What does manhwa mean?

Manhwa (Korean: 만화; Hanja: 漫畵; Korean pronunciation: [manβʷa]) is the general Korean term for comics and print-cartoons. Outside Korea, the term usually refers to South Korean comics. Manhwa is directly influenced by Japanese Manga comics.

What's the difference between to all of you that I loved and to the only me who loved you?

The film focuses on Koyomi living with his dad and his experiences with his new childhood friend Shiori. While To Every You I've Loved Before focused roughly two-thirds of its time on Koyomi's coming of age and finding love, the final third being backloaded with plot, To Me, The One Who Loved You is the opposite.

How long is a shonen jump chapter?

Mangas published in Weekly Shonen Jump magazine pages are anywhere between 18- 20 pages per chapter. Usually the first chapter is normally longer, anywhere around 45+ pages.

Is manhwa Chinese or Korean?

Manga, manhwa, and manhua are often grouped together, but each of these comic forms has its unique features. While manga originated in Japan, manhwa originated in Korea, and manhua originated in China. These comics share many similarities but also have differences in art styles, storytelling, and readership.

What happened to Shiori in To Me, The One Who Loved You?

They successfully arrive in a world where their parents are not divorced, but Shiori dies after getting hit by a car at the Showa-dori intersection. Koyomi returns to the original world and finds Shiori unconscious. Shiori is proclaimed brain dead while her heart is kept beating artificially.

Is Shiori in To Every You I Loved Before?

Following the death of his grandfather, Koyomi walks his dog Yuno outside when he suddenly experiences a Parallel Shift. He encounters young Shiori who then runs away and finds himself at Imaginary Science Research Institute where his father works.

Does shiori end up with koyomi?

In the timeline where Koyomi and Kazune marry and start a family, the meeting at the intersection doesn't appear to yield anything important, but the chance encounter with Shiori shows that in the end, the Koyomi of Kimi wo Aish*ta Hitori no Boku e had ultimately done the right thing – all possible versions of Shiori ...

What is the longest manhwa in the world?

2. What is the longest Manhwa? The Tower of God is considered the longest Manhwa ever.

How many mangas exist?

There are 138 manga series from which 71 series are completed and 67 series are in ongoing serialization. Ongoing series are highlighted in light green.

What does shounen stand for?

The Japanese word shōnen (少年, /ɕoːnen/ lit. "few years"), meaning "young boy", historically referred to juveniles in a general sense, and was used by the Japanese publishing industry until the end of the 19th century to designate publications aimed at children and young people.

What's the difference between manhua and manhwa?

Manhwa is South Korean, available in colour, and read from left to right. Manhua is Chinese, has a more realistic style with simple backgrounds, and can be read from right to left or in a vertical layout. Each has its unique features and is worth exploring based on your preferences.

What do you call Chinese anime?

In Chinese, donghua (simplified Chinese: 动画; traditional Chinese: 動畫; pinyin: dònghuà) describes all animated works, regardless of style or origin. However, outside of China and in English, donghua is colloquial for Chinese animation and refers specifically to animation produced in China.

Does manhwa have an anime?

Manhwa is going through a boom period, with series like Solo Leveling, The Boxer, and Lookism making the jump to anime. Manhwa is going through a massive boom period, with more and more manga and anime fans diving into the genre.

10 Years I Love About You - Chapter 1

Chapter Text

December 06, 2013:

I always hated phone calls with my mother.

Nineteen years old and attending University of Washington and I still didn’t know how to handle the constant disappointment anytime my parents asked me about my grades—or my dating life.

“Honey, all I’m saying is that your father and I are spending a lot of money for your education. It shouldn’t be too much to ask that you keep your grades up, or choose a major.”

My parents always knew how to make me feel like a business investment.

“Honey, college is an important time to find a wife, especially considering that you didn’t have any high school girlfriends. Look, your father is just concerned that you're—that you'll have a harder time settling down. And, I know that you're still a freshman and all, but I'd like some more grandchildren. Your sister can't exactly carry on the family name, you know…”

Bold of my mother to assume I had any desire to do anything with my life—let alone get married and have kids, “I know, Mom,” I replied, my voice a hush amidst the morning rush at the Center Table. I idly stirred my coffee with one of those thin straws meant to make sure you didn’t drink hot coffee too quickly as my mother continued to talk my ear off about responsibility.

‘Why did I have to be born?’ I wondered to myself, hoping the call would finally end so that I could go back to watching the rain fall. It was calming.

My mother finally finished her weekly phone call—some parts family gossip, some parts lecture—and I was finally able to hang up. I didn’t even remember setting down my phone, I was that tuned out.

Well, whatever. At least the rain was beautiful. One of my favorite things to do was watch it collect on car windows, and see what funny little patterns the dots of water slid down and merged into as more and more rained down. The only thing that disturbed this peace was being stuck watching the rain fall from within one of the many dining spots at the university. The murmurs of the students and faculty sharing in this space poked at the back of my mind, reminding me constantly of their existence.

The clanking of ceramic plates and silverware was its own beautiful sound, though. There was an atmospheric benefit to listening to the sounds of a dining hall, and the sound of utensils, plates and bowls was definitely it.

If only I didn’t have to hear the jovial human life around me, reminding me endlessly of their successful lives.

Of their lives in general.

My aimless staring out the window was eventually ruined as the clouds parted, and in their light walked a blue-haired angel, straight into the dining hall from the outside entrance.

Even soaked from the rain, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen…

It was impossible not to feel like a freak and a pervert as I watched from my little corner against the front window the blue-haired woman stand in line and eventually make her order. Minutes passed as the busy café continued to fill, and with each passing second it was getting harder and harder to even pretend to peel my eyes away.

It was hard not to admire the slenderness of her arms, or the way the bright blue of her hair contracted with her pale skin. Hell, I was pale as all hell and yet I didn’t pull it off nearly as well as she did.

But, I think the part that made me feel the most like a freak was the way she smiled so freely at the cashier as she picked up her order. How did someone smile so genuinely like that?

I couldn’t take it anymore. Hastily, I hopped off of the tall chair, packed my laptop up, and quickly made for the door. A brick wall of a man suddenly appeared before me and crossed into my path as he reached for the trash bin to my right to discard what I could barely make out as a beverage of some kind.

Foolishly, I ducked beneath the man’s clothesline of an arm and immediately kept walking forward, despite not paying any attention to what—or who—was in front of me.

Stupidly, I crashed straight into the woman with blue hair, and spilled her apple cider all over my hoodie.

Thank f*ck I was wearing four layers.

“Oh sh*t, dude! I’m so sorry!” the woman gasped, immediately dabbing me with napkins. “Are you okay? Is it burning you?”

I decided not to find out whether the apple cider was going to soak through, and immediately flipped my gray hoodie over my head, taking the top layer beneath it with it. By the time the hoodie and first of three shirts were over my head and down around my wrists I had realized that my little mishap had drawn the attention of almost everyone in the cafeteria.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry, dude. You okay?” came a booming voice from behind and to my left.

“Why is everyone asking me that today?” I mumbled, half back to catch the letterman jacket-wearing meathead looking concerned. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for almost crashing into you, or whatever,” I huffed, quickly scanning the bigger guy with my eyes. Jesus, what did this guy eat to get so big? He was taller than me, and I was six-f*cking-three! And, like, two of me wide!

“Oh shoot, that’s goo—”

Turning my attention back to the woman I’d actually crashed into I could feel my blood running cold to offset the damp warmth permeating through my tops, “Oh my God, miss, I am so, so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Pfft,” the woman I’d just walked into giggled, “It’s fine, I’m not the one drenched in hot cider. Are you sure you’re hurt?”

“Nope! Nothin’! I’m fine, I swear!” I blurted, hoping to keep the interaction as embarrassing as possible. I wasn’t doing a great job of succeeding.

“Welp, can’t say the same for your shirts, I guess. C’mere!”

Before I could process it I found myself being dragged via my left wrist by the Goth-Punk—is that what it was called?—woman out of the cafeteria.

Her hand was so soft, I felt like an even bigger freak for noticing.

***

December 06, 2013:

There is a certain degree of shame to being pulled along by a gorgeous woman who you bumped into all the way to a dry cleaner, but here I was, watching all but the bottom most layer—a black long-sleeve shirt—tumble around a washer.

“Uh…sorry for not having any coins on me,” the blue-haired woman chuckled in embarrassment. I wasn’t sure where exactly she got off being the embarrassed one, considering I had been the one to get her cider all over me, but here we now were, I guess.

“H-hey, no problem,” I laughed—god, even my laugh sounded pathetic—while depositing spare quarters into my right pants pocket. “It’s, uh, the thought that counts! Yeah!”

Leaning against the wall of spin-cycles my companion smirked, “Well, in that case, I think you should have a good rest of your day.”

Wait…was she flirting with me? Why? I’m just this weird stranger guy she met on campus? For all she knows I could be a serial killer! I even dress like one! Oh g—

“—Hey, dude? You in there?”

“Huh?” I blinked, trying to stay present, “Oh, yeah, uh, sorry, just a long night.” I’d have called it a lie, but I really had barely slept last night. It had been hard for me to sleep for five or six years now, and staying up on the internet most of the time didn’t help, either.

“Oh yeah, I bet. College can be rough,” it felt so surreal looking her in the eyes, or looking at how widely she smiled: it was like she was just taking me entirely at face value, and I didn’t know how to feel about that.

In a way, I like I was simultaneously naked and lying to her at the same time, but I didn’t know why.

“Nice shirt, by the way.”

“Huh?!”

Breaking her crossed arms apart, the woman with blue hair poked at my chest, her reach lightly grazing it, “Whoops, didn’t mean to touch ya—long arms and all, y’know?”

I nodded slowly, hoping it was the thing to do.

“I mean, the material on that thing? It looks really silky. Sure you don’t want to wash it, too?”

And expose my chest to this poor woman? Hell no! “Oh, no, no thanks. It’s fine—I’ll wash it another time.”

It then occurred to me that I didn’t know the woman’s name. Screwing up what little courage I had in me I opened my mouth to speak, before being rudely cut off by fate:

“Oh sh*t, that’s right! Hey, listen, I’m sorry, but I got A Thing I gotta do with my roommate. I promised her I’d help her move some furniture in, so I gotta run!”

Disappointment struck my heart like a bolt of lightning, “Oh, shoot, no, yeah, that makes sense…” Hell, I could even tell how disappointed I was in my voice. “No worries!”

I didn’t understand why she smiled back at me, but the woman did, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how the black lipstick made her lips even prettier.

“Hey, you know the Lambda house, right?”

“Wha—? Uh, yeah, I do?”

“Cool, there’s a party there tonight. You should come by! We can talk mo—jeez, sh*t!” a yelp escaped her lips as her face contorted into a comedically pained expression as she peaked at something on her phone, “Sorry, sorry, sorry, gotta run!”

And with that, I was left with nothing but my laundry to wonder if maybe I hadn’t just been dreaming at my computer all night.

***

December 06, 2013:

God, I felt so out of place at this party. Jocks, cheerleaders, cool kids—weren’t all those cliques supposed to go away after high school?

No, no—the problem was probably just me. I never fit in anywhere. Just a weirdo in his hoodie and sweats, shuffling through the crowds—and dodging footballs being drunkenly tossed back-and-forth by guys in beer-stained letterman jackets—of collegiates who actually functioned. Who had friends, and loved ones.

Why the f*ck was I even here?

Oh, that’s right, because that girl invited me. That…mesmerizing, mood-setting tomboy.

Where, exactly, was she again?

Loud music bounced and popped off of the walls of the frat house, a constant thumping of music never quite allowing me to catch my breath, but I still managed to climb my way up the stairs to the second floor to continue my search.

She probably left already, assuming she had ever showed up and wasn’t just lying to me. Hell, I’d lie to get rid of me, too. I can’t believe I had the balls to flirt with such a cute g—

“Hey, dude!” called out a familiar voice. At the far end of the hall on the second floor a familiar figure with shoulder length blue hair—kept tucked within a gray beanie—waved at me.

I was instantly star struck.

As much as I hated being called dude, I’d definitely let her call me that—especially since we never quite exchanged names when I met her earlier in the day.

With my legs having become lead at the first sound of the woman’s boyish voice the words “Walk over to her, you f*cking dumbass!” vibrated through my mind like a chainsaw. After about five seconds of torturing myself, I crossed the hall and met with the friendly face, face-to-face.

“H-hey, sorry, I kinda got lost?” I passively suggested, not quite sure how else to phrase an apology succinctly.

“Naw dude, you’re cool!” the woman laughed, rocking back and forth on the console table against the wall. Sitting clipped the beauty of her long limbs very little and as a result it was a struggle to stop a giant goofy smile from gracing my lips. God, she was just so gorgeous.

Staring at the floor so that I wouldn’t trace the curves of her exposed shoulders—I could see why she’d strip down to a tank top with all the body heat and the heat from the colored lighting filling the house—I adjusted the pitch of my voice to be able to better shout over the loud thump of the—Don Davis, I think?—music, “Hey! So, uh, I n-never g-got your name earlier?”

In the brief second I dared to shoot a glance up my acquaintance’s eyes I could practically see them bulging out of her sockets, “Oh! sh*t, dude, my bad! I’m Ash! Ashley, whatever!”

