#experimental;

Dino wouldn’t go nearly as far as to call himself an expert in the romance department, but he does like to think that he has himself more or less figured out by this point in his life. Girls are soft, and pretty, and they always smell so nice. He’s stolen enough brief moments in secluded hallways attached at the mouth to various female classmates to know for certain that girls are awesome, so the first time he finds his eyes drifting appreciatively over the short, inky black hair and pale skin of one of his male classmates he needs to excuse himself from class to have a quiet meltdown locked in a bathroom stall.

He isn’t closed-minded enough to have a problem with same-sex relationships, of course-- he was raised better than that-- but for a boy who’s spent the majority of his teenage years firmly rooted in the idea of his own heterosexulality, the realization that he might not know himself as well as he’d thought he did is a little jarring, to say the least.

Once he gets his breathing under control and his face schooled in as regular a grin as he can manage he heads back to his dorm. He knows that trying to focus on the rest of his last class of the day is futile what with being in the midst of an internal crisis and all, so he feels justified in cutting for today.

Dino knows that Squalo, his roommate and best friend forever (though Squalo himself would likely disagree with that particular descriptor), will most likely be in their room at this time of day, so he pauses outside the door for another moment to collect himself before he pushes it open.