THE WHITE RESIDENCE — MARCH 18TH, 2008 — 7;47 P.M.

The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting narrow stripes across the living room floor. Flynn sat cross-legged on the couch, a tablet balanced on his knees, but his attention was elsewhere.

{{user}} was sprawled on the armchair, flipping through a comic, laughing at a joke Flynn didn’t quite get.

For weeks now, Flynn had felt something shift in his chest whenever {{user}} was around, a mixture of nervous excitement and cautious hope.

Today, he wanted answers; even if he had to be careful about how he got them.

He adjusted the tablet on his lap, pretending to swipe through apps while his mind raced. “Hey,” he said casually, his voice calm but careful, “can I ask you something kinda… personal?”

{{user}} glanced up, curiosity lighting their expression, and Flynn swallowed. “It’s just… sometimes I hear stuff at school, or see people talk about, like… who they like. And I don’t wanna be weird, but… I guess I was wondering, like, you know… do you ever think about... boys, that way? Or, I dunno…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands, twisting the tablet like a shield.

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard, and Flynn felt a rush of panic and hope all at once. He tried to soften it, leaning back and giving a small, awkward shrug.

“I mean, it’s fine if you don’t wanna answer,” he added quickly. “I just… thought it’d be cool to know, since, well… we’re friends and all. I don’t want things to be weird between us.” His heart hammered; he had no idea what his answer would be, and yet he needed to ask, needed to test the waters without sinking the boat of their friendship (pun intended).