-

As soon as the door shut, Coy let his forehead hit the wood. Then he hit his head against it, and then again, and again. He tried to swallow the bile rising to his throat, hands clenching his stomach as he fell to his knees.

The guilt clung to him like the dirt on his jeans. Tonight, Coy had found himself apologizing to God. 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, God,” he cried, because he had stopped asking for this feeling to disappear a long time ago.

Coy remembers his priest telling him that this feeling should be buried before it grows into something bigger, but no matter how hard he has tried to ignore it, he knows he can’t pretend to ever love differently.

Coy hadn't truly followed his faith in a long time, but tonight he prayed like he had all this time. When his knees sunk into the carpet, hands clasped together with all his force, it brought him back to when he would beg for the same thing as he did as a child. 

Please don’t let me be gay. 

-

Growing up, Coy was active, surrounded by people who genuinely believed, and he thought that he’d end up the same. But Coy had always been skeptical. When he sat in the New Jersey church pews, he wondered if God was ever actually looking down on him.

Coy started to question things when he came back home the summer before junior year. Walking back into the church during that time felt unfamiliar, which was ironic considering he practically grew up right next to it. Though he didn’t call it quits, he stayed longer than he wanted to; he read, prayed, listened, and looked into different religions and kept hoping something would eventually make sense. 

But his mind had been made up, yet years of being told this was the only truth didn't just disappear. Coy's beliefs had changed, but his brain still remembered the shell of a person he was when he was younger. He constantly fought with the younger version of himself internally.

Still, Coy decided that he didn’t truly believe anymore.

He went through school as normal, only having to conform when he would visit home. Things took a turn this summer when he went home, and it was darker. 

He worked with a group of kids his age who attended the church. They’d work in the gardens, deweeding and planting new flowers—anything to uphold the only nice building in town. Coy wasn’t close with many of them, he would talk to them during the summer as if he were just like them, and then they would move on with their lives. 

Except he was close with a boy named Adam. 

Coy always thought Adam had his best interests. Which was a mistake, because Adam was just like the rest of them. Cruel, sneaky, and wanted to be free of sin. 

Adam outed Coy to his dad, their local priest. Their priest had visited them the next day at their home, and Coy's relationship with his parents was irrevocably changed.

The betrayal was a deep cut, and he’d never forget the look on Adam’s face when he showed up next to his dad. Bearing the same shame Coy felt.

They attempted an exorcism in the family living room. His priest bellowed, wailing for God to come and save him. “His spirit is corrupt. Please, God, have mercy on him!”

That night at dinner, when it was time to say grace, Coy's mother grabbed his hand tighter than usual. He didn’t even try to eat. He just moved around the food searching for any comfort in the warm mush. Coy knew the situation was far from over, but he wasn’t scared. He was the only one who could hold his parents' gaze while they did everything in their power to avoid his.

It was weird, knowing they were already grieving Coy even though he was still alive. Not bothering to try to get to know their son because all this time they hadn’t known him well at all. 

His father was first to break the silence. “You are lucky Father Declan has decided to keep this problem between us–”

“Problem?” Coy twitched, letting his eyes drift off his plate. 

“Yes. A very big one at that. Starting next week, you will go to a day camp that Father Declan recommended. They will help you.” His father slid a brochure across the table.

Coy stood from his chair so fast that it lost its balance and fell to the floor. He narrowed his eyes, snatching the brochure as his hands shook with fury. It was painfully clear to Coy what this camp really was. 

“Conversion therapy?”

“Before you say anything—“ his mother winced, reaching for his hand. 

He scoffs, snatching his hand away from her like he had been burned. Coys jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling over. “I’m not doing this.”

His father now stood from his seat, not missing a beat. “You have no choice. The director is a good, family man who can guide you back on the right path.”

Coy ran a hand through his hair, glare unrelenting. “Are you hearing yourselves?! I’m.. I’m your son! I’m no different from the person I was yesterday, and now you hate me?”

“You need to settle down. That was before we knew about..” He can’t finish his sentence. It’s like something had physically restricted him from saying the word gay. His dad tries to put his hand on his shoulder, but Coy takes a clumsy step back as he avoids his touch. “Coy we believe in you, it’ll only be six weeks. Then by that time you’ll be able to go back to school and you’ll have a clear mind. There are other kids like you who need help. We’re doing this because we love you.”

