LOGINAlex~
After I lay in bed eavesdropping, I kind of have a fade to black experience where I fall asleep and I woke up at 11am on Saturday morning. From where I lay, I can see Seth’s empty bed that looks untouched, like he hadn’t lay in it last night. I brush the thought of him aside because somehow, these days he seems to be occupying so much space in my head. I go to the bathroom and brush the morning breath out of my mouth before I lean against the sink and take a good look at my face. I look like I’ve been dragged through the gates of hell for a week nonstop. I guess that’s what having a bi roommate that makes you question your sexuality while you’re actively dating would do to a person. Before I leave the bathroom, I listen to know if he is in the room and do the same when I’m about to leave the room. Just as I tiptoe into the kitchen hoping he is gone for the day, I hear his voice, deepened my his sleep. “You doing alright?” Seth’s voice pulls me out of my own head. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, fresh from a shower, damp curls pushed back from his face, gym shorts riding low like gravity’s doing him a favor. I blink, trying to process the question. “Yes?” “Are you doing anything tonight? I’d like to show you some place.” “Tonight?” “Yeah. You know, humans occasionally go out and do things that aren’t drowning in coursework or pretending to enjoy their girlfriend’s Snapchat streaks.” I frown. “I have a paper due Monday.” He tilts his head, unimpressed. “And what better way to brainstorm than in a room full of questionable lighting and overpriced cocktails?” I squint at him. “What kind of place are we talking about?” He grins, all teeth. “Chill spot. Music, drinks, decent energy.” I narrow my eyes. “Is it a bar?” Seth shrugs too casually. “More or less.” My stomach does a small, traitorous flip. “What does ‘more or less’ mean?” He tries to suppress a smirk and fails. “It’s a gay bar.” I stare at him. “You’re joking.” His grin widens. “Not even a little.” My first instinct is to laugh not because it’s funny, but because I’m nervous and unsure what else to do. “Why would I… why the hell would I go to a gay bar with you?” After our conversation last night, he had huge guts to even suggest the thing. “Because it’ll be fun,” he says, like it’s that simple. “And maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop acting like the world’s going to end every time someone mentions the word ‘gay’ in your general direction.” I cross my arms. “I’m not—” I want to say homophobic but that’s be me lying, I’ve acted it at every turn. He cuts me off, stepping closer. “Don’t overthink it. No pressure. You don’t have to label yourself. Just… come. Have a drink. Watch people who actually know how to enjoy being themselves.” There’s a beat and I fucking hate that he’s making sense. “I don’t belong there.” “Sure you do. It’s not like there’s a bouncer checking Kinsey scores at the door.” I huff, unsure if I want to punch him or thank him. Probably both. “I’ll think about it.” He flashes a smug, lazy grin. “Not a no. I’ll take it.” I tell myself I’m not going. I even change into regular stay at home clothes, then I change out of them. Then I pace. When nine pm rolls around, Seth’s knocking at the door, dressed in black jeans and a snug navy tee that should be illegal. He looks like he belongs somewhere loud, lit, and dangerous. “You ready?” I want to say no, but my feet move anyway. Towards him and to the bar. The bar is nothing like I expected. From the outside, it’s almost unassuming low brick, tucked between a laundromat and a vape shop. But inside, it’s alive. Neon lights pulse low and steady, music thumps from invisible speakers, bass crawls up through the soles of my sneakers. There’s laughter, clinking glasses, flirtation that doesn’t even try to be subtle. And guys. Lots and lots of guys. Holding hands, kissing in corners and laughing with their heads thrown back. They look so free. I swallow hard. “This was a mistake,” I mutter, standing frozen just inside the door. Seth’s hand brushes my back lightly. “You’re fine. No one’s looking at you.” “That’s kind of the problem.” He gives me a look. “We’ll hang by the bar. You don’t even have to talk to anyone.” True to his word, he leads us over and orders a drink. I ask for a soda not alcohol because I need every ounce of clarity I can scrape together. A tall guy in a crop top nods at Seth and they exchange a quick hello, my nerves do what they do best, spike. “You know people here?