Mark watched Francis leave and felt conflicted. He waited until the sound of Francis’s car faded, before moving from the doorway where he’d been standing. It had felt as if he couldn’t move, but needed to, but didn’t have the courage to do so.
Endless thoughts swirled through his mind. Why had he safeworded? What was so bad about a kiss? Would Francis come back? If he did, would he want to do the same thing again? Would Mark want to? What was wrong with him, melting into a puddle like that at a bit of attention? Did this mean he was gay? Shit, he was a fag, wasn’t he? His parents would be so fucking—no, no, he couldn’t go there.
Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t know he was gay. It was just… thinking it fleetingly was different than admitting to it. Making it part of his identity was a horrifying idea.