14. Just When You’ve Moved On…
JUST WHEN YOU’VE MOVED ON…
The party was already in full swing by the time I got there.
Music pulsed through the rooftop, vibrating up through the soles of my shoes. Everywhere I looked, there were bodies. Gays packed shoulder to shoulder, moving, laughing, dancing, and shouting over the music like the night itself depended on it.
Some were dressed like they had somewhere else to be after this—clean lines, button-downs, carefully styled hair.
Others clearly did not.
Shirts were optional. Tank tops hung loose… if they existed at all. A few guys were already down to nothing but underwear, walking around like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I blinked, taking it all in.
“Okay,” I muttered to myself.
I turned a corner—and stopped.
There, tucked into one side of the rooftop like a chaotic afterthought, was a bright blue kiddie pool… filled with gays, of course.
Water sloshed over the edges as a group of them laughed, splashing at each other, already soaked, their energy loud and unfiltered. Someone raised a drink in the air, singing to Carly Rae Jepsen like they were in a music video.
I stared for a second longer than necessary.
The undies make sense now, I said to myself.
The place was alive. Not just loud, but palpable. Like the air itself was charged—buzzing with anticipation, with the kind of energy that only came from a countdown everyone was waiting to feel in their chest.
I scanned the crowd, craning my neck slightly.
“Erl! Seph!” I shouted over the music, weaving my way through clusters of homosexuals, dodging an overenthusiastic dancer and someone mid-selfie.
It took another minute before I reached them at the bar.
Of course they were at the bar.
Erl saw me first. His face lit up like I was the main event.
“Babe!”
Seph turned immediately, following his gaze—and then they both shrieked.
I barely had the time to react before they were pulling me in from both sides, gripping my arms like I had just returned from war instead of… you know… arriving thirty minutes late.
“You made it!” Seph said, eyes scanning me up and down like he was doing a full inspection.
“Obviously!” I said. “You said there would be bears, so I came.”
Erl clutched his chest. “And there are. I nearly passed out twice.”
“I saw one earlier,” Seph cut in. “Six foot, thick, bearded, emotionally unavailable—I love it!”
I gave him a look. “Why is that always part of the appeal?”
“We’re gays,” Erl said. “We’re afraid of stability!”
We laughed—the kind that came easy and automatic.
For the first time in a few months, nothing crossed my mind. Not the hurt. Not the effort it took to get over someone. Not Victor.
I could’ve sworn I felt normal… again.
Seph leaned in closer. “Okay, serious question. If a man proposes to you at exactly midnight, do you say yes or do you pretend you didn’t hear him?”
“I’d say yes,” Erl answered before I could. “I desperately need emotional security.”
“I knew it,” I said, pointing at him like he’d committed a crime. “No standards!”
“High standards,” Erl corrected. “Just… flexible when necessary.”
Seph suddenly grabbed Erl’s arm, eyes widening. “Oh my God. Twelve o’clock. By the speakers.”
And since we’re gays with bad directions, our heads snapped in completely different directions.
“My twelve, you stupid bitches!” Seph said, pointing straight ahead.
Erl and I followed his gaze.
“Oh,” Erl said. “I’m not surviving tonight.”
I turned back at them. “You are leaving me, aren’t you?”
“Respectfully,” Erl said, already fixing his tank top.
“Disrespectfully,” Seph added, checking his reflection on his phone.
“Gays,” I said, shaking my head, “it’s true friendships until we talk about boys.”
“Guys before fries?” Erl said, sipping his drink.
“Dicks before—" Seph paused, thinking, “—cliques?”
I rolled my eyes.
Erl squeezed my arm. “You’ll be fine. Just stand here and look—”
“Don’t say it,” I warned him.
“—emotionally unavailable.”
I stared at him. “That’s not comforting, Erl.”
“It’s effective!” Seph said enthusiastically, already backing away.
And just like that, they were gone—swallowed by the crowd… which, later, they’d happily let swallow them whole.
I stood there for a second, the space they left behind settling in faster than I expected.
Alone again.
Great.
I turned back to the bar and raised my hand.
“Hi,” I said when the bartender glanced my way. “Something strong, please.”
If I was going to survive this night, I wasn’t doing it sober.
“Excuse me,” a voice from behind said.
I turned.
A guy and a girl stood—young, early twenties maybe, both looking like they had just stepped out of a TikTok edit. The guy was already half-smiling, like he was trying to confirm something.
“Are you…” he started, squinting slightly, “…are you The Southside King?”
There was a beat before a smile crept across my face.
“Yes,” I said.
Their faces lit up instantly.
“Oh my God, I knew it,” the other one said, grabbing his friend’s arm. “I told you it was him!”
