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Pinching the bridge of his nose, Emerson takes a steadying breath before counting to ten in his head. It’s almost as if something is in the air. Something like spirit week or the homecoming game or the dance. He’s pretty sure that building excitement is what’s gotten into the kids, who’ve gone from bad to worse as the day’s gone on, and he can only imagine what they’re going to be like on Friday.

Though he’s never personally experienced any of the school spirit fervor or pre-dance excitement for himself as a bullied outcast, he tries to be lenient with his kids, but there’s only so much whispering and inattentiveness he can handle. Even Arlo, who is usually one of his most respectful students, is caught texting during class. By the time third period ends, he’s given two detentions for disruptive behavior, something he’s never had to do.

When the lunch bell rings, Emerson’s stomach is tied in knots to the point he can’t even choke down his peanut butter sandwich. Not even the quiet reprieve from students helps Emerson’s nerves settle because it comes with a silence that would normally be filled with Jason’s rambling. He misses Jason more acutely than he thought possible.

Unable to eat and eager for a distraction, he decides to spend his lunch period grading, turning his attention to a pile of essays on his desk from his second period class. Halfway through the first one a knock at his door interrupts his focus.

“Come in,” Emerson yells, expecting a student and taken by surprise when the principal walks into his room instead.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Miller. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Emerson replies, pushing his chair away from his desk while trying not to panic. Mrs. Hernandez is a kind, fair principal but has never once come to Emerson’s classroom unannounced, and her arrival sets his nerves on edge

“I was going to send an email, but I thought perhaps in person might be better.”

“Okay,” Emerson says, twisting his ring. Her smile is friendly but her tone is anything but, and not even Emerson’s impeccable pattern recognition and decade of studying people is good enough for him to parse what she might say.

“There’s been a complaint filed about conduct.”

“What did I do?” Emerson balks, dread settling in his gut. He tries to think of anything he might have done wrong but can’t think of anything aside from the one time he was late because of the bus last month but that seems unlikely.

“You haven’t done anything, Mr. Miller. The complaint is about Mr. King. Given the importance of the game tomorrow we’re eager to expedite the process of investigating the validity of claims.”

“What claims?” Emerson frowns, struggling to think of anything Jason might have done wrong.

“There are concerns that Mr. King has used his personal relationship with you in order to influence the grades for starting players on the team.”

“Jason would never. He’s an amazing teacher and coach,” Emerson argues, shocked at his outburst.

“I’m not here to debate Mr. King’s character,” Mrs. Hernandez says solemnly. “I wanted to make you aware of what we’ll be discussing at the mandatory meeting with HR this afternoon.”

Emerson says nothing, finding it impossible to focus on what the appropriate response might be with the emotions warring inside of him: a confusing mess of fear, indignance and anger that leave him feeling like he might be sick.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Hernandez placates, “we just want to clear up a few things.”

A weird haze takes over, and while Emerson knows he’s replying, he’s hardly aware of his own words. In fact, he’s not even sure what she said, the buzz of anxiety making it hard to absorb what’s going on around him. It’s almost like he’s outside his body, and while he knows he says something to Mrs. Hernandez and makes it through the next two hours, he’s hardly sure how.

When he walks into the front office, the only people there are Mabel, sitting at her desk typing and Jason in a chair behind her with his head in his hands. Both of them look up at his arrival, their smiles feeling entirely undeserved.

All he’s done is cause trouble. He has no idea why they’re both looking at him like his arrival is something to be happy about. Emerson’s heart lodges itself in his throat when Mabel stands up, walking around her desk to hug him. She’s so small Emerson has to hunch over to return the hug, hoping she doesn’t notice the wet patch of tears he leaves on the shoulder of her hot pink sweater.

“Everything is going to be fine, Mr. Miller.” She pats him on the back, her smile unwavering. “You’ll see.”

Emerson doesn’t share her confidence and can do nothing more than nod, making his way over to the row of chairs lined up behind Mabel’s desk where Jason sits. There are four, and though he wants to sit directly next to Jason he can’t help worrying how that will be perceived, lowering himself into the chair furthest from him.

One of the chairs squeaks loudly, then Jason’s bulk is suddenly seated beside him, their shoulders pressed together and Jason’s hand on his leg. Long fingers curl around his knee in a reassuring squeeze, and Emerson closes his eyes to keep from crying again.

