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The second I get back to Devon’s place after the party, I start stripping out of my tux, feeling more and more like myself as each layer of the constricting formalwear comes off.
“Not that I’m complaining, but--”
I ignore whatever Devon’s trying to say, pushing past him and into the living room, littering the floor with clothing until I’m finally down to my briefs. Then I sink onto the sofa and sprawl out, feeling like I can breathe for the first time all night.
“Comfy?” Devon asks, one eyebrow raised.
I hold a hand up to ward off further comment. “You have your weird needle thing, I have this. Let’s just call it even.”
“So, what, it’s like a phobia?” he asks, clearly curious.
I shift around in agitation. “It’s not…I don’t know. It’s not as though I’mafraidof formalwear. I just don’t like wearing it. All the stiff fabrics and the ties and the uncomfortable shoes and the trousers that need to be pressedjust so…it all just reminds me of my private school days, which was a period of time that wasn’t exactly fun for me.”
“How come?” His tone is gentle, and there’s concern in his eyes, which is probably the only reason I start talking.
“Did you go to a private school?”
He shakes his head. “No. Although I gather most of them have a pretty strict uniform policy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s probably changed now, but back then there was also this other policy—less formal, but equally strict,” I explain. “The Don’t Let Anyone Know You Like Boys Unless You Want Your Head Smashed Into the Bathroom Mirror Policy.” I lift a hand to absently trace over the faded scar at my temple, which is now mostly concealed by the rose tattoo I have there.
He just stares at me, completely aghast. “That…happened to you?”
I offer a brittle smile. “It was the nineties. Not exactly a great time to be a gay teen.”
“How old were you?”
I shrug. “Fourteen, I think. It was third form.”
“And you stayed at the school after that?” he demands, clearly stunned. “Didn’t your parents do anything about it?”
I slump back into the couch and stare up at him, urging him to see things more clearly. “I was closeted. They didn’t know the full story. All anyone knew was that there was a fight, we were both injured, and school property was damaged,” I explain. “My parents paid a small fortune to keep me enrolled at the school. Dad practically worshipped the place; both and granddad went there, and it’s pretty much the one thing in my entire life that he’s ever been passionate about. Even if I had been in the position to tell the full story, I’m not sure I could have taken that away from him.”
“And let me guess, the next three years were a breeze?” he asks dryly.
I let out a soft chuckle. “I got to keep my place, but the black mark never went away, so I was under constant threat of expulsion. Every tiny misstep had me in a complete panic, freaking out about how I was letting Mum and Dad down. And, of course, I dove even deeper into the closet, which always works out wonderfully well…”
He lets out a wry breath of laughter, and then his expression changes, as though his mind has snagged on something. “How did the other kid get injured?”
“Huh?”
“In the bathroom. You said you were both injured…”
“Oh…I, um, snapped my head back and broke his nose.”
Devon’s mouth curves into an approving smile. “Bastard deserved it.”