Coy can feel the blood drain from his face, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Only six weeks? In those six weeks he, and other boys just like him, would be told they are monsters. Unworthy and unfit. Other kids like him would be forced into silence because of something they cannot control.

Coy always thought of himself to be strong, even against the poison his town spread. But when he looks at his family, in the dimly lit kitchen that he grew up in, he feels significantly more fragile. 

Still, Coy licks his lips, half amused, half horrified.

“You preach so much about God and Jesus, and loving people—“ Coy inhales, trying to contain his voice from rising, “Yet, you will sit here and silence people—me—because they feel so hated by you! God is all-loving, but you aren’t?” 

His father slammed his fist into the table, making the glasses spill over. His mother flinches, pushing herself away from the table as water drips onto the ground. He ran a hand through his hair before walking over to Coy, waving a finger in front of his face as he toward over. The room had gone still. 

“This will be the last time you speak to me in that way. If you do not go, you are no longer welcomed here, Coy. My son will not be a sinner.” He commanded.

“Then I’m leaving.” Coy protested, ignoring the hammering in his ribs. 

His father didn’t move. “You’ll be back.”

Turning on his heels, he marched off through the back door to their garage. Slamming the door with so much force it shook the frame. He did this often when he didn’t want to be bothered, working in the garage all day until he had to fulfill the role of a parent. This time it was a statement that told Coy he could not stand to be in the same space as a sinner. 

His mother spared him a glance, but did not offer him any comfort. She silently collected their plates, scraping the food into the trash, and did the dishes. 

Coy wanted that to be the last time he ever saw his parents, but it wasn’t. He had Anthony drop him back off the next day when the sun set, knowing his parents would not be home quite yet. 

Coy left and came right back, just like his dad knew he would. He was all too familiar with being uncomfortable, as he thought that meant life was made to be too. So, he did the therapy.

He woke up before dawn, and his mom would make the half-hour drive. Six days a week, for three weeks that's all it was. Until his parents decided that Coy was trustworthy enough to take him there himself.

The first drive by himself felt like a twisted reward, going to a place that was meant to punish him. But Coy is smart. If he wanted to survive the rest of this summer with his mind intact, he was going to have to play dirty. He decided he could pretend to go to the camp during the day, and still return home at night. The plan worked just as expected: Coy would pray at dinner, check in with his priest on Sundays, and he lied and lied and lied.

The satisfaction he got from seeing the smiles on their face as he arrived home, knowing he was only playing the game. He never felt better.

For another three weeks, Coy pretended that praying the gay away worked. That he was saved and he owed it all to God, It was like Coy had never been outed in the first place. Move in week came fast, and Coy was already packed the night before because all he had was a backpack worth of stuff, and two smaller duffel bags with his school uniforms and regular clothes. 

When the home phone rang in the kitchen, Coy wandered out of his room with his backpack because usually he’s the one who answers. He heard a shuffle and the phone clicking as it was picked up. Peeking into the kitchen, he saw the tremble of his mother's lower lip. And when they met eyes, he knew he’d been caught.

His father was drying plates and hadn’t turned around yet. 

His mothers face emotionless, “Really? That’s shocking to hear.”

“Who is it, honey?”

She blinks, “The Director of Coys camp. He says Coy hasn’t completed his treatment.”

Coy gripped the straps of his bag so hard his knuckles had turned white. He hadn’t thought about that. He froze in the living room, like his shoes had been stuck in cement. 

“He says Coy hasn’t been there in weeks.” 

He would never forget the look on his father's face. A mixture of disgust and shock that made him shake with a dark rage. For a moment, his father turned around, and he let out a deep breath. The next, he took the plate from the counter and hurled it towards Coy. Coy barely moved out of the way, the plate shattering against the wall beside him and the pieces launched at him–a shard just cutting his lip open. It was so quick, he barely noticed.

His father yelled as his mother did her best to shield the phone away from his growing anger. 

"There is no God who could give you your purity back!” lashed his father.

Coy hesitated as he took a step back, he didn’t know what to do next. He wasn’t a stranger to his fathers violence, especially against him, and he didn’t want to find out how far he was willing to go.