Though he did nothing wrong, it somehow feels like his fault. He’d inserted himself into the situation. He’s the one who came to Santa Leon as an outsider and changed things. He’s the one who’s made things difficult for Jason.

“Breathe, Emmy.” Jason’s voice is calm and steady, holding none of the panic Emerson currently feels. “I already talked to them before you got here. Shitty as this all is, it’s straightforward too. They’re going to ask you some questions and all you need to do is tell them the truth. You can do that, I know you can.”

“What if?—”

“No,” Jason interrupts. “You’re going to be fine. Whatever they ask, you’re going to answer honestly because you did nothing wrong.”

The reassurance makes Emerson want to sob. He’s not worried about himself , he’s worried about Jason. What if Emerson gets him fired? Jason is one of the best teachers that Emerson has ever met; exactly the kind of person who should be working with teenagers because he loves it and the kids know it.

Jason makes his students feel safe and seen the same way he does Emerson. Alongside his teaching position is his coaching job, which Jason loves just as much. There’s no mistaking his passion for the game, or his dedication to his players and this school. The idea that Emerson’s presence here and his subsequent actions jeopardize everything Jason loves is enough to send him spiraling. He knows the accusations are that Jason is the one who manipulated Emerson. But aside from that being as far from the truth as humanly possible, Emerson can’t ignore the fact that Jason had no problems here before Emerson came.

The only reason Emerson isn’t laying facedown on the floor right now is because of the injustice of it all. The audacity of someone—Mr. Caldwell, no doubt—throwing Jason’s character into question because he’s pissed off is overriding Emerson’s nervous system, preventing it from going into full shutdown mode. Though, his anxiety is high enough he’s hardly functioning at full capacity.

“Everything will be okay, Emmy,” Jason whispers, affording him the kind of promise Emerson should be saying to Jason. He’s the one whose career and reputation is on the line, yet all Jason seems to care about is calming Emerson.

Sometimes Emerson hates his brain. He can think of words, can imagine telling Jason he’s sorry for causing trouble or maybe promising that he’ll make sure the school knows Jason did nothing wrong, yet despite the multitude of rehearsed sentences none of those words will come out.

“Mr. Miller,” Mrs. Hernandez calls, popping her head out of the conference room. “We’re ready for you.”

They might be ready but Emerson is not.

Walking into the conference room is like walking into war, or at least that’s how his brain perceives the situation. There’s an array of people ranging from the district superintendent to the principal and an unfamiliar man who he assumes is from HR, given the laptop and papers piled in front of him.

The man from human resources gives his name but Emerson has no idea what it is, the information pushed out of his brain by his rising anxiety. His eyes track everything from the way people breathe to their shifting facial expressions, hyper aware of everything except their actual words.

While Emerson knows he answers yes and no to their various questions, everything happens quickly. Before he knows it, they’re calling Jason back in. He moves without hesitation, settling himself in the chair beside Emerson. Though his hands remain folded in front of him, he presses his knee against Emerson’s beneath the table where no one can see, and that small bit of contact shatters Emerson’s wall of cognitive dissonance.

“Thank you gentlemen for being here,” Mrs. Hernandez says as if either he or Jason had a choice in the matter. “We have no desire to drag this out, especially given the upcoming homecoming events.”

Emerson can’t help but wonder if this process would’ve been quite so expedited if it didn’t involve their star football coach. He’s grateful, because the idea of this having been drawn out more than a day would’ve rendered him nearly catatonic, but he also finds their desire to not interrupt homecoming rather egregious.

“Taking in all of the facts, there is no evidence that Mr. Miller did anything outside of what the district would hope any of their teachers would do upon noticing a student struggling with their subject matter.”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if Matty already had the accommodations he needs,” Jason interrupts.

“Your impassioned recommendations for Matthew during this process are understood, Mr. King.” Mrs. Hernandez continues, “the district will see about getting him a referral for accommodations if it's something he and his mother are interested in pursuing.”

Jason’s smile widens, and if Emerson weren’t already a little bit in love with Jason King, he would be now. While Jason could’ve used his meeting time to advocate for himself, he’d apparently spent it trying to get Matty accommodations.

“Do you gentlemen have any questions?”

“Are you going to be at the game tomorrow to watch us win, Mrs. Hernandez?” Jason asks.

“You know I will, Mr. King.” She smiles in that way most people do at Jason, which makes Emerson kind of happy but also uncomfortable, and he’s not sure why. He should be happy everything is okay, happy that their bosses saw the truth.