Finally, a name! “Nice to meetcha, Ash! I’m—”

Ash’s luck finally caught up to her as the thin legs on the cheap console table finally snapped, and she fell forward right into my grasp, pushing us both down to the hardwood floor. Laying on top of me, Ash burst into a fit of giggles while her friend group of three lightly laughed with her. Nursing a sore spot on both my ass and the back of my head I forced a grin so as not to be the wet-blanket and propped myself up on my palms while Ash continued her laugh on my lap.

“Oh my god, dude, I am, like, so sorry!” a snort escaped the lanky blue-haired girl, which only sent her into a wilder laugh that had her rocking around.

And then I noticed where she was rocking, and on what she was rocking.

Panicked, I turned over so quickly that I basically flipped Ash off of me and stood up in a hunched position. “Oh god, oh f*ck, I am so f*cking sorry!”

For her part, Ash continued to die of laughter for a fair bit longer before finally replying, “No, no, dude! Dude! You’re fine! I get it, I shoulda been, like, more careful, holy sh*t!”

Or I could’ve just not been a disgusting freak and popped a boner because an incredibly attractive woman was sitting on my crotch!

“A-Ash, I’m so sorry!” coherent thoughts escaped me. My mind overheated and threatened to begin smelling of burned toast. My voice came out a strained squawk that only further embarrassed me.

“Pfft, come on silly,” Ash giggled, grabbing me by my left wrist and dragging me into one of the dorm rooms to my left.

Once inside, Ash shot her head outside of the door and called out to her friends, but I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying, which was fine since I needed to hide my erection, pronto.

Dropping down on some poor f*ck’s bed, I immediately covered my lap with one of his pillows. By this point, Ash had returned her attention to me, and was widely grinning at my pathetic appearance.

“Oh my god, dude, really?” Ash strode over to the bed without hesitating and reached for the pillow, “Lemme help you with that, will ya?”

My iron grip on the pillow tightened somehow even more as Ash began tugging it away, “S-sh*t! Ash, seriously, I’m sorry, I—I’m okay! You don’t hafta get your hands—”

“You do know that guys ‘n gals usually do this sort of stuff at college parties like this, right?” Ash giggled, crouching down to get a more eye-level look at my crotch.

“Y-yeah, but, oh god—please don’t think I’m some kind of pervert?” I wanted to vomit so bad—and would have if Ash wasn’t directly in my line of fire.

“Dude, dude—actually, I don’t know what your name is—well, whatever—Dude! My guy! I invited you here ‘cause I thought you were kinda cute. If things went well I was expecting to get some tonight. It’s okay, whatever-your-name-is!”

Relief sewed through my soul like fresh water through a plant’s roots, “Oh, thank f*cking god,” I finally exhaled. It was like my shoulder’s suddenly weren’t going to tense so hard that the bone beneath my flesh was going to shatter from the pressure.

Ash took the pillow from my lap and tossed it aside. Now clearly about to see the outline of that which laid beneath my sweatpants, another feeling of trepidation filled my heart.

With a deviant glint in her eye, Ash shot a look up into my eyes, “Goddamn, that’s a real beast down here!”

Ugh, yeah, I know. All the other boys would always remind me of how big I was—talk about awkward. “T-thanks?”

Ash broke into another snorting laugh, “Jeez, dude, you’re funny.”

Reaching up to the waist of my pants, Ash began to slowly peel them down, even as I sat on the bed. Slowing her doffing motion, Ash shot my one more look, “Hey, listen, this isn’t, like, uncomfortable for you, is it?”

I was too flabbergasted to process what exactly Ash meant, so I simply stared back at her with a face that said I…don’t even know what.

“Dude, listen, I’m not here to, y’know, sexually assault you or anything. ‘No means no’, right?”

‘No means no’? I knew that! I shook my head up and down, hoping that whatever I was saying made some lick of sense.

“Yeah, exactly. So, let me ask you again: are you consenting to a handjob?”

Ash’s serious face completely betrayed the jovial life of the party I’d known her as for the entirety of the fourteen hours that I had known her. My mind was so overtaxed that I could barely process what she was telling me, though. Did I really want her touching my co*ck? I don’t know, I guess? She was gorgeous, and her personality was so amazing, it was hard not to—Jesus, just let the hot girl jack you off, you moron!

I nodded in confirmation one more time, hoping that would do the trick.

Breaking into a devilish grin, Ash returned to her task and unsheathed me. By the time my sweatpants had dropped to my ankles I had managed to process that a set of soft, long and slim fingers was wrapping around my co*ck.

For whatever reason, I nearly gagged, but held myself together long enough for Ash to begin jacking.

I didn’t want her to think she was the problem—Hell, I didn’t even know if I was the problem—so I simply went along with and let her enjoy her impromptu fun time.

When it finally came time for me to finish, Ash grabbed the pillow that she had put aside and pulled the covering off, shaking vicariously with her left hand until the pillow finally slipped out of the case.

I then ruined the inside of some poor bastard’s pillow case.

Tossing the soiled pillow case aside, Ash laughed, “Welp, guess he’s in for a surprise tomorrow!”

Without even thinking about it—nor making a sound—I pulled up my pants, stood up, and started walking for the door, but with my legs so shaky I could barely make it a few steps before needing to prop myself against the wall.

“sh*t, dude, you okay? Sit down, you can’t just get off like that and then expect to get up immediately!”

It didn’t matter—I needed to get out of there before Ash thought she was the reason I was about to burst into tears. Ash was amazing! So charming, and funny, and her laugh lit up a room—who wouldn’t want to be with her?

Out, out, out, OUT!

Squeezing out of the dorm room without even fully opening the door, I craned my head out of the room head first and I was immediately greeted from my right with a football to the head.

***

December 06, 2023:

As consciousness slowly return to me—enough so for me to be able to feel that I was being laid on a very uncomfortable bed or cot or some-f*cking-thing—I moaned lightly to let whatever muscle-bound creep that had picked me up off of the floor know that I was, indeed, perfectly fine.

Well, perfectly fine for a guy who had just seen his life flash before his eyes as a football came straight for his f*ckin’ head!

Unfamiliar voices poked through the darkness of my vision as I dilly-dallied on the way towards just opening my eyes and not being melodramatic about it all:

“Is she okay?” asked a woman—it was far too feminine and young to be Ash, though.

“She’s coming to, probably just a slight concussion—if that,” returned a much more masculine voice. There was a nice, hushed rumble to the voice. An understated, but obvious care underscored the voice, betraying the typical tendency for deep voices to sound monotonous.

It was nice.

A third voice, much less impressed with the entire situation chimed in next, “Candi’s going to be pissed about that black eye when she wakes up.”

Did I smell cigarette smoke?

“I didn’t mean to hit Miss Queen in the head, Nurse August!” the young woman’s voice shot back, a hint of panic. “Omigawd, they’re not gonna kick me off of the volleyball team, are they?”

Nurse? Did the university have a Nurse August on staff? Or was I rushed to a hospital?

“Also, should you really be smoking in your office, Nurse August?” the teen culprit’s voice asked.

“The other kids must love ya, kiddo,” the nurse deadpanned as she exhaled. The stench of tobacco made my eyes want to water.

With great effort, I finally managed to open my eyes. Vision blurry, I did my best to focus on the face hovering above me. Slowly, but surely, the details of the face—belonging to the man whose deep voice I had just heard—came into focus. The more I focused, the more it occurred to me that I was staring at the face of the man who had just hit me in the head with a football.

“Y-you jackass,” I coughed out, slowly rising to lay up in bed. My voice…sounded very different. Was my voice always so…high-pitched? And feminine? “Watch where you’re tossin’ your f*ckin’ footballs, jockstrap!”

The teen girl—who looked a few years younger than me and was at least nearly my—made a dramatic gasp that I was frankly in no condition to really pay any mind to.

The more I blinked my eyes the more my vision came back, and the more my vision came back, the more I realized the blonde hair in my peripheral vision. “What the f*ck? Why’s my hair so long?”

“Omigawd,” the brunette gasped even louder, “I didn’t know Miss Queen could swear?!”

Annoyed, and stricken with a hell of a headache, I finally blurted out, “Who the f*ck is Miss Queen?” as I took in my surroundings. Was…was this my high school’s nurse’s office? Why the f*ck was I back here?

“Candace,” the jock intoned, crouching down onto the edge of the bed and bringing the left of his two massive paws up to my right cheek, “Are you okay? You took a really nasty hit from Zoey here’s return!”

For a f*ckin’ meathead he sure did sound concerned, “Wha? Don’t shift the blame to this girl, dumbass, I saw you toss that football that hit me!” I let out a theatrical groan, attempting to rub—and instantly backing off from rubbing—my swollen left eye.

“Candace, honey, that was…Candace, what is the last thing you remember?” the big oaf asked in an irritatingly concerned voice.

Wasn’t he wearing a letterman jacket and jeans earlier? What was with the—very form-fitting—pink polo and gym shorts?

“You hittin’ me in the head with that football, meathead!” Like an idiot, I touched my eye yet again, “Ouch! f*ck!”

The PE teacher wannabe turned sharply to the gorgeous dark-haired young nurse with—wow, those are huge—and said in a surprisingly not-Neanderthal sounding tone, “May, get Zoey out of here, now!”

“B-but Coach! I gotta apologize to Miss Queen!” Zoey replied, her small frame a jittery mess.

“Who in the f—”

Coach Whoever quickly cut me off, “Zoey, you can apologize later. May, PLEASE!”

Nurse May or August or Who-the-f*ck-ever quickly took Zoey—and her own smugly amused look of interest—and escorted the girl out of the her office and closed the door to leave me and the meathead with some privacy.

“Will somebody please tell me who this ‘Miss Queen’ person is?” I asked, utterly exasperated. Feeling at my hair, I couldn’t believe the mane of gold I seemed to be suddenly sporting.

Then I looked down.

“WHAT THE F—?!”

The palm of a massive hand quickly covered my mouth before I could finish my expletive.

“Candace, don’t yell! Just stay calm, okay?”

I don’t think he understood my screaming of “Why the f*ck do I have tit*?” from behind the curtain of his massive paw.

“Candace, sweetie, I’m going to pull my hand away from your mouth, but I need you to promise not to scream, okay?”

“YETH!” I shouted, the volume muffled stilled.

Slowly, the big oaf who gave me this swollen and throbbing eye pulled his massive bear claw of a hand away from my mouth, before finally asking—in a strangely calm, and slow voice—“Candace, what year do you think it is?”

What the hell kind of question was that? “It’s 2013, you meathead! And who the f*ck is ‘Candace’?” I shout-whispered.

I didn’t think the big bastard could get any paler, but his nicely chiseled jaw managed to do so, anyway.

“What?!” I shout-whispered yet again, having no patience for hiding my impatience. “And why the f*ck do I have tit*?” I reached up and grabbed my chest, just to make sure that this wasn’t some elaborate prank and that someone hadn’t slid a pair of fake breasts into this pink blouse I was wearing. How the hell did someone put a new outfit on me without me noticing?

And where the f*ck was my hoodie?

Finally, the jock at least answered one of my growing number of questions, “Candace…it’s 2023.”

What?

“Check your purse, your phone should be in there…”

“What the hell are you talk—” before I knew it, my right hand had found a purse on the bed side to my right. As if it knew what it was looking for, my right hand—Jesus, were those pink acrylics?—pulled out a similarly pink phone from the pink purse. I typed in the pin that I usually used on my phone and exhaled with relief that it was indeed 6969, just like the phone that I was more familiar with.

The home screen background image was a selfie of a blonde woman—that looked vaguely familiar—and Coach Meathead kissing.

What kind of weird joke was this?

Yeah, the phone said it was December 06, 2023, but that was easy to fake, right? Turning on the camera, I switched it to selfie mode…and was instantly greeted by the most horrifying thing imaginable for a straight man.

I saw the woman who was kissing the meathead on my home screen background, except she now had a black eye and disheveled hair.

And she had a look of bewilderment, too.

A look of bewilderment like I imagined that I was probably making right now.

As the woman in the camera preview’s expression slowly shifted to one of horror, I realized that there was no denying what was before my very eyes:

Somehow, I was a woman now.

***

The future haunted me in my dreams. Every dream a nightmare, every nightmare a reminder. Always a failure. Always directionless. Always a slowly rotting corpse of a man, and never a person capable of desire. Always.

Even now, my disembodied self watched my sickly, pale form rotting to death, hunched over a computer, bathed in its every shifting light.

***

December 06, 2023:

After hyperventilating myself into vomiting into a strategically placed tin waste bin, the dipsh*t jock’s back rubs had served an admittedly important purpose in helping me not scream bloody murder in the middle of a school.

“H-how? I—what the f*ck?” I finally managed, confident I was done heaving up all my problems.

“I don’t know, Candace,” my former school mate-turned-supposed-boyfriend replied, obviously hard up for words himself, “You stopped by after school practice like you usually do to see me and the girls, and then Zoey accidentally—oh my f*cking god, Candi—this must be such a mindf*ck for you!”

You can say that again, “Are we—are we dating?” I asked, horrified that I already knew the answer.

My—who in the f*ck?—boyfriend only replied with a sheepish look that left me no less mortified.

“B-but how? I’m—I’m a straight guy?” I whispered, shaking my head lightly enough for my hair to not get caught in my newly swollen left eye.

“Uh…well, obviously, not. We’ve been dating for two years, Candace…”

“B-but…what? And why am I—” And then it finally occurred to me to check…

…down there.

With great haste, I reached my hands down beneath the ankle length skirt that I realized I was wearing—again with the pink?—and finally found my crotch.

