Chapter 5
ADRIAN
Icouldn't get the coffee shop out of my head.
The way Jesse had bolted—not walked, not excused himself politely, but bolted like I'd set him on fire—kept replaying in my mind as I walked back to the house.
The kid was wound tighter than a spring, all nervous energy and careful control until something made him snap.
And I'd made him snap with nothing more than a few questions about the Constitution.
Well. Questions about the Constitution and whether he was brave enough to think for himself.
Maybe I'd pushed too hard too fast. But fuck, watching him squirm had been... educational. And not just because of the bet. There was something about Jesse Miller that got under my skin, made me want to keep prodding until I found whatever was hiding underneath all that religious programming.
The afternoon stretched ahead of me with no classes and a stack of reading I didn't feel like doing.
I ended up in my room, laptop open to a paper on Fourth Amendment jurisprudence, but my mind kept drifting back to the way Jesse's hands had trembled around his coffee cup.
The way he'd looked genuinely hurt when I'd suggested he was afraid to think.
Maybe because he knew I was right.
By the time our weekly house meeting rolled around that evening, I was climbing the walls with restless energy.
The six of us gathered in our living room like we did every Monday—partly to handle house business, partly to decompress from the first day of the week, mostly because we were each other's chosen family and this was how we stayed connected.
Andrew called the meeting to order with his usual efficiency, running through the mundane stuff first: who was buying groceries this week (Phoenix), who'd forgotten to clean the bathroom again (Jamie, looking sheepish), whether we were hosting anything for Pride Month planning (yes, obviously).
I half-listened, sprawled across the ancient armchair we'd rescued from a thrift store, letting the familiar rhythm of their voices wash over me.
Diana was curled up on the couch with her laptop, probably grading papers or planning lessons.
Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, dark clothes and darker expression making them look like they were plotting revolution.
Jamie perched on the arm of the couch, practically vibrating with barely contained energy.
Elijah had claimed the other chair, watching me with that careful attention that meant he knew something was up.
And Phoenix... Phoenix was lounging dramatically across the coffee table like a Renaissance painting, wearing a flowing skirt and crop top combo that somehow worked perfectly with their combat boots.
"Alright," Andrew said, consulting his phone for notes. "New business. The Kansas State administration wants to meet about our response to the recent protests—"
"Speaking of protests," Phoenix interrupted, sitting up with the kind of gleeful expression that meant trouble, "how's Operation Convert-a-Bigot going?"
The room erupted.
"Oh my god, you actually talked to him?" Jamie bounced so hard she nearly fell off the couch arm.
"What did he say?" Diana looked up from her laptop, concern creasing her forehead.
"Please tell me you didn't sleep with him already." This from Sam, voice flat with disapproval.
"Details, darling. We need details." Phoenix was practically purring.
Andrew held up a hand for quiet, but his expression had shifted from business-like to serious. "Hang on. Adrian, what exactly happened?"
I found myself the centre of attention, six pairs of eyes focused on me with varying degrees of curiosity, amusement, and concern. Suddenly the whole thing felt less like a harmless dare and more like something that needed justification.
"Nothing happened," I said, which was technically true. "We had coffee. Talked about constitutional law."
"Constitutional law," Elijah repeated slowly. "Right."
"That's it?" Phoenix looked personally offended by the lack of drama. "You had the boy alone and all you did was discuss legal theory? Adrian, honey, I'm disappointed in you."
"It's called strategy," I shot back. "You can't just jump straight to seduction with someone like that. He probably thinks holding hands before marriage is a sin. He'd probably jizz in his pants if I tried anything too soon.”
Sam's expression darkened. "Someone like that. You mean someone who'd happily see us all dead or in conversion therapy?"
The temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees. Sam didn't talk about their past much, but we all knew enough to understand why this hit close to home.
"Sam," Diana said gently, "that's not fair. He's been brainwashed since birth. That's not the same thing as choosing hate."
"Isn't it?" Sam's voice was sharp. "At what point does ignorance become complicity? When does 'I was raised this way' stop being an excuse?"
