OLD Campus Crush

7

::Casper::

"Good evening, ladies, gents, and everyone in between! Thank you all for coming!" The host welcomed as we all applauded from our seats. "Wow, what a big crowd this evening." She cleared her throat. "My name is Jelina, and I'll be hosting this event for tonight..."

I gazed at the itinerary that was at our round table.

"Performance?" I read off the little card.

"I totally hope it's a drag. So entertaining! I heard they had that last year." Lucas responded. I was glad that I'd accompanied him here; he had an expression of thrill just to be present at this event.

"...to stay true to who you are, love yourself, and love others..." Jelina was saying. She was given another applaud at the end of that statement.

"I want to introduce you guys to Tanner Faugh, who will give a brief, brief speech about stereotypes, gender roles, and labels. Help me welcome him on stage."

We all clapped as a college student came up on stage, standing at the podium and leaning slightly toward the microphone.

"Hi, everyone. Um, as Jelina said, I'm Tanner. Just that. I know all too well how it feels to be grouped into a category and shoved into a department. Sometimes I was even made to believe that was where I belonged. In high school, during freshman year, I thought it might be okay to 'come out', so to speak. See, the funny thing was, I didn't know if I was gay, or bisexual, or pansexual, or any kind of sexual under the sun."

A hum of chuckles spread through the room.

"But I knew I was different. I knew that I was me, and that was enough for me. I liked painting my nails blood red to match my new shoes. In fact, I can recall a day or two when I wore some blindingly shiny lip gloss to school. You won't believe what happened after that. So for some foreign reason, people think that it's okay to look at somebody else's actions, decide it's their business what other people do, and judge them."

"Yes, hunty!" Lucas praised.

"A lot of my friends blew up my phone, asking if I was gay, or if I was in the process of transitioning from male to female. I got a lot more questions like that on social media, though most leaned towards the rude side. My point is, why did my painting my nails automatically make me gay? Why can't painting my nails and wearing some cheap, drug store lip gloss make me me? I understand that we're all humans, and we just have this aching need to place stereotypes on everyone and everything. But it's like I said, we're humans, not products with sealed labels on them."

He was cut off by some much-deserved applause and cheering.

I was smiling, because he was right. We weren't products and packages; we didn't need to have labels on us.

I turned to see those behind me hooting when I caught a glimpse of a shadowy, male figure all the way at the back and leaning against a wall. I squinted, tilting my head a little to be able to see his face under the dim lighting.

"Nash?" I whispered under my breath as Tanner began to speak again. I faced the front again.

"And gender roles? Well, fuck gender roles, right?!"

We cheered in agreement- well, to be fair, I cheered in my head.

"Yas, queen, preach!" Lucas waved his hand in the air, practically jumping in his seat.

"Let me tell you all something. I know this is college and nobody has the time to judge you for who you are here. Glad all that's over, yes? But, listen. In any situation you find yourself in- or it could be someone you know going through this- your sexuality, your gender identity, your whatever doesn't have to be broadcasted. I don't mean stay in the closet or anything, but you're not obligated to come out either. Because, heterosexual individuals don't come out. So why should you? Why should I? It's not my fault everyone expected me to be straight right of the bat. If you don't like surprises, don't make assumptions. Then maybe you'll be happier. You'll feel freer. When you open your mind to differences, you open your heart to love and peace. Don't do what people expect you to do. Do what makes you who you are. Thank you."

The audience clapped for him as he exited the stage. I quickly turned to see Nash, but he wasn't there anymore.

I sighed, wishing he'd have stayed long enough for me to talk to him. I wondered if he was doing all right.

I faced front, and I truly didn't mean to do it but my eyes glued themselves to Dr. Larsen without my approval. Almost as if he could feel my stare, his head turned a second later and we made eye contact. Every single thought that I had about Nash instantly vanished. Obviously since he was a teacher, he was completely off limits. But if I had to put him side by side with Nash... my roommate didn't stand the slightest chance.

"You good?" Lucas asked me, holding my hand. I snapped back to earth, looking at his baby face.

"I'm fine," I reassured, earning a smile from him.

"Good. The performance is next!" He squealed.

::

It was almost midnight by the time Lucas and I got back home. It wasn't that Evans Building was far from our dorms, but we'd stayed at the event playing games and meeting people. Well, that was a lie. He did more of the socializing. I just ate food.

"That. Was. Awesome!" He exclaimed in the silent hall.

"Shh!" I quietly hushed him. "People are sleeping," I whispered.

"Pfft, I bet half of them are drunk," he rationalized.

I smiled as we walked to our doors. "Goodnight, Lucas."

"Wait!" He rushed over to me in three single steps. Peering up at me, he blushed. "I had fun. Lots of fun!" He gave me an innocent hug then let go before I could return it.

I could see him squealing on the inside, wanting it to burst through but holding it in for the sake of the silent floor and sleeping residents.

"'Night, Casper." He tiptoed back to his door and entered his room.

"'Night," I breathed out. I felt a serene sensation come over me before I walked into the darkness of my room.

But it wasn't silent in here.

When the door closed, I could fully make out the sound of my roommate crying as quietly as he could.

I didn't even know how to feel at that moment. I just really wanted to be there for him, but did that mean giving him space or getting him to let it all out?

I kicked off my shoes and, with the sketch of our room etched in my mind, I found his bed.

"... Nash?" I called. Before he could say something that might hurt my feelings, I continued to speak. "I-I know you don't like me that much or... um, it's not my business, I just... Please don't cry..."

He didn't respond or move a muscle. So I dared myself to make the boldest move I'd ever make in my entire life.

I slipped onto his bed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for what's hurting you," I soothed. "But please don't hurt alone."

He shifted so that his back was toward me. I started to think that meant he didn't want my help, until he said something.

"All those nights I came back at four in the morning... It wasn't me going to some dumb party or getting ridiculously drunk, if that's what you thought."

I didn't know where he was getting at, but he was right. I did think he was out partying and getting wasted almost every day during preview week. Had I been wrong? Had I placed stereotypes onto him too?

"All those nights... I was out on every street, every road, every sidewalk, bus stop, train station, you name it... All I was trying to do was find a way back to him..."

:::::