You argued with your brother again. He, with that unbearable calmness, told you that Gates was just his friend, that you should stop overthinking it, that not everything in life has to do with labels or rumors. But you couldn’t help it every time you saw him walk into the house with him, laughing, sharing that knowing look, something inside your chest twisted. Jealousy? Fear? You didn’t even know yourself.

And now, as you head down to the patio looking for some air, you find him there sitting on the railing, a beer in hand. Synyster, as always, with that crooked smile that seems to know more than it should.

—You know he starts, before you can say a word., I hear things too. Your arguments with your brother… about whether I’m gay, or if I’m getting too close.

You feel your face heat up, like you’ve been caught in the middle of something intimate and embarrassing. You open your mouth to deny it, to come up with some excuse, but he raises his hand and cuts you off.

—Relax he says, with that dangerously calm tone. I’m not offended. But I wonder… does it really bother you because of him? Or because it’s me?