I nod. Because yeah. Guys in Saturday might not be allowed to use that word in public, but it’s the only appropriate one for this current situation.
“Do you want some space?” I ask. “I can go, if you want?”
He shakes his head. “Stay.”
We move to the bed. I lean back against the headboard, and Ruben sits in my lap, his legs curled underneath him. I look him in the eyes and push a strand of hair back into place. He smiles softly at the contact, which makes my stomach fill with butterflies. I wonder if he even knows how cute he looks when his hair is a little messed up. Or how beautiful I find him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Not really. Are you?”
“Same.”
“I keep thinking about last night. I keep seeing it, like it’s on a loop. And I can’t stop thinking about what he said.”
“Which part?”
I put my hands on his hips, holding him close to me. Maybe I’m not the best at saying exactly what I want sometimes, but I hope maybe I can show him by doing this, by listening. Maybe that will be enough for him to just know. I start rubbing him with my thumb, feeling how warm he is through the soft material of his shirt.
“All of it, I guess,” he says.
“I’m sorry they’re being so shitty.”
I reposition, lying down and putting a hand behind my head. Ruben starts touching my necklace, like that’s all he wants to be doing, but I know from his furrowed brow that he’s going to ask me one of those questions he’s wanted to ask for a long time, but has held back, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Zach, how do you actually feel about coming out after Russia?”
“What makes you ask?”
“You know I want to come out, and you know they’re saying we’re allowed to after Russia, but what about you? Just because we’re allowed to doesn’t mean that’s what you want.”
I sit up, my brow furrowed. “I want to.”
“Do you really though? Or are you just going along with it because you think it’s what I want? You know you don’t have to, right?”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m not scared of coming out.”
“Not being scared of something and wanting to are very different things.”
“I know, but like … I don’t mind being out. In a lot of ways it’s been a relief. It’s fine.”
His stare drops down, and his shoulders slump a little.
“What?” I ask. “Did I say something wrong?”
“You never do.”
“Wait, what?”
“Sorry, that sounded harsher than I meant. I’m just really tired and crabby.”
“Do you need a nap?” I grin, but he doesn’t return it.
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay, I get it.”
He frowns, and turns over on his side. I lie back down and I shuffle closer, so we’re spooning, our bodies pressed together. I press a kiss to the back of his head.
“I just never know what you want,” he says quietly.
I hear alarm bells.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
It sounds like I should worry about it, but I’m tired, too, and I’m really not in the mood for an intense evaluation of my feelings and motivations right now. Not now. “Maybe I should go, so you can get some sleep?”
There’s a heavy pause. When Ruben replies, his voice is small. “Don’t.”
I pull him closer, trying to ignore the fact that, clearly, I’ve done something wrong, and I don’t know what it was.
“Okay.”
* * *
“Hey, guys,” says Angel in a black voice.
The three of us are sitting on Ruben’s bed, with a tablet on Ruben’s lap. To be honest, I was sort of expecting him to crack a joke, or at least smile, but he seems like a totally different person right now.
His arm and leg are both in a cast, and there’s a bandage stuck to the side of his temple, but he’s awake, and that sight relieves at least some of the tension I’ve been feeling these past few days.
“So,” says Angel. “Which one of you told them I have a drug problem?”
I glance at the others, who are all avoiding Angel’s stare.
Finally, Jon speaks up. “I told them I think you need help.”
Angel rolls his eyes and leans back. “Knew it. I knew—”
“And you do,” Jon says over him. “You almost died, Angel.”