Two out of three things were missing down there.

“WHAT THE FU—”

Yet again, the meathead covered my mouth with his hand.

Did he have a manicure?

“Candace, you’ve gotta stop it with the shouting, unless you want the whole school to know.”

Mouth freed, I asked as calmly as possible, “Know what? That I’m a—I’m a ma—?”

“—stealth trans woman, Candace!” The big bastard replied in a low whisper, before adding for emphasis, "You're a woman, Candace. The best I've ever known!”

‘Trans’? Like those guys you saw on Jerry Springer or whatever? Or that one chick who f*cked her stepson on Nip/Tuck? “Wha—what the f*ck? How? When?”

Mr. Chiseled Face took on a funny look that I wasn’t expecting such a serious, muscular guy to be able to make, “It’s been ten years, Candi, people tend to change a lot in that time.”

I suppose it was kind of reassuring that even this guy was able to be a little annoyed, too. Made him feel more human, “What, so I just decided to cut off my nuts and get big f*ckin’ tit* screwed on my f*ckin’ chest?” I hissed back, completely tuning out how odd it felt to be naturally speaking in such a feminine vocal inflection and pitch without even trying to.

“Yes, actually. I don’t know, we didn’t really talk after college, Ms. ‘I can’t do this right now!’! Christ, Candace,” a slight pause, preceding to his shifting to a quieter rumble of a whisper, “Why did you have to pick now of all times to revert back to being a f*cking teenager?”

A sharp, warm feeling crawled impatiently up my spine, “Well, excuse me for having a realistic f*ckin’ reaction to waking up a frea—”

Coach Dunderhead immediately slapped his palm back over my lips, “Trust me, you’ll thank me later for this.”

Pulling away, I stepped off of the bed and found my sense of balance completely out of whack. I suppose that’s what happens when you have huge p*rno tit* now, “J-Jesus, why are they so—”

“—y’said you liked ‘em big. Don’t look at me, you got those before I got the teaching job here and we started dating.”

“Ugh, f*ck off with the swarminess you—what the f*ck is your name, even?”

Suddenly, all the anger and annoyance and fear drained away from my body when I saw the heartbroken look on my colleague’s face.

His girlfriend didn’t recognize him.

I didn’t recognize my…boyfriend?

God, I was such a bitch—

—wait, I never let that word into my vocal or mental vocabulary.

Holy sh*t—

If I was thinking that word…calling myself that word…had I really been living as a woman for ten years?

“Omigawd, baby, I’m—” With clumsy, lightning speed I joined him on the edge of the cot and grabbed his hand, “I—f*ck, listen, I don’t know—I don’t even know what the f*ck is happening to me, uh…”

A deep inhale, and a quick flicking of his eyelids later, “Michael,” the warmth of his voice felt so strained, “Michael Summers: phys ed and girls volleyball coach, at your service!”

The played-up charm probably would have been really charming if it wasn’t obvious by the watery look in his eyes that I had just ripped his heart out of his chest by accident.

Gawd, I’m such a bitch.

***

December 07, 2013:

The sound of a low-rumbling slowly drew me back to consciousness. Unable to discern what the noise was at first, the longer I listened in my own personal darkness, the more I was able to make the rumble out to be the voice of a man, speaking to another voice that had the melody of a clarinet.

“Hey, I think he’s finally waking up!” I could just barely make out the clarinet saying.

“Oh, thank God!” the rumbling thunder added.

Memories of the football slamming into my left eye and sending me tumbling to the hardwood floor replayed through my mind at three-times speed. As I shifted in place, trying not to wake up too soon, it finally occurred to me that rather than being on the floor, I now found myself lying on a soft bed. Finally struggling through my own grogginess, I opened my eyes, and realized that I recognized the ceiling above me: I was back in the room that I had just gotten a handjob in.

It was like groundhog’s day all over again, or something.

“f*ck, my head hurts,” I groaned as I sat up and fished out my smart phone. It was already 1:34AM?

“Aaww, dude, listen, I am so sorry, are you okay?” said the low rumble. Ugh, there was that word again. Following the trail back to grandmother’s house, I managed to get my eyes to follow the sound of his voice and found the culprit: the 6’6’’ beast of man that had hit me was joined by Ash, both cautiously approaching me as I sat on the bed.

“W-watch where you f*ckin’ throw sh*t, jackass!” I coughed, still trying to get reoriented. Seeing out of my left eye was a no-go, which meant I could really only see the meathead whose stupid gorilla arm had just torpedo’d my eye with a f*cking football.

“Got a mouth on him, this one,” Ash interjected with great amusem*nt poking through in her voice.

Remembering whose presence I was in, I quickly turned my sore neck to the left to get a better look at Ash, who was hovering just a half foot from the bed and crouching down to be at eye-level with me. Ash’s hands laid pressed around her lap of sorts, just to give her better support, “How are you doin’, dude?”

Sitting up straighter than possible I replied with as little nervousness as possible, “It was nothing!” Foolishly, I reached up for my left eye and touched it, “See, it doesn’t even sti—Jesus f*cking f*ck!”

Ash and the meathead burst into laughter at my hubris.

“Hahaha, laugh it up,” I pouted, “I wouldn’t even have a swollen eye if it wasn’t for this—this guy here!” I accused, pointing an indignant right index finger at my assailant.

An air of regret soothed over the big, nameless sack of meat as he scratched the back of his head, “Uh…again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you, you just kind of appeared out of that dorm after I had already thrown the b—”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be f*ckin’ throwin’ a ball in the middle of an in-door party, genius?” I huffed, suddenly aware that if I didn’t choose my words right a solid 240 pounds of muscle could come crashing down on me.

For his part, the meathead only chuckled nervously and nodded his head apologetically, only furthering my irritation with him.

“We’re just glad that you’re fine,” Ash interjected, turning to the big bastard, “Right, Michael?”

Well, at least I knew what the hell to call the guy other than ‘meathead’ now. It was a surprisingly chaste name, “What, not a ‘Mike’ kinda guy?” I asked, thinly veiling my sarcasm.

“Aaah, no, um…only some of the guys on the team call me that, actually,” Michael hesitated, shooting his eyes back and forth between me and Ash, “Uh…yeah, ‘Mike’ just never really took for me. My ma always just called me Michael—or Mikey!”

Jesus, was I dealing with a lost puppy or something?

“Oh, right! Dude, like, I still don’t know your name!” Ash giggled as she turned back to me.

“Oh, right, yeah—uh, I’m Harri. Short for Harrison,” I grimaced, “I’m named after a great uncle or something, I don’t really know?”

“Damn,” Ash replied, her voice hushed, “You ever think about changing it? Sounds like you hate it, if I’m reading the tone of your voice right.”

“I’ve thought about it before, but—like…well, I wouldn’t even know what to go with. I’ve learned to just kinda roll with the punches, really.”

To be fair, all the names that I had come up with were hardly fitting for me, anyway—even if I did love them.

Lumbering in place, Michael snapped me from my thoughts, “Uh…again, Harri, I’m really sorry. Do you need a ride to the hospital? Or back to your place? We can pick up an ice pack on the way back, if you like?”

I couldn’t help but feel the pull between wanting to continue to be mad at the walking Greek statue, and simply accepting his kindness and letting go of the irritating tension that had built up in my neck and shoulders. Sometimes holding a grudge or being a petty ass just wasn’t worth it. Turning back to Ash to check for her reaction to the question only to find that she was wondering what my response was going to be, I finally just turned back to Michael and bit the bullet, “Uh…do you mind? My apartment’s near the Towne Center, is that cool?”

Michael immediately turned on the charm, breaking into a smile that was honestly pretty hard not to smile back at, “Pfft, this time of night that’s like, what, a ten minute drive? Easy peasy, Harri!”

Well, at least he wasn’t calling me ‘dude’ anymore, “Th-thanks, Michael!” Why did I sound so chipper? Like, I know his smile is all big and goofy, but—ugh!

Straightening back up, Ash took a slight step back before clapping her hands together, “Awesome! Sounds like a plan! Michael, thanks for being a doll and helping out Harri here! I know that my apartment’s only, like, a half-mile from here, but would you mind…?”

Michael’s shoulders dropped almost immediately, “Oh, uh, yeah! Of course! Safety, safety, safety—of course!”

“Jeez,” I cracked back, “Where was that attitude one football ago?”

Ash quickly turned around to try and cover her snorting laughter, and I couldn’t believe how cute her face looked, even when it was distorted from holding back a great big laugh.

Perhaps suffering through a little embarrassment would be worth it in the end?

***

December 06, 2023:

The drive back to my apartment—an apartment complex not too far from where my childhood home was, nor too far from the school—was dreadfully quiet. Michael had offered to drive me home so that I wouldn’t have to navigate driving with one eye, which I had been thankful for. As we approached the door to my apartment I began shuffling through my godawful large purse to find my keys, only for Michael to unlock the door with his own copy.

“Wait—are we living together?!” In the back of my mind I wondered why my gasp sounded so dramatic, “Like, a serious couple?!” I asked, flabbergasted.

Opening the door like he had opened it a thousand times before, “...I mean…” Michael made a slight grimace, as if he was bracing for impact, “...are you really surprised we would have moved in together after two years of dating?”

Well, shoot, I guess he had a point there. Couples usually did that sort of thing by the second year, right? Especially if they were as…serious…as we seemed to be.

“D-do you mind sleeping on the couch?” I asked with great caution, bracing myself for his ire.

“...I imagined you were going to ask that,” Michael droned as he guided me into our living room.

The apartment was pretty small—a one bedroom that would be simple enough to afford on a teacher’s salary. I knew even as far back as high school that teachers made sh*t money, so why the hell had I decided to beco—

“Michael, what the hell do I even teach?” I asked, dread ironing over my spine. I took a seat in a gray armchair that didn’t match the decor of the other furniture, let alone the room itself.

“English. The kids love ya! Which…I guess you don’t remember?” the girls volleyball coach chuckled, doffing his old letterman jacket—the one I remembered him wearing that night ten years ago—and then walking into the woefully cramped kitchen for a bottle of water from the fridge.

“English?” I asked, letting the thought rest on my tongue. I suppose it made sense, it was my favorite subject in school, and I’d always enjoyed writing.

Ugh, those stories I wrote were so embarrassing, though.

“Yeah, English,” Michael laughed as he took a seat on the couch to my right. From the way he spread and slumped down he looked utterly exhausted, “Uh…I guess if you’ve really forgotten the past decade then you’ll probably have forgotten that English teachers tend to be popular with the queer kids?”

My brain felt like it was collapsing in on itself at Michael’s little revelation, “Queer kids? What, you mean all the gay kids like me? I mean, all the gay kids adore me?”

Michael sucked down the water from the sh*ttily constructed bottle of water, added the cap back on, and then tossed it on the coffee table before us before replying, “Well, not all of them are just gay, but yeah. You’ve already been protective of your LGBTQ+ kids.”

Learning that I was apparently some beloved high school teacher was tearing me apart, so I bent forward in the mismatching arm chair and pressed my eyes into my palms in hopes that when I pulled them away I would be nineteen again—with considerably less to worry about.

Michael for his part, just stared up at the ceiling, waiting for me to say something.

I hadn’t noticed when exactly he had put it down, but Michael had left me a bottle of water on my side of the coffee table, too. As the water soaked the back of my throat I was immediately thankful for the relief. It was surreal having a man do something as simple as hand me a bottle of water, considering the romantic implications of a supposed woman’s boyfriend giving her a bottle of water. Michael had predicted what I needed when I was unable to even consider what I needed and then followed through.

That sort of thing must have made him popular with the ladies.

After draining the bottle I tossed it on the coffee table and turned to Michael, “Th-thanks for grabbing me a bottle, too, hon!” ‘Hon’? “J-Jesus, I sound so gay when I say that...”

Tap dancing his left hand’s fingers on the arm of the couch, Michael leaned forward on the couch to better look me in the eye, “It’s what you call me all the time, Candace.” There was a weak smile that I could just faintly hear in the jock’s voice, which reminded me only more so that this was a man who seemed to hold more than just knowledge about my life—he held an uncanny affection for me that I could not fathom.

“This is insane, you know that, right?” I replied, standing up from my hair to pace around the living room, “Jesus, Michael, to me you’re just that handsome jock I see around campus!”

I didn’t even need to turn to my seven o’clock to hear the smirk in Michael’s voice, “You think I’m handsome?”

Frustrated, I just offered a sigh, “Damn it dude—” that sounded weird, “—damn it, Michael, I’m being serious!”

“You wanna go and see a doctor? You might need to take leave from the school if your memory doesn’t kick back in soon.”

Michael had a point about that, admittedly. How was I supposed to teach when I didn’t even remember my time at college? Or did I? Was it just like riding a bicycle? Would I stand in front of thirty teenagers at a time and just know to say, “Okay class! Turn your textbooks to page 420!”

After one more lap around the couch I finally settled and plopped down next to my boyfriend and laid my head on his shoulder, “How the hell am I supposed to live like this, Michael?”

And then I realized what I’d done.

With lightning speed, I leapt up off the couch and immediately stumbled my way to behind the—faded navy blue—armchair on the opposite end of the couch, “Oh, sh*t!”

Michael quickly stopped his pursuit mid-standing from the couch, stared me directly in the eyes and asked: “Are you okay, Candace?”

Heart feeling as if it were about to burst out of my chest, I could only shake my head in reply, and wrapped myself in my own arms. If I couldn’t remember the last time I sobbed—let alone felt tears streaking down my cheeks—but here I was, barely suppressing audible sobs.

