TW: Use of homophobic language, homophobia, some angst. I'm sorry.

Kenny trudged up the front steps, his backpack weighing down on his shoulders as much as the weight of the day. The memory of that last conversation with Anthony gnawed at him. He tried to shake it off, like dust clinging to his skin, but it only seemed to settle deeper, sinking into his chest with every heartbeat.

When he pushed open the door, the familiar scent of dinner met him. His dad was by the stove, spatula in hand, concentrating on whatever he was stirring in a frying pan. His face softened a bit when he looked up and saw Kenny.

“Hey, Ken. How was school?” his dad asked, his tone casual but eyes sharp, observant as always.

“It was… fine,” Kenny replied, keeping his voice neutral as he dropped his bag by the door. He braced himself, though he couldn’t quite say why. Some days, even small talk with his dad felt like tiptoeing across thin ice.

His younger brother came charging into the room, his face lighting up. “Kenny! Let’s play some games!”

Forcing a smile, Kenny ruffled his brother’s hair and nodded, following him into the living room. His brother flopped down onto the couch, practically vibrating with excitement as he grabbed a controller.

Kenny tried to focus on the screen, but his mind was anywhere but here. His gaze drifted, almost unconsciously, to the very spot beside the couch where he and Anthony had nearly kissed. The memory surged forward, as vivid as if it were happening all over again—the closeness, the way his heart had felt like it was trying to escape his chest, the almost magnetic pull between them. His fingers tightened around the controller as he forced the memory back, shoving it down so hard he nearly felt dizzy.

What are you doing? he scolded himself, snapping his focus back to his brother’s excited chatter about the game. But it wasn’t long before the memories pushed back, flooding his mind like water breaking through a dam. He could still remember the feel of Anthony’s lips against his, warm and soft, in that brief, stolen moment.

The memory made his heart ache, filling him with a mix of emotions he couldn’t even name—guilt, confusion, but maybe most of all, longing. A longing he had no idea how to deal with. Shaking his head, he tried to push the thoughts away once more. It’s just… a phase, he told himself. It’ll pass.

Just then, his dad’s voice called out from the kitchen, pulling him from his spiralling thoughts.

“Kenny! Get in here.”

Taking a deep breath, Kenny rose and left his brother in the living room, walking back into the kitchen where his dad was stirring a pot with one hand and glancing over his shoulder at Kenny.

“So, school was good?” his dad asked again, his voice casual, but his eyes keen, watchful.

“Yeah, it was fine,” Kenny said, trying to keep his tone light.

His dad went quiet for a few moments, and a strange tension filled the air. Finally, he cleared his throat, his voice shifting to something a little more intense, a little too deliberate.

“So, I was talking to Atlas’s dad earlier today,” he began, his eyes flicking over to Kenny’s face as if to gauge his reaction.

“Oh, that’s… nice,” Kenny said, feeling an uncomfortable prickling sensation run up his spine.

His dad’s gaze hardened slightly, his tone laced with a casual edge that didn’t fool Kenny for a second. “Yeah, he mentioned there was a big party last Saturday. You know, one of those things kids think their parents don’t hear about.”

Kenny swallowed, feeling his heart pick up speed. He forced himself to shrug, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, there was.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed a fraction, studying him closely. “You didn’t go, did you? Funny, I didn’t hear a word about it from you.”

“No, of course not,” Kenny lied, feeling a chill settle over him as he forced a laugh. “If I’d gone, you would’ve heard about it.”

“Oh?” his dad asked, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Then where were you?”

Kenny felt his mouth go dry. He scrambled for an answer, anything to get his dad off his back. “I was, um, I was at Harley’s house,” he said finally, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

The effect was immediate. His dad’s face darkened, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Harley? You mean that queer kid?” He said the word like it was something foul, like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “How many times have I told you I don’t want you hanging around with him?”

Kenny felt his stomach clench. “Dad… he’s still my friend,” he replied quietly, wishing he could just turn around and walk away.

His dad’s frown deepened, his expression a mix of disappointment and disgust. “Friend? That kid doesn’t deserve to have friends. He’s…” His dad’s lips curled in distaste. “He’s one of them, Kenny. A faggot. That kind of person has no place around my family.”

Kenny kept his head down, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his voice steady. He didn’t trust himself to look his dad in the eyes.

His dad shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You know, I feel bad for his parents. Can you imagine finding out your son’s one of those… people? It’d be a bloody nightmare. If I found out one of my boys… well, they’d be out of my house so fast they wouldn’t even have time to pack.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it was something simple, as if it was the only rational choice.

Kenny’s throat felt tight, his chest heavy with a suffocating mixture of shame and fear. I’m one of those people, he thought, panic clawing at him. I kissed a boy. If his dad ever found out… he couldn’t even finish the thought.

But his dad seemed oblivious to Kenny’s inner turmoil. He just nodded, as if satisfied that he’d made his point. “Anyway, dinner’s almost ready. Call your brother.”

Kenny nodded stiffly and left the kitchen, feeling a strange numbness settle over him. He walked back into the living room, calling his brother over for dinner, barely registering his own voice. The weight of his dad’s words settled heavily over him, suffocating, like a stone pressing down on his chest.

