Chapter Text
Alex considers calling Rafael Luna and meeting him for beers and asking to hear all about his first gay sexual exploits as an REI-wearing teenage antifascist. And he considers going downstairs and asking Amy about her transition and her wife and how she knew she was different. But in the moment, it feels right to go back to the source, to ask someone who’s seen whatever is in his eyes when a boy touches him.
Henry’s out of the question. Which leaves one person. “Hello?” says the voice over the phone. It’s been at least a year since they last talked, but Liam’s Texas drawl is unmistakable and warm in Alex’s eardrum.
He clears his throat. “Uh, hey, Liam. It’s Alex.”
“I know,” Liam says, desert-dry. “How, um, how have you been?” A pause. The sound of quiet talking in the background, dishes.
“You wanna tell me why you’re really calling, Alex?”
“Oh,” he starts and stops, tries again. “This might sound weird. But, um. Back in high school, did we have, like, a thing? Did I miss that?”
There’s a clattering sound on the other side of the phone, like a fork being dropped on a plate. “Are you seriously calling me right now to talk about this? I’m at lunch with my boyfriend.”
“Oh.” He didn’t know Liam had a boyfriend.
“Sorry.” The sound goes muffled, and when Liam speaks again, it’s to someone else. “It’s Alex. Yeah, him. I don’t know, babe.”
His voice comes back clear again. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“I mean, like, we messed around, but did it, like, mean something?”
“I don’t think I can answer that question for you,” Liam tells him. If he’s still anything like Alex remembers, he’s rubbing one hand on the underside of his jaw, raking through the stubble. He wonders faintly if, perhaps, his clear-as-day memory of Liam’s stubble has just answered his own question for him.
“Right,” he says. “You’re right.”
“Look, man,” Liam says. “I don’t know what kind of sexual crisis you’re having right now, like, four years after it would have been useful, but, well. I’m not saying what we did in high school makes you gay or bi or whatever, but I can tell you I’m gay, and that even though I acted like what we were doing wasn’t gay back then, it super was.” He sighs.
“Does that help, Alex? My Bloody Mary is here and I need to talk to it about this phone call.”
“Um, yeah,” Alex says. “I think so. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Liam sounds so long-suffering and tired that Alex thinks about all those times back in high school, the way Liam used to look at him, the silence between them since, and feels obligated to add, “And, um. I’m sorry?”
“Jesus Christ,” Liam groans, and hangs up.
…….
Austin, Texas.
Five years ago.
……...
"Forgive me father for I have sinned." It was a mere whisper; he wasn’t even in a confessional. There was no priest he was talking to; he was alone. He wasn’t even in a church. There was nothing holy about the cold hard bleachers of the empty football field. "I can’t stop this; I can’t stop my thoughts drifting to him every second of every day."
The search for absolution was a long road. He prayed and prayed, and nothing changed. He came to the field every night, sneaking out of his house, out of the bed he and Alex had spent over an hour lazily making out on mere hours ago. He came for absolution, yet he always left with shame. It really was shameful, how he allowed these thoughts to continue, how he allowed himself to enjoy them. Alex likes girls. This was just practise for him, just a bit of fun with his best mate.
Shameful, how he revelled in the touch every time his best friend would lightly shove him, or when their shoulders bumped together in the halls or when their bodies were pressed next to each other when they sat in the crowded high school bleachers. He was ashamed.
"What can I do to make it stop? What do I have to do not to feel like this anymore?" The tears were streaming down his face at this point. His words accompanied by sobs. Why did it have to be him? Why was it him that had to bear this burden, to walk around with this shame? His father always said that “God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers”.
But Liam wasn’t strong. He was weak and pathetic and sinful and ashamed. He prayed anyways. He had prayed to God since he was a little child. Liam grew up, however. And suddenly prayer became a plea to be fixed, to be normal. Confession turned into begging forgiveness for the one thought he just couldn’t suppress. As he grew older, he picked up his mother’s attitude towards gay people rather quickly. Hearing her complain about the ‘perverts downtown’ to the ‘faggifying’ of Texas. Liam knew what his father thought of gay people. His father made it most obvious when he reminded Liam not to be too soft, because he “wouldn’t wanna be a sissy now, would’cha?” or when he asked Liam why he didn’t have a girlfriend yet or why he talked about Alex so much, “People are gonna think you boys are faggots.”
