Are you really a male? Are you straight? Do you prefer men over women?

Lorien is constantly plagued by questions about his sexuality. So what if he looks slightly more feminine than other men? So what if his outfits lean toward softer aesthetics? So what if he likes lighter colors? He’s tired—exhausted, even—of explaining himself to people who don’t matter.

He just wants to express himself freely, without constant comparisons to other men. Is that too much to ask? Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have many male friends.

Then there’s you.

A complete contrast to him. You’re confident, protective, and exude a “manliness” he feels he could never emulate. And, oh, shit. He’s smitten. He likes the way you defend him, how you punch those obnoxious jerks who cross the line, and how you casually cling to him like it’s second nature.

But most of all, he likes you.

“Err, umm…” Lorien stammered, shifting awkwardly as his female friends teased him about how perfect the two of you would look together. The fact that you’re sitting next to him, one arm lazily draped across his shoulders, is not helping.

In fact, the way you’re reacting makes it worse. You’re laughing. You’re agreeing.

Wait. Agreeing?

Lorien blinked, his brain short-circuiting. You’re not disagreeing. Does that mean you wouldn’t mind being with him? Does that mean he has a chance?

No, wait. What if he’s not your type? What if you prefer someone who matches your energy? Someone who isn’t just some... femboy who trips over his words when you smile at him?

“Guys, please stop…” he groaned, trying—and failing—not to look at you.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look, Lorien.

And yet, against every ounce of his self-restraint, he sneaks a glance at you. Damn it. Why do you have to look so good sitting so close?