Crossing the room over to me with a familiarly careful gait, Michael wrapped me in his massive arms and pulled me in to let it all out into his sculpted chest.

By the time I’d finally found the wherewithal to stop sobbing and look up at Michael’s face it finally occurred to me that he was taller than me. I wasn’t used to that at 6’3’’, but I enjoyed the difference that three inches made.

Not to mention the inches on these strong arms of his.

I’d always been so lithe, but now…I had curves. Hips, and ass, and well, a bust I could feel compressing against my boyfriend’s chest. It hadn’t taken me too long for my body’s muscle memory to kick in, and I was already remembering how to walk with these new curves.

Or, at least, my body was.

It was so weird. These strangely familiar sensations all over my body in places that I once remembered just being awkward and gangly, but now it was like those feelings were becoming long forgotten.

Two hours ago I had been miserable and nineteen, now I was…successful and twenty-nine? How? It just didn’t make any sense to me, I’d never wanted to do anything with my life before.

“You’re doing that thing again, dear,” Michael whispered, his deep voice reverberating in my ears. Why did it make me feel so warm in my belly?

“Doin’ what?” I whispered, although it came out more like a strained squeak. My throat was somehow dry all over again, and I idly wondered if I could get Michael to walk into the kitchen with me so that I wouldn’t have to leave his grasp.

Surprisingly, Michael just laughed at me, “Honestly, it's funny for me to know that you’d have asked that even if you didn’t have amnesia.”

It was hard not to pout at that, “Oh hush, meathead!”

“God, that takes me back. You almost never call me that anymore—well, not outside of se—”

“—Michael Scott Summers!!” I admonished, voice nearly gone.

Michael just looked into my eyes and smiled that same kind smile he was always giving me.

…how did I know that his middle name was ‘Scott’? Before I could give it any further thought, Michael—still holding me in a tight hug—lifted me up length-wise and started carrying me over to the kitchen, as if he had read my mind.

“M-Michael?!”

“Don’t squirm, Candi!” The behemoth chuckled, effortlessly crossing over to the kitchen despite supporting my entire body weight on his.

“O-omigawsh, Michael! Please! Just let me down!!” I wasn’t even sure why I was giggling about it, but the ridiculousness of the situation was hard not to fall into step with.

Finally, Michael and I arrived at the fridge and he finally set me down. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I was both impressed and miffed that Michael wasn't even short of breath. Was he just hitting the gym extra hard, or had I just shed a lot of weight despite now sporting big breasts?

As Michael rummaged through the fridge for another water bottle I felt at my waist: it was way more hard than I remembered it being.

Noticing my hands exploring my body, Michael handed me a bottle, “You’re a real gym bunny these days.”

“What is it with men and vaguely sexual nicknames for everything?” I asked between sips.

“Pfft, god, it's great seeing that you're still you now that you've calmed down a bit.”

With a pout, “Hey, is that supposed to be a back-handed compliment?”

Taking the water bottle from my hand, “It’s supposed to be—” and taking a sip, “—me telling you—” Michael handed the water bottle back, “—that I’ll always have your back.” What a f*cking smile.

Michael’s goofy grin was impossible not to return at that point, “G-gawd, Michael, stop!”

“Stop what?” he asked, pushing my buttons.

“Th-this is unfair, Michael! I don’t even—I don’t even—I’ve never dated a boy before, I don’t know what the f*ck I’m even—” My giggles refused to stop.

Straightening up his posture—which somehow made him seem even taller—Michael forced himself to take a more serious face—Not that it stopped those piercing blue eyes of his! “I’m sorry, Candace, it’s just…god, there’s still so much of the current you in there, I can tell.”

Michael wasn’t wrong—I kept finding myself falling into behaviors and mannerisms that I didn’t recognize. I didn’t just look like a woman or have a higher pitch voice. I was moving like a woman, I was talking like a woman—or at least some facsimile of a woman I’d always found attractive.

What the heck did that even mean?

“Candace, listen,” Michael came in softly, as if he was trying not to startle a cat—sheesh, that’s an apt analogy—“You probably haven’t eaten in hours, and, uh, I got us a reservation the other day for tonight, so…you still wanna go?”

The concern on my supposed boyfriend’s face was concerning enough, “Uh…go where?”

“That Italian place on Ponders—we, uh, go there a lot.” Michael’s face looked like he was afraid of stepping on a kitten.

“Oh, that place? Really? I guess that’s one of those things I started doing after the whole ‘becoming a woman’ thing?”

For his part, Michael just shrugged.

And then, it occurred to me, “Wait, how the f*ck am I—what am I going to wear? How am I going to do my makeup again?” Every little thing turned into a new crisis that I had no idea how to manage.

“Aah, shoot, that’s right,” Michael leaned on the kitchen counter and stared at his feet. “I don’t suppose those are things you’ll remember how to do once you’re trying to do them?” A sheepish look came over his face, but with these new questions making my brain throb I had no patience for humoring him.

Letting loose a guttural noise, I stomped off to the bedroom and threw myself face-first into a pillow to scream some more.

***

December 06, 2023:

At some point I found myself on my back, counting the little bumps on the ceiling from my bed. While I was zoned out Michael had said that he was going to get out to grab us a bite to each, but I did little more than flail my right hand in the air for a moment to acknowledge his little side quest, and then returned to letting the day’s horrors play over-and-over in my mind.

How in the hell had I gotten where I am now?

After a quick, steamy shower—in which I did my best simply not to touch my genitals, and be reminded of their sudden disappearance—I crashed on my bed—or, I guess, the bed I shared with my boyfriend—and scrolled through the gallery on my phone. I couldn’t believe the number of selfies—both with and without Michael—that I had on my phone now. Fewer than a dozen photos of me from when I was a teenager existed—and most of them were on my phone in an album titled ‘Pre-Transition’, which seemed to pair well with the album titled ‘Gloat Bait’ that was stuffed to the bring with side-by-side comparisons of me as a woman.

I had yet to look too hard in the mirrors at either the school, on the car ride over, or in the apartment. The shock was far too much for me to process. Hell, even laying on long, damp hair felt so weird to me. I used to keep my hair so short, but now it was this wild, golden mane.

Forget “How did I become a woman,” the real question was, “How did I become a Barbie?”

Scrolling through the album labeled ‘Me n Mikey’ again, I couldn’t help but wonder why the hell I was dating a man. I was straight—okay, if I had ever seen myself as ever being a woman, I had at least pictured myself as a lesbian. But these photos? These photos showed a completely different story.

Ugh, I’m glad Michael shaved off that terrible p*rnstasche.

The sound of the front door opening snapped me from my daydreaming, and as I propped myself up on my elbows it occurred to me that I was still topless. “Oh, sh*t!” Hurriedly, I closed the door to the bedroom and began rummaging through my collection of bras, still able to hear the thudding sound of Michael’s steps through the hallway to the bedroom, through the door itself, and then through the pitter pattering of my own steps as I tried to don this stupid f*cking bra.

“Hon—uh, Candace, you in there?” Michael called through the door, the slight jostling of to-go- boxes beneath his voice sticking out to me. Where was the jostling of the bag?

“Uh—yeah, gimme a sec?” I called out, still adjusting the black sports bra. The more Michael distracted me, the easier putting the damned thing on was.

Taking a quick peak in a full-length mirror I was still taken aback by the woman staring back at me. Yeah, sure, her bra was on right—at least, it looked and felt like it was—but also, how was she so…normal looking? But also…hot?

Digging through my closet, I grabbed and donned an oversized shirt and a pair of black sweatpants that I suspected were just barely hanging on thanks to my ass, and then stumbled my way over to the door to find the big lunk still standing outside our bedroom, holding a green tote bag.

“Oh nice, you took a shower? Bet that felt amazing!” Ugh, why did he keep making such a goofy smile any time he looked at me?

Looking to change the subject, I pointed towards the green tote bag with my eyes, while motioning with my body that I wanted out of the room. “What, they stop giving out to-go bags?” I sassed, hoping Michael wouldn’t notice that I was wearing what I suspected was actually a set of his clothes.

Michael didn’t reply immediately, so I turned back to face him once we reached the other end of the hallway that led into the living room, “Are you kidding me?”

“...uh…yeah, the plastic bag fees started near the end of 2021. Upwards of twenty cents per bag adds up a lot for teachers, y’know?”

“Jesus Christ, twenty cents a bag?” I yelled, forgetting how the cramped hallway would amplify the sound.

Michael merely shrugged before motioning for me to continue to the kitchen.

“What the f*ck else did I miss in the last ten years?” I asked with great theater as I leaned my ass against the counter with the sink so that Michael could use the counter across to unload the tote. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the process of leaning my ass against a counter was no longer nearly as uncomfortable as it was ten years ago.

“Donald Trump was a one-term president.”

“No f*cking way?”

“Oh, and the pandemic—”

“Okay, now I know you’re sh*tting me!” I giggled, before realizing just how different my laugh sounded now. “Omigawsh, how is my voice sounding like this?”

“Voice training—also, Google it. We still have Google, by the way. It’s just sh*ttier now,” Michael added, a little self-satisfaction slipping into his voice.

Tapping through my phone, I was shocked to find that Mr. Summers had been right on both accounts. “f*ck me, I need a smoke,” I droned before tearing my eyes away from the screen to check out what Michael had picked up.

Omigawd, that garlic bread looked like the tastiest sponge I’d ever seen.

Propelling off of the sink counter with my rear I snuck around Michael’s left and reached from a carefully sliced piece while he opened the other containers. “So tell me Summers…why was that girl from the volleyball team calling me Miss Queen? My last name’s Woods.”

“...we should probably sit down for that conversation, Candace.”

The apprehension in Michael’s voice did much to completely sap what little calm I had finagled myself in the past hour. Slowly, I lowered my left hand—from which I had begun to nibble on the garlic bread—and leaned back against the counter that Michael was unpacking on.

From the corner of my eye I could tell Michael was reaching up to lay his left hand on my left shoulder, but stopped part way after seeing my face.

I wasn’t sure what face I was making, but damned if it didn’t feel like a bad one.

Apartment DD-03 was far too small and cramped for a dining table of any sort, so I trudged over to the couch and dropped down without much care. Michael slowly followed, handing me a bowl of spaghetti soaked in a red sauce that steamed just enough to loosen the pores in nostrils.

It was pretty easy to start sniffing and holding back tears from there.

Joining me on the couch, Michael’s body radiated against my body like a furnace. It was just as well, our apartment was a poorly insulated piece of sh*t.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting on the couch, awkwardly holding a bowl of steaming hot spaghetti, but I was sure it was long enough to be awkward. The silence only made it worse, so finally, I said what we both knew I was thinking: “My parents disowned me, didn’t they?”

I suspected that Michael considered his silence a kindness, but for me it was only agony. Finally, “I’m sorry, babe.”

Dropping the plastic bowl on the coffee table as quickly as possible, I ran back into my bedroom and cried myself to sleep.

***

December 07, 2013:

The twenty-four hour grocery store is both a terrible and glorious thing, but tonight—with my eye swollen and aching as if it had no shame—I was sure as hell happy to have one available. Surely they would never disappear.

Michael and I shuffled into the Walmart near my house at 1:53AM and picked up an ice pack and a bottle of water from the impulse-buy coolers at the front registers for me to walk around the store with pressed against my eye while Michael picked up something for himself. It was surreal seeing someone even taller than me shuffle around a quiet and lifeless Walmart at nearly 2AM, but my day had already been the weirdest one of my life, anyway.

“How's the eye doin’, dude?” Michael's disembodied voice asked from the other side of the candy aisle.

“Fine,” I returned, realizing that I was talking way too loudly for a store at 2AM. As if to confuse me even more, the loud sound of a pallet dropping—in the grocery section to my right—snapped me back to attention. “Holy sh*t!!”

Without wasting a second, Michael wrapped around the corner and rushed to my side, “Dude, are you okay?!”

Michael's panicked expression was somehow more startling than the pallet dropping. “Yeah, I'm fine! That pallet just startled me, don't worry about it.” I hoped my shakey smile was reassuring enough.

Grabbing my right hand with his left, Michael began pulling me up front to the checkouts, “Let’s get going, these stores can get kinda…triggering…at night.”

“Pfft, daytime, too,” I giggled as my brain processed the difference in our hand sizes. Michael’s hands were inhumanly huge—and strong!

It was hard not to blush at the sense of security Michael's mere presence provided. The more that I relaxed my hand in his grasp, the more I could feel a blush spreading across my face.

Why the heck was I feeling this way about a guy? I liked women, not men!

After nary a blink, Michael and I arrived at the front end of the store, and as expected, only one checkout remained open—the tobacco and hard liquor checkout—and there were two customers ahead of us. The cashier—looking completely out of it—scanned each item slowly, clearly trying to kill time before returning to any of their other overnight duties.

Looking down to confirm my suspicions, I noticed that Michael was still holding my hand, and thus felt the blush in my cheeks deepen somehow more.

My brain told me to tell Michael to “let me go already,” but my rapidly beating heart screamed, “Don’t remind him—maybe he'll even hug you, later!!!”

Did I have brain damage? Did that football to the head make me gay? Well, no, surely not—I was still really into Ash, after all.

But Michael—the more I thought back on it, the more it felt like he was so…different? His smiles, the way he tried not to hover, but inevitably still tried to look out for me…so much was beginning to add up.