Beneath the table, Jason presses his knee against Emerson’s, the contact the only thing that makes sense right now. Jason continues speaking, his laughter loud as he makes a joke.

Everything is going to be okay, just like Jason promised, yet the feelings in Emerson’s heart seem to suggest anything else. The fear is still there, along with an ache for something he doesn’t understand when he looks at Jason. He should be happy, but all he is aware of is the staggering weight of the impending adrenaline crash.

Jason turns his smile—gregarious and handsome—on Emerson, and his heart physically aches. It occurs to Emerson what the emotions in his chest might mean, and he has no idea how to put them back in the box where they belong. He’s been doing just fine having feelings for Jason, and then Caldwell came along and fucked things up with his accusations and stress. In the thick of it all, Jason was here, steady and perfect as always, and Emerson’s stupid heart wants more.

He’s straight , Emerson reminds himself, but it does nothing to stop the swell of longing when he looks at that smile.

Jason King is everything Emerson has ever wanted, and he cannot have him.

* * *

Denise

Your suit is ready, come pick it up anytime before I close at seven.

Emerson reads the text from Denise for the fourth time, trying to gather the spoons to leave his apartment and pick up his suit.

Though the meeting yesterday went better than he could’ve expected, the hours leading up to that meeting and the emotional fallout after were rough. He hadn’t even been able to stomach dinner, heading straight to bed and staying there until his alarm went off this morning.

During their ride to work Jason was unusually quiet, almost as if he sensed Emerson’s unease and honored it by holding back his tendency to talk about anything and everything. That quiet lasted only until they got to the parking lot and were met with half of Jason’s players waiting for him. Things didn’t calm down from there, and between his students' inattentive excitement over the homecoming game and Emerson’s fragile nerves, the day was far too long.

The second the school day ended, Emerson rushed home to shower, put on something more comfortable and become a human turtle for a few hours. He came out of his metaphorical shell long enough to eat a couple of plain eggo waffles and text Jason good luck before Jason had to put his phone away for the game. A game which he’d invited Emerson to but he declined. The idea of being surrounded by so many people and noises after the stress of everything left Emerson mildly nauseated, especially now that he’s got to worry about how everyone perceives his and Jason’s friendship.

Don’t worry, was what Jason told him this morning, but that is easy for people to say, not so easy to actually follow through with if you’re Emerson.

Alone with his own messy thoughts, Emerson pulls up the hood on the sweatshirt then slips his legs inside so that all of his body is hidden. Given that the hoodie belongs to Jason and is therefore several sizes too big, it’s easy to do. Emerson breaths easier once he’s safely ensconced in Jason’s hoodie, breathing in his familiar scent.

Jason let him borrow the hoodie when he was cold last week, and Emerson has pointedly avoided returning it. Today’s the first time he lets himself wear it again, as if some part of him recognized once he had it on, he’ll never want to take it off.

It’s just a hoodie, yet the comfort it provides Emerson’s deregulated nervous system is impossible to ignore. The material is soft, worn thin from wear and the massive size an intoxicating reminder of how much bigger Jason is than him. Huddled inside of it, the faintest hint of juniper clinging to the material, Emerson can admit he wishes Jason were here. He wishes Jason was going to the appointment to pick up the suit with him, wishes he’d been able to handle going to the game to see him. He wishes for a lot of things.

Sighing heavily, Emerson peeks out of his self-made hoodie cave to stare at the clock on the microwave in the kitchen, its flickering red light a haunting reminder of what Emerson is avoiding.

Objectively, he can recognize it’s not a huge deal. He is fully capable of riding the bus across town to get his suit alone. It’s just that last time Jason was with him, and that made everything just a little less angst inducing. Somehow, Jason makes everything a little easier, a little safer. He knows Jason can’t follow him everywhere to complete the tasks he doesn’t want to do because that would be selfish and weird. But after a lifetime of having to feel anxious and deregulated almost constantly, he can’t be blamed for preferring something—or someone— better.

Beyond just the comfort Jason’s steady presence provides, Emerson just plain likes him. More than he’s ever liked anyone. Romantically, platonically, there is no contest; Jason King is his favorite person in the entire world.

Even now when he wants to be alone, he’d rather be with Jason. It’s only been a few hours since Emerson saw him, yet already he misses everything about him.

