“You’re looking at me like you know everything,” I finally manage in a voice that sounds like it’s been through a fucking meat grinder. “When in fact, you know nothing at all.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.” A beat. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. Fuck.” He scrubs a hand roughly through his hair. “This is coming out all wrong.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

His shoulders seem to deflate and he picks up his mug once more, taking a slow, measured sip before setting it back down. My eyes can’t help but train on his fingers as he deftly spins the mug around between his fingers.

“Where I’m from,” he says carefully, hesitantly, as if testing out his thoughts out loud, “is different. More different than I think I—”

“You lived in Philly, not on fucking Mars.”

He gives me a look. “Will you let me explain? Clarify some things? I’m not your enemy here, Way. For once in your life, just...relax. Okay?”

I grit down on my molars and turn toward the window. Relax, I think sarcastically. I want to tell him good luck with that. My body hasn’t known the meaning of the word since I was a baby and too young to know any better.

But admitting that? Well, it would defeat the purpose of...

Everything.

“In case you’re not fully aware of this,” he goes on in a dry tone, “Shiloh isn’t exactly on America’s list of up and coming.”

I work my jaw. “Then why come back here?”

“Are you gonna shut up and listen, or not?”

I snap my head forward, glaring at him, and he gives me a small, saccharine smile. I flip him off. He pretends to catch it and press it to his heart. I only just manage not to stick my tongue out at him like I’m five fucking years old.

“Where I come from...” he starts again, “it’s not unusual to run into someone who falls at least somewhere on the rainbow spectrum, be it sexuality, gender, or both. I’ve learned not to jump to conclusions by simply what I see, okay?” A weird look flickers over his face, but he looks away before I can analyze it too much.

Why is he telling me this?

“Straight isn’t the default, even if the rest of the world hasn’t caught up yet.” A beat passes. “Like I said, I didn’t mean to assume anything. It wasn’t personal.”

My throat feels suspiciously tight as I look down at the counter. “Yeah, well, up here in these ol’ parts,” I say mockingly, “being thought to be anything other than straight means getting your ass beat. So it’s kind of actually very personal.”

I regret the words as soon as I say them.

Eyes sliding shut, I wait for Will to strike.