I'm not sure if was flirting with me, but—

An idea—a terrible idea—flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from acting on it.

“Hey, Michael,” I began, Michael noticing that he was still holding my hand, “Do me a favor when we get outside?”

Still embarrassed from holding my hand longer than he imagined that I was implying was acceptable, Michael nodded fastidiously.

I couldn’t help but crack a grin at how red he was getting.

***

December 07, 2013:

The pitch black of night was broken only by the golden light of old parking lot overhead lights. As Michael and I broke proximity so as to walk around to other sides of the car I caught the gentle giant—or perhaps just a nervous wreck—shooting a quick sideways glance to me out of the corner of my eye.

Was Michael really as kind and gentle as he was letting on, or was he just nervous as hell and trying not to out himself?

It probably made me a terrible person to even think about doing what I had in mind, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I had to know exactly what was going on: “So, Michael…have you been flirting with me?” I asked as we clicked our seatbelts into place.

Michael immediately lost his grip on his belt before it could lock in place, sending the thing flying back into his face, “Ouch! Son of a—sh*t!!”

“‘Son of a sh*t’?” I mocked, unable to stop myself from giggling at the hapless hulk. When Michael grabbed his nose I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yef!” Michael replied, his voice a strained nasally whine.

“Sorry, sorry,” I sighed, hoping to play my cards correctly. I wasn’t exactly gay myself, so I had to play this next part very carefully, “I was just wondering since, y’know, you keep looking at me and stuff.”

Finally finished with rubbing his nose, Michael placed both of his hands on his steering wheel and looked forward. God, even when he was sweating nervously he looked statue-esque. Or like a model?

“S-sorry,” he finally admitted, “I didn’t—sorry. I promise, it won’t be a prob—”

“I don’t recall saying that it was a problem,” I couldn’t stop a smirk from spreading across my face, “I was just curious. Huh, I guess the gay jock trope really is real?”

Michael’s brow furrowed at that, “I’m not gay, Harri!”

Michael’s impassioned retort caught me off guard, “Woah, uh, what? Sorry, I just thought you were since you were hitting on me and all?!”

“I’m bisexual—I like women, too, I've only dated men so far, is all.”

Wait, that’s actually a thing? Jeez, I didn’t think bisexual people actually existed outside of weird television characters.

As Michael’s words sunk in I was beginning to feel like I had just made a complete idiot out of myself, “Woah, I uh—sorry, I didn’t—”

Michael sighed, letting the tension in his body drain from his shoulders and his face as he slid back into his seat, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get mad or anything—it’s just that nobody ever really gets it, y’know?”

“Oh jeez,” I was so in over my f*cking head, “W-were you bullied growing up?” Of f*cking course he was, you dumbass, he’s g—bisexual!

Michael took a moment to reply, his eyes staring off into the distance ahead of him, “Even the people who call themselves your ally still want you to just be one thing or the other a lot of the time. Sure, they’ll support you the first time you get a boyfriend, but when that ends and you try asking out a girl, what do they do? Pfft…”

The atmosphere was thick with a bitterness so repugnant that it transcended stench and morphed into a soup I could feel on my tongue, “Jesus Christ, Michael, I—I’m so sorry…”

“For the record, I just thought you were flirting with me, too,” there was a strained reluctance to speak in Michael’s voice, but I recognized it as him keeping his cards close to his chest after my complete and utter f*ck up, and I couldn’t blame him one damned bit.

I was the worst, because the only way I could think to make things better was to keep on digging this damned hole all the way to the other side of the Earth, “A-actually, I-I w-was?”

I wasn’t digging a hole to China or Australia or wherever—I was digging a hole straight down to Hell.

And I deserved to burn for it.

“Wait, what?” Michael’s astonishment threatened to turn into a smile—I could see the corners of his lips inching ever so closer into an upward position.

I know it’s wrong, but after tonight’s awkwardness with Ash—and after what I’d just done to this big dumb puppy, I couldn’t bear the thought of crushing heart, “Uh…yeah, no, I’m—I’m bisexual, too!”

I just hoped I wouldn’t have to interact with any of the other terrible people down in Hell.

“H-holy sh*t, really?” Michael exclaimed, turning in his car seat to face me more easily, “That’s so—god, I knew I was picking up the vibes!”

Gee, thanks, I guess, “...Only, I guess, I’ve only dated women so far.” Yeah, and all those relationships had turned out like sh*t, to boot.

“Oh, shoot!” Michael suddenly shouted, “I’m not, like, freaking you out by being so open about it, am I?”

The concern on Michael’s face was so genuine, I didn’t know how to reply. It was Michael, though, so if I didn’t reply quickly he’d start catastrophizing or whatever it's called, “N-no, you’re fine. I’m just—still getting used to—uh, basically, I’ve never told anyone before. It’s not you, it’s fine! Promise!”

Michael breathed another sigh of relief and turned around to face forward in his seat again, “Th-that’s good! Jeez, this is always so awkward.”

“What is?” I asked, before taking a swig from the water bottle Mr. Nice Guy bought me just a minute ago.

“Asking a guy out,” Michael groaned, covering his face in exhaustion.

I immediately spat out the water before I could even swallow any. “Holy sh*t?!”

Using the sleeves of his letterman jacket to wipe himself off, Michael replied with a hint of concern in his voice, “Uh…I guess that’s a no, then?”

Every little cell in my brain began running around screaming like chickens with their heads cut off as I tried to process Michael’s casual question, “I—what? Me? Date? You? Us? Together?! WHAT?!” A stray drop of water caught in my throat and traveled down the wrong way, sending me into a coughing fit.

The perfect gentleman that he was, Michael began softly pounding my back, trying to help me do whatever the f*ck you’re supposed to do when you’re choking while seated in a bisexual jock’s passenger seat at 2:22AM being asked out by the guy you’d just LIED TO about being bisexual.

What the f*ck had I done with my life?

“You okay?” Michael asked, rubbing my back as my coughing slowed to a stop.

“I'll live,” I replied, almost betraying my disappointment with myself for surviving.

Michael just laughed, seemingly oblivious to my trial.

It was a really nice laugh, now that I thought about it. Ice pack back against eye, I began to wonder why I’d ever been so irate with Michael. Sure, he shouldn’t have been throwing a f*cking football in side of a fraternity hous—especially in the middle of a goddamned party—but Michael wasn’t such a douchebag that he didn’t feel instant regret and learn his lesson from his mistake. That was a sorely missed trait in a lot of men, in my experience.

Men were usually more arrogant and self-assured than they had the talent for, but Michael? He wasn’t like those men, he knew how to apologize, he knew how to think about others’ feelings, and he knew what it was like to not be what others expected of him.

I could definitely relate to him when it came to that last part.

I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but my parents thought that I was gay. Hell, even all of my ex-girlfriends thought I was gay—even if only one or two of them would come clean about it.

But that was the thing, I really did enjoy being with them…but I could never quite just be the kind of guy they wanted. I was tall, sure, but I wasn’t masculine in any of the ways a straight high school or college girl had expected. Performing the role that you’re expected to play in a relationship between a man and a woman just felt so…awkward to me. For all the great conversations that preceded attempts at physical intimacy, I was ultimately unable to fulfill their needs.

“You’re nothing like the other boys,” they would say. Yeah, of course! Those other boys could actually f*ck you without suddenly feeling sick halfway through the makeout session. Those other boys didn’t actually care about your day, or your opinions, or ask you about your outfits. Those other boys didn’t act like the f*cking limp-dick fa*ggot all their new boyfriends thought you were.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?” my older sister would ask, completely oblivious to the struggles that came with being the boy in a family like ours. Because clearly I didn’t have anything to worry about my future as a—

—Michael’s right hand grasped my left so as to pull away the ice pack, “I think the swelling’s gone down a little?”

“Pfft, yeah, probably not so soon,” I chuckled, pulled back from the deep. God, Michael’s large hand felt nice on mine, its warmth washing away the coolness of the ice pack that had infiltrated through my palm.

A face that said that Michael had a question on his mind took over the lineman’s face, so I turned myself around again and nodded at him to just go ahead and ask the question: “Something tells me neither of us are getting any sleep tonight.”

Dramatically raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Dare I ask if you have something in mind?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Michael smirked, like a devil of an idea had dealt its way into the game that was his mind.

***

December 07, 2013:

Around 2:53AM Michael and I arrived at the largest park in town, a beautiful 340-acre chunk of land that was one part baseball and soccer fields, one part playground and barbeque area, and many parts of many other things, including a lake. As is often the case with parks, one is not meant to enter into them between dusk and dawn, but being that we were in the middle of a Washington winter, I did not foresee the sun rising any time soon.

Parking the car on the rarely traversed side road, Michael and I—flashlight in hand—made our way into the park and walked a poorly paved half-mile long road towards the lake tucked away in the back corner.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Michael, my eyes still adjusting to the pure darkness being pierced by the light of the flashlight he kept stored in his glove box.

A devilish amusem*nt drenched Michael’s smooth, deep voice, “Oh? Are you scared of the dark, Hare?”

‘Hare’? What’s next, calling me ‘Hare Bear’ or a bunny or something? “No, I’m just worried that someone might call the cops on us, is all!” I couldn’t stop myself from teasingly adding, “Unlike you, I’m too delicate for prison.”

“Pfft, don’t worry—I’ll protect ya!” Michael teased back.

It was hard not to laugh with him at his own silly cadence, so I bumped my left shoulder against his and he bumped back, sending me tilting backward a little, but not so much so that I would fall. Jeez, he was strong. Although our heights weren’t too different, there was a thickness and weight to him that I and my lithe figure completely missed out on.

Reaching around, Michael grabbed me before I fell back too much, and scooped me right upward again—even though I was definitely not in any trouble of falling backward. Still, the closer proximity to Michael’s thick, warm body was…nice—in the chill of the Washington winter night.

A snapping noise in the thicket to our right instantly snapped me back to attention and I leapt leftward to hide behind Michael, “What the f*ck was that?”

Shining his light, Michael illuminated a bunny rabbit, frozen in place, behind the wiring of the dog park fence. After a beat, the rabbit took off in a maddash for the welcoming darkness. Breaking out into a snicker, Michael pointed his flashlight up at his face and in a scary voice said, “The common rabbit of the Washington wilderness! A most frightening, blood-thirsty beast—and the natural predator of the twink!”

With a shove—that did little to actually move the bronze statue of a man—I shout-whispered back my grievance: “f*ck off, Michael!”

His only reply was an aggravatingly excited cackle.

“And what the hell is a twink, anyway?”

Recomposing himself, Michael pointed his right index finger at me, “Well, you’re slim, no body hair—near as I can tell—cute, and queer: all the hallmarks of a twink. Well, I’m not sure if they’re usually as tall as you, but whatever.”

Did Michael just call me…cute? A burning sensation unlike anything I’d ever felt before arrived in my cheeks at the same time as the rapid beating of my heart kicked up another notch. None of my old girlfriends had ever called me ‘cute’ before, so I didn’t have a frame of reference for what I was feeling, but with Michael—Jesus, what was I thinking? I’m not actually bisexual, I’m just pretending to be so that I don’t upset this big lug.

Snapped back to attention by Michael grabbing my hand again, my companion began pulling me along with him, “Come on, we’re almost there!”

After a quick—and perhaps ill-advised at this time of night—sprint Michael and I arrived at the entrance to the lake, and as a result Michael let go of my hand yet again. No matter how much I rubbed my hand to not let the warmth of Michael’s hand leave I eventually found myself with a cold hand yet again.

The lake—the name of which I couldn’t remember—was surrounded by a thick layer of pine and redwood trees that surely provided ample shade during the summer, but also meant ample shade from the stars on a winter night. Well, assuming the clouds weren’t out. Walking around a lake at night was its own kind of eerily, but Michael kept close enough to make me feel safe.

A somewhat better paved walking path surrounded the lake and made for a much safer walking path than the path that actually led into the park from the side road. On my right, a light brush separated me from a paved path that led up a hill to another walking area, which between me and the lake were both Michael and more light brush and trees, mostly obscuring the paths that would actually lead down into the lake itself. From what I could tell of the lake as it lay behind darkness and fog, it looked as beautiful as it did scary.

“So, how’s college going for you?” Michael eventually asked, joining the chorus of small nighttime wildlife to break the awkward silence.

I could only reply with a groan that sounded as if I was dying in the night itself.

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, to be honest,” I finally admitted, wrapping my arms around myself to try and keep warm, “My parents expected me to go, so I did. I still don’t have a major or anything picked out yet. You?”

“Physical education and math, believe it or not,” Michael chuckled, as if he was expecting exactly what I was about to reply with.

“Damn, what is going to become of our dumb jock supply if they all keep getting educated?” At the back of my mind I knew that a giggle probably made me sound, well, gay, but I figured it was good for the cover. Or something.

“To think,” Michael boomed theatrically, “We’ll have to f*ck jocks…with college degrees!”

Giggling at a bi guy’s theatrics probably didn’t help with the fa*ggot Allegations, but I didn’t care. Michael was a lot cooler than I gave him credit for. Replying with “Oh gawd, I hope nobody gets any papercuts up their assholes” didn’t help, either.

Between hacking-and-coughing from laughing far too much, “You mean—f*cking him in the ass with the diploma itself?”

My body shook up and down uncontrollably from my laughter, “Y-yeah?”

“Jesus, Hare!” Finally, Michael managed to come to a slow halt from laughing just as we reached the midpoint of the lake.

