Page 29 of We May Be Fractured
Scars no shame in any of it. I once dated a guy who thought he was bi. Turned out, he was gay and figuring stuff out with me. Take your time.” She stood up, making a playful ‘call me’ gesture. “If you ever figure things out, you know where to find me.”
Aaron stayed put for a while, his mind spinning like a tumble dryer full of clothes. He didn’t feel the same pull towards Maeve, so what the hell was happening with Landon? Was his attraction to Landon just a random twist? Or was Aaron actually gay and not some kind of unusual bisexual?
He carried these questions with him as he returned to the party, his gaze drifting over the guys in the living area, almost as if he was searching for answers. He decided to test his reactions then and there.
First up in his line of sight was Nyle. Sure, he was good-looking.
Aaron had seen enough of him shirtless around the house and on Instagram.
But it was challenging to separate Nyle’s loud personality from his appearance.
Just looking at him now was a sensory overload, drowning any potential physical attraction Aaron might’ve felt.
His thoughts succinctly summed it up: overwhelming .
Aaron moved on to Fell. He didn’t have Nyle’s striking looks, but he possessed a certain charm.
Aaron respected him for his random pearls of wisdom, the nerdy T-shirts he wore, which always caught Aaron’s attention, and his extensive music knowledge.
But despite all these, Aaron felt nothing. Interesting, but not captivating .
His focus wandered to some of Nyle’s friends. One reminded him of Cliff, and that was enough for Aaron to move on without a second thought.
Another guy was clearly fit, his physique finely chiselled from what must have been many hours spent at the gym.
This could be the ‘gym guy’ Nyle always mentioned.
Aaron had to admit, he was undeniably handsome, and he wondered what kind of workout routine could sculpt a body like his.
Yet, he couldn’t see himself with him, not in the way Nyle often rumbled about. Easy pass .
Aaron considered Jean—tall, nice face, decent nose, and all that jazz.
But their brief chit-chat in the kitchen—something about his disdain for beans on toast and how the Brits had butchered French cuisine—was more than enough for Aaron.
He couldn’t see what Nyle found so irresistible, constantly raving about Jean’s ‘sexy’ accent, supposedly a major turn-on.
Aaron could barely handle Jean in English.
The idea of listening to him in French would be nothing short of torture.
But when he caught sight of Landon in the kitchen, it all changed.
Landon casually leaned on the counter, absorbed in his phone. Even in such a simple, unguarded moment, Aaron found him irresistibly attractive.
Warmth spread from his chest and gradually intensified, pooling between his legs.
Okay, clear now—this wasn’t about being attracted to men; this was specific to Landon.
To cool himself down, Aaron grabbed a beer from the kitchen island. With clumsy hands, he tried to open it using the countertop edge as leverage. It took a few tries, but when he finally popped the cap off most of the beer splashed over him.
“Shit,” he muttered at his now damp T-shirt.
The fabric clung uncomfortably to his stomach, dangerously close to the scars he kept hidden. He couldn’t shake the worry that the wet, light-coloured fabric might turn transparent and expose those old, carefully concealed, loathed wounds.
“Hey,” Landon said. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”
“What look?” Aaron asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“The ‘fight or flight’ one, though you seem more in ‘flight’ mode right now.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what’s happening,” Aaron retorted with an edge of annoyance.
Landon set his phone aside and gestured outside the window. “Come on. I know a place where you can relax.”
Curious, Aaron followed him out into the garden. They stopped in front of the summer house, the one Nyle had declared off-limits.
Landon undid the padlock and pushed the door open, letting it hang ajar—an unmistakable invitation for Aaron to enter.
Aaron, however, hesitated.
“I’m not going to leave it open forever,” Landon said. “You coming or not?”
Stepping in after Landon’s nudge, Aaron took a quick look around.
The compact room had a cosy vibe, an almost magical feel, thanks to fairy lights twinkling from the ceiling.
All sorts of stuff cluttered the small desk in the corner: a laptop left open, a microphone, an old pair of headphones that looked like they’d had a fight with themselves, a half-empty bag of crisps, cans of soda, and scattered pens and pencils.
A notebook, opened and full of drawings, lay in the middle of it all. The chair in front of the desk doubled as a wardrobe, a couple of hoodies chucked over it, with a futon spread out next to it.
“What is this place?” Aaron had walked into a part of Landon’s life he hadn’t seen before.
“Lottie told me it’s good to have a place to decompress,” Landon answered, his fingers tracing the North Star tattoo behind his ear.
Lottie. Star. Charlotte. Starford. The therapist. The talking cricket.
“So, this is where you come to ‘decompress’?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah, sort of. Always wanted a treehouse as a kid. This summer house is the grown-up version, I guess.”
Realising Landon had let him into his personal refuge, Aaron’s face grew hot. He was pretty sure he was blushing, and Landon’s knowing look didn’t help at all.
“Please, take a seat,” Landon said, putting on the poshest accent ever, as he gestured towards the futon.
Before Aaron could even sit, a hoodie came flying at him. Catching it, he looked at Landon, puzzled. “What’s this for?”
“You’re drenched in beer,” Landon pointed out matter-of-factly.
Oh, right. He needed to change. But the thought of changing in front of Landon made him hesitate. No one, apart from Aunt Olivia, had ever seen his scars.
When Landon took the clue and turned to face the wall, Aaron released a relieved breath. That small gesture, giving him space, meant more than Landon probably realised.