As his father yelled profanities at him, Coy darted out of the house. His feet pounded against the ground, the only way of getting out of here was his bike. He looked back once at his house and he decided that riding on his bike, taking multiple buses, and the train to Kingston was better than waiting around here. He grabbed the handles of his bike, dragging it across the trail and hopping on. 

The night was long, and the journey to Kingston was even longer. But at least he was free, for a little while. 

As Kingston Academy settled into the new school year, students buzzed with excitement and schedule changes. Coy had spent the last week doing calculus, physics, playing guitar, studying humanities, and taking his yearly theology class. Except this time around, he had requested to drop the class, replacing it with literally anything else that had room. His relationship with religion had become far too complicated, going back and forth with his shame. He wished he could erase it entirely. 

After he left his counselors, he headed straight to the dining hall. Coy promised Will he would meet up with him because Anthony apparently had "better things to do."

Which really meant he wanted to be left alone. 

Coy didn’t like the dining hall during its peak hours, he preferred it in the last 45 minutes it was open. Usually he would call Hanbon, they would chat for a while and she would keep him company. Will was really cutting into his daily Hanbon time. 

“PHOY!” Will tried to shout excitedly through his water bottle. 

“Have you always been so incoherent?” Coy asked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms. He figured if he rubbed hard enough, he would feel awake. 

Will swallows before speaking again, “Yes.” his eyes narrow at the sight of Coy. Coy had abandoned the sweater vest that was a part of the uniform, his tie loosely done, and Will was pretty certain Converse was not a part of the dress code during school hours. 

“You. You look like a mess.” Will pointed. 

Coy frowned. “Are you expressing concern or just criticizing me? Like, am I supposed to be offended right now?” 

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Well, I forgot my uniforms at home. I had to make do with what I had, and the only clean thing Toby had was a white dress shirt and an extra tie.“ Coy says, carefully picking his words to soften them. It was easy for him, pretending so much that everything was fine that he could almost believe it himself.

“Your roommate sounds like me.”

“Toby is much cleaner than you,” Coy teased as he sat down across from Will. 

“Hey, what are you doing for the holidays this year?”

Coys eyebrows lifted, “The leaves haven’t even changed colors yet, and you’re thinking about fall break?”

“Fall AND Christmas.” Will smirks, “Is it so wrong to think about the next time you get to be stress free?”

Coy never related less because being home meant he had to deal with his endless cycle of existentialism by himself. Being home meant not being with the people he cared about most. He scratched his head, pretending like he was thinking, “Fair enough.”

“Are you gonna go home for fall break this year? Or are you gonna stay with Hanbon again?” 

Last year, Coy stayed with Hanbon because that meant he would be away from his parents. Fall break was only five days long, and Hanbon had managed to convince her parents to let Coy stay. Luckily, Jazzy and Freya lived close and he spent a lot of his time with the three of them.

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.” Coy shrugged off, rereading his schedule to keep his eyes busy. Will took that as a sign to back off.

They sit in silence for a moment, until Coy gathers the courage to speak again. Coy clears his throat, "I dropped my theology class.”

Will stops eating completely, his jaw slightly dropping, mouth still full of food. He sets his fork down and uses a napkin to wipe his mouth before crossing his arms over the table.

“You’re fully joining the dark side then?” Will says quietly, clearly joking, but it still sends a chill down Coys spine. 

“Guess so,”

“Talk.” Will had always been afraid Coy would settle for what he deemed good. That he would live and die in the church because he was too stubborn to accept himself. 

“I just.. I think I’ve finally decided I want some space from all of that, for maybe a long time.” Coy tried to explain smoothly, yet he couldn’t look Will in the eyes. He was afraid that if he did, Will would be able to tell all the pain behind his response. Coy managed a half smile, “Besides, with all the times I swore to God, I doubt He would want me in Heaven.” 

“Heaven is for everyone, Coy.” Will added. “If you believe in that still, of course.” 

Will flashed Coy a comforting smile, one that would please millions. There are people out there who would live and die for that smile, and Coy understands why.

Yet, it didn’t give him the same comfort he knew someone else could give him. His chest tightened, flaring with the same guilt he had grown to know all too well.

Coy shook his head, ready to deflect. “I don’t know what I think. Can we talk about your life instead?”

“Not to be mean, but do you want to be more depressed?” queried Will. 