At the further back corner of the lack was a bench that overlooked a small dock that spanned about fifteen feet into the lake. This dock suffered from a slight uneasiness as it sat on the water, thus making even the lightest of steps feel treacherous.

Taking only a few steps onto the dock was enough for me, “Uh, sh*t, Michael, listen—I—I can’t. It’s pitch black out, and I don’t wanna fall into a frozen lake full of who knows what the f*ck.”

“It’s safe, I promise,” Michael countered, his voice warm enough to contrast with the chill of the winter morning air. “I’m not gonna force you, of course, but you can trust me.”

This had been such a bizarre night already, but even so, the idea of ‘leaving’ Michael’s side at this point felt so weird. We hadn’t been more than a few inches apart all night at this point. Looking down at Michael’s right hand as it hung at his side, I decided to go for broke and grabbed it.

Firmly holding hands with Michael by my own intention, I did the gayest sh*t in my entire life and let him guide me out onto the dock. There were no railings to hold onto, but it didn’t matter: even Michael’s most gentle and warm grip felt strong enough to lift my entire body weight up to prevent me from falling into the lake.

Once at the edge of the dock, Michael and I sat down cross-legged and just listened. The sway of the water in the pitch dark of night was both gorgeous and terrifying. I normally spent so much time inside and on my computer that I’d forgotten the simplest pleasure in just listening to the sound of waves.

The sway of the dock was still pretty nauseating, though.

“God, this is great,” Michael mused aloud as he handed me his flashlight, leaned back and then propped himself up against the dock with his hands, “It’s been forever since I just had a chance to be outside by myself and pay attention to the sound of nature, y’know?”

Grasping onto the flashlight for dear life, I nodded as I aimed the light to illuminate Michael better, “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Scary as hell, though…”

“I thought you weren’t afraid of the dark?” he snidely laughed.

“Oh, f*ck off, Michael!” I laughed, pushing his right shoulder. Again, Michael didn’t budge. He felt like a statue with a layer of flesh over it, “Jesus, how ripped are you?”

“Very,” Michael replied simply, although I could tell that he was just barely holding back from laughing at me.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—whatever. Ugh, you’re like a meat sack full of muscles!”

A cheekiness perpetuated throughout Michael’s voice, “Jealous, or…?”

I couldn’t forgive the implication, “For your information, Michael, I am not so easy as to sleep with a man on the first date!”

Wait, what the f*ck did I just say?

Sitting back up, a lightly chuckling Michael leaned on my left shoulder to steady himself, “So, is that what we’re calling this?”

Still leaning against me—and with my head still turned to face him—Michael’s face was suddenly closer to mine than it had ever been. Even in the shivering, wet, cold of night, I could feel Michael’s warm breath and bright smile fill my body with a heat that I didn’t understand. “Whoops, am I too close?” Michael asked, but I couldn’t make out the tone.

I wasn’t really able to think at all.

“N-no,” I finally managed to say, “Y-you’re just…perfect.”

What the f*ck was I saying?

What the f*ck was he doing?

Was Michael moving in closer?

Oh my f*ckin—

Michael’s lips connected with mine, and in that moment my heart jumped out of my chest, re-entered through my mouth, and then exited again through the same hole in my chest. Wrapping his right arm around my waist, Michael pulled me in to stabilize me as my entire body went limp. A suddenly bright light hit my right eye, so I opened my eyes to still find that—yes, Michael was still kissing me—but now we were being bathed in the light of the moon as the clouds parted and it reflected off of the lake’s surface.

Michael finally broke the kiss upon noticing the moon and turned forward to stare out at the lake. “Was that too sudden?” he asked calmly, a measure of fear behind his voice.

This was it: my chance to come clean and admit that I wasn’t into men, “N-no, it was—I enjoyed it!” No, you dumbass!

Worry took over Michael’s face as he turned back to face me, “Jesus Hare, you’re shivering like crazy? Are you okay?” Hopping back onto his feet, Michael held down a hand for me, so I grabbed it, and he almost effortlessly pulled me up, “Let’s get you back to the car, c’mon!”

As Michael tugged me back onto the walking path to finish our lap around the lake, I found myself unable to stop thinking about how much better a kisser he was than all of my ex-girlfriends.

***

December 07, 2013:

After a half-hour of driving aimlessly around town being bathed in the rays of a high-powered car heater I finally found myself able to stop my body from shaking, and asked Michael to drive us to a certain twenty-four hour diner for a very early breakfast.

Being that it was now 4:17AM, the slight tug of my bed in the distance beckoned me to sleep, but after the electrifying kiss from Michael I was in no condition to sleep, so I pushed on and lifted up my legs to continue walking toward the booth that the waitress had pointed up to upon our entrance.

Once settled across from Michael I quickly dug my eyes into reading the menu so as not to make eye contact with Michael. I could tell from the second that we left the dock area at the park that he had a new spring in his step, and it only made my guilt worse. Michael was incredible, anyone would be lucky to have him, I couldn’t just selfishly keep him to myself simply because I was afraid of admitting that I had been lying about bisexual.

But gawwwwwd, that was an incredible kiss. Who knew kissing men was that…electrifying?

“God, I’m honestly starving,” Michael laughed with an almost sing-song cadence, although I suspected his giddiness was from kissing me earlier.

If I didn’t take the offensive then the subject of The Kiss was inevitably going to come up, “I suppose you use up a lot of calories with the whole…sports thing?” I could feel the leftover stickiness on the table, but I did my best to not think about it too hard, lest I be grossed out for the entirety of our time at the sleepy diner.

Flipping through his menu, Michael nodded, “Yeah, working out a lot can do that.”

A nervousness infiltrated my voice, “Aaah, yeah, I guess it would. I don’t really move around much.”

“Yeah?” Michael asked, as if he couldn’t easily tell by the sight of me, “If you ever wanna try it out I could help ya at the gym?”

The mere thought of seeing Michael at the gym…made me feel something I didn’t expect, in a place that I didn’t expect.

Was I…no! No way!

Realizing that Michael was staring at me, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his statement, I quickly nodded my head, “Oh, uh, maybe sometime? I’m not looking to add muscle or anything.”

“Hey, a good run is always amazing, too!” Goddamn, even his teeth were perfect.

God, why couldn’t I keep my eyes off of his goofy smile? “Yeah, maybe tomorrow we c—”

A third voice rudely joined the chorus, “You boys ready to order yet?”

The waitress was an absolutely exhausted middle-aged woman who looked completely fed up with her life, but nevertheless didn’t allow it to show in her voice. Her hair—kept in a ponytail—looked like an aged blonde that left me wondering if my hair would look faded like that someday, assuming I didn’t tragically lose it all by the time I was in my late twenties. I was fond of keeping it longer, and now that I was living on my own, could actually do so. It wasn’t long enough for a ponytail yet, but it was hard not to idly think about all the different hairstyles available to women.

“—Hare, it’s your turn,” Michael’s warm voice brought me back to the present.

Quickly fumbling with my menu I turned back to the waitress and blurted out, “Eggs, scrambled. Sausage links, too, please!” With my order haphazardly given I immediately began staring down at the table in hopes of not catching any judgemental facial expressions.

“We’ll have those right up for you boys,” I heard the woman’s warm voice say before taking her leave. God, I was a f*cking moron.

“Hey, look up?” Michael asked.

Dreading Michael’s facial expression I slowly raised my eyes and saw zero judgment, only kindness in his eyes, “You okay?” Michael slid his right hand across the table and offered his open palm.

Hating myself, I took him up on his offer and let him squeeze my hand, “I-I’m fine. I’m just usually really, uh, nervous around women.”

“I can tell,” Michael whispered back, “And I don’t mean that in a mean way, just to be clear. I get it, y’know.”

“You do?” I asked back, confused.

“I’ve seen how men and teenage boys talk about their female peers and partners. It’s disgusting a lot of the time, and I wouldn’t want to be associated with that.”

“Yeah, can’t say I disagree,” all I could offer was a weak smile, “It’s hard to explain, but…f*ck, I’m afraid of even being caught looking.”

“Ugh, yeah, it’s like, ‘No! I know how weird it is, and I do feel bad!’ and all that.”

It was nice to finally talk to another guy who kind of got it. Or at least, I could definitely understand how it felt for him to be seen by women as a man, and all the baggage that came with it.

“I guess that explains why you were a nervous wreck around Ash earlier, huh?” Michael asked, using his spare hand to fiddle with the packets of jam left on the table.

Terrified, “sh*t, you noticed?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry, dude,” f*ck, did I hate that word, “Ash and I went to high school together, so I get it. She’s got the effect on most people.”

As if they had just gotten the OK from mission control, my eyebrows shot up, “Wait, you went to high school with her?”

Nodding while he flicked a small packet of grape jam across the table to me like an air hockey puck, Michael added, “Yeah, I dated her twin brother for a little while. Great bi, and great guy!”

It was hard not to burst into a giggle at that, “That’s a terrible play on words, or whatever!” My spare hand flicked the packet back at my—at Michael.

“Hey, got you to laugh, didn’t it?” Michael preened, as he immediately shot back the impromptu puck with greater force.

The puck sped past my defenses and lightly hit me in the chest.

“GOAL!!!!” Michael half-yelled, throwing his spare hand up into the air.

It was then that I noticed that we were still holding hands.

“Oh, screw you, Michael!” I groused in a voice that even I could not call convincingly upset, “I’m playing with one hand here!”

“Want to stop holding hands, then?” the big bastard mugged back.

“Ugh!” My disgust was immeasurable, “J-just sit down, she’s bringing our order over, you big dork.”

Upon noticing the waitress returning, Michael immediately sat down, laser focused on the food fast approaching us.

Upon sight of how the football player consumed food with great speed I could only ask, “Jesus, are you a Saiyan?”

“A what?” Michael replied through the pancake in his mouth.

“A Saiyan, like Son Gokuu from Dragon Ball?” Jeez, I thought Dragon Ball was a normie anime, too.

Sucking the remainder of the pancake down before taking a sip of water, Michael asked “Oh, you mean a Seiyan?”

“Oh, right, that’s how the dub pronounces ‘Saiyan’!” My reply was carried on a sigh as I realized I was outting myself as a weeb to a guy who could easily just laugh—no, Michael wasn’t that kind of weirdo. I had an entire night with him that told me exactly what kind of nice guy he was.

God, I was overthinking things. Just shut up and put this delicious looking sausage in your mou—

—honestly, I walked right into that one.

“Protein?” Michael asked between bites, nearly spitting pancake pieces out onto me.

“Pancakes usually make me feel bloated, to be honest,” I admitted before finally taking a bite of the sausage link. Despite being both sizzling hot with a likely caramelized outer skin the insides remain a soft and moist delicacy that spoke to the expert craft of whichever underpaid f*cker was working the kitchen this fine morning.

My compliments to the chef, as they say.

“Yeah, it can do that. Still, I’m addicted to the stuff. Especially when there’s some decent syrup to cover it in!”

“Oh lord, I’m getting sick just thinking about the aftertaste,” it was hard not to laugh at the sight of Michael absolutely soaking his pancakes in syrup, but here he was doing so anyway. “Well, better than just straight up drinking it, I guess…”

In the most exaggerated voice I had heard Michael use yet the would-be comedian asked, “Is that a challenge, Rabbit?”

I couldn’t hold my poker face and collapses into a fit of giggles at Michael’s overly serious face, “Are you f*ckin’ referencing Super Troopers right now?”

“Maybe I am, roo~KIE?” The slight uptick in cadence on ‘rookie’ had me officially snorting, the embarrassment from which only made me giggle harder.

Naturally, I got my revenge by kicking Michael in the shins.

“You little f*cker!” Straining to hold back a laugh, Michael tossed an unopened jam packet at me, which my flailing arms did little to properly block from nailing my left cheek.

“Sir, I am not little!” I retorted with mock offense, “I am six-three, I’ll have you know!”

“Still shorter than me,” Michael tossed another packet, which I once again failed to dodge, and then added for extra effect, “Twinkle toes!”

“Oh, suck my d—”

Michael’s eyes went wide as he realized what I was about to say, reached over the table and slapped a massive hand over my mouth and whispered, “Okay, that might actually get us tossed out of here.”

As the heat of the moment passed and I had a moment to catch up with everything, I realized what I had just said—and to whom I had just said it.

“O-oh…sorry,” I whispered back, “W-wasn’t thinking…”

In the most co*cksure of grins Michael whispered back, “I mean, I can still do it—just not here!”

Gawd, the balls of steel on this guy, “Pfft, not happening!”

“Oh?” Michael’s face betrayed any actual confusion on his part, “And why’s that?”

It was so, so wrong to be doing this, but Michael’s charm was so captivating that I couldn’t bear to cut him off at the ankles just yet, “Hmm…I do wonder why?”

Play coy—make the man work for it.

Leaning back on his side of the booth, Michael shook his head with a slight laugh and continued with his pancake.

As I slid another sausage into my mouth I decided that I didn’t care if it made me look gay or not, I just wanted to see if I could torture Michael some more.

***

December 07, 2013:

The morning with Michael sped by quicker the more he and I spoke. I had hardly noticed the darkness of the night fading as time passed, but eventually more patrons entered the diner as Michael and I chatted away about whatever came to mind. It was undeniable that he was flirting with me, and in the back of my mind I hated myself more than ever for flirting back, but it was so damned easy to get caught up in his spell that I couldn’t help but suffer the self-loathing and laughed my way through the rest of the morning.

