The cool thing about the library was that it was really big, and the librarian didn’t care about what you did as long as you didn’t start screaming or look up anything too inappropriate on the computers. (Well…inappropriate enough it required someone to intervene at least. I’d seen some of the things people looked up on those and…they definitely toed the line of what was considered appropriate.) So people often came in here to skip. It was kind of a mutually agreed upon thing between those of us who did to not abuse this ability so we wouldn’t be figured out, but things were going very well so far.

“Oh, you have gym this period?” I said, blinking in surprise. I have gym this period. “With who?”

He sighed. “Mr. Mackey.”

I frowned. Mr. Mackey was my gym teacher. 

Was Sebastian in my gym class? How did I never notice?

I mean, I only went to gym class maybe all of ten times and it was all at the beginning of the year, and never once did I really participate or pay attention, so I could’ve totally missed him. Maybe he switched in after that and I just never showed up to notice.

“Oh, me too.” I said before I could think better of it. Oh, oops. Now he’s gonna ask.

“Really? I’ve never seen you there.” He sounded surprised, glancing at me.

“I don’t….usually show up. I really hate gym. And Mr. Mackey is a dick.” I shrugged and he giggled.

I didn’t really want to tell him the real reason, being that I stopped showing up because I had a mystery illness that prevented me from being able to do the things you needed to in gym and Mr. Mackey was a real jerk about it, always rolling his eyes at my doctors notes and acting like I was simply being lazy rather than that I had a genuine medical condition that had ruined most of my life and likely would continue to until I died, which would hopefully be for reasons unrelated to said medical condition.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” He sighed. 

Oh boy could I tell you about it.

But I didn’t want to.

Because when I thought of telling Sebastian that I was sick…I felt my stomach churn.

My illness, well…I knew it was a part of me. And by this point I had accepted that it would likely never go away.

But that didn’t mean I had accepted the illness itself.

I still felt…strangely ashamed of myself for being the way that I was, like it was something for me to hide away like a weird hobby or peculiar interest.

People would sometimes treat me strange when they found out, and the thought of him treating me differently because he found out made me…well, it hurt more than the physical pain I was already in.

Last year, after the reality of my illness being an actual genuine concern was finally fully hammered into my mind, I spent more time than I wished thinking about…well, thinking about him. Sebastian. Our friendship.

More importantly I spent a lot of time feeling horribly sick over the idea of him ever finding out that this was what I became. 

I didn’t want the people I used to know to see me now, not just transitioned but…sick. In pain. Weak. 

So yeah, I could ‘tell him about it.’

I could tell him that the reason I disliked Mr. Mackey was because he didn’t understand that I was chronically ill, and treated me as though I chose to be this way rather than as someone who had it happen to them. I could tell him I’d been fighting to get my gym requirement dropped, and with a mix of my Uncle’s pushing and letters from a couple different doctors, things were slowly going well, just a little too slowly. I could tell him that every single time I missed school was because of this illness, and that almost every single time we spoke I was in so much pain I felt like throwing myself off a cliff, including right now.

But instead I stayed silent and led us to a table in the back, pulling my chair out and taking a seat.

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

It was for the best. The details of my illness were on a need to know basis, and he simply didn’t need to know.

I liked that I was able to pretend to be a normal kid with him. But it was still just pretending. 

As I sat down, he opened his backpack and pulled a few books out, placing them around us to make it appear as though we were actually reading. He then placed the book I saw him check out awhile back onto the table, the cringey high-school-appropriate romance one.

I reached out and picked it up.

“Why are you reading this?” I asked as I looked at it. It was a pastel pink, with two silhouettes on the cover nearly holding hands but not quite. Of course it was very emphasized in those silhouettes that this was intended to be a straight couple, as one was ridiculously muscular and the other one was wearing a long flowy dress with long hair, boobs and…visible eyelashes somehow? Not sure how that was possible from this angle but whatever.

Maybe if I squinted I could imagine they were a lesbian couple instead.

The font they chose for the title was truly abhorrent, and looked like something someone would use on a ransom note rather than a romance novel. 

It read, I Want You….To Be Loved.

“What do you mean? I saw you with this book a few weeks ago.” He said.

I placed it back down. “I didn’t read it, I just grabbed a bunch of random books off the shelf to make it look like I was studying.”

“Oh.” He frowned, picking it back up and looking at it. “That makes more sense. I didn’t like it much anyway. The main characters were just so infuriating. The lead keeps refusing to communicate with the love interest and it leads to all of this drama. If they just talked it out everything would be solved and they could be together.”

“Well, if they just talked it out there’d be no story.” I commented, and he sighed.

“I guess you’re right.” He said as he flipped through it. “I mean, it is more realistic that way, I s’pose. Communication is hard.”

“Yeah.” I muttered, glancing over at him as he flipped open to some random page and read over the contents, lips moving a tiny bit as he briefly mouthed the words before closing it and sliding it back into his backpack.

“So, if you don’t like romance novels, what books do you like?” He said as he turned to me.

I leaned back in my chair as I replied. “I never said I don’t like romance novels, just not the cheesy high-school-library-appropriate ones. Generally I like sci-fi and like, horror stuff.”

He nodded. “Interesting.”

“How about you? What do you like to read, besides flowery romance novels.” I grinned, teasingly.

His eyes glinted with amusement. “I just think romance books are cool sometimes. I prefer when they have like, other storylines in there though, like when the love interests have to like…I don’t know, solve a mystery together or something. More fun that way.”

Makes sense. He liked mystery stories a lot when we were kids, but every so often I would see him in the library glancing at a romance novel, though he’d clam up whenever I asked about it, all embarrassed like wanting to read a romance book was something forbidden. It was always so funny.

“So…do you like mystery stories?” I said, though I already knew the answer. Who knew? Maybe he changed his mind, and didn’t like them as much anymore.

“Oh, I love them.” He smiled. Guess he hadn’t changed all that much then. “It’s so fun to get to figure out the mystery alongside the characters. Every twist and turn is just so…ugh! You know? I mean, only if they’re written well. If they’re written badly then it’s like, eh, whatever.” He twirled his hoodie string around his finger as he talked, beaming. I leaned my hand against my cheek as I watched him speak, a soft smile spreading across my face.

He really was just like he was when we were kids, and yet he was so different.

But as I sat there, gazing at him as he spoke, a bitter thought leaped into my head and threw me completely off balance.

If he was still so similar to the boy he was at 13, was he still the same person who’d abandoned me?

My smile faded, but I quickly forced it back onto my face so he wouldn’t notice anything was amiss.

Don’t think about that, don’t think about that! 

Internally I fought with myself as I struggled to listen to what he was saying in between all the nervous thoughts my brain was suddenly spitting at me lightning fast.

It didn’t matter if he’d changed, we weren’t even friends! It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, none of it mattered! 

It took a minute or two but I did eventually manage to calm myself down, and instead of worrying and battling with my brain I just lost myself listening to him talk. Then when he eventually stopped talking, I asked him to tell me a bit about his favorite books and he dove right back into it.

I nearly sighed in relief at that.

Focusing on his words, his voice, allowed me reprieve from my worries. Even though most of said worries were about him.