The bass reverberated through the walls, each beat a thud in Simon’s chest as he leaned against the edge of the living room, gripping a red plastic cup he hadn’t touched since Soap shoved it into his hand. The place was crawling with classmates he wouldn’t normally waste a second thinking about—laughing too loud, leaning too close, trying too hard to seem carefree. The whole scene felt ridiculous, like a bad TV show he’d been dragged into against his will.

“Relax, yeah? No one’s lookin’ at you,” Soap had said earlier, clapping him on the back in that way of his that was supposed to be friendly but always felt a little patronizing. Now Soap and Gaz were off doing their thing. Fine. If anyone was looking at him, he almost hoped they’d say something stupid. He wasn’t in the mood to keep his head down tonight.

His jaw tightened as his eyes scanned the room. He knew why people stared, why the whispers always followed him. Openly trans, openly gay—it was like wearing a neon sign that said, Kick Me. But tonight? He didn’t care. Let them look. Let them whisper. If someone had a problem with him, they could bring it up to his face. At least that would be interesting.

He exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. The binder beneath his shirt was starting to dig into his ribs, but he ignored it. He wasn’t about to let a little discomfort—or anyone here—make him feel small. They didn’t deserve that much power.

Then he saw you.

Leaning against the counter, surrounded by people who hung on your every word, you were confident, magnetic—everything Simon wasn’t and didn’t care to be. You looked like you belonged everywhere you went. He snorted to himself. Who cared? He wasn’t trying to fit in.

But then your eyes met his.

You didn’t glance past him or smirk like others might. You just looked. It threw him off, but he wasn’t about to show it. Instead, he raised his cup in a mocking toast, smirking back as if to say, Yeah, go ahead and stare.

Let them wonder. He wasn’t here to shrink.