Do I Look Like I Have to Be?

I end up outside.

It's not even cold, but the night air bites anyway. Maybe it's the adrenaline crashing down, or maybe it's just the way pain hangs around even after the shouting stops.

I sit on the porch steps, legs pulled in, hoodie sleeves over my hands like a barrier. The house hums behind me—quiet, but not calm. The kind of quiet that settles in after a storm but knows another one is coming.

I don't cry.

I don't.

But I do bite my lip so hard it stings, and I blink up at the sky like it'll blink back some kind of answer.

"You good?"

The voice is behind me, smooth and way too casual for how off-kilter I feel.

I turn my head just enough to see Alex leaning against the porch railing, his arms crossed. The tattoos on his forearms glow faintly under the porch light, like they're paying more attention than he is.

"Define 'good,'" I mutter, looking away again.

He doesn't answer right away. Just steps down and sits on the steps a few feet from me.

Silence.

Then, "I heard shouting."

"Hope you enjoyed the show."

He exhales, soft and long. "You're not a show, Nick."

I scoff. "Could've fooled me. Everyone's always watching but no one ever listens."

Alex is quiet again. Like he's actually thinking instead of just saying something easy.

"You and Lucas," he says finally. "That's a lot."

I shrug. "He was supposed to be my person, you know? My safety net. Then he left and everything else just… kept piling up."

He nods, eyes on the dark horizon. "Yeah. People always talk about growing pains like it's some one-time phase. But no one says what it's like when the people around you grow away instead of with you."

That hits a little too clean.

I glance at him. He's still not looking at me, but his jaw's tight. Like maybe he knows what it's like to get left behind too.

"You and Lucas aren't talking much, huh?" I ask, cautiously.

He snorts. "That's one way to put it."

"So why are you here? Why stay in our house when it's this tense?"

He finally looks at me. Dead in the eye. "Because despite everything… this house still feels more like home than mine ever did."

That one sits in my chest.

Heavy.

I look down at my hands. "Why are you being nice to me right now?"

He shrugs. "Because I wanted to be."

Another silence.

But it's not hostile this time. It's weirdly… gentle.

Then Alex leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You don't have to talk about it. But if you ever want to, I can listen."

I glance at him again, longer this time. There's something about the way he says it, like he means it too much.

"Do you always look at people like that?" I ask.

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to kiss them or read their mind."

He raises a brow, a smirk flickering. "Which would be worse?"

I shrug, pulse acting up. "Depends on the person."

A beat.

Then, way too casual: "Are you even straight?"

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't laugh. Just stares back, steady.

"Do I look like I have to be?"

It should've ended there. That would've been the moment to let it hang, let the silence speak, let him walk off into the night with the upper hand.

But something inside me refuses to let it go.

I sit up straighter. "That's not an answer."

He blinks, caught off guard. "You always press people like this?"

"Only when they dodge."

He studies me for a second. Not like he's annoyed, but like he's deciding. Like there's a line and he's toeing it with both feet, waiting to see what happens if he crosses.

"You want the honest version or the version that makes things easier for everyone?" he asks, voice low.

"I want the version that makes things harder," I say before I can think better of it. "Because I'm tired of people choosing the easy way out."

He exhales, slow. "Then yeah. I'm not exactly waving pride flags, but I've liked guys before."

There it is.

No dramatic music. No camera zoom.

Just truth. And it lands like thunder in my chest.

He looks at me, carefully. "That a problem?"

"No," I say. Quiet. Firm. "But it would've been nice to know… before you started staring at me like I'm a science experiment you wanna take apart."

He laughs, breathless. "Maybe I just like watching your gears turn."

"Then say that."

We stare at each other for a beat too long. Something charged coils in the air between us, sharp and hot and unfinished.

He shakes his head slowly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "You're a lot bolder than you were a week ago."

"Blame yourself," I mutter

He lingers like he wants to say something else. Then turns and heads inside.

This time, I don't let the silence have the last word.

And neither does he.