Growing up, Emerson struggled to connect—to his family, to his peers, to his few short lived crushes. He felt like an alien that someone left on Earth, as if every other person on this round planet orbiting through space got some kind of instructional manual explaining how to be a person, how to have relationships and be liked and survive. Everyone that is, except him. Then Jason came along, and he didn’t try to explain the instruction manual to Emerson to make him be like everyone else, he just rewrote the damn thing as if who Emerson is, is just fine. He didn't know it was possible to find someone that might be easier to be around than being alone, but now that he has, he doesn’t know what to do.

Thinking about Jason makes him think about the dance tomorrow. Jason said they’re going to have fun, and while Emerson trusts Jason not to lie, he also isn’t sure they share the same definition of fun.

Unable to think about the homecoming dance and the task he’s putting off at the same time, Emerson grudgingly acknowledges it’s time to get his suit.

Through sheer force of will, he pushes himself off the couch, not bothering to change out of Jason’s massively oversized hoodie and his most comfortable sweats just to take the bus across town then straight home.

The bus ride only takes twenty minutes, which is plenty long enough for Emerson to re-check the text message from Denise half a dozen times, the urge to read it again and make sure he won’t walk in when he’s not supposed to is nearly unbearable. He would’ve preferred an appointment so he knew without a doubt that he is supposed to be here, but Denise warned him she’d be busy today and the most she could do was a drop-in.

Given the massive favor she’s doing Emerson, this was not something he would challenge. Not that he would’ve challenged it under any circumstances really. Confrontation makes him physically ill. A lot of things make Emerson feel mildly ill now that he thinks about it. Including walking into unknown social situations.

One of the reasons he thrives in his teaching job is the steady routine and schedule—the predictability of it all—which makes Emerson’s nervous system feel safer. Having to do things like walk into a tailor shop where he’s only been once—with Jason, not alone no less—and where he has no idea if other people will be inside or what kind of small talk Denise might engage in, makes Emerson so uncomfortable he’s slightly nauseated.

Apprehension makes him hesitate, and he stands on the sidewalk for several minutes, pulling the sleeves of Jason’s hoodie over his hands before finally making his way inside. The front room is empty, but before he can walk to the counter to tap the little bell with the sign that says ring for service , the sound of voices filters down the hallway.

“I told you, don’t ruin this suit, Charles.”

“My name is not Charles and you know that.”

“Serves you right for what you called Andrew last week, you—oh, hello sweetheart.” Denise walks out of the back, stopping mid-sentence to smile at Emerson. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Though Denise is the one talking, the only person Emerson can look at is the familiar face standing next to her. The man has a suit bag slung over his shoulder and a wide smile on his face. He looks so much like Andrew it’d be easy to think it was him, except for the paint stains covering his massively oversized jeans and the garish yellow crocs on his feet.

Charlie leans his hip against the nearest piece of furniture, grinning at Emerson. “What a pleasure seeing you again, Emerson. I was sure after last time Jason was going to hide you away.”

“Hide me away where?” Emerson asks, confused.

“You behave,” Denise chastises, swatting Charlie on the back of the head.

“What the hell, D? I literally only said hello.”

“Uh-huh,” Denise hums, narrowing her eyes at Charlie. “I’ve got cameras everywhere mister. I’m watching you.”

“Wow,” Charlie grumbles. “I don’t know why everyone acts like I’m going to cause trouble. I’m a fucking delight. Besides, I only ruined one suit, once . It’s not like I planned to spill paint thinner on a custom silk suit a week before my gala opening and requested an entirely new one at midnight.”

Charlie stares at Emerson, as if some kind of response might be made, but he cannot fathom what kind of response any person might have to a statement like that.

“So,” Charlie says. “Not at the game with Jason?”

“No,” Emerson replies, relieved at the easily answerable question

“Why? Didn’t my idiot brother invite you? I know he wanted you there.”

“He’s very kind,” Emerson says, thinking of how often Jason includes him. “He did invite me to the game tonight, but I needed to pick up my suit. That and well, the game sounded?—”

“Like an archaic demonstration of popularity and heteronormativity disguised as school spirit?”

Emerson blinks, never sure what to make of the things that come out of Charlie’s mouth. “I was just going to say loud.”

Charlie cocks his head to the side. “That’s fair.”

Unsure what else to say and floundering for conversation, his eyes hone in on the friendship bracelet on Charlie’s left wrist—brightly colored pony beads in various shades of pink. There’s a name on there, but Emerson can’t read it. When Charlie catches him staring at it, he becomes uncharacteristically tetchy, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie down to cover it.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Charlie says.