Alex. His lovely, lovely Alex, who wasn’t his at all. Alex, whom he admired since they first met on the first day of school and fell in love with over the years. Alex, who gave him this sickly-sweet hurtful ache in his chest every time he smiled at Liam. Alex, who was straight. Alex, who would never love him the same way. Alex, whose friendship he didn’t want to sacrifice for anything in the world. Alex, his best friend. Alex.
There it was again, that shame. It crept up slowly, always lingering in the back of his mind, waiting for the perfect opportunity to hit him over the head from behind. It was always the same. It always started with Alex. Liam would get caught up in one thought or another, then his mind would drift to his closest companion. He would imagine the way Alex’s lips curled into that specific, soft smile when Liam said something funny, or would think about the big, warm hand on the small of his back every time Alex guided him through the crowded hallways, as if because of some innate instinct.
Sometimes he would focus on Alex's face while he was talking, absorbed in his own world, and concentrating, so attentive and detail-oriented about the things he said, yet so shut off from the outside world. Liam enjoyed being with him. It was their own form of intimacy. He never enjoyed for long. Before he knew it, his mind was drifting back to its most familiar place. He chastised himself for thinking about his best friend that way, for even imagining ruining what they had with his stupid feelings. These feelings he shouldn’t have. Not just for Alex, but for any boy. It was disgusting. And that’s where the shame comes in, always. Liam is ashamed of being gay. Of not being able to shut it off and be normal. He is ashamed of being something his parents despise and reject. He is ashamed that no matter how hard he tries, he is still gay.
So his nightly routine is always the same. Get ready for bed ashamed, brush his teeth ashamed, talking to Alex over the phone until the other boy fell asleep. Waiting until the house was quiet, ashamed. Sneaking away to the football field as quiet as he can be, hoping that maybe tonight would be the night that absolves him from his sin. Sinking down on the cold bleachers. Praying and begging for forgiveness and normalcy and fixing. Crying, sobbing. The shame coming back, once it’s clear that it didn’t work this night, either. Going back to the house, ashamed. Falling asleep, ashamed. "Help me, just let me be normal. I can’t do this anymore." It was a breath, not audible to anyone but himself. The tears were still running. His breath was still hitching.
There was nothing he could do anymore, about any of it. Especially not about himself. He bowed his head a final time, trying to compose himself for his final words. "Please forgive me. I will try to be better. Forgive me. Amen." With a final exhale, Liam rose up from the bleachers. They were cold and unforgiving, much like the world he felt he was facing. He didn’t care. He walked down from the bleachers with reverent steps, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, demurely enough so he wouldn’t be heard. His walk back to the house was the most important part of his ritual, of his prayer.
First, he would always look back to the spot he occupied that night, trying to hold on to the anguish it brought him. Maybe, just maybe, if he held on long enough, he could torture the bad parts out of him. Once he turned forward again, he would make it back to the house, in an even movement, trying to even out his breathing and to dry out the well of tears still burning behind his eyes.
Next, he would slip through the silent house until he got to his room. This was where he stopped once more, admiring the stillness of the house, wishing himself to be as calm and undisturbed as it seemed. Eventually, he would always tear his gaze away and move on. Back through the dark, comforting corridors. He would take one more breath, inhaling and exhaling, before quietly opening the door to his room, to his temporary refuge. On his tiptoes he would make his way through the room, slowly pull back the covers of his bed before climbing in.
Liam stood in front of his bed. He had just opened his bed’s covers when he remembered, tonight was worse than normal- Alex was here, he had somehow managed to forget about the boy in his bed. Alex had decided to stay, he was asleep in Liam’s bed, his shirt scrunched up on the floor, taking up most of the space. Liam didn’t dare to let his eyes linger, the kissing, the touching- that was enough hell for today.
"Liam?" A whisper so soft, as soft as only one person could produce. Liam slowly turned back to the bed, catching Alex's soft eyes and the concerned look in them. No matter the lack of light, he knew Alex's face by heart. "Are you okay?" There it was. The question that always accompanied that look on Alex's face. The question Liam couldn’t answer, didn’t dare to answer. Not truthfully anyways.
"Yeah, Alex. I’m all good. Go back to sleep." Liam tried his best to sound reassuring.
Regardless of if it worked or not, Alex closed his eyes after one last look. Liam climbed into the bed, trying his best not to brush against Alex’s warm skin, every time he did, it felt like he was burning.