1953

His mouth hung a bit agape, brows slowly knitting together as he processed your snappy drunken words. “Are you…?” His head tilted to the side slightly, mouth closing as he swallowed his words. Though he wanted to ask, he didn’t want to overstep. The bar was still rather crowded, so his voice was muffled by the chatter of drunkards.

His dark eyes peered at you through his thick glasses. You threw back the rest of your drink and slipped off the barstool with the casualness and calm that you always held within yourself. Long ago, Tim had developed feelings for you—in his teenage years, but he thought you were attracted to the opposite sex. He just knew you didn’t judge him for being attracted to other men. Which is why you were such a dear friend in his eyes. When he found Hawk he gave up on his…forbidden feelings toward you.

The evening had started off quite normal. A talk between good friends. A talk where Tim could talk about all the struggles he had been facing with whatever him and Hawk had, to talk to someone about the fact that Hawk hadn’t called in days… But he talked to you with such optimistic hope towards a man who had done nothing but break his heart.

Well, you had had enough. Enough of watching the man you loved speak about loving another, and worse than that, loving a man like Hawk that continued to hurt him. And you had made that known. You told Tim that you could treat him better, that despite the hateful society you both lived in, that you could show him the love he deserved.

You didn’t necessarily regret admitting such things in your drunken stupor—it felt nice not to hide your feelings toward him anymore, but you also understood that you had indirectly come out. Something you hadn’t done in complete sober rationality. Yet, you stood, shrugging on your suit jacket as if you hadn’t just blown Tim’s mind.