Being gay is a curse when the homophobia you grew up with was so bad that you're homophobic yourself. Especially when you're into unavailable guys like your roommate, whose girlfriend is everything you're not (though appearances can be deceiving). S...
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Holding Carl in my arms, racking my brain over finding something to comfort him with, I realized just how little I knew about what this was like for him. Of course, I'd listened to his explanations and I understood what it meant, but it was impossible to imagine. I only knew that it was awful.
That was all I knew.
"I'll finish dinner," I said eventually.
"Okay," he murmured.
I pulled back and looked at him.
I looked at the way he clenched his jaw and how he frowned and turned away from me, and I felt compelled to raise my hand to his face. As I ran my fingers along the edge of his jaw, he finally met my gaze, but I didn't know what to say. I never knew what to say in moments like these. I always ended up saying the wrong thing anyway.
"I suck at this," I muttered.
"No, you don't."
I snorted.
He shook his head and pushed me toward the stove. "Finish dinner then."
"Okay, I can do that," I said, grabbing the wooden spatula and turning the heat back up. While I cooked, he sat down at the table and watched me with his chin perched on his palms. He still looked like someone had pissed on his shoes, but he seemed to be content with just sitting there and watching me, so I didn't say anything until the food was done.
"Where are your plates?" I asked, looking at the many cupboards above my head.
"Top right," he answered.
I got two plates and divided the food between them, before placing one in front of Carl and the other on the opposite end of the table. "Knives and forks?"
"Top drawer. I want a spoon too."
"What for?"
He rolled his eyes.
I got him a spoon.
When I sat down across from him, he said, "Seriously, though, you don't suck, Nate." He was still looking down at his food. He scooped some of it into his spoon and started eating. After a few bites, he added, "You don't need to say anything. I just—I appreciate that you're... here."
"I wasn't gonna leave."
He let out a short chuckle. "Well, that's a relief... Imagine if you had actually left. That would mean you suck. Shit. I hate to say this, but this actually tastes better than when I make it."
"I told you."
"Shut up."
I raised one of my eyebrows. "Still don't need to say anything?"
"Just shut your mouth about my cooking," he threatened, pointing his spoon at me.
"All right. Shutting my mouth about your bad cooking."