"When someone's never been given the chance to think differently," Diana replied, that teacher-voice coming out. "When they've been isolated and controlled and fed lies their entire life. You can't blame the victim of indoctrination for being indoctrinated."
"He's not the victim here," Sam snapped. "We are. Every time they show up with their fucking signs, we're the victims."
"But what if he could change?" Jamie's voice was soft, hopeful. "What if Adrian could actually help him see the truth?"
Elijah had been quiet through this exchange, but now he leaned forward, pinning me with that direct stare that always made me feel like he could see right through my bullshit.
"What's the endgame here, Adrian?" His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "You actually trying to sleep with him, or just fuck with his head?"
Trust Elijah to cut straight to the heart of it. I opened my mouth to give some flip answer, then closed it again. Because honestly? I wasn't sure anymore.
"Both," I said finally. "Neither. I don't know."
"You don't know." Andrew's tone suggested this was not an acceptable answer for someone planning to mess with another person's life.
"Look," I said, sitting forward, trying to find the words to explain something I didn't fully understand myself.
"You didn't see him in that bathroom. You didn't see the way he looked at me.
He's not some mindless bigot. He's trapped.
Scared. There's something real under all that programming, and it's fighting to get out. "
"So you’ve decided to help it along," Elijah said. Not accusatory, just observing.
"Why not?" I spread my hands. "If someone's drowning, you throw them a rope. If someone's trapped in a cult—"
"This isn't a cult," Sam interrupted. "It's his family. His entire life. You're not throwing him a rope, you're asking him to burn everything down."
"Maybe everything should burn down." The words came out hotter than I'd intended. "Maybe that's exactly what he needs."
"And if it destroys him in the process?" This from Andrew, quiet and serious. "These people don't just shun you for stepping out of line. They disown you. Cut you off completely. Are you prepared to be his soft landing when his whole world collapses?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implications I hadn't really considered. I'd been thinking about the chase, the challenge, the satisfaction of cracking Jesse's careful control. I hadn't thought much about what came after.
"This is like something out of a movie," Jamie said dreamily, apparently oblivious to the tension in the room. "The repressed religious boy and the confident gay who shows him who he really is. It's so romantic."
"It's not a movie," Diana said firmly. "It's someone's life. Someone who's been psychologically abused since childhood."
"Which is exactly why he needs to get out," I argued. "And if a little flirtation is what it takes to make him question everything, then—"
"Then what?" Sam's voice was ice-cold. "You'll what, Adrian? Seduce him away from his faith? Make him fall in love with you and then what? Keep him as a trophy? Proof that you can convert anyone?"
"That's not, you know I would never—“ I started, but Sam wasn't finished.
"Because that's what this sounds like to me. You're treating him like a conquest. Like he's not a real person with real feelings who's going to get genuinely hurt when this all falls apart."
"You think I'd hurt him?" The accusation stung more than it should have.
"I think you're not thinking past your own ego," Sam shot back. "I think you see this as a game, and you haven't considered what happens when it stops being a new fun conquest.”
"Okay, everyone take a breath," Andrew said, his presidential voice cutting through the tension. "This is getting heated."
"It should be heated," Sam muttered, but they sat back, arms crossed.
Diana closed her laptop and looked at me with that concerned expression that always made me feel about twelve years old. "Adrian, honey, what Sam is trying to say—quite badly, I might add—is that we're worried about you. And about this boy."
"Jesse," I said. "His name is Jesse."
"Jesse," she repeated. "We're worried that you're going to get in over your head.
That you're going to catch feelings for someone whose entire identity is built around hating people like us. And all of this over a stupid bet, a dumb game that reinforces all of those negative stereotypes about the gays and forcing their lifestyles on others.”
“Diana, you know I’m not like that,” I shot back, the heat rising in me.
“I respect people's free will more than anything.
I'd never push anyone into something they're not ready for or don’t want.
And he doesn't hate us," I added, surprising myself with how certain I sounded.
"He's been told to hate us. That's different. "
"Is it, though?" Elijah asked quietly.
I looked at him, my best friend who'd spent years living as someone he wasn't before finally finding the courage to be himself. If anyone understood what Jesse might be going through, it would be Eli.