8. Straight Male’s Perspective #2
“They can be,” he said. “Because you start filling in the gaps yourself. You assume intention why there isn’t any. You project consistency where there’s none required.”
That landed deeper than expected.
“We did everything people in relationships do,” I said, quietly slipping from reality. “We never called it one.”
Andre didn’t interrupt.
“He treated me like a boyfriend when it was convenient…” I added, the words coming out slower now, heavier. “And gave up on me on a random day like I was trash.”
Andre’s jaw tightened slightly. “He got all the benefits of you without having to choose you.”
I looked away, the bass pulsing slowly beneath us.
Andre was quiet for a second. Then he asked, “We’re not talking about your hookup, are we?”
“What?” I asked, truly confused.
Andre nodded. “Now this is the part where you tell me what actually happened with you.”
“With me?”
“Yeah. You disappeared for five months. You don’t do that unless something actually got to you.”
I exhaled, leaning back, eyes drifting anywhere but him.
“It wasn’t that deep,” I lied.
Andre didn’t respond.
He just waited.
I ran a hand through my hair. “It was just… a situationship.”
“With Victor,” he said.
I glanced at him and nodded.
“It was just that,” I repeated. “We were together. But not officially. No labels.”
Silence settled between us.
“I didn’t lose a boyfriend,” I continued, more defensive now. “There was nothing to lose, technically. That’s the whole point, right? No label, no expectations—”
“No accountability,” Andre cut in.
I blinked. “Yeah. And I still died a couple of heartbreaking deaths because of it.”
Andre looked at me, more direct this time.
“You didn’t lose him though,” he said.
I frowned. “I did, hence why this… heartbreaking existence.”
“You didn’t lose him,” he repeated slowly. “You lost the version of yourself you were becoming with him.”
“That’s worse.”
“Exactly.”
I went still.
“But you need to stop acting like you lost something real,” he said.
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Wow. Okay. That’s harsh.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t real to you,” he clarified. “I said it wasn’t real in structure.”
I didn’t answer.
“Look,” he continued. “You’re grieving something that never had rules. No label, no agreement, no direction. You built meaning on top of something that was never required to hold it.”
“That doesn’t make it hurt less,” I muttered.
“I know,” he said. “But it tells you where the pain is actually coming from.”
I glanced at him. “Which is?”
“You,” he said simply.
I blinked. “Explain.”
“Not in a bad way,” he added. “I mean—you’re not hurting because he left. You’re hurt because of what you gave.”
That made me pause.
“You gave time,” he went on. “Attention. Consistency. You showed up like it was something real. So, of course it hurts. You invested in something that had no guarantee of return.”
I stared at my drink. “So what am I supposed to do with that? Just not give a shit next time?”
Andre shook his head. “No. you don’t stop giving. You just stop giving where it’s not clear.”
I let out a breath, shaking my head slightly. “I tried, you know,” I said. “I asked him once—what we were.”
“And?”
“He hated the question.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got defensive. Made it sound like I was ruining what we had just by asking.”
Andre’s expression didn’t change—but his jaw tightened.
“So I dropped it,” I continued. “I figured… maybe if I stopped asking, we’d just naturally become something.”
“Did you?”
I frowned. “Become something?”
I looked down.
“…No.”
Andre nodded once.
“James.”
“What?” I looked at him.
“You keep saying he never gave you an answer, but he did.”
My brows pulled together.
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did,” he said. “He just didn’t give you the answer you wanted.”
I stared at him.
Andre rested his forearms on the table.
“Think about it. You asked for clarity and he responded by making you feel guilty for asking.”
I opened my mouth to counter, but nothing came.
“People think answers only come in words,” he continued. “But most of the time, they come in reactions.”
A beat.
“James, pay attention to the answer, not the hope”
I looked at him.
“If someone makes you feel like asking for clarity is a problem—that is your clarity.”
I didn’t even realize I had gone completely still.
“I thought if I stopped asking,” I admitted quietly, “he’d eventually choose me on his own.”
Andre gave a sad smile.
“James.” He sighed. “Love isn’t a guessing game. You shouldn’t have to earn the right to ask where you stand.”
I rubbed my thumbs together. “So what was I supposed to do?”
“Believe him.”
I frowned.
“He said he loved me.”
“No.” Andre shook his head. “Believe what he did.”
