Theo
I'm curled up in bed with the blankets hiked to my chin and I still feel chills, even for spring's balmy night. Perhaps if I think hard enough, I can imagine Mat beside me, still happy, his grease-tinged scent warm against my body. The sleep I sleep is not sound, but gentle. I dream of Mat.
I stumbled into robotics orientation by accident, just a shaggy-haired, weak-kneed freshman with paint chips under my nails. They took one look, thought an artist would be just the spark of creativity the dying team needed, and welcomed me into the fold on the spot. It was there that I met Mat. My first thought was that I was paying a little too much attention to the glimpses of muscle I caught beneath his hoodie. My second thought was that I wanted to be on the same team as him.
As expendable freshmen on a team full of computer nerds, we were assigned to the dirtiest fabrication tasks: drilling, tapping, and lathing the most finicky pieces, while attempting to avoid our shop teacher's wrath. It wasn't a far cry from the painting I loved. But the beauty of fabrication was that two men could be uncomfortably close to one another while assembling the robot — and no one would think a thing.
I came to associate him with the smell of hot metal and WD-40. I found myself distracted by the thought of his body pressed against mine. Hell, I even caught myself considering how I'd paint him. Perhaps with rippling muscles, like some scantily-clad Greek god.
No. Mat was better than any god.
I never explicitly transformed my dirty thoughts in art, although my sketchbooks inexplicably ended up filled with drawings of him. I never painted him, though.
The rest of the school — they probably figured it out years ago, maybe even before I did. As the artsy loner, I basically fit the stereotype of a gay man.
But my father. No. I don't know if he was simply clueless — he basically lives under a rock — or if he refused to see what everyone else was seeing. He never suspected a thing. And I'd like to keep it that way. Not that he's homophobic, per se. But he wouldn't be thrilled to find out that his already contrarian son wasn't going to give him a pretty daughter-in-law.
Which is why I try not to think about what I saw on social media. The photos of my drunken mistake are blatant proof, and while my father doesn't have social media — or talk to any parents who might find out — I still don't want to know how he'll react. It might just be a matter of time.
When I squeeze my eyes shut, I dream of Mat's arms wrapped around my body. He's only wearing a t-shirt, and I can feel the sculpted muscle and burning skin right through it. His fingers trail from my throat to my stomach, skimming over each rib along the way. They dip under my waistband, tugging.
My eyes flutter open. It's 5:00 am. I swear, cover my eyes, try to fall back asleep, but instead I'm hit with the realization that turns the pit of my stomach into ice.
He sent me a text last night. I've been called slurs before, but coming from Mat — it feels so much worse.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn't stop the tears from dampening my pillow.
Mat
I should probably stop assuming people's sexualities.
Saturday meant work at Ace Hardware. Conveniently for them, I was scheduled for the 11 to 4 shift — long enough to keep me in the shop during peak hours, short enough that they didn't need to pay for a meal break. Inconveniently for me, it ended up consuming most of my day, which was normally a point of complaint — but I kinda liked having something to do.
Except it was a slow day, and I may or may not have brought a polaroid of me and Theo, and I may or may not have left it on top of my register, and I may or may not have been staring at it. I also may or may not have been crying.
Neel taps my shoulder. I smear the tears away with the heel of my hand before I turn to him. His eyebrows raise, flicking between my eyes, which must've been the color of tomatoes, and the polaroid still on the register.
"You good?" he asks.
"Yeah." I try to turn away.
"Hey." He grabs me. "I know it's tough to go through a breakup — trust me, look at how many crazy girls I've been with — but you got me, ok? Even if you can't talk to Theo anymore because of..." he doesn't meet my eyes. "You got me. I'm your friend."
It's just great, having everyone know every little detail of my life, and nothing at all. I try to tolerate him — and normally I'm quite good at it — but in my gut I know it's Theo, not him, that I need.
"Mat." He's trying for a softer tone, thinking the reason that I'm ignoring him is because I'm upset. "Seriously. You and Hazel breaking up was for the best. You wouldn't have lasted through college."
Well, Mr.-know-it-all, I knew that perfectly well. Not that it bothered me in the slightest.
A young woman in a dragon-printed t-shirt comes forward with a handful of screws and a shiny bearing like the kind Theo and I installed on the robot. Neel vanishes — he's awfully good at that when there's actual work to be done — I put on my best "how can I help you?" customer service smile, and punch numbers into the keypad. I try not to imagine punching in Neel's face.
I don't remember taking her cash, or giving her the receipt, but I suppose I do, because she's gone in a few moments. I go back to staring at the polaroid.
"You good man?" Not Neel, but a deeper, more gravelly voice.
I curse silently and palm the photo. I shouldn't have brought it. I'm about to tell my coworker off for startling me, but I realize he's the new guy, Dylan. Blonde buzzcut, white t-shirt that clings to his muscles and reads, "I <3 my gf," and distressed jeans, he screams straight white jock. I almost pity him, being stuck at Ace with nerds like me.
"Never seen anyone cry over a photo like that," he says.
I shove the polaroid into my sweatpants pocket, although I'm careful not to crumple it. "He's just my friend," I say. "Not your concern."
He brings up his hands apologetically. "Aw man. I'm just checking in."
I shoot him a glare that I intended to mean "leave me alone," but instead he bumps my shoulder. "Hey, how about I get you a boba after? My partner and I are going there anyway. I'll pay."
I don't have the heart to disagree. I tell him that I'll meet him and his cow-boy pardner after our shift. He recedes into the labyrinth of Ace Hardware. I put the photo back on the register.
It's of the two of us, at our first robotics competition, the one we came so close to winning. We're both dressed in electric blue; I've got a borrowed beanie and he's tied ribbons into his hair. He looks good in blue, even when I'm used to his paint-splattered black hoodie. I've got an arm around him, and he's cracking the widest smile I've ever seen, drunk on our victory. We did well that year. Been chasing that high since.
I like looking at tiny Theo. I hope I see that smile again.
It's a quiet day, and the shift passes slowly. Dylan takes us to a tiny tile-lined boba shop, where I order a simple Thai tea, and he gets something fruity with mango. We grab a table and watch people pass by.
"I assume you don't want to talk about it," he says.
I take it as a statement and not a question. Not that it matters. "I really don't."
He shrugs and sips his drink. I listen to the hollow gurgle of tea and ice.
"I wouldn't judge you," he says. "Trust me."
I take a long slurp of my drink to hide my flush. Is he implying what I think he is? He has no right —
Someone with wavy hair dyed turquoise and a pine knit sweater approaches Dylan and rubs his shoulder affectionately. Dylan places his hand over theirs, smiling, and passes him his drink. They whisper a few words between them. Beneath the table, I see them holding hands.
"This is Oliver," Dylan says. "He's my partner."
Trust me, I try to hide my shock. I'm pretty sure it still comes through. I look at Dylan's shirt. Oh, I'm an idiot. It says, "I <3 my bf."
I take a long sip of my drink to avoid having to speak.
Oliver tilts his head, studying me like I'm a pet dog. "I think we've made him uncomfortable," he says. "Perhaps we should leave him alone."
"I'm fine," I grunt, more aggressive than I mean it to be. I catch myself and force a smile. "I'm Mat."
Oliver's face spreads into a toothy smile. "Hello Mat. I'm here to help you."