Oliver is a dancer. He's been dancing all his life, and striving towards becoming a professional has always been his focus.
Complications with his transition, skeletons from the past in form of people he knew back from his internet days, and people...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sound of a car horning made me push the curtain a bit so that I could look down at the road from one of the top apartments in the high-rise building. Nothing special was going on downstairs. There was just an impatient driver that didn't seem to like the fact that there was a traffic jam clogging the small street. It was incredibly noisy, and if you opened the windows for just a bit you'd get choked with smoke. So there really wasn't an option between the stuffy room and the toxic air from outside. I drew the curtain close, smiling as I leaned away and turned into the room.
None of that mattered, though. Because I wouldn't want to be somewhere else.
I was at George's place. It was a tiny one-room apartment with a small living room that was also the kitchen. He had been embarrassed about bringing me over the first time, but I've watched him ease up over time. This was my fourth time here, and I was sitting on his bed, swinging my legs as I looked down at the floor that was covered in a worn-out blue carpet. His bed was a bunk bed with just the top bunk, and underneath it was a closet rammed next to a small desk and chair. George was in the kitchen warming up something for us to eat.
I kept swinging my legs, staring down at my socks as I tried to rehearse what I had in mind — put some of what Austin had shown me into practice.
"Hey, you'll fall over." I looked up at the sound of George's voice. He was at the door, pushing it open just enough to slip in with the two bowls he had balanced in his hand. "Sorry, I only have instant noodles," he muttered, walking into the room before moving over to me. I sat up properly on his bed, shuffling to the side and out of the ladder's way. George handed the bowls to me before climbing up. The bed squeaked a bit, but despite that, it held both of us fine.
We ate in silence for a while — which is odd, we usually talk a lot, but I guess overthinking what I wanted to do had me oddly quiet, so most of George's questions and attempts to start a conversation fell on deaf ears or were engaged with short answers, making the conversation die before it even started.
"Ollie," he called, making me blink before looking up from my bowl that only had noodle water left in it. "Do you want to be here?" he asked. He looked worried, and the way he looked from me to his room made my heart sink.
"I do," I answered, biting down on my bottom lip. "It's just that I've been thinking about something, sorry," I mumbled as my face grew warm. Gosh, I was doing so well looking normal as I thought about things for the past few hours, why was I turning beet red now?
"Are you okay?" George asked, frowning a bit as he shuffled closer to me. I looked away, trying to hide my face from him, but he just bent forward and looked at me.
"Stop it," I whined before laughing. If I moved any more I'd send the bowl of noodle water in my hands flying down.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine George, I'm fine," I mumbled, looking up and giving him a wide smile. He didn't look convinced, but he leaned away from me and went back to picking at the last bits of noodle in his bowl. He took my bowl from me when he was done eating, and just like that he left the room again. I flopped back on the bed, groaning as I thought about how awkward I made things. I was such a worrywart.
