Nightlife ✓

32 | bear

QUEN AND I SAT DOWN on one padded bench with more than our share of awkward tension, placing as much space between as possible.

I met Quen's patient, inscrutable expression, wishing I could read him like I read everyone else. Here goes.

"I know you think I'm fake. I say that I'm your friend, but then I lie about why we can't hangout. I remember at SciBall, you hated how I pretend with everyone around me. I see your point."

His eyes flickered across mine, the irises utterly dark in the low light of the Pit. His face was impossible to decipher.

"But I'm not fake. So I want people to feel comfortable. So I want people to like me. I wanted you to like me, and I didn't go about that the right way but I swear I'm genuine. Like, once I tried to go to the bathroom and missed. I'm a mommy's girl trying to be her own girl. And these cheekbones? This is just contour."

"How do you miss the toilet?" Quen wondered, familiar humour blossoming against his features. That twitch of his cheek, a hint of what we used to be, looked like redemption.

I huffed, cheeks burning, willing to humiliate myself for the sake of honesty. "You sit too far forward. Viv realised as soon as the trickle didn't sound right, and she saved me. And cleaned it up. Now I owe it to her to at least get drunk once a semester."

"Oh, my God." He laughed. Laughed loud. Things were going to be okay. Even if he rejected me.

"See, I'm really dumb sometimes, Quen, and I don't know what more I can do to convince you that I'm authentic. You hate influencers because they use filters and sell drugs. I've tried the whole semester to change your mind. But I'm influencers. I'm influencers and I like that."

I'm not going to Med school and I like that.

The memory of Mom yelling at me through the phone reared over my head like a tsunami. The back of my throat stung. Quen turned blurry in front of me.

"I get to make money doing fun things. Brighten people's day. Direct awareness to impotent causes," I told him. "Blergh. Words. Important. Important causes."

I wiped the back of my hand under each eye, the skin smearing with eyeliner. I didn't cry. But I sure was close. After today, I never had to justify myself to anyone again. I knew who I was. I liked who I was. But not everyone would.

Quen shuffled closer, his expression guilty.

"I know you're real. You're real smart. You're real kind. You're real funny. You're really real, and I should never have doubted you or your friendship," he blurted. A choked laugh bubbled out of me, relief soothing my emotions.

Quen smiled tentatively, sliding another inch closer. Our thighs nearly touched. "I knew the moment I said it that I was wrong. Just like I knew the day I met you that'd I'd been wrong. And it's not just about you. Even if I met Kylie Jenner tomorrow, I wouldn't make snap judgments about anyone. You taught me that."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. The beginning of his bicep was solid underneath my touch. Wow.

"I'm sorry for freezing you out for months," I said truthfully. "I missed you, too. Can you forgive me, Quen?"

My palm shifted higher to his shoulder. This time I knew I wasn't imagining Quen leaning into my touch.

"Absolutely. Can you forgive me for judging people?"

My hands trailed up the smooth planes of his shoulders, towards his neck, until they rested on his nape. Under my hands, I felt a slight tremor race through Quen's body. He let his head float down until his forehead rested on mine.