggles his eyebrows.
I fake a laugh, as if it's all fun and games. My body feels like it's attacking itself. I don't need that mental image of my best friend and crush, doing a...magic cuddle with a boy who is not me. But now I don't know if it's more painful to imagine Minho, or Thomas, with anyone but myself.
I let out a sigh, craning my neck back, driving my skull into the headrest. "It hurts..." I start.
In my peripheral vision, Thomas turns to me, probably confused at the absence of any physical pain, as I stare into distant dying carnival. It's gorgeous at night. The lights from the attractions, like fireflies burning brightest at the end of summer. Desperately trying to find a mate before they die.
"Being in love," I continue.
"Oh," Thomas says. "What's the story there then?"
I'm digging myself a hole. I can't tell him. Even after Minho knew, we hardly spoke about it. Since then, there's been an unspoken rift between us. Minho tried to keep things the same between us. Or at least make it seem that way. But of course I'd noticed. I'd noticed how he wouldn't sit as close to me when playing Mario Kart, or how he no longer rested his head on my shoulder when he'd start to fall asleep at the end of a movie.
But after the events of today. After meeting Thomas...
His smile, his laugh, his hands between my legs. How he'd taken an interest in my favourite colour of all things.
"I like Minho." I say. And I'm sobbing. Short spluttered breaths out, giving way to an eruption of tears.
He snakes an arm around my back and pulls me towards him. He hugs me from behind, his arms linked around my torso. He rests his neck on my shoulder. "You're okay," he says.
When he hugs me, it isn't orange like hot chocolate in the snow with a boy who doesn't like you back, or blue like a hug from Minho when we say goodbye after hanging out all day. It's purple. Like silk. Like marshmallows. Like the candy floss we ate earlier. It's cosy, and sweet, and fresh, and new. Yet familiar somehow.
"You should hate me."
"I definitely don't hate you." There's a smile in his voice. "It is weird. The situation I mean. Not your feelings. Your feelings are totally valid."
"It's just, I wish I hadn't told Minho. And I shouldn't have told you. It's fine. It's not a big deal. Forget it."
"But if it's upset you, Newt, it is a big deal. It seems like this has been bothering you for too long."
After a pause, I say, "I'm sorry."
"Oh shut up. Don't apologise for one second."
"I'm sorry."
"That's enough, you. Even if you and Minho had–wait that's not happened has it?"
I shake my head.
"Well, even if you and Minho were having some gay affair behind my back. Everyone deserves a cuddle." He squeezes me tighter.
I rest my hands over his. Grabbing them and rubbing my thumb over the back of them. I lift his arm to my face and use his sleeve to dry my tears. He giggles at that. "You did not need to add 'gay' in there."
"I kinda did," he says. "Always better when it's gay. I can confirm."
"I wouldn't know. Never done it."
"Really? I wouldn't have known," Thomas says. "It's not something to worry about. That stuff doesn't matter to me. And if it does matter to someone, you can tell them to fuck off."
I nod. I've never felt pressured to do any of that stuff. Especially if I didn't feel ready. That's something we should all get to decide. The straight boys in my class are always bragging about their sexual endeavours, ninety percent of which I can guarantee never happened. I was never part of that crowd...for obvious reasons.
"And at your age, it's perfectly normal. Even if people tell you otherwise. How old are you? You're eighteen ri–oh shit!" He untangles his arms from me, sits up in his seat, and buries his head is in his hands. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no." He shakes his head. "Newt. Newt, I have ruined your day. I have ruined your special special day."
"You're so dramatic, mate."
"I am not being dramatic! I haven't even said 'happy birthday' yet." He pauses, and breathes in. "Happy birthday! See? See?! It's not the same."
"Thank you, Tommy."
"Don't give me your pity thanks. I haven't even gotten you a gift." He exhales. "This is a disaster."
"You are too much." I poke him in the ribs. "I've had a great day. Thanks to you."
"You're just saying that." He rolls his eyes.
"I'm not! I promise."
"Okayyyy," he says, leaning into me. "I will make it up to you, good sir."
I wrap my arms around him. Putting my head on his shoulder this time.
"Now I'm the little spoon," he says.
"Thaaaaat's enough."
***
Thomas slams the car door shut and comes round behind me. "Home time!" He claps his hands on my shoulders. "That boy's shift was over five minutes ago. Where the bloody 'ell is he?"
"Don't mock me." I spin, shrugging his hands off me, and jab him in the stomach. But he only laughs at that.
"Let's go find him." He starts towards the stalls.
But I'm rooted in place.
When Minho gets in that car, Thomas will only speak to him. Because they're boyfriends. And I'll have to pretend like tonight never happened. Will Thomas have to supress the same feelings? He was only being nice to me because it was my birthday. Or maybe because he knew I'd tell Minho all about tonight and he wanted to look good in Minho's eyes. Show him that he treated his friends the same way he treated him.
But I'll never tell Minho about tonight.
When Minho gets in the car, everything will go back to normal.
Unless I change that.
If I tell Thomas, will he just nod? Like it's something he already knew. Or apologise because there's nothing he can do about it. He's with Minho. Will he hate me? Will he tell Minho?
Oh God. If he tells Minho, I will have lost my best friend and this new person in my life in one night. In one fatal blow.
Will it actually lead to something? Or will this cotton-candy boy melt in the rain.
When we get in the car, will Thomas sit next to me? Hold my hand like he did before. Speak to me like I'm the only person in the world.
I'll go back to being just friends with Minho. Sentenced to a lifetime of unrequited love. Pretending, acting, faking. Keeping up my best performance. Never going off script.
Unless I rewrite the final act. Kill off the best friend and cast a new love interest.
Because I can like someone else. I do. And maybe in the future we can be something.
It'd mean hurting Minho. As if he's never hurt me.
I can break free from these chains. Let the shackles be released.
I am no longer a prisoner.
My first words as a free man: "Thomas, I need to tell you something."