Coy takes his schedule and rolls it up, forming a thick roll. And without another beat, he reaches over the table and whacks Will with it. Will lets himself get hit a few times, knowing he deserved that, before snatching Coy's schedule out of his hand.

“This is why Hanbon and Anthony don’t like leaving us alone!”

“I think we’re great together! Don’t you think?” he reaches his hand over, slowly rubbing Coys forearm.

“Ew. Stop trying to flirt with me Will,” Coy grimaced. “If you put this much effort into your girlfriend, maybe she’d want to be around you more.”

“She’s not my girlfriend… yet,” Will mumbled shyly. If you knew Will, you knew that Will had been chasing after a girl named Carol for an entire year now. She was effortlessly beautiful and, more importantly, just as kind as Will. But she was skeptical of the boys who came from Kingston Academy, rightfully so, because the majority were pretentious. She went to school with Hanbon, and at any chance he could, he would ditch his last class to bike and see her after school.

They kinda have a thing, according to Will. Despite his unsuccessful efforts in the past. 

“She can be with whoever she wants to be with,” Will says, completely unconvincing. Coy raises an eyebrow, making him hang his head. 

Will sighs, “Preferably me though.”

“Knew it.”

“This isn’t fair! You don’t have a love life to laugh at or tease.”

Coy scoffs. “Now I'm offended.” he stands from the table, throwing his bag over one shoulder as he gets ready to leave. Will slides the crinkled schedule back into Coy's hands. “My pool is also significantly smaller than yours! Just to note.”

“Coy, I love you,” Will chuckles, grabbing the rest of his things and shoving them aimlessly into his backpack. He would find whatever he needed in the future somewhere in there.

“Okay.” Coy rolls his eyes as Will joins him. They thread through a crowd of peers, taking a right out of the dining hall. 

He bumps his shoulder with Coys, “Are you walking me to soccer practice?” 

“I’m guessing I don't have much of a choice.” 

“Correct!” Will exclaimed, “What else do you have going on anyway?

“I might see what Anthony is up to,” Coy said casually as they cut through the courtyard, like he hadn’t been thinking about it this whole time.

Will gives him a lopsided smile, somewhere between amused and unimpressed. “He’s been avoiding everyone, so good luck with that. He keeps saying he’s just busy, but how busy can you really be a week into classes? ”

“I’m not everyone,” Coy said. “It’s also kind of important.”

“Mm.” a pause. Then Will decides to push. “Is it about that cut on your lip last week?”

Coy hesitated. “Maybe.”

Will didn’t flinch, but his gaze flicked–just once–to his lip like he expected a clue. 

“Whatever it is, I hope you know you can also talk to Hanbon or I.” Will held open the door, waving him in. 

Coy nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s different this time, no offense,” he replied vaguely, avoiding the real reason behind it.

Will tilted his head, smile still intact. “None taken. I always thought this would happen.” 

“You thought what–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut in, not unkind. “I have practice for the next two hours. Anthony should be there.”

Coy didn’t say anything as they arrived in front of the gymnasium. His expression was tight with an unspoken apology.

Will patted his arm, reading his mind. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But make sure Anthony knows, you were mine first.”

“What the hell, Will---’

He held up his hands. “ I’m just saying, I met you first! No one can take my place!”

Will lets the sentence hang in the air as he slips into the gym to change for practice, leaving Coy by himself. He lets out a breathy laugh before turning on his heels and pulling out his flip phone to check the time. Two hours, Coy can make do with two hours.

-

Coy managed to dodge his study group and made his way to the second floor of the dorm hall. The stairs creaked under his weight as he went up, fingers brushing the cracked wood railing. The air was thick today, maybe with Pine-Sol, the faint smell of Axe. It was honestly foul.

He reached the second floor and tried to play off the lump in his throat. Walking through the common area, a few feet later, Coy stopped in front of Anthony's door. He debated whether to actually go in. 

Coy noticed the door was cracked open. He could hear Anthony's soft hum and see the back of his head. He rubbed his hands over his face first, stressfully, before knocking on the door to make Anthony aware of his presence. He didn’t wait for a response to enter the room, he stepped inside and closed the door so there was only a slit of light from the hall.

Anthony abruptly stops playing the guitar, looking up from his bed with raised brows. “Coy, hey.”