That landed somewhere I wasn’t ready for.
“He avoided the conversation. He made you carry uncertainty. He wanted the closeness without the responsibility that came with it.”
Andre held my gaze.
“People tell you what they’re capable of. The hard part is accepting that they mean it.”
I let out a slow breath.
Because that was it, wasn’t it?
Somewhere along the way, I stopped listening to what Victor was showing me and started listening only to what I hoped he would become.
Every time reality and potential disagreed, I chose potential.
Every damn time.
And maybe that was the real trap.
Andre was right.
And that should’ve been enough to let it go—to leave Victor in the past where he belonged.
But memories don’t work like that. They don’t follow logic. They don’t care about closure or reality. The moment you start making peace with the ending, your mind reaches back, not for reasons the relationship failed, but for the reasons you stayed.
And before I could stop it…
I was back there again.
The drag bar.
Flashing lights. Music too loud. People alive and electric.
Victor across from me. Not saying anything. Not moving closer.
Just… looking.
Looking at me like I was the only person in the world worth looking at.
Soft. Certain. Almost like he had already decided something I hadn’t caught up to yet.
Like I was the one.
Because at that very moment.
I knew he was the one.
And then, the memory took me somewhere higher.
TOPS of Southside.
The air was cooler up there, softer against my skin, like the city had exhaled and everything with it had slowed down. The world opened wide beneath us—Southside stretched out below, glowing and alive, every light flickering like it was meant to be seen from exactly where we were.
Fireworks bloomed in the distance; the night was celebrating something neither of us had to name.
I stood at the edge, completely in awe.
And I was happy.
Very happy.
Not in the loud, overwhelming way that demanded to be noticed, but in a steady way that settled deep in my chest. The kind of happiness that didn’t ask questions. The kind that just… is.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling so much until it started to ache.
Beside me, Victor sat, one hand resting against the concrete, the other loose on his knee.
And when I turned to him, there it was again.
That look.
But this time, it wasn’t soft or longing.
It was deeper. Fuller. Certain in a way that made my chest tighten, like he wasn’t just seeing me.
Like out of the vastness of everything in front of him—the city, the lights, the stars, the crescent moon, the night—he chose me. Like the city had presented him everything he could possibly love, but his heart chose me.
I sat beside Victor, our shoulders brushing when I settled. I smiled at him, feeling my cheeks burn from his loving stare.
“It’s so cold,” I said.
But what he said next caught me off guard—in the best way.
“I’m so in love with you,” he said.
Simple. Certain. Like it was the easiest truth he had ever spoken.
I didn’t answer immediately. I just looked at him.
Oh my. I was scared.
Oh no. Not even fear could stop it.
Oh wow. I was not just in love with him. I was entirely, irreversibly in love with him.
“I love you too,” I whispered solemnly. “More than the world.”
He leaned in, and when his lips met mine, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It was steady. Intentional. Like he had already decided this was where he wanted to be.
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. Because I had never felt a love like this before. And no one had ever made me feel like I was worth loving like that.
It felt rare.
And that was why I held on for so long.
Both things were true for me.
I lost him.
And somewhere along the way, I lost myself in his axis too.
The galaxy above me snapped back into place—not the ones from the night at TOPS, but the artificial ones lining the ceiling of the bar. The music rushed in all at once. The weight of the present came crashing back into my chest like I had been underwater, and someone had just pulled me up so fast.
I blinked.
Andre was saying something, but I didn’t hear it.
Because across the room…
I saw him…
“Holy shit,” I said.
Ex #2.
Standing just at the edge of the crowd like he had always belonged there. Like he had been watching long enough to decide exactly when to step in.
My body went still.
He looked the same.
Of course he did!
Charismatic in a way that didn’t ask for attention. Reckless in the way he carried himself, like consequences were just suggestions. And still—ridiculously, unfairly attractive.
His eyes landed on me.
“Holy shit,” I said again.
And just like that, he started walking toward us.
He smiled. Slow. Knowing. Dangerous.
Like a devil dressed up as a good idea.
Each step unhurried.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t look away.
Every warning sign in my body lit up at once—and somehow, it didn’t matter.
Because Kyle had never felt like a mistake. He felt like a decision you made twice.
He stopped right in front of me with that grin. Oh, that grin!
“I was wondering how long it would take before I saw you again.”
Then I remembered what kind of trouble he was.