My parents were surprised when I showed up unannounced, but they didn’t pry. They welcomed me with open arms, as they always had, and showed me to the spare room they kept ready for whenever I visited.

After unpacking, I wandered outside. The garden was quiet, untouched by the chaos of the world. Beyond it, the lake shimmered in the afternoon sun, just as it had when I was a child.

I found the familiar spot where I used to sit and gazed out at the still water. The silence wrapped around me like a blanket, and all the emotions I’d been suppressing finally broke free. Tears streamed down my face as I let the stress, shame, and confusion pour out of me.

When the tears stopped, my mind spiraled into a whirlwind of doubts. What would my parents think if they knew? I’d never talked to them about my sexuality. Deep down, I feared they’d react like Pink’s parents, calling me disgusting and rejecting me.

I couldn’t survive that.

My parents were everything to me. I loved them deeply, and the idea of losing them over this truth felt unbearable. But how could I keep this secret any longer?

A rustling behind me snapped me out of my thoughts. I tensed but relaxed when I heard my mother’s voice.

“There you are, Benz,” she said warmly, her smile as gentle as ever. My wonderful, kind mother. Would I ever see that smile again after I told her?

“Dinner’s ready,” she added. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m coming,” I replied, standing up and brushing the grass off my pants. As we walked back to the house, I wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her as we moved over uneven ground.

We ate dinner together, just the two of us. My father was out running errands and wouldn’t be back until later. After the meal, I volunteered to do the dishes, grateful for the excuse to delay the inevitable conversation.

By the time I joined my mother on the couch, I still hadn’t figured out how to start. My heart pounded as I sat beside her, hands trembling.

“Mom…” I began, my voice shaky. Tears I thought I’d already cried out came rushing back. “Please don’t hate me.”

She turned to me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Shh, it’s okay, Benz,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “I could never hate you.”

Her comforting words broke me. “I tried to change,” I whispered, my body trembling in her embrace. “I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I… I like men, Mom.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and irreversible. For the first time in my life, I felt truly exposed, vulnerable in a way that terrified me.

The room was silent, save for the soft sound of her hand brushing through my hair. I couldn’t see her face, couldn’t read her reaction.

Finally, she spoke. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. “I still love you, Benz. It’s alright.”

She held me close, rocking me gently as I cried until exhaustion overtook me and I fell asleep in her arms.

The next morning, I woke up on the couch, a blanket draped over me. My head throbbed from crying, and I avoided looking in the mirror, sure my eyes were red and swollen.

Voices drifted from the kitchen. My father was home.

When I walked in, he looked up from his coffee and gestured for me to sit at the table. My mom bustled around, making breakfast.

“Your mom told me,” he said before I could speak. I stared down at the table, unsure of what to expect.

“Son, if this is who you are, we’ll support you, no matter what,” he said firmly.

“You’re still our son,” my mom added as she set a plate of food in front of me, her hand brushing gently over my hair.

My dad cleared his throat awkwardly. “Is this why you came home? Did you have a fight with… your boyfriend?”

His hesitation over the word “boyfriend” was obvious, but he powered through it, his tone steady.

“No, nothing like that,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I just… I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

They exchanged a glance but didn’t press further.

“You can stay as long as you need,” my dad said with a small smile, turning back to his coffee and paper.

Relief flooded through me, so overwhelming that tears welled up again. This time, they fell silently, mingling with the quiet smile that tugged at my lips as I stared down at my breakfast.

For now, I could stay here, surrounded by their love and support, while I figured out what to do about King, Song, and everything else.

__________________________

Back home, I barely had time to start unpacking before my phone buzzed. It was Pink. Relieved it wasn’t King—whose calls and texts I’d lost count of—I quickly answered.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“Benz?” Her voice was laced with worry. “Are you home?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong?” I paused mid-motion, abandoning the clothes I’d been pulling from my bag.

“I just got a really weird message from Song. Can you check on him? I can’t leave work right now.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wasn’t ready to see Song yet, not this soon. I’d planned to wait a few days, until I felt more stable. But the concern in Pink’s voice overrode my hesitation.

