But something in my gut is making it clear that it wants Qiang,and not for sharing. I need to tamp that shit down, though, because I can’t have Qiang, regardless of how hard my dick is straining towards them. And evidently, Qiang is not cool with the flirty remark Darryl just dropped either, because their face scrunches up as they stare up, up, and up at the towering giant that is Darryl, without a trace of fear on their face.
“Excuse me, I’m what?” they demand, the displeasure clear in their tone.
Darryl has enough humility to give Qiang an apologetic look, but whatever he’s about to say gets lost when Qi pats Darryl on the back and introduces everyone as though the unpleasant exchange went completely over his head. Whether it actually did, or he’s just trying to smooth it over before it gets worse, I don’t know. But the interruption eases the tension on Qiang’s face.
Relief crosses their features as Qi points us out. “So this is not the potential roomie; that one is, right?” they say, nodding their chin towards me.
I stand up because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. My mom would be appalled if she knew how long I’ve been sitting in front of this person without standing up to greet them properly. I have no excuse beyond being so completely waylaid by their aesthetics that normal brain function seems to have escaped me. Something that’s only proven when our eyes meet, and this tangible force pulses through every vein in my body. Who the fuck is this person, and what sort of sorcery is this?
My body is on autopilot as I reach my hand out to shake theirs. “Yeah, I’m Marcus, the potential roomie. Well, not really roomie; more like floorie, really. Is that a thing? That doesn’t sound like a thing, does it?” I ramble out, and my eyes flit from Qiang’s to Tristan’s to see if I sound as fucking off my rocker as I feel right now.
Tristan’s eyes are pinched as he takes me in, confusion all over his face, which tells me that yes, I sound as fucking off my rocker as I feel right now. Shit, I need to get my head on straight. How the hell did just one look get me all fucked up like this?
I’ve seen attractive people all my life. Been blown away and turnedon to the point of pain just by a sexy dress or the tease of a seductive smile. But this is something different. This is coiling through my body like it owns it; like it belongs there; like it understands me better than I do. It’s not just attraction; it’s something deeper, something feral, and if I don’t keep a firm hold on it, it’s going to obliterate me.
And if I thought I couldn’t feel even more, their warm skin grasping my hand sends electric shocks that I can feel from my palm all the way through my limbs.
“I don’t think so, but I get what you’re saying,” they say before dropping my hand. And as much as I could touch them forever, as much as the forefront of my brainwantsto touch them forever, I know it’s a blessing they let go, so I can sit down and hide my current situation under the table before anyone else notices.
Tristan is still eyeing Darryl and me with a hint of betrayal because I know he knows us well enough to know this isn’t some random bi-awakening thing. Neither Darryl nor I have acted shocked at the admission to the other having a queer streak that we’ve both just dropped between Darryl’s flirty quip and the obvious attraction that I know I’m showing. It’s pretty obvious that not only were we aware of ourselves being queer, but also that the other was queer as well. It’s a really huge thing that we’ve left Tristan out of the loop on, which was completely unfair, and the slightly hurt look in his eyes is completely our fault.
I just separated Tristan from the sexual side of my life a long time ago because he was so disconnected from it. I thought constantly bringing it up was making him uncomfortable, but I also left a significant part of myself out that I shouldn’t have in the process.
I catch Darryl’s eye and nod minutely in Tristan’s direction. Darryl’s eyes flit from mine to Tristan’s and back to mine, understanding lighting his gaze and then dimming as realization hits.
No, we don’t owe anyone explanations of our sexuality, but leaving Tristan out of something we’d obviously shared with each other broke an unspoken bro code, and Tristan is probably trying to figure out if there’s anything he’d done to render himself unworthy of our trust when, in reality, it had been our own oversight.
Darryl squares his shoulders and turns towards Qiang. “You’re gonna love the house. You know, if you decide to move in, but even if you decide not to, I’m sure you’ll see it anyway. The view is amazing, and the rooms are massive. You’d have two rooms and a bathroom all to yourself,” he rambles out, and I know he’s trying to ease the tension, which works because we all kind of start falling into a bit of random conversation and banter.
