We begin crossing the bridge, the first minute of what could be an hour journey as we walk to Brooklyn with the East River beneath us. That’s a long time to dig through this deep pain of love feeling out of reach, like it’s buried in the center of the world and I don’t have a shovel. But if Valentino wants to claw through the ground with me, I can’t knock that.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, unwrapping the hoodie from my waist and putting it back on, cozy inside it like I was when wrapped in Valentino’s arms on the train.

“Why do you think no one will love you before you die? Because you’re expecting you’ll die young?”

“It’s wild, but I could live until I’m a hundred and I think I’ll still never know love. Like, legit love. This world isn’t built for guys like us, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there for you.”

I want to scream that I think he’s that capital-s Someone. “I came out last month too and it’s not like a bunch of dudes started lining up outside my house.”

“Probably a good thing.”

“I had a shit ton of crushes in high school, and I didn’t know for sure, but I got some closeted vibes from a couple of them. I swore they were prob into me too, though no one hit me up with any confessions once I was out.”

“I’m sure someone wanted to, Orion. It’s possible they weren’t ready or were still figuring themselves out.”

There’s a million reasons why someone won’t come out. What might seem like no big deal to one person is the whole universe to another.

“True. There’s also shitty parents,” I say, thinking of Valentino’s.

“Maybe they would’ve been kicked out of their house. I got lucky.”

Parents not kicking you out of your home because you’re gay shouldn’t be luck. That should be the expectation when you bring a kid into this world. If you can’t do that, then fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. I’m done playing this shit where we got to be nice to people who hate on us for how we love. They’re the reasons why we got it so hard, why we lock away our feelings even though it means we’ll die without knowing the happiness that comes to others so easily.

“Did you ever have any boyfriends?” I ask, feeling sick with envy in my empty stomach.

“No, but I had a big crush back in March.”

“What was he like?”

Though I already suspect I know the answer: muscular, beautiful, pearly white smile.

“He’s another model.”

You don’t fucking say.