“I think it’s better this way,” I say, trying to convince myself. “I’m just lucky you’re always here for me after I screw up.”
I catch his cringe in the mirror.
“Unless you’ll be working late?”
“Ah, no. But you don’t always need me, you know? You’re a lot stronger than you think.”
That’s a joke if ever I’ve heard one. “Yeah. Right. I would have fallen apart by now if I didn’t have you.”
And like he can sense my throat getting tight, Kismet, a ginger tabby, bounds into the room. He’s a stray, with a squashed grumpy face who won’t let anyone touch him but me, and always shows up when I need him the most.
Exactly like my roommates.
Gabe and I were lucky to find the room here. We all were. The owners offered cheap rent for anyone in the arts and that’s howthe six of us came together. Me and Gabe. Xander and Seven, who met in foster care. Then Rush, and Madden. Gabe might not sketch as much as he used to, but it’s in our blood.
I’m sure the owners didn’t mean to fill the house with people who are outcasts because of their sexuality, but if that wasn’t their plan, it’s a pretty big coincidence.
I lean down to give Kismet a rough scratch behind the ears. He looks entirely unimpressed, and after giving me a once-over and making sure I’m fine, he sneaks out of the room again.
When I straighten, I catch sight of Gabe in the mirror. His knee is bouncing up and down, a sure sign he wants to say something.
“You okay?”
“Ah … yeah. Just making sure he didn’t get too close. Allergies, you know.” He joins Agatha in inspecting me. “You look like a real winner.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“I am. And you’ll see it one day.”
Thumps and curses fill the hall, giving us a brief heads-up before three of my roommates appear. The only one missing is Rush, but I swear that guy doesn’t know what day it is half the time.
“We wanted to wish you luck,” Xander says. He’s a blue-haired, freckled twink who’s a total sweetheart.
“I’m fine?” I assure them, but it comes out more like a question.
Seven pins me with his “stop lying” look. “You’re not fine. You don’t need to be fine. You need to go to that wedding with DatesforRates”—he even keeps the judgment out of his tone—“and show them all what a successful human you are now. Right before you take a dump in the middle of the dance floor and give them a two-fingered salute.”
Urg. “No more advice from you.”
Xander sniggers. “Imagine if he dropped trou, squatted down, and … nothing happened?”
“Make sure you up your fiber and water intake,” Madden says, standing there buck naked, as always. “Or I’ve got some natural laxati—”
“Iwill notbe taking a dump. Jesus. I want these people to respect me.”
“Respect is overrated,” Seven says, crossing his huge, tattooed arms and leaning against the doorframe. “And since you don’t plan to shack up with DatesforRates”—this time he sneers over the words—“it’s the perfect time to let your true self out.”
I sigh. “My true self will be locked up tight. No mistakes. No missteps. I’ve rented aninsanelyexpensive tux, cut my hair to an acceptable level, and fought tooth and nail to get a play I helped choreograph into a real, professional theater, and I willnotbe seen as ajoke.” I suck down a sudden breath, cheeks feeling hot from the flare of indignation.
“It’ll be awesome,” Madden says, flipping his cap backward, and he almost sounds convincing.
“All right, everyone get out,” Gabe says. “You’re smothering him.”
And it’s a testament to our friendship that they don’t argue. They know I’m getting overwhelmed, and Aunt Agatha follows their wishes of good luck with a kiss on the cheek before she leaves.
Then it’s just me and Gabe. Like it’s always been.
He walks closer, wrapping his arms loosely around me and propping his chin on my shoulder. He’s a few inches taller than me and his body is like an enormous wall of solid muscle. “You okay?”