They ate in silence, the clinking of cutlery the only sound filling the room. His dad chatted with his brother about school, about sports, about normal things, all while Kenny sat there, the only words echoing in his mind were the ones his dad had said just minutes before. “If I found out one of my boys…”

After dinner, he escaped to his room, closing the door quietly behind him and locking it. It was only in the silence and privacy of his room that he finally let out a shaky breath, his mind spinning. The memory of Anthony’s kiss washed over him again, just as vivid and intense as it had been that night. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his pulse quicken, a mixture of dread and yearning tightening his throat.

He wanted that kiss again. God, he wanted it more than he wanted anything else. But he could never have it—not without risking everything.

Lying on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling, his mind racing. He thought about his dad’s words, about the casual hate that laced every sentence, every disgusted look. How can he just say those things, as if they’re nothing? It felt like a punch to the gut, a reminder that his dad’s love was conditional, always hovering on the edge of disappointment, always balanced on the line of “as long as you’re not…”

Kenny swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. He felt torn in two, each half pulling him in different directions. Part of him wanted to be the son his dad expected, to shove down every feeling, every attraction that didn’t fit the mould his dad demanded. But the other part of him—the part that remembered the feel of Anthony’s lips, the warmth of his presence, the strange, fierce happiness he’d felt in that brief moment—knew he couldn’t ignore it forever.

He’d tried to fit into his dad’s version of normal. He’d tried to pretend he was the same as everyone else. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the truth. He liked Anthony. He wanted Anthony. And that truth was like a splinter buried deep, something he couldn’t remove, something that would only fester if he kept ignoring it.

The thought terrified him—what it would mean, what it would cost him if he ever dared to reach for what he wanted. But it terrified him even more to think about a life where he kept running, kept pretending, kept hiding parts of himself just to fit someone else’s idea of normal.

A soft knock at his door broke him from his thoughts. His brother peeked in, giving him a small, uncertain smile. “Kenny? You okay?”

Kenny forced a smile, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine, little man. Go get some sleep, alright?”

His brother nodded, satisfied, and closed the door, leaving Kenny alone once more.

When he was sure the house was quiet, he finally let himself feel the ache in his chest, the raw, unfiltered swirl of emotions he’d kept buried all day. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if he could somehow press the memories away, but it was useless. The kiss, the warmth, the feeling of being seen, of being wanted—it all came rushing back, flooding him in a way that left him breathless, hollowed out and filled up all at once.

He rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow, the fabric muffling a frustrated groan. The more he tried to forget, the more the memory clung to him, like the faint smell of Anthony’s cologne lingering long after they’d parted. It was intoxicating and torturous all at once.

How did things get so damn complicated? He thought, fighting the urge to punch his mattress. Life had felt so simple before, when he could just pretend, shove all those feelings into a dark corner and act like he was the person his dad expected him to be. But now? The kiss had opened something inside him, something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

The image of his dad’s face from earlier that evening flashed through his mind—the hardened eyes, the look of disgust when he’d talked about “queer people.” It was like his dad was speaking directly to him, even if he didn’t know it. If he ever finds out, Kenny thought, his chest tightening with fear and shame. If he ever finds out what I am…

He could almost hear his dad’s voice in his head, sneering, disappointed, accusing. What kind of son would that make me?

A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt the familiar weight of guilt settle over him, heavier than ever. He didn’t know what he’d do if his dad ever found out. Part of him wanted to believe that his dad could change, that he’d understand somehow, but the other part—the part that had heard those hateful words spill so easily from his dad’s mouth—knew better.

The truth was, he was stuck. Stuck between who he was and who his dad wanted him to be, torn between his family’s expectations and this undeniable, confusing feeling inside him that he couldn’t seem to escape.

And then there was Anthony. Anthony. The thought of him sent a pang through Kenny’s chest, a longing that was equal parts thrill and terror. It felt dangerous, like something forbidden, something he could never fully have but couldn’t stop wanting. The memory of Anthony’s smile, the way his eyes lit up when they talked, his laugh… everything about him drew Kenny in, like gravity, like he was a planet caught in orbit, unable to pull away even if he tried.

He closed his eyes, imagining Anthony there beside him, close enough to touch, to reach out and hold onto. For a split second, he let himself indulge the thought, imagining a world where they could be together, where he didn’t have to hide, where he didn’t have to pretend.

But as quickly as the thought came, reality came crashing back, reminding him of everything he stood to lose. His dad, his family, his place in this world he’d spent so long trying to fit into… all of it could vanish in an instant if the truth ever slipped out.

Swallowing hard, he took a deep, steadying breath and forced himself to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his face. I can’t think like this, he told himself, even though the ache in his chest still lingered, a reminder of everything he couldn’t have. I just… can’t.

He forced himself to focus on the practicalities—the routines, the habits, the things that would keep him grounded. Tomorrow, he’d go to school, he’d keep his head down, he’d pretend like nothing had happened. He’d act like everything was fine, like he was fine. It was the only way he knew how to survive.

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down, letting the quiet settle over him, closing his eyes against the thoughts that kept pulling him back, back to Anthony, back to the kiss, back to everything he wished he could say but never would.

Eventually, the exhaustion won out, and he drifted off, his mind filled with the image of a future he could only dream about—a future where he didn’t have to choose, where he could be himself without fear, without shame. But as the night wore on, that future faded into nothing more than a shadow, leaving him with the cold, hollow ache of reality.