“So, where you going?”
“Downtown.”
“Where downtown?”
“Thinking a biker bar, maybe a pool hall. I might just wander the streets aimlessly singing showtunes.”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh.”
Dylan searched through his belts, trying to pick one out. Miguel made a face at Dylan’s two choices, so he set them down and ran his hand over a rack where his belts hung. It was like a metal detector, only instead of a beep, Miguel’s expression softened when Dylan’s hand landed on a choice he didn’t find revolting.
“So, going out with Kaiden?”
“Yup.”
“Again.”
“I guess.”
“You two hang out a lot.”
“When we can.” Dylan shrugged. “Our schedules can get pretty busy.”
“Must be hard, being away from him and all.”
“Excuse me?” Dylan fastened his belt and turned back to Miguel.
“Come on, we all know you two have a thing. Just wondering if you’re going to walk on eggshells the entire time.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, he’s your situationship.”
“I do not have a situationship.”
“Oh, so your DL boyfriend?” Miguel nodded affirmatively. “Good for you. Big step.”
“Kaiden is my friend,” Dylan said, quite slowly in a slightly mocking tone. “Not all queer men need a situationship.”
And maybe he’d contemplated a situationship at one point or another with Kaiden, but he really did like their friendship. If Dylan knew the first thing about healthy relationships, he’d have asked Kaiden out a lifetime ago. Now, he was content with their friendship and didn’t need Miguel’s mockery.
“Yeah, bitch, I know,” Miguel replied. “And not all friends need to spend their every waking minute of free time tied to each other, or text bullshit memes at all hours of the day, or—”
“Yes, they do!” Dylan protested. “That’s what friendship is.”
“Gurl, he could slap you in the face with his dick, and you’d say that was friendship.”
“Okay, first off, no one is slapping each other with their genitals,” Dylan said with the reddest face—so red, he felt the heat burn from his neck to his cheeks. “Second of all, where in the hell did this come from?”
“Am I the only one who—”
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing?” Chelsea stormed into Dylan’s bedroom, arms flailing and bringing the heavy aroma of bleach wafting inside.
Chelsea Blisston used to be one of the sweet, quieter residents living at Dorothy’s Home. While Dylan was grateful the timid trans girl had found her voice, he did wish it came with fewer profane outbursts. Thanks to her friendship with the sassiest guy in town, she’d learned to drop a swear word with nearly every breath she took. Miguel, naturally, encouraged the attitude.
“Are you gonna finish with my goddamn hair or sit in here jerking your dick all night?” Chelsea had foil around her hair, currently soaked in bleach products.
“Language,” Jasmine shouted from another room.
