Maybe I'd Miss You?

3.

"Mortez, do you feel like there's a pressure to uphold your image as a positive example to the younger generation, being one of the youngest openly gay heroes on the scene?"

More questions. Red carpet questions. Technically, this wasn't a red carpet, with the event taking place at a normal DoubleTree hotel, but the vibe was still there. All the same, questions with responses I could recite in my sleep. My nerves were still going haywire. I figured the wider I smiled, the more likely they could slip away unnoticed and slip from my mind entirely. It was wishful thinking, but it was good enough to fool myself.

It also helped that I had braces when I was younger. I hated it back then, but in hindsight, I was incredibly thankful for my orthodontist. My smile was worth everything in the world of heroics, and having a tailored one certainly helped. Just one less thing I had to worry about.

Keeping that same smile, I spoke, "Well, honestly, I just always try to be the best person I can for the sake of my own moral compass, image or not. It's just part of what guides my actions. I've never really found my sexuality to be a large motivating factor, though I do understand the responsibility I hold to be that positive example. If any kid considers me a worthy enough figure to look up to and knows they can be themselves without fear, I'll be proud."

Apparently that was an answer satisfying enough for the reporter. Signing off with a firm handshake, they concluded, "Well, I hope you have an excellent time this evening. Keep on being that positive example!"

The hypocrisy wasn't lost on me. Here I was, preaching about being yourself without fear and setting positive examples, when I knew all I did in private was lie and pressure myself into becoming a larger than life version of me that was impossible to maintain. I should probably be taking my own advice.

Worry about that after tonight. You just have to make it through tonight. You'll figure out your mental health after tonight-

A low hush fell over the gathered crowd. Reporters stopped talking, the patter of footsteps fell to a lull, and it seemed the world was frozen. Which, I suppose would make sense. The most noteworthy man promised to attend had finally arrived. I held my breath, subconsciously preparing myself to hide in a shadow if need be.

Stepping out of a limousine were three bodyguards in typical Secret Service attire. Accompanying them was the president himself, providing me with the closest look I'd ever gotten of him. We'd never met in person, which made the feud all the more ironic.

As it turned out, that look was only getting closer and closer. It took a moment to sink in, but he was heading directly in my direction. I turned around in a panic, hoping to see someone of note behind me. Someone else he would be so eager to confront. I was met with nothing.

He came for me.

Tall, hulking, and with his suit fitting so tight on his muscles, it seemed precariously on the verge of busting at the seams. It would never happen though. He was too perfect for that. Trim graying buzzcut, a square, tanned face on the verge of sunburn, and various scars zig zagging across his features. I could be nothing less than intimidated.

I was going to puke. I was going to puke, in front of everyone and everything, and all I could do was stand there, keeping that same cordial smile, while my mind began to shut down for sheer panic. Oh my god. Oh my god. What could he possibly want from me-

He wrapped me in a suffocating hug, giving me a friendly slap on the back. I couldn't restrain the flinch. It was like he'd taken a spray bottle to a stray cat. "Hey kid, good job intervening in that bank robbery today! You really showed that Lightning guy who's boss, eh?"