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Seth shrugs. “Some. I’ve been here a few times.” “Of course you have,” I mutter, then regret it instantly. I sound like a jealous boyfriend. He raises a brow. “Problem?” “No. Just… surprised.” There’s a long pause. The music shifts to something with a faster beat. I turn to look at the crowd, doing my best to seem unfazed. I catch sight guys are dancing inches apart, hands tangled in each other’s clothes. I wonder what that’s like. Seth nudges me. “Relax your shoulders. You look like you’re waiting to get hit.” “I feel like I am.” He chuckles. “No one’s going to jump you.” “I can only hope.” We sip in silence for a few moments. I catch a guy across the bar staring at me not in a creepy way, just… curious. I immediately look away. “You’re allowed to look back, you know,” Seth murmurs, his voice just loud enough to cut through the music. “I wasn’t.” He says nothing, but I feel him smirking beside me. It happens maybe forty minutes in. We’re still parked at the bar when I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Alex?” I turn. Shit. It’s Jordan, he is wide-eyed and grinning like he’s just caught me shoplifting. “Didn’t know you swung this way.” My mouth opens and closes. “I—I don’t.” Marcus glances at Seth, then back at me. “Sure, man. Just… didn’t expect to see you here.” He claps my shoulder and walks off, still smiling like he knows something I don’t. I freeze. Seth notices. “You good?” “No. No, I am not good. I’m just wondering who else from class is here and is going to tell everyone.” Seth sighs. “So what?” “So what?” I whirl on him. “I have a girlfriend. A life. I can’t have people… people thinking…” “Thinking what?” Seth’s tone sharpens. “That you’re gay? Bi? Confused? Human?” I shut my mouth and look down at my trembling hands. He softens a little. “Look, it’s not a crime to be seen here.” “To you, maybe,” I whisper. “But people already talk. I can’t give them a reason to talk more.” Seth looks at me for a long time. Then nods once, like he understands even if he doesn’t agree. “Let’s get out of here.” The walk back is quiet. I keep my head down, heart still racing. Jordan’s voice echoes in my head. Didn’t know you swung this way. I don’t. Do I? Seth doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just walks beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets, footsteps slow and steady and my pace. When we get inside the apartment, I head straight to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. My throat is tight, my stomach still twisting. “I shouldn’t have gone,” I mutter. “No one forced you.” “I know.” Seth leans against the doorway. “You okay?” “No.” He nods. “Want me to go?” I glance at him. “No.” There’s a pause. Then: “I didn’t take you there to mess with you.” “I know that too.” He takes a slow step forward. “You looked… kind of sad. Watching everyone.” “They didn’t seem scared.” “You don’t have to be either.” I laugh, bitter. “Easy for you to say. Besides im a straight dude, remember.” Silence. I glance up. Seth meets my eyes, but he doesn’t say more. I set my glass down, suddenly exhausted. “Thanks,” I say quietly. “For dragging me there. I guess.” He smiles a little. “Anytime.” I head to my room, heart still heavy, but a little less alone. Behind me, I hear him turn off the kitchen light. And even though nothing’s really changed, somehow, everything feels different.AlexBy the time I get to the auditorium, the chairs are already halfway set up, metal legs screeching against the floor every time someone adjusts one an inch too far left. It smells like dust and burnt coffee and whatever cleaning solution Facilities uses when they’re trying to pretend a room is new again.I stop just inside the doors and stand there longer than I need to.The screen at the front is still blank. Someone is fiddling with the projector, tapping it like it’s a stubborn animal. A mic squeals, cuts out, squeals again. And a couple people laugh.This is it, I think.This is the moment where the thing stops being mine.Three days ago, it was still a timeline on my laptop, waveforms stacked like a city skyline, color grades I kept nudging warmer, cooler, warmer again because I couldn’t decide what honesty looked like in saturation. Three days ago, it lived in my headphones and in the quiet hum of my room at two in the morning.Now it’s… this.Folding chairs, a podium and