I certainly wasn’t going to complain when Michael took my hand again as he regaled me with the tale of the time that he and his cousin got lost hiking and he had to fist fight a bear.

Okay, part of me was pretty sure that he had just stolen that story from Hajime no Ippo, but I wasn’t going to ruin his story just to call him out on it.

Before we knew it my phone—down to 19% battery, yikes—alarm went off, signifying that it was 6AM. Disabling the alarm I looked back up at Michael and groaned, “Jeez, already six? Where did the time go?”

“Damn, you’re right,” Michael laughed as he checked his phone, “Still, tonight’s been…” a tighter squeeze of my left hand, “Pretty amazing, right? Err, I hope, I mean.”

It was so…fa*ggy, but I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing Michael’s other hand with mine, “Y-yeah, honestly, it’s been the best…uh…can I say ‘the d word’?” Michael nodded, and I smiled, “It’s been the best—if weirdest—date I’ve ever been on.”

“Dude, you look so, so dead.”

Mikey’s chuckle was honestly great, even when I was starting to get loopy as hell, “Oh hush, you! For the record, I’ve stayed up all night plenty of times before!” Of course, none of them had been with me absolutely on the edge of my seat all night as I stumbled my heterosexual ass through a date with another man, but here I was, still kickin’.

“Let’s pay and get you back home, huh?” Michael stood up and out of the booth and—not wanting him to let go of my hand—I followed him to the cash register.

Once at the register it occurred to me that by holding onto Michael’s right hand with my left I was, in fact, preventing him from reaching for his wallet, but surprise-surprise, Mr. Universe over here had no trouble reaching with his left arm for his right back pocket—damn, what an ass—and managed to pull out his wallet, lay it on the counter, and take out his debit card without so much as a grunt.

I know that I’ve been up for, like, twenty-four hours, but damn, that’s hot. I wonder what his muscles look like underneath his shirt and jacket when he does that?

Jesus, I sound gay—or bisexual or whatever. Who cares? I’m way too tired to think about his sh*t!

As Michael and I shuffled over to the exit we passed by two older men in their sixties or seventies, stuffed into the booth closest to the door. Wearing caps that made it clear that they were veterans, the man closest to the door muttered under his breath: “fa*ggots.”

A fire from where I did not know scorched its way up my spine. Letting go of Michael’s hand I turned back to the old man, leaned down, and grabbed him by the collar, “Go f*ck yourself, your piece of sh*t!” and shook him violently.

Michael tore me off of the old man before I could lower my fist and break his nose and by the time he was stuffing me back into his passenger seat I had both of my hands over my face to stifle my sobs.

***

December 07, 2013:

Pulling into the parking lot of my apartment complex, Michael parked his white 1993 Ford Camry—which had seen better days—into an empty spot in front of my apartment building and turned off the engine. It was somehow 6:45AM on the dot, which was a much more satisfying number to do something on than, say, 6:44AM or 6:46AM. Unfortunately, a split second later it became 6:46AM, and I could no longer enjoy the moment.

Just like that motherf*cker had ruined my moment at the diner just half an hour ago.

“Harri, are you okay?” Michael asked cautiously as he turned in his seat to face me.

It took twenty seconds for me to muster up a reply, “I can’t believe that piece of sh*t.”

Michael sighed, and look up at the ceiling of his car, “I guess it’s your first time getting called a fa*ggot by a stranger while on a date, after all?”

I could tell how cautious Michael was being, and it honestly irritated me to no end, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of taking my anger out on him. He had been so amazing all night, and here I was letting my emotions get the better of me and ruin the rest of our date. Or whatever the f*ck this was.

Who the f*ck was I kidding? This was a date—the weirdest, scariest, hottest, bestest date I’d ever been on.

And some piece of sh*t hom*ophobe—biphobe?—had to go and ruin the ending of it.

Exiting the car I made my way to my apartment door without turning back to face Michael, but it wasn’t long until I heard him running up behind me, “Hare, wait a sec! Are you—?”

Speaking in as steady a voice as possible, I turned to face Michael and asked him, “Wanna check out my apartment?”

I could tell from his face alone that he was taken aback by my brighter tone of voice, but Michael nevertheless smiled and nodded.

Once inside the apartment I turned and spread out my arms, and with the brightest voice I could muster, “Welcome to my humble abode, Mikey!”

Despite living in the apartment alone, my parents—or rather, my mother—insisted on getting me a two-bedroom so that I could have a space to study and do my assignments. As a result, it was something of a swankier space than I could have ever afforded on my own by working a part-time job, and I could tell from Michael’s facial expression that he was also quite impressed. Going by his car, I suspected he was probably not from as wealthy a family as mine, but I suppose that this would be the first indication of that given how I usually dressed in nothing but a hoodie and sweats or jeans.

“Damn, this is a nice place you got here. You live here alone?”

“Yup, just me.”

“Must be pretty nice, yeah?” Michael’s eyes scanned over the living room with its couches and chairs and tables, all centered in front of a large flat screen television with an accompanying PlayStation 4. “Having a space to yourself, I mean.”

“Yeah, it definitely is,” I could only muster the weakest of smiles at this point, but I was still determined to let Michael know that I was okay—even if I maybe wasn’t. “No parents or big sister to bother me, y’know?” It also meant that I could write my stories in peace, without worrying about them asking about what I was doing.

“Damn, you even have a PlayStation 4 already?” Michael asked, tracing his fingers over the hard black casing.

“The burden of being bourgeoisie, I’m afraid,” a little bit of snarkiness seemed like the appropriate response, and it honestly felt nice to be able to tease Michael a little again.

Turning back to face me Michael broke into a wry grin, “Aah, there we got. That’s the Hare I know and lov—ohf*cksh*tf*ck! Sorry!!”

Even though my cheeks burned red, it was hard not to tease Mikey boy even more, “Curious choice of words for a first date, Mister…”

“—Summers—”

“—Mr. Summers! Curious choice of words, indeed,” it was hard not to get caught up in the way Michael blushed in embarrassment over his choice of words. I’m sure they must have come very naturally to such a charming young—Jesus, that’s just as embarrassing. Shaking my head I closed the gap between Michael and me and looked up at his flushed face to see if I could push him anymore, “Tell me, Mr. Summers: Are you any good at fighting games?”

“Decent enough,” Michael shrugged, but it was in that way when someone was feigning modesty, and that made me all the more determined to crush him.

“How do you feel about Injustice?”

***

December 07, 2013:

The PlayStation 4 barely had any games, let alone good games, and even less so good two-player games, so Injustice: Gods Among Us essentially served as my one go-to game for playing with someone else. Over the course of playing for an hour Michael’s skills improved, but I still won the lion’s share of the matches. By the time I thought to check the time again on my still charging phone—up to 73%!—it was somehow already 8:03AM.

I guess time really did fly when you were having fun on your first enjoyable date in, like, well, actually…ever.

It was still weird to think that I was technically on a date with another man, though. It was so much easier than any of my other dates. Even when I’d dated a girl who was into the same hobbies that I was into, I was never able to just relax. But with Michael? I forgot all about that. I didn’t have to be ‘the man’ when dating him, which…I guess that sounds weird, but it was true. But it was…fine?

Distracted, I didn’t even notice Michael’s Batman defeating my Catwoman, “Aah, sh*t, you got me.”

“You okay? You seemed kind of out of it there…”

Shaking my head, I turned to Michael and smiled, “I’m doing great, actually.” Before I knew it, I pecked Michael on the lips, then recoiled in shock.

For his party, Michael just laughed and let his shoulders drop a little, “You keep flirting, then looking shocked after you do it like you didn’t mean to. It’s cute!”

There was that word again. ‘Cute’! Nobody but Michael had ever called me that before, but I couldn’t help but want to be called it more…especially by Michael. Setting my controller down on the coffee table in front of us I turned my whole body and pulled my legs up on the couch to sit on them. I could tell from his facial expression that Michael was a bit taken aback, but not repelled.

I knew that I was digging a deep, deep hole for myself, but I couldn’t stop.

So I took Michael’s head between my hands and leaned upward and forward to kiss him on the lips, again.

Before I knew it, Michael had me on my back against the couch cushions as he got on top of me, passionately sticking his tongue down my throat. I know that I had started the kiss, but letting him take the lead now that he knew what I wanted was so much more invigorating. As I found my hands traveling up and underneath Michael’s shirt to trace his rock hard abs I realized a growing pressure in my groin: I had an erection.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t heterosexual, after all.

It wasn’t much longer until Michael’s crotch bumped against mine and it became very clear that I wasn’t the only one here with some major morning wood.

Breaking from his makeout sesh, Michael shot a look down at the campground forming down below, then looked me in the eye with a devilish look, “Sixty-nine?”

Anxiety filled me, spreading across my chest and making it hard to believe. Did I really want this? To have another man sucking my—or to suck another man’s co*ck? This was the point at which there was no going back: if I did this I was officially going to be hurting someone who had over the course of the past eleven hours become a very dear friend to me. But as I looked in Michael’s warm, dark eyes, I couldn’t help but want to do something unforgettable for him.

I wanted him, even if I didn’t understand why.

As they say: when in Rome…

“Lemme just—lemme just blow you, okay?” I asked, hoping to avoid whatever the f*ck I anxiety I was feeling. “We’ll worry about me later, yeah?”

Michael nodded slowly before springing up and off of me to allow me to roll off of the couch. Michael expertly undid his belt and zipper with amazing speed and dexterity, as if he had done so many times before, and began sliding his pants off. Getting on my knees, I helped Michael pull his jeans down and off. As I pushed Michael down and back against the couch, out sprung his co*ck, nearly slamming me in the jaw before I could pull back and out of the way.

I’d seen plenty of big dicks before, but this was different: This was the big co*ck of the guy who had just spent the night making me laugh and helping me relax to a degree I hadn’t felt in over ten years, if not ever. Brushing the hair out of my eyes and staring the beast before me down I opened my mouth and slowly slid it over. I wasn’t sure what to make of the taste, but at the same time, I was too overwhelmed to even think of the taste. I had never understood why guys like getting blowj*bs, but giving them was honestly kind of fun. Sure, my maybe-kinda-sorta-now-boyfriend was blasting my throat, but the heat of the moment—and the subservience of it all—was honestly hotter than anything I’d ever done with a woman.

sh*t, I should’ve been offering to eat my ex-girlfriends out instead.

Finally, I noticed a twitching feeling in Michael’s co*ck. It was instantly clear what was about to happen. Pulling out, Michael shot his load all over my face and chest, staining my hoodie with his cum. This solved the problem in my own pants, as I immediately came after Michael. I was really warm all over.

“Oh sh*t, Harri, I’m so sorry!”

Picking myself up off of the floor I tried to use my hoodie sleeves to wipe the cum off of my face, “D-don’t be! Holy sh*t, that was—” standing up I could feel my flaccid penis stick and peel to the inside of my underwear and pants. I could feel that I’d made a much bigger mess this time, than compared to last night.

“Oh sh*t, what about you?” Michael asked as I walked to my bedroom to doff my pants and hoodie and throw them in the dirty clothes hamper.

“Don’t worry about me, du—Mikey,” I called back, “I came when you did.” Re-clothed in just the tee shirt I was wearing beneath my hoodie and a fresh pair of black briefs, I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then poked my head back into the living room to find that Michael was re-buckling his belt. His shirt—probably lost at some point when I was sucking him off—was sorely unmissed. I couldn’t believe how ripped my—date?—was.

Whether I was bisexual or not didn’t really matter right now. All I knew was that I needed to know where Michael and I stood, “Damn, you’re hot.” Even just admitting that made me feel a blush burn from every pore on my cheeks.

The cheeks on my face.

Following my line of sight down to his abs, Michael chuckled nervously, “I take it you like?”

“God, you could grate cheese on those things,” step by cautious step I walked towards Michael until I was within range to touch him…so I did. Without any resistance I found my right hand lightly tracing over Michael’s abs, and my breath quickening.

It was okay to feel this way, right? I didn’t need to act manlier than I really was, right? Michael could be the cool one, I could just be the—Jesus, his body is so warm—bottom, or whatever male couples called it.

Michael’s cheeks began to run red themselves the more I touched his chest, and it occurred to me to look down again. A slight twitch behind Michael’s jeans proved everything I suspected: I was turning him on again.

“Uh, sorry?”

“N-no problem, Harri, just, uh…gotta get some sleep, actually. I’ve got team stuff to do tonight…”

“Oh sh*t,” I immediately turned back to give Michael some space, and checked my phone, “Jesus, it’s already past eight?”

Turning back I found Michael—heartbreakingly—picking his shirt off of the floor and getting ready to don it. I knew that I couldn’t just expect Michael to stick around forever, but at the same time…I was already beginning to miss him.

And then the idea occurred to me.

Crossing my arms to keep myself from jittering too much, “Hey, do you, uh…wanna crash here until tonight?”

A curious look took over Michael’s face at first, then—through the look in his eyes alone—I could tell that Michael had been won over. Dropping his shirt on the couch, Michael dashed over to me, wrapped his arms around me with little trouble, and then lifted me off of the ground like it was nothing.

“M-Michael, Jesus?!” In Spite of myself, I couldn’t help but giggle, “What the f*ck? Omigawd, STAHP!”

Michael had little trouble walking me into my bedroom, dropping me onto my very un-made bed, and then hopping over my squirming, giggling body to makeout with me for another twenty minutes before we finally fell asleep.