Eventually, Qi catches my eye before nodding towards Qiang, and I know what he wants. The point of this meet-up is for me to give Qiang a good enough impression of myself so they agree to move in with us. Not quite sure how on board I am with that now. I mean, not really. I know how important it is to Tristan and Qi, so obviously, I’m on board, but I’m a bit hesitant now, too, because this pretty person with big doe eyes makes me react in ways that are equal parts exciting and terrifying, which, quite frankly, is absolutely…terrifying.
I take a deep breath to collect myself before looking Qiang in the eyes. “So Qi says you run a makeup channel. What’s up with that?”
I know right away that I’ve said something wrong. Qiang instantly bristles, and I look over at Tristan for some sort of clue on how I just fucked up. I am not this fucking awkward.Ever. I am smooth, always know the right thing to say, and know when to say it. I don’t know how this pretty person managed to abscond with my entire personality, but I need it back.Right fucking now.
“What do you mean?” Qiang asks, a challenge evident in their voice, and I realize what I’ve done.
Tristan made it clear that Qiang has been hurt by jocks, most likely by being bullied, and in today’s society, Qiang being a makeup influencer is most likely a part of it. The question came across sounding more like I was calling them out than like I was genuinely curious.
“I mean, how did you get into it? Obviously, you must like it to do it, so is it something you hope to expand on in the future? Do you do makeup that centers on a specific clientele? I’ve seen some that are more geared towards cosplay and others that are more geared towards contouring. Some are more neutral while others are bolder and more daring, so I was just curious.”
Qiang’s body deflates while I talk. The tension visibly leaves them as they realize I meant no harm, and I let out a silent breath of relief. Ineedto do better than this. I normally would be doing better than this if Qiang hadn’t fucked up my brain synapses and sent my head into a tailspin.
Qi nudges Qiang’s shoulder. “They got into it because of clown avant-garde makeup,” he says with a playful glint that has Qiang relaxing the rest of the way. Not sure what it means, but whatever it is eases Qiang’s discomfort, which I’m thankful for. I’m walking on thinner eggshells than I’m used to, and shit’s stressing me out.
“I did not, you brat,” they say with an exaggerated eye-roll before focusing back on me. “I don’t do a lot of the cosplay stuff. Sometimes I do a couple of fun things during Halloween, but most of the time it’s just different everyday wear looks. I’ve always loved makeup with the way it can shape and change a face, or alter a look, or completely transform it. The channel isn’t popular enough to be my sole source of income, but I’m hoping a master’s in business with a focus on marketing will help make it lucrative enough. And honestly, it’s grown exponentially as I take things I learn and apply them along the way,” they say, getting enthusiastic as they talk.
Their eyes light up, and I can see the love they have for their craft shining through them. It’s intoxicating, and I’m completely drawn in by them and their love for what they do. It’s something that found its way into them and became a part of their blood, traveling through every part of who they are and where they’re going. And I completely dig it. Maybe makeup and football are two completely different things, but it feels like they love makeup the same way I love football.
“That’s awesome. Most people just kind of go for whatever’s easiest or most convenient. So few pursue what they really want anymore,” I tell them, admiring their bravery.
Qiang tucks their hands beneath their chin and leans in towards me. My breath catches just a bit; their eyes are now close enough to make out the specks of caramel that swim in the pretty dark-brown depths.
“What about you? What do you really want to do?” they ask.
I can feel my cheeks burn with the smile that spreads across my face. “Play in the NFL. Live the dream,” I tell them, envisioning the future I’ve had mapped out in my head since the first game my dad ever took me to.
I already played football at a youth activities club my parents had me signed up for, but it was that first NFL game I saw live when I was twelve that solidified a fun activity into an obsession. The crowd, the energy, the way each player left everything they had on that field.