Emerson looks down at his chest, a flood of white hot heat flaring through his body. He forgot he was wearing Jason’s hoodie. In public . In front of Jason’s big brother. Something Charlie must know from the way his eyes linger on the King name embroidered on the upper right above the Santa Leon High school logo. It hadn’t occurred to Emerson he might run into anyone he knew or worse anyone Jason knew.

Maybe if Emerson stays very still and says nothing, none of this will be real, and he can go back home and hide under his weighted blanket and never come out again.

“You know, it all makes so much sense,” Charlie muses, still staring at Emerson in a way that makes him twist his hands together. He knows Charlie is a good guy because of things Jason has said, but it doesn’t change the fact that he makes Emerson slightly uneasy. He has none of Jason’s easy going personality or even Andrew's calm demeanor. He’s like his paint splattered clothing—bold and unexpected—and while that’s not a bad thing, it’s a bit much for Emerson, who finds his unpredictable personality unnerving.

“What uh, what makes sense?” Emerson asks when it becomes clear Charlie isn’t going to elaborate further.

“In high school, all the girls used to try and steal Jason’s hoodies. The football team one with his name. They wanted to wear it around campus, you know?” It’s clearly a rhetorical question, which is good because Emerson has no idea what to say to that. “His ex-girlfriends did it too when he became coach and his team started winning state championships. Jason’s kind of a big man on campus, and in town, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Everyone likes Jason,” Emerson replies, unsure why saying it makes his insides feel like the center of a cake that isn’t quite done cooking—squishy and underdone and close to being a disaster.

“Everyone does like Jason, because he’s really fucking nice,” Charlie says, laying his suit on the edge of the couch before crossing his arms. “Jason is the nicest guy in the world, and a lot of people, especially his exes, knew that. They liked it because it meant they got what they wanted. The thing about Jason is that he’s always had one giant flaw—his shit taste in women.”

That wiggly uncomfortable feeling in Emerson’s gut magnifies, both at the reminder of Jason being straight and at the idea of him being used.

Despite what some people think, Emerson is not naive. Just because he doesn’t always understand or recognize a lot of social norms doesn’t mean he isn’t aware they exist. He’s smart enough to know that a man like Jason—handsome, built like a brick house, and kind—might get used. He just has a hard time reconciling that objective knowledge with the man he knows, a man who deserves to be treasured.

“Jason has always picked the kind of women who would wear his hoodie in public but never in private. He was as much a trophy to them as the ones he helped his teams win.” Charlie pushes off the chair, inching closer to Emerson. “You, on the other hand, had no idea I would be here when you got dressed.”

“I just borrowed it,” Emerson blurts, bunching the overly long sleeves in his fists. He kind of feels like he’s in trouble even though he’s a grown man who didn’t technically do anything wrong. “I uh, I’m going to give it back. I wasn’t—I mean?—”

“Relax, Emerson,” Charlie says, grabbing his suit off the chair. “I like you. I can see why Jason does too. You know if?—”

“Charlie King, get your ass out of my store,” Denise says, half a smile on her face. “Stop bothering my clients.”

“One day, you’re going to take me on as a client too, Denise. I can feel it. I’m growing on you.”

“You’re growing on me like a weed. Get out of here and tell that sweetheart brother of yours I set up an appointment in December for that suit fitting.”

“What December fitting? Where’s Andrew going? What’s he need a suit for?” Charlie rapid fires.

“You can ask him that yourself.” The look she gives Charlie would make Emerson cry if it were directed at him. “Now get out of here so I can finish with Mr. Miller without you loitering around making a nuisance of yourself or worse, ruining my samples.”

“Oh for fucks sake, it was one time, Denise.” Charlie sighs heavily when he gets no response. “Fine, but just know that I am only leaving because I need to call Andrew and find out about this mysterious event he’s going to that I don’t know about and not because you’re making me.”

Without breaking eye contact with Denise, he slowly inches his way towards the front door.

“You can tell yourself whatever you want,” Denise says, “that doesn't make it true.”

“Women,” Charlie grumbles, before plastering a smile on his face and turning to look at Emerson. “It was good seeing you again. Say hi to Ariel for me.”

“Who’s Ariel?”