Alex~The first thing I notice is the time, because it’s already wrong.Seth is already gone when I wake up, which shouldn’t surprise me because practice mornings have been like this lately, but it still feels strange in my chest. The room holds onto him in pieces the faint citrus of his deodorant, his hoodie slung over the back of the chair instead of hung properly in the closet, the dent in the pillow beside mine that hasn’t smoothed out yet.I lie there longer than I should, staring at the ceiling fan as it ticks around lazily, trying to convince myself I’m rested.I’m not.My phone is face-down on the nightstand. I flip it over and squint at the notifications: three emails, two calendar reminders, a message from the queer collective asking if I can “just tweak the audio mix one more time,” and a low-battery warning because apparently even my phone is tired.I sit up, joints stiff, and drag my laptop closer with my foot.The project opens where I left it.Timeline stacked tight. V
Alex~The kettle’s been screaming for a while before I realize it’s not going to stop on its own.I’m on the floor, back against the couch, laptop balanced on my thighs, staring at the same cut in my timeline I’ve been nudging back and forth for ten minutes without changing anything. When the sound finally cuts through, it feels like it’s calling me out.“Fuck,” I mutter, pushing myself up.The kitchen light is already on. Seth must’ve left it that way when he came in from practice earlier, shoes kicked off too close to the door, gym bag slumped against the wall like it gave up halfway. The place smells faintly like sweat and detergent and whatever cheap soap he uses when he showers too fast.I turn the kettle off and pour the water that has been boiling too long. The mug’s already on the counter. I don’t remember putting it there.Seth’s in the bedroom, door half open. I can hear him moving around, drawers opening and closing, the low thud of something getting dropped and not picked
AlexSeth doesn’t answer his phone the first time it rings.I don’t notice right away. I’m halfway through trimming audio, headphones on, waveform pulled tight across my screen, when his phone starts vibrating on the desk beside me. Once. Stops. Again.I glance over.Unknown number.I reach for it out of reflex, then stop myself. It’s not my phone. It’s not my place. Seth is in the shower anyway, steam fogging the bathroom mirror, water hammering the pipes like it always does when he takes too long.The phone goes still.I turn back to my screen, tell myself it’s nothing. Spam. One of those automated campus surveys. Anything.Thirty seconds later, it lights up again.Same number.This time I pause the track.“Seth,” I call, raising my voice just enough to cut through the water. “Your phone.”“What?” His voice echoes, distorted. “Who is it?”“I don’t know. Unknown number.”There’s a beat. The water shuts off abruptly.“Can you—” He stops himself. “Just answer it. Put it on speaker.”Th
Jordan~ Sleep doesn’t come the way it’s supposed to. I don’t toss and turn, I just lie there, eyes open, listening to the radiator knock like it’s trying to say something and failing. At some point, my phone lights up again. I don’t reach for it right away. When I do, it’s not Alex this time. It’s an email. From: Exhibition Committee Subject: Final-Year Installation Walkthrough Schedule I sit up. The room feels colder instantly, like my body noticed before my brain did. I open it. Dates. Time slots. My name listed second from the top, right under someone whose work has been in two galleries already. Walkthrough: Mandatory. I read it twice, then a third time slower. This isn’t feedback. This isn’t suggestion. This is presentation. I swing my legs out of bed and stand there for a moment, phone still in my hand, grounding myself in the fact that the floor is solid and I’m not about to fall through it. I cross the room and open my laptop again. The
JordanThe studio is unlocked when I get there, which already puts me in a bad mood.It shouldn’t matter. If anything, it’s convenient. But unlocked means someone else beat me here, means the day started without my permission, means I’m late even when I’m not.I flick the lights on anyway.The room wakes up in sections. Fluorescent strips hum overhead. Dust lifts and settles. There’s this smell of paint and warm plastic plus a faint metallic tang that never fully leaves no matter how often the windows get opened.I drop my bag by the door and shrug out of my jacket. It lands over the back of a chair instead of the hook. I don’t even bother to fix it.The project is still where I left it.All of it.Mockups taped to the wall, curling slightly at the corners. A pinboard crowded with notes written at different stages of confidence. Sketchbooks stacked unevenly, spines bent, pages softened by overuse. My laptop sits open on the desk, screen dark, reflecting just enough of my face to look


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