It was kind of nice being the little spoon.

***

December 07, 2023:

My phone alarm woke up the next morning in the same bed and the same bedroom as yesterday, only now I apparently woke up at 5AM. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I did indeed still have breasts, and that was confirmation enough to admit to myself that the previous day had not been a weird dream.

I was a woman, and I had a life.

It was weird as hell, but here I was.

Digging myself out of bed—of course my covers were pink—I stretched, and then took a look in the mirror. Even with messy bed hair I still looked so…well, I liked it a lot better than I liked my body ten years ago.

Oh.

I mean, objectively speaking, it made sense. Before I looked like nothing special, but now? Now I was basically a model.

Well, a p*rn model.

Not that there was anything wrong with that!

As a teenager I would have killed to have been with a woman who looked like I did now, but being her? That was…well, not the worst thing, actually. Was it really okay for me to be so…okay with this?

That was the question, though, wasn’t it? If what Michael had said last night was true, then I had apparently been struggling with this for a while now.

Going by my reflection in the mirror, though, I had been doing The Girl Thing long enough to have it down real f*cking good.

How the hell did I look so damned good, though? Surgery?

When in doubt, check the internet, I suppose.

Ugh, but first I had to apologize to Michael.

To my boyfriend.

Gawd, that was so weird to think about.

Becoming a woman and/or dating men seemed like the last thing that my parents would have ever wanted for me, and yet here I was, doing both with apparently little issue.

Exiting my bedroom, I casually poked my head into the empty bathroom across the hall from my room. My current apartment was a considerable downgrade from the apartment my parents had rented for me when I was in college, which I suppose made sense. I doubt I could have afforded that place on a teacher’s salary. Walking down the hall, I realized by the halfway point that Michael was going to see me looking like a complete mess, and something about that just seemed—like, I was already conscientious about being a woman now, having my boyfriend seeing me look like a complete mess was even more panic-inducing. Turning around, I quickly returned to the bathroom and shut myself inside.

Cramped, humid and poorly lit, I found myself surrounded by a messing sink counter littered with brushes, combs, and makeup, with little to no idea how to use any of them.

Just my luck.

***

December 07, 2023:

I had no idea what I was doing, and after the first three attempts at making my makeup look decent, I broke down sobbing on the toilet.

Which, if I had to assume, was probably something a lot of teenage girls went through, anyway.

In the wake of crying myself to sleep last night, and then sobbing over something as simple as makeup this morning, it was beginning to dawn on me that there was something a bit…different about me now. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cried, but here I was, now two different sob fests through the past twelve hours, and honestly feeling a lot—well, better.

It wasn’t until I was adding a second coat of a soft pink coloring to my lips that I noticed that my makeup looked perfect.

All I had to do was be distracted by all the other craziness going on in myself to make it so.

Weird.

Finally ready to face the couch surfer himself I reconsidered taking my hair tie out, thought better of it, took a deep breath, and then steadily sped walked my way into the living room.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but seeing a shirtless Michael crushing the fifty pound dumbbells with only a light sheen of sweat highlighting his muscles was not it.

“Jesus, he’s hawt,” I mouthed to myself, before slapping my right thigh in frustration.

“How long have you been staring?” Michael asked without even turning to face me. He was barely out of breath as he continued pumping both guns.

“N-not long, actually,” I squeeked, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap. All over some silly cheese, too!

“Did you sleep well?” Michael asked, the tone of his voice less a question and more a fear that he already knew the answer.

“Meh, sleep is overrated,” I hoped a deadpan voice would sound more reassuring, but if it did anything for Michael he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry that I rushed out on you last night.”

“It was bound to happen,” another effortless pump. Jesus, were those veins? “Your parents are awful people, and I’m glad they’re out of our lives.”

Curious, “Did you meet them at some point?”

Another pump, “When you came out to them about us. They weren’t supportive, and from what I’ve gathered over the last two years, they were even worse when you came out to them as Candace.”

A thick soup of expired dairy churned in my stomach as flashes and bits of sound came back to me.

“Jesus Christ Harrison, what have you done to yourself?!”

“Should’ve guessed the little fa*ggot would try to turn himself into a woman!”

By the time my brain caught up with my body again Michael was pulling my ponytail off from over my shoulder as I vomited into the kitchen sink for a second time.

Were—were those memories? I couldn’t tell if those images and sounds were real, or just something my imagination cooked up.

Either way, they played into my deepest fears, and that was bad enough.

I always knew that my father was a hom*ophobe—it was why I had tried so hard to date so much in high school—but to think that he would actually say those things about me—

—look at me with so much disgust in his eyes—

Goddamn, those really were my memories, weren’t they?

Michael guided me to the couch in the living room to rest before handing me a water bottle. Completely parched, I had no problem downing the water.

“Just in case,” Michael moved a small trash bin onto the coffee table, and then set about cleaning the kitchen sink.

Watching him move around my apartment—our apartment—so casually was so hard to process. It was like my mind was struggling between two different feelings at the same time: being with Michael felt so right, but also seemed so foreign. I had to stop holding all of this against him: As much as I felt out of sorts—and as weird as it was being with Michael—there was also this feeling of safety that I couldn’t deny.

Michael eventually finished cleaning the sink and joined me in the living room, albeit sitting in the chair to my left. I didn’t understand why exactly, but part of me missed his body being close to mine. As ill-advised as it probably was, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “...could you sit next to me? If you want, I mean.”

Smiling, Michael switched seats immediately. I couldn’t believe how hot his body ran. It was like sitting next to a furnace!

“Did you do an entire face of makeup already?” The put-upon smugness in his voice honestly bothered me more than I could put into words, but it also elicited a soft smile from my lips, so I imagine it was doing its job.

And then it occurred to me: “Omigawd, my makeup?! I must look so runny!!” Standing immediately to find a mirror, Michael immediately stopped me in place by grabbing my left wrist and pulling me back to the couch.

“You look perfect, Candi,” Michael laughed.

“You sure?” Jeez, was I whimpering?

“Positive.”

Michael’s eyes looked so soft—it was easy to believe anything he said when he looked at me like that. Turning around and pulling my legs up on the couch, I stared Michael in the eyes to judge his answer better as I asked, “So, like, I…I’ve got…oh god, I’m twenty-nine and still have to go to school?”

Michael burst into the loudest laugh I had ever heard, “Oh my GOD, Candace—YES! Yes! You do still have to go to school. Well, not today, at least.”

co*cking my head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“Candace, you’ve got amnesia. Of course we’re taking you to a doctor and getting you on leave until you’re up to returning.”

Oh, right. That made sense.

“B-but who is going to look after my kids?!”

“That is such a teacher question to ask,” Michael laughed, his piercing dark eyes still staring into mine. Gawd, what was with this guy and eye contact?

“Well hell,” I sighed, almost feeling a sense of defeat, “It’s a pretty normal question to ask, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is, but I love how it’s also such a ‘you’ question to ask,” Jesus, why did he keep smiling at me like that? Did…did he really love me that much? Weirdo.

“Okay, but then…like, did you tell the principal or something?”

“Sent her an email last night. I’m sure Sandra will call when she gets in later in the morning.”

“You seem to have everything planned out—wait, is it ethical for us to be dating when we’re co-workers?” It was hard not to think about the scandal of two teachers caught f*cking in the sports equipment room or whatever it was called.

“Principal Sanderson—yes, Sandy’s parents named her Sandra Sanderson—knows. Everyone knows. We’re from different departments and really only get to see each other outside of our classes, so there’s no real issues—especially if we continue to keep things professional.”

“...so then, the reason I got hit yesterday was…”

“Because, after a very long day of teaching teenagers on the other side of the school, you came to the gym after school hours to say hello to the girls’ volleyball team taught by Coach Summers—who, yes, is also a phys ed teacher at the school, with a qualification to teach trigonometry—and to ask your loving boyfriend how his day was. Any questions?”

“That was a hell of a run on sentence.”

“See? You are an English teacher!”

I threw a couch pillow at the big bastard, doing nothing more than eliciting another loud laugh out of him.

“Michael, come on, this is serious!”

“How about we take showers, see if your doctor can squeeze us in, then grab lunch somewhere nice?”

“Jesus Christ, does my doctor know that I—”

“Who do you think gave you the referral for the orchiectomy?”

“The what?”

“Think about it for a sec.”

“...wait, is that what they call it when they neuter a human?”

“...I know that I like to call you my little gym bunny, but it is so not sexy when you refer to your orchiectomy as ‘neutering’.”

“Hey, my balls, my business, buster!”

“...honestly, it’s kind of nice to know that you’re as cringe as ever.”

“Thanks sweetie!” I preened, holding up a peace sign with my right hand. It was so weird how I just…acted like a completely different person when I let my guard down. Was this who Candace was? Happy and cheerful all the time?

“Do you mind if I take a shower first, Candace? I’m kinda all sweaty and you…well, you just put on makeup.”

It occurred to me that Michael had been calling me ‘Candace’ ever since I woke up yesterday with no memory of the last ten years of my life, but hearing the name…didn’t sound weird at all. It was the most normal thing in the world, which was kind of embarrassing considering that ‘Candace’ was the name of the main character of one of the stories I wrote as a teenager. Did I really name myself after one of my own silly characters?

“You okay, Candace?” Michael asked once more, waving a hand in front of my eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah? Sorry, just thinking about…my name, is all,” I blurted out, shifting my gaze away from Michael’s bare, carved-as-all-Hell chest. “W-why did I choose Candace?”

“You never told me, actually. I think you said it was too embarrassing to admit?”

Yeah, that made sense for me, “Candace was the name of the main character of a story I wrote back in seventh grade.”

“...honestly, that tracks for you.”

“You think?”

“You’ve always been a sharp woman, Candace,” Michael mused, looking down at his nails while picking at loose hangnails, “I’m not surprised that on some level you were self-actualizing. Also, can I borrow your manicure set later?”

“Wait, you think my silly little story was me trying to self-insert as a girl? You do your own manicures?”

“What was the story about? And yes, I do my own manicures—you told me to learn to do it myself in case you weren’t available, so I did.”

Giving it a thought, I realized that I couldn’t remember: “I can’t say I recall, actually—the story, I mean. I might still have the text file somewhere, assuming my Google Drive still exists.”

“You still use the same account, just with your deadname changed out for your chosen name,” Michael replied, adjusting himself on the couch to give me an extra inch of space between us. Judging by how he was nursing his leg, it seemed like his leg had fallen asleep at an awkward angle. “Do you think it was a gender bender story?”

sh*t, how did Michael know about those? “Uh…maybe? I don’t know, it’s been forever. And besides, plenty of guys write those kinds of stories! I’ve read stories by dozens of male authors on the internet!”

“Are you sure they’re still men?”

With my luck, they weren’t.

“Again, you wanna shower first, or me?”

Ignoring Michael’s questions for more of my own, I asked, “What’s a deadname, by the way?”

“Again, think about it.”

“...my birth name?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“So, like…” trepidation filled my lungs as I entered the deep end of the pool, “Nobody calls me it anymore, right?”

“I’m the only person in your life who knows it, so yeah.”

“Wait, even my sister—?”

“That’s complicated, I think,” my glorified roommate shrugged, “I don’t know, you haven’t really talked with her in the last few years, that’s something that you’ll just have to try to remember.”

“Jeez, my life is weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael huffed, rolling his eyes, “Again: shower: Yes? No?”

“So, like, you never call me that name, right?”

“Never.”

“And you don’t mind me being…uh…this?”

“Not a bit.”

“A-are you gay?”

If I thought that Michael was a bit miffed before, he was beyond annoyed now, “No, I’m not gay, and you’re not a man, so it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

“I mean…I don’t know?” I sighed, rocking back and forth on the couch a little, “Like, this is all so much for me to take in and all.”

Taking my right hand between his, Michael gently rubbed my hand, took a deep breath, and then said: “Candace, trust me, I know the difference between a man and a woman. I’m bisexual, it kind of comes with the territory.”

“So, like...you do date men?”

“Well, it’s been a few years, but yeah. I’ve dated men before. Now I’m dating a woman: you.”

“How many oth—women have you dated?” I hated to admit it, but I think I might have feared the answer to that.

“Enough to know that you’re the best woman I’ve ever dated. Now, enough with the questions, do you wanna shower first or should I?”

“Y’know, I’m surprised that you’re not taking this opportunity to suggest that we shower together. Plenty of men would kill to shower with a woman as gorgeous as me!”

“First: I’m not making a move on the woman I love while she’s amnesic, and second: trust me, it wouldn’t be a new thing for us.”

Cheeky bastard. Ugh. Just my luck, be a straight guy with a gorgeous boyfriend who loves you, and yet can’t even enjoy it because I have f*cking amnesia. Ugh.

“I’ll shower first, Coach Summers,” hopping off the couch I grabbed my empty water bottle off of the coffee table, placed it in the trash bin that I thankfully had no need for, and then returned it to its original spot in the kitchen before heading back to the bathroom, “And no peeking, you dirty old perv! I’m a pure maiden of but nineteen years, you know!”

Michael’s pained groan in the distance was music to my ears.

Once inside the bathroom I double checked my makeup: it was a complete mess from the tears and sweat during my vomit fest earlier, and yet I couldn’t stop smiling at my reflection.

My boyfriend sure did know how to flatter a lady.

TO BE CONTINUED…

10 Years I Love About You - Chapter 1 - JulieYBM (2024)

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