“Can we—” the girl held up her phone shyly. “Can we take a photo?”
“Yeah,” I said, already leaning in. “Of course.”
We squeezed together, the three of us fitting awkwardly into the frame as she flipped to the front camera.
Click!
And then another.
“Wait, one more—”
Click!
They pulled back, immediately checking the photos.
“Oh my God,” the guy said. “You look exactly the same in person.”
“I hope that’s a good thing?” I asked.
“It is,” the girl said quickly. “We love your videos. Like—actually. Your rants? Insanely too real!”
“For real,” her friend added. “The situationship one? That hurt.”
I let out a small laugh. “Yeah. It tends to do that.”
“But we love you,” he added, like it was something that needed to be said before they left. “Like, actually.”
“Thank you,” I said, softer this time. “I appreciate that.”
They waved, still smiling, still a little giddy as they disappeared back into the crowd.
The noise of the party rushed back in to fill the space they left behind.
For a second, I just stood there.
Recognized. Celebrated. Seen.
And still… alone.
“Here you go.”
I turned, the bartender slid the drink toward me—dark, fizzy, condensation already forming along the glass.
“Bacardi and Coke,” he said.
I nodded, wrapping my fingers around it.
“Perfect.”
I took a sip.
Strong and exactly what I needed.
“Careful,” a voice said beside me, low and easy. “That kind of drink makes you honest.”
I paused.
Turned.
And somehow—somehow—I hadn’t noticed him before. How could I? There were a hundred bodies in this rooftop.
And yet, he was just… there. Standing close enough to feel real, but not intrusive. Solid. Grounded in a way that felt almost out of place in a room that never stopped moving.
Cute. That was the first thing.
Not intimidating. Not trying too hard. Just… cute in a way that made you want to look twice… thrice… maybe even longer than you should.
He had a soft, rounded build—chubby that felt warm instead of careless. He had the kind of body that felt like it belonged in quiet mornings and long conversations, not just crowded rooftops and loud music.
His face carried the same softness, balanced by a neatly kept beard and thick eyebrows, just enough to give him an edge. A cap sat low on his head, casting a slight shadow over his face—casual, bothered, like he didn’t wish to be noticed.
But God—his eyes.
There was something about them.
Steady. Observant. A little shy. As though he wasn’t just looking at me, but actually seeing me.
He had the kind of face that authors write stories about. The kind that the protagonists swear they won’t fall for… and then do.
I blinked, realizing I’d been staring.
“Oh,” I said, a small smile slipping out before I could stop it. “Is that a warning?”
He smiled back.
And it looked… easy. Not rehearsed. Not flirtatious in a way that demanded anything. Just there. Quiet. A little shy. Warm.
“More like advice,” he said.
Something in my chest shifted—subtle, almost unnoticeable.
Because for the first time that night, I didn’t feel like I wanted to be anywhere else.
I took another sip, glancing at him.
“So,” I said, tilting my glass slightly. “How honest does this get?”
He let out a small breath through his nose, amused. “Depends. How much did you drink before I got here?”
“Not enough to ruin my life,” I said. “But just enough to make questionable decisions.”
“That’s usually when it starts.”
I smiled. “Okay. One sip, one truth.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”
“That’s the point.”
He nodded once, like he’d decided something.
“Fine,” he said. “But you go first.”
I took a small sip and glanced around the rooftop—the music, the bodies, the pool, the chaos of it all—then leaned slightly closer to him.
“I don’t wanna be here,” I said.
He didn’t laugh, but didn’t look surprised either.
He just nodded, like he already knew.
“Yeah,” he said, taking his own sip. “Same.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Really?”
“My friend is celebrating his birthday,” he said. “New Year baby. I got dragged into this party.”
“You deserve compensation,” I said.
“I could’ve been cozy at home,” he replied.
“Agreed.” I nodded.
I glanced toward the kiddie pool, where someone had just attempted to cannonball into six inches of water.
“Do you think they signed a waiver for that?” I asked.
He followed my gaze, lips pressing together like he was holding a laugh.
“No,” he said. “But I think someone already caught feelings in there.”
I snorted. “That’s worse than catching something else.”
That did it—he laughed.
And for some reason, that felt like a win.
“You know,” he said, glancing at the people around us, “half of them are about to kiss someone they won’t remember.”
“I will be part of that half,” I said, teasingly.
He looked at me then.
No—he really looked at me.
“No, you don’t,” he said.
I held his gaze. “And you know that because…?”
He shrugged, casual.
“You look like someone who remembers too much.”
Something in me stilled.
Then I let out a small laugh, shaking it off. “Wow. You got all that from just one drink?”
“From you,” he said simply.