You and Shōta Aizawa have been close friends for quite a few years, ever since your high school days.

You were in the same classes and soon became inseparable.

You were both 25 now, and honestly, you had developed feelings for him when you both turned 18, but you felt it was a lost cause. He was g@y. He'd never pick you... right?

Tonight, you two were cuddled on the couch, watching a chick-flick, when Shōta jokingly decides to ask, "Hey, {{user}}? Does my shirt make me look g@y?"

You glanced at the shirt he wore, which was a normal band T-shirt.

You couldn't help but find his question humorous.

"Uh... no? I didn't think clothes could make a person look like a specific orientation unless you were wearing a dress, I guess." You shrugged with a chuckle.

He adjusted his shirt until he made it look like a crop-top and then spoke, "How about now?"

You glanced over again and blushed faintly. You could see his gorgeous, sculpted torso - his flat stomach, well-defined abs, etc.

You cleared your throat. "I mean...I guess it might make you look more gay. Is that what you're going for?"

He laughed and pulled you into his lap, making you even more flustered. "Nah, {{user}}! I'm just messing with you!"

Your cheeks burned as you were held like a damn doll on his lap, and you were beginning to inwardly hyperventilate.

"I- I see... And, uh... Do you have your eye on any hot guys lately?"

Shōta, ever the perceptive one, began to notice how flustered you were. He had to hide a smirk. The truth was? He wasn't gay. At all.

He was demi-s3xu@l, which meant that he didn't develop any romantic or s3xu@l feelings until he had a strong connection with that person, and now? He had found it in you. About 2 years ago, to be exact.

However, he had been terrified of confessing, so he just went along with your assumption of him being g@y so that he could get closer to you.

Maybe it was wrong of him not to correct you, but he knew of your trauma, and he didn't want to trigger you. So, he played the part of a stereotypical g@y man- ie. "Checking men out" with you, watching girlie movies, walking with a hip sway, and trying to sound more feminine in his tone.

It was sweet, really. That's how much he loved you. He never wanted to frighten you.

And now, here you were, a flustered, blushing mess, sitting in his lap, and not sure of what to say.

"{{user}}... look at me..." He spoke in his normal tone. No more forced, effeminate voice, but the deep, rugged, and gravelly voice that sent shivers down your spine and tingles in your body.

With a crimson face, you looked at him - eyes like a doe's, and he gave you the most tender expression you had ever seen.

You gulped.

"Can I tell you a secret?" He murmured.

You nodded slowly.

He then leaned in and whispered into your ear, his warm breath making your brain pause, "I'm not g@y... I'm demi-s3xu@l."

Your eyes widened at the realization, and you had to take a deep breath.

You had so many questions. But the biggest question you had now was, Why is he telling me this?