the progress project [3]

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yuli

her and atília have grown close in the past month, and she's so thankful that he's become her best friend, because she doesn't know what she would do without him.

they have a night planned of studying for french, because she's utterly clueless and he's pretty freaking fluent. how, she has no idea.

she knocks on his door twice, waits a few minutes. nothing.

"atília?" she asks, frowning. her hand reaches for the doorknob, and she pulls the door open. inside, khalid's 8teen is blasting, and atília is on his bed with another boy, dark-skinned and beautiful, and they're—

oh, fuck.

they're only making out, but it's pretty intense, and she feels immediately uncomfortable, as if she walked in on her parents— she isn't going to go there.

"yuli!" atília jumps up, lips tinted raspberry again. well, now she knows why his lips looked so pretty a month ago when he woke her up in the hallway. "i did not hear you knock."

"i'm sorry. i did, it's just, uh—"

"it's okay," the stranger smiles awkwardly, squeezing the argentinian's hand and slips out of the room.

"so, uh... sorry. i didn't realize you were—"

"i am not," atília says, wiping his mouth. he watches as she sits next to him. "i do not like labels. i fall in love with someone for their personality, not their gender. and me kissing or sleeping with a number of people does not make me invalid or confused, so—"

yuli shakes her head, setting her hooks down. "i don't care. it doesn't change anything for me. you can do what you want."

he smiles, shoulders dropping from their defensive stance. "sorry. thank you."

"you're welcome," she smiles back. "now, french."