“Of course,” I said, grabbing my coat and keys. “I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

The trip to Song’s place was short, but my thoughts ran wild the entire time. Would he even be home? I could only hope he hadn’t gone out, though knowing him, if something was wrong, he’d likely retreat to his apartment.

At his door, I knocked firmly. “Song? Are you in there?” I called. When there was no answer, I knocked again, harder this time. Finally, I heard the sound of the lock clicking. The door opened a crack, revealing Song’s disheveled face.

“Benz?” he muttered, squinting at me as though I’d dragged him from a deep sleep.

My heart sank. He looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, unkempt hair, and an expression that screamed exhaustion.

“What’s going on?” I asked gently, stepping inside without waiting for permission. He didn’t resist, simply shuffled back to the couch and collapsed onto it like a ragdoll.

His apartment was a disaster. Dirty dishes piled high, clothes strewn everywhere, and an unmistakable stale smell lingered in the air. This wasn’t the Song I knew.

I sat on the coffee table facing him, forcing him to acknowledge my presence. “Talk to me, Song. What’s going on?”

He pulled a throw pillow over his face, his voice muffled. “I don’t know what’s wrong…”

I stayed silent for a moment, giving him space, then said softly, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

With a groan, he lowered the pillow, his blank, tired eyes meeting mine. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

He hesitated, but eventually, the words began to spill out. “I’ve been… involved with Idol for the past two months. Physically, I mean.”

Though I’d suspected as much, hearing him say it stung. I kept my face neutral, refusing to let him see how much it hurt.

“It was just supposed to be fun,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “But it’s not fun anymore. I don’t want to be his secret anymore. I hate watching Coco cling to him while I’m stuck being his toy on the side.”

Song sat up, his frustration morphing into a visible ache. “Do you know what that feels like, Benz? To be nothing more than someone’s hidden fling?”

I forced myself to stay calm. “Have you talked to him about this?”

He shook his head, looking defeated. “No… What’s the point? He’s not going to change. He’s hiding behind Coco and his whole fake relationship. He won’t give that up.”

“You won’t know for sure unless you say something,” I said carefully, ignoring the voice in my head screaming at me to let him be hurt by Idol’s games. It would be easier for me, wouldn’t it? To let him see Idol for who he was? But I couldn’t do it.

Song turned to look at me, his eyes glassy. “What if he says no? What if he doesn’t care?”

I reached out, my hand hesitating before I rested it lightly on his shoulder. “Then at least you’ll know. You won’t spend the rest of your life wondering.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. “You’re right.”

My hand on his shoulder felt like fire. I’d never allowed myself to touch him before, knowing how it would break me. Now, it was unbearable.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Song said, standing with a newfound determination. “Thank you, Benz. You’re such a good friend.”

As he walked toward the door, I couldn’t bring myself to look up. My chest ached as I whispered to the empty room, “Yeah… a good friend.”

The sound of the door opening and closing faded into the background as silence filled the apartment. My body slid to the floor, my legs unable to hold me up any longer. Without much thought, I grabbed my phone and made a call.

“Benz?!” King answered immediately, his voice sharp with alarm.

“Can you come get me?” My voice sounded hollow, robotic—like it wasn’t mine.

“Where are you?” I could hear the jingle of keys and the thud of a door closing on his end.

“Song’s apartment,” I replied flatly.

There was a long pause. “I’m on my way. Text me the address,” he finally said, his tone firm. The line went dead.

I sent the address, letting the phone slip from my hand onto the floor. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. Time seemed meaningless as I sat there, staring at nothing.

I barely registered the sound of the apartment door opening a while later. I couldn’t for the life of me remember how long I’d been sitting there. King crouched beside me, his face level with mine. I didn’t have the energy to look at him properly.

“Did you tell him?” His voice was blunt, cutting through the haze.

I shook my head, barely moving.

“Where is he?”

“Idol.” Saying the name felt like dragging a blade across my tongue.

King let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re a fucking idiot. Come on.”

He hauled me to my feet, half-carrying me out of the apartment and into his car. His questions continued, but I couldn’t focus. His words blurred into background noise as I sat in silence, staring blankly out of the window.

