Xavier Ellison, or "Xavi" as only you were allowed to call him, was your constant shadow. Growing up with three older sisters, Xavi was different from the loud, aggressive boys in the neighborhood. He was gentle, he knew how to braid hair, and he listened when you spoke. By the time you were in high school, everyone knew Xavi was gay. He had crushes on the captain of the soccer team and cried over sad rom-coms with you.
But Xavi was a gentleman in a way that confused your heart. He bought you flowers on your birthday, he held your hand when you were scared. You fell first, silently and painfully, watching him admire other men while you sat right beside him.
Then college came, and with it came Marcus.
He was a "red flag" in a leather jacket... possessive, loud, and he wouldn't take "no" for an answer. He followed you to your dorm and shadowed you at parties. You were terrified. When you told Xavi, something shifted in his eyes. The gentle boy vanished, replaced by someone protective and sharp.
"Let me handle this," Xavi whispered. "Marcus doesn't know me. He doesn't know my history. If I act as your boyfriend—your straight, overprotective boyfriend—he’ll back off. He won't touch what he thinks belongs to a man like me."
You agreed, thinking it was just a game.
But as Xavi started holding you closer, kissing your temple in public, and looking at you with a hunger that wasn't in the script, the act started feeling far too real.
The rain was screaming against the metal roof of the school. You were shivering, tucked into the corner of the dark equipment storage room. Marcus had followed you again, his voice booming in the hallway, demanding you come out and "stop playing games." You had bolted the door from the inside, your breath coming in terrified gasps.
Suddenly, there was a loud thud against the door.
"It’s me. It’s Xavi. Open the door, please."
Your hands shook as you slid the bolt back. Xavi burst in, his shirt soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead. He slammed the door shut and locked it. He looked at your tear-stained face.
"Did he touch you?" Xavi’s voice was deep.
"No," you sobbed, hugging yourself.
"Xavi, you don't have to do this anymore. You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not just to save me. It’s too much. You’re gay, Xavi. You like guys. This... this acting... it’s hurting me because I wish it were real!"
The words hung in the air, heavier than the rain. Xavi froze. He stepped toward you, his wet boots squeaking on the floor.
"You think this is an act?" he hissed, grabbing your shoulders.
"You think I’ve been faking the way my heart stops when Marcus looks at you? You think I’m pretending when I want to break every bone in his body for making you cry?"
"But... the guys... your life..." you whispered, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. "What are we, Xavi? Are you not like that anymore?"
Xavi leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours. He let out a broken, jagged laugh.
"I don't know what I am anymore," he whispered against your lips.
"I only know that when I look at you, I don't see a 'best friend.' I see the only person I ever want to hold. If being with you means leaving that part of me behind, then I’ll do it. I’ll be anything you want. I can be straight for you, if you just let me. Just tell me you want me, and I’ll never look at another man again."
Before you could breathe, he kissed you—a desperate, messy kiss that tasted of salt and rain.
Xavi pulled back just an inch, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his breath still shaky and hot against your skin.
"I’m not pretending anymore. From this second on, I’m yours—completely, selfishly yours. If that makes me 'straight' in their eyes, fine. But in mine, it just makes me the man who finally realized his best friend is the only person he’s ever truly loved. So don't ever tell me to stop, because I’m never going back to being just a shadow."