Oliver is a manga artist, but he was once an angry little boy with a sunny best friend: Ian Miller. Then, one day, they weren't friends anymore. Oliver doesn't know when was it exactly that Ian disappeared from his life, and refuses to remember why...
This chapter is quite special to me. It's a bit of a personal statement against stereotypical places in LGBTQ+ fiction, let alone within the MxM spectrum. I know that you're the right audience to appreciate it.
Enjoy.
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snowmanby tullio.
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"I'm so sorry, Ollie."
He says it and I don't have an answer. Out of all the scenarios I had imagined to happen, this wasn't one of them. And out of all the things I deserve, he can't be one.
"For what?" I ask, looking down at the way his feet won't even move further, won't push me out of the way to demand a rightful explanation.
"I...pushed too much, didn't I?" he mumbles. "I knew I wa—"
"No," I cut him off. I won't let him believe that.
He frowns quizzically. "But...then why..."
"Come in," I say. And slap me right across the face because someone should and I'd rather it be you. Wait."How do you know where I live now though?"
"Oh! That..." he says as I close the door behind us. He smiles sheepishly. "I asked Jack."
I nod slowly.
"We don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know?" Ian says. He sounds so guilty— I hate it.
"It's not that," I tell him, point-blank, cocking my head towards my room for him to follow. He's hesitant but does it. And when he walks in, it doesn't feel like he's taking up space.
He starts looking around, too, immediately gravitating to the corkboard full of my drawings. And the lava lamp. And then some of the posters.
"It's so cool," he murmurs.
"Thanks," I mumble, closing my bedroom door too. "It's not designed like yours or anything."
"I know. That's why I like it," he says, turning back to me. "It's authentic, like you."
