Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

• Chapter ten: Look, dude, I'm sorry

𝙇𝙤𝙤𝙠, 𝙙𝙪𝙙𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮

We couldn't use Alex's dining room today because it is being re-decorated. The entire downstairs area smells strongly of paint so Alex leads me up to his room instead.

I still feel nervous. No less nervous as I was outside but no stronger either, so I take it as a good sign. Alex is still angry though. Fists clenched, jaw tight, huffing and puffing angry, and I'm still taking the whole thing with a punch of salt, still so confused, but also, does this mean something?

I know one of the things it could mean, I'm not completely oblivious to absolutely everything, although I can be a bit stupid, but I don't want to think it, because it would be fair and it wouldn't make sense and why now? Why so suddenly. Why so 'our date', 'our sexuality', 'I'm so offended because you used a slur towards me', so out of the blue?

No, that's not fair, because he used that very thing against me for so long, he can't just up and say that he is it too. He can't just get so mad at that girl for using the slur and not acknowledge that those words have spilled out of his mouth on many occasions before now. Towards me. An innocent person. He is not that.

So I force myself to think of other possibilities. Egotism. The thought that he's allowed to use words against people but, God forbid, no one can say it to him, even if it doesn't directly affect him like it would me. Maybe he just doesn't want to be seen as gay because of his blithering homophobia and that's why he got so mad. Because the target of those words are gay people and someone thought he was one. He was more disgusted than offended. He was mad because that girl thought he was one of my own.

I don't know.

He is so cruel, regardless of the reasoning behind his actions, and I don't want to think about it anymore.

To distract myself, I look around his room. The walls are painted black, he has a queen size bed in the centre of the wall with the door to the left of it, and his bedsheets are red. All I can think about is violence. There's a desk by window with the middle finger light, a few posters on the wall, a closet to the right, and that's about it. My bedroom is so much more full than his.

"You listen to Panic! At The Disco?" I ask, gesturing towards one of the posters on the wall above his bed.

Alex smiles.

Smiles.

"Yeah, they're pretty cool."

"I listen to them sometimes," I tell him for one particular reason. Then I spot a Teen Wolf poster. "Oh, and Teen Wolf, too? I love that show."