At his apartment, King set food in front of me, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I felt utterly numb. He spoke to me, explaining something, but I wasn’t listening. Eventually, he left. I didn’t know how much time passed before he returned.

“I don’t have time for this,” King muttered, his frustration evident. He paced the room while I remained frozen on the couch. “We’re leaving for the concerts in two days…”

Abruptly, he stopped pacing. Before I could process what was happening, he grabbed me and dragged me toward the bathroom. I didn’t resist—I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

The shock of ice-cold water hit me like a slap, tearing a scream from my throat. I struggled against King’s grip, pounding my fists weakly against his chest, but he held me under the spray. The cold burned against my skin, and frustration bubbled up inside me.

Suddenly, the dam broke. My struggles turned to sobs as the weight of everything crashed over me. My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the shower floor, burying my face in my hands. King released me, his hands shifting to gently stroke my back through my drenched shirt.

I stayed there for what felt like an eternity, crying until my body felt hollow. At some point, King turned off the water and left me alone to change. He handed me a clean white t-shirt and sweatpants, simple but comforting. They fit well enough.

When I emerged, I found him sitting on the couch, eating quietly. His eyes met mine, unreadable.

“Hungry?” he asked, holding the bowl toward me.

I clenched my fists, my lip trembling as anger rose in my chest. “Why aren’t I good enough?” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions.

King set the bowl down and stood, watching me carefully.

“What does Idol have that I don’t?” The words spilled out, fueled by years of pent-up frustration and heartbreak. “Why the fuck can’t he love me? I’ve always been there!”

King didn’t reply, stepping closer instead. My emotions boiled over, and before I could think, I grabbed him, crashing my lips against his in a desperate, violent kiss. He didn’t pull away, letting me take out my raw, uncontrollable emotions on him.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. King’s lips were swollen, but his expression remained steady.

“Are you done?” he asked, his voice calm despite everything.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “No.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, I pulled him toward the bedroom. The storm of emotions that had consumed me found an outlet, raw and unchecked, as I took everything out on him—his body bearing the weight of my pain, frustration, and longing.

The next morning, I woke up to the sharp awareness of everything I’d done the night before. A mix of shame and relief settled over me as I recalled how letting my emotions out had felt like uncorking a bottle ready to explode.

Beside me, King began to stir, lying on his stomach with the sheets barely covering him. My eyes landed on his shoulder, where dark bruises had already started to bloom, and then on the faint kiss marks along his neck. The redness on his shoulder, clearly from a bite. My stomach sank when I noticed more bruises on his legs.

“What’s wrong?” King asked, his voice groggy but alert as he caught me staring. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Did I…” My voice faltered as he sat up, revealing more bruises on his arms. “...did I do that?”

He followed my gaze, his fingers brushing over one of the bruises before he casually tried to cover it with his hand. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, quickly getting up and pulling on his clothes.

Seeing how frozen I was, on the verge of spiraling again, he sighed and climbed back onto the bed, facing me.

“Benz,” he said firmly, waiting until I met his gaze. “It’s nothing. We had sex—angry sex. I’m not exactly fragile. Stop worrying. It’s just a couple of bruises.”

“But…” I started, guilt twisting in my stomach. I’d never lost control like that before, never taken all my frustration out on someone else so recklessly. And yet, the worst part was how much better it had made me feel.

“Shut up, you idiot,” King interrupted, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my lips. It caught me completely off guard, silencing my protest.

When he pulled back, his expression was serious. “I can take care of myself. Got it?”

I nodded slowly, though the guilt still lingered.

King stretched as he stood and headed toward the bathroom. “We’re leaving tomorrow for a month,” he called over his shoulder. “You can stay here while we’re gone. No one will bother you here. Pink called while you were in shock yesterday—I told her you were staying here and that you’re fine.”

He reappeared in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush in hand. “Promise me you’ll stay?”

I hesitated, unsure of what else to do or where to go. With a reluctant nod, I agreed.

“Good.” He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me sitting on the bed, still trying to piece everything together.

House-sitting while they were gone would give me some time to think, to figure out how my life had unraveled so quickly. It would be fine. Wouldn’t it?