“Jason, obviously,” Charlie answers, as if it’s obvious. He is easily one of the most chaotic people that Emerson has ever met, which is saying a lot since he spent several hours with Jason’s younger brother Alec last week. Charlie makes Alec look, well, easy. “That was his nickname when he was little because he was so obsessed with the Little Mermaid. I swear he used to parade around the house wrapped in a blanket saying it was his mermaid tail. He was a cute kid. In hindsight, his thing with redheads started early.”

Emerson barely resists the urge to touch his own red hair. It’s too bad he’s not a woman, maybe he’d have a chance with Jason.

“Great talk we had, Emerson. We should definitely do it again. Have Jason give you my number so we can get lunch.”

“Okay,” Emerson agrees automatically, having absolutely no intention of following through. Honestly, if that counts as a talk it’s no wonder Emerson doesn’t talk to very many people. That entire interaction was confusing and left him feeling like he definitely missed something he shouldn’t have, though to be fair that’s his default feeling talking to most people who aren’t Jason or his students.

“Are you alright to do your final fitting?”

“Sure,” Emerson replies, refusing to admit he’d temporarily forgotten Denise. At least it’s only them now that Charlie’s left the shop though.

“You don’t sound excited,” she says, nodding towards the back room. “Second thoughts about the suit?”

“Not exactly,” Emerson hedges.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Is this one of those trick questions where someone asks that but doesn’t mean it?” Emerson questions. “Because if it is, please just tell me so I don’t embarrass myself. I promise you won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t actually want to talk to me. Lots of people don’t and?—”

“Emerson,” Denise interrupts, moving to stand in front of him. She’s considerably shorter, but her aura makes Emerson shut up and pay attention. It’s not scary, but it is commanding. “Listen, doll face, I spent a lot of years saying shit I didn’t mean to get along in this world, and I don’t do that anymore. In case you didn’t hear me with Charlie, I have no tolerance for bullshit anymore.”

“You don’t like Charlie?”

“Charlie King is a good man, talented beyond belief, and also a raging pain in my ass. But I handle him because his brother is one of my favorite people on this shitty planet we call Earth, and he loves Charlie. He’s not bad, but he’s a lot to handle, you know?”

Emerson remains quiet, unsure if he’s supposed to actually agree or not. He feels like he shouldn’t, because Jason loves Charlie. But then again, Jason spends a lot of time calling Charlie a shithead, so maybe it’s okay if Emerson’s feelings for him are adjacent to his feelings about holidays—something you like in small doses but find overwhelming after prolonged exposure.

“But we’re not talking about Charlie, or any of the King men. We’re talking about you. I might have done this as a favor to Andrew, but you come to me any time you need something, you got that? Your mom was good people and so are you. I want you to feel welcome here, alright? My door is always open if you need something tailored, or just need someone to commiserate with about those King men. Dating Jason, I’m sure you’ll get used to them but?—”

Dating Jason. Dating Jason . Denise continues speaking in an even tone but Emerson’s brain buzzes while his face heats, leaving him acutely aware of every inch of his own body. He can feel every wisp of hair touching his face, the uncomfortably hard lub-dub of his heart and every seam on his clothing.

“Emerson,” Denise says, clearly realizing he’s zoned out.

“I’m not…me and—oh no. No,” Emerson croaks. “Not that I wouldn’t, because I would. I mean have you seen him? And he’s nice. He’s so nice, Denise. But he’s not interested in me. Why would he be? He could have anyone. Besides, he's straight.”

“Straight,” Denise echoes, almost as if she’s testing the word out. “I’ve never seen a straight man look at another man the way he looked at you, sweetheart.”

“Jason King is straight,” Emerson repeats.

If he says it twice, maybe she will understand it.

“I’m the last person who wants to make judgments about someone else’s sexuality,” Denise says, tone softening. “Why don’t we get this suit tried on and make sure it's perfect for tomorrow?”

Emerson nods his agreement, following Denise into the back room. Even when she hands him a photograph of his mother like promised at the fitting, his fingers tracing over a face he hasn’t seen in a decade, his thoughts eventually return to Jason. He can’t help but wonder exactly how it is she thinks Jason looks at him? He tries to shake away the thoughts, reminding himself that it doesn’t matter if he sometimes imagines things between him and Jason turning into something more. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s embrace is everything he’s ever wanted or that he longs to be wrapped inside this very hoodie with Jason’s bare skin against his own.

None of it matters, because Jason told him he’s straight and Jason doesn’t lie.

* * *