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Benny adds, “A lot of terminally online people our age are offended by sex, not unlike her, which is wild because being open about sex has been key to my personal growth, and same for other gay guys I know, but c’est la vie.”

“You can not want to talk about sex,” Monroe says.

“That’s totally fine and justified. But to do what she does, wanting to ban or censor LGBTQ + media, weaponizing consent and identity?

No. I didn’t want to make a big deal this week because she’s your cousin, Sienna, but I couldn’t not tell you after what she said to Fielder at the Lemon grove. She sucks.”

Sienna soaks in our words. “I’m sorry, Fielder. I shouldn’t have made excuses for her, or turned a blind eye. Ricky warned me, but I didn’t—Whatever, that’s no excuse.”

“It’s fine.” I wonder what Ricky said. He never was her biggest fan, and he told me once that her father’s politics scared him into staying in the closet longer than he would have, worried his parents held the same views. “You okay?” I ask Matty.

“This stuff triggers me,” Matty admits quietly. “Kept me in the closet for years.”

“Really?” Topher asks. “You never said anything.”

Matty shrugs. “Hard to find a place without judgment these days. Everyone lives in the comment section.”

He’s not wrong. “I’ve seen this a lot on Clock.

So many people our age sex shame. Nobody wants to feel uncomfortable by anything, ever.

Everything is offensive to someone. And if it comes from someone with a pride flag in their profile, it adds more credibility to the shaming, which further weaponizes identity.

Add to that how people outside the community view gayness, and it makes sense that seeing or knowing about gay sex is offensive.

” Their eyes are on me, and it feels important to speak up, something I’m discovering the importance of with every passing day here in Italy.

“Everyone loves the gays. Especially soft cinnamon roll gays who just hold hands and do nothing else because that’s what’s acceptable.

But when it comes to actual gay life and reality, most outsiders are offended we don’t meet their expectations and weird fantasies.

Makes me feel like the only palatable way to be gay is to put a rainbow emoji in my Clock bio but never talk about myself and how my gayness is intrinsically tied to sex.

I don’t wanna be shamed for it in the comment section.

I’m not ashamed I’ve been having sex since I was fifteen, that it was with somebody I loved.

And even if it wasn’t, that’s my journey. ”

I drape my arm around Matty’s shoulder and pat his chest proudly.

It wasn’t that long ago he was hating himself and afraid to come out.

All the nights Matty cried to me about his fears about being gay, how much he confided in me about sex, all the questions he asked me, and how he told me he felt safe knowing he had me to talk to and look up to.

The entire reason Matty was afraid to come out was his own internalized homophobia that stemmed from feeling like even though everyone at school accepted and loved queer people, he saw how queer people online police LGBTQ + identities, force closeted celebrities to come out to fit their narratives and expectations, talk about gay sex as jarring and offensive, assaulting and gross because they don’t want to have it, so even seeing it in queer spaces and settings and content is “nonconsensual.” It’s the underlying reason why queer books all around the United States are being banned by conservatives, and why there are so many anti-LGBTQ + laws bandied about: gayness, in totality, in its bravery is offensive. An “assault.”

So I will never give space for people like Jenni Lee.

Zia Gabriella’s voice booms through the tension as she wobbles toward us, her sea legs giving out underneath her. “That was BEAUTIFUL!”

Matty hums the Wicked Witch of the West theme song. “They’re baaaaack!”

Topher nods. “I’m proud of you. You have grown.

A lot, Field. Between this version, and everything with the lemon groves.

You live out loud. You put your full self out there, and I love how passionate you’ve become.

You’re more than your channel. You’re more than you give yourself credit for.

” He taps my shoulder before leaving Matty and me to go greet his mother.

In a quiet moment, I realize that he’s right. I’ve done a pretty good job of growing on my own. Maybe I actually do have my life together?

Matty doesn’t give me time to think, though, because the second Topher leaves, he says, “I have so much to tell you!”

“Spare no details.”

Matty wastes no time, though his cheeks are bright red, from discomfort or the sun.

As I could have predicted, it was awkward and intense and a bit fumbling at first—limbs akimbo, muscle strains, goofy faces, not knowing how fast or slow to go, a premature finish—but through sheer determination and a sweaty all-nighter, by morning, they’d developed a rhythm.

“Overall, sex is phenomenal. Twenty out of ten would do it every day, all day.”

“And how are you feeling about Nic?”

He shrugs. “He’s great, but, you know, he lives here. I live in New York. We both know there’s an expiration.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I think so. I’ve obviously cleared it with Topher, but he’s going to come to the wedding Saturday.

Though not the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, which is fine.

And then we have Sunday to say goodbye.” Matty’s lips tremble, and his eyes become glassy.

He runs his hand through his copper hair.

“Isn’t that the gayest situationship of all time?

Meet, have sex, fall in love, and end in four days’ time. ”

“Maybe you’ll follow each other on socials,” I say. “Call it Insta-love.”

“What a trope,” he adds with a nervous laugh. “How utterly unrealistic.”

Knowing he’s not, I ask again, “Are you okay?”

“Ask me Monday?” His face falls, then rebounds with a patented Matty trademark smile. Ear to ear, dimples, balled cheeks, eyes blinking away tears he’d rather ignore.

I want to tell him to protect himself, his heart, to say everything he needs to say before it ends, but I know that’s not entirely possible.

The hardest part of falling is realizing that the fall means opening yourself up to the possibility of heartbreak.

There’s no protection for that, no magic formula, only trust you’ll survive the crash.

The captain announces we’ve arrived at the faraglioni.

“Love you, Matty.”

“Love you, too, Field.” His lips twitch like they do when he’s about to cry, but he bites it back.

“Go find Ricky. Do what you came here to do.” Despite what happened between us in the grotto, Ricky is still with Cam.

Maybe we’re finally in the same place, but at the right time?

There are still so many obstacles to jump.

That’s the scary part about love. It’s a leap both people must take.

“Make your big speech about how much you love him and want him to choose you, and then kiss him under the Tuscan sun, call him by your name, or whatever.” With a playful punch to my gut, he walks off toward the sounds of splashing and laughter.

Right on cue, Ricky emerges from the side of the boat. “There you are.”

We’re alone.

This time, I’m done fading to black.

At the same time, we both say, “We have to talk.”