Hate (BL)

17

Grayson King

"And here's lunch. Make sure you take the medicine first."

I place a chicken salad wrap in front of Dylan, followed by a bowl of green grapes, a glass of water, and a couple of Tylenol tablets. He stares at it for a moment before muttering a quiet, “Thanks.”

I sit beside him, and we eat in silence. The soft sound of chewing and the occasional clink of the glass fill the air, but my mind is elsewhere, on him.

I can’t stop staring. It’s still strange, seeing him without his mullet. He’s had that haircut since middle school, and back then, everyone fawned over him. The girls would practically drool, and the guys wanted to be him. And I hated it.

I hated how easily people were drawn to him, how he belonged to everyone, yet never to me. So, I did what I thought I had to do, I said the worst things, tore him down piece by piece, anything to make sure he needed me. I thought if I could break him down enough, he’d stop looking at everyone else and finally see me.

And in some twisted way, it worked. Just not the way I wanted it to.

I glance at him now, his pale, fragile arms resting on the table, the way his fingers tremble slightly as he picks at his wrap. I feel sick. I did this. I made him like this. And yet, despite everything, he still lets me stay. I don’t deserve it.

“Dylan.”

“Hm?”

He doesn’t look up, still focused on his food, plucking a grape from the bowl and rolling it between his fingers absentmindedly. I hesitate, my throat suddenly dry, but the words spill out before I can stop them.

“Why do you still let me stick around after all I’ve done…?”

Dylan finally looks at me, his tired eyes meeting mine for a second before I glance away, ashamed. I brace myself for his answer, for the bitterness I know I deserve.

Instead, he just shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m too lazy to change my locks.”

He chuckles, and I can’t help but smile despite the tight knot in my chest.

After a moment, his voice softens. “I feel like it’s my body and mind telling me that you’ve changed. You started taking care of me when you noticed I was neglecting myself. I pushed you away so many times, but every mealtime, every time I went ‘crazy,’ you came back.”

His words twist like a knife in my gut. I don’t deserve this kindness, this forgiveness, but I take it anyway, selfish as always.

“Dylan, don’t do this to me…” I say, my voice cracking.

“What do you mean?”

He looks at me, head tilted slightly, an innocent confusion on his face that makes me want to scream. How can he be so oblivious? Or maybe… maybe he knows, and he’s pretending for my sake.

I look away, squeezing my fists under the table. “You’re so forgiving after everything I’ve done to you. You have no idea how hard it’s been, trying to hold myself back from kissing you, from embracing you, from loving you…”

And just like that, it’s out. The words I’ve been burying for years, the ones I thought I could take to my grave, laid bare between us.

The silence that follows is deafening.

I chance a glance at him, but Dylan doesn't look at me. He doesn't move, doesn't speak. My heart pounds, the weight of the silence pressing against my chest.

"Please," I whisper, "say something. At least look at me."

Slowly, he turns his head. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the apology in them before he even speaks.

"Grayson," He says gently. "I like women. I don't feel the same."

It feels like a punch to the gut, but his voice is so kind, so careful, that it makes it worse. He shifts slightly in his chair, putting just a little more space between us. It's subtle, but I feel it like a chasm opening up.

I stand, my chair scraping harshly against the floor.

"I..."My voice cracks. I can't finish.

Walk out of the dining room, each step heavier than the last.

Maybe in another life, he loves me. But not in this one.
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Uploaded 11/17/24
Edited 01/21/25