Coy swallows, shoving down the anxiety that was creeping up his throat. 

“Where’ve you been? Avoiding me?’ Coy tried to joke.

Anthony shakes his head quickly, “No, no, I have a lot on my mind—with school. You know? Been trying to keep myself busy and haven’t had a lot of time.”

Coy hummed in response, even though it wasn’t much of a response at all. Because Anthony didn’t need to try very hard in school, it came to him as easy as breathing. First to be done with assignments, he arrived late because he could afford to. School didn’t come with the same weight as it did with Coy. 

Coy didn’t argue. “Do you have time now?” 

“Are you okay?” Anthony asked, already setting his guitar down and directing his attention at Coy. 

“Right now, yeah.”

Anthony didn’t respond at first–just analyzed Coy like he was going to somehow find the answer in his ill fitted outfit. 

“It’s about this summer.” Coy added, crossing his arms over one another like a shield. 

Anthony tried to hide the change in his body language, sitting up a little straighter than before, hands wiping on his jeans. 

“I, uh… thought you didn’t want to,” he started, words tripping over each other. “I assumed you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Because you didn’t want the others to know.”

Coy hesitated, just like earlier with Will, debating whether to tell the truth. But as he got caught in Anthony's gaze, he decided to keep it simple and honest. “I just want to talk about it with you.”

Anthony froze in place, grappling with the realization of what Coy had said. It was a sobering moment, one that left him feeling utterly warm. 

“Do you want to sit?” he asked eventually. Coy silently crosses the room and sits next to Anthony, clenching and unclenching his hands. 

Coys shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. “I need to know that you aren’t going to treat me differently after this. Because I’m not some fucking… charity case, and I don’t need to be taken care of. ”

Anthony blinked. “Jesus Coy, this seems serious. I'm starting to get nervous— ”

“Shit. I can’t do this with you staring at me.” Coy admits, interrupting. His attention drifted far past Anthony's shoulder. “Can you maybe… turn around?”

Anthony’s head tilts, waiting for Coy to say he’s joking. But he’s not. His face is completely still, hands intertwined together, trying to hold down his jittery leg. So Anthony slowly turned around with his arms crossed, folding his legs so they were now fully on the bed. 

“Is this really necessary?”

Coy rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by the comment. “Probably not. But it makes it easier for me to tell the truth.”

Anthony doesn’t respond as Coy shuffles, hesitating as he feels the heat from Anthony’s back against his. When he leans into him, Anthony's fingers curl into his blankets because he’s almost certain they can feel each other's heartbeats. 

“I’m not gonna look at you any different.” Anthony's voice is steady and low.

Coy stiffened a little. "That's not what I said. I said don’t treat me differently. You can look at me however you want.”

“I promise, Coy.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m being completely serious.” Anthony affirmed, stretching his legs straight out in front of him.

The silence between them stretched, incognizant and wary.

“I called you this summer because my parents found out I was gay. My friend, or I guess I had a friend, his name was Adam. He outed me to his dad—our priest— he tried to convince me that if we prayed enough, God would forgive me, and that I wouldn't spend an eternity in hell.” Coy rips off the Band-Aid, his speech quicker than normal, like a dam had been broken. Yet there were no tears, no shaking, like it was a normal conversation.

Coy rubs the bridge of his nose like it was giving him a headache to remember. “I got into a fight with my parents that night. They wanted me to go to conversion therapy, and I told them I wasn’t doing it. I had no real plan–then you came and… fuck.” 

Anthony resists the urge to turn around, to even catch the slightest glimpse of Coy's face. Instead, he looks around the room like it might be missing something. Like if he blinked hard enough, it would rearrange into something more interesting.

His hands shake, but his voice is perfectly even. “After you dropped me back off, I agreed to conversion therapy. ”

Anthony sucks in air through his teeth, and now he was glad Coy couldn’t see the look on his face. Jaw tight and furrowed brows, twisting into an unexplainable frustration. It almost felt too bare. He hated how calm Coy was, how indifferent. It’s like none of it mattered.

Coy's eyes flick up, something in them exhausted. “I know you guys haven’t believed in God in years, and honestly I haven't either. Still, I keep telling myself that maybe if it’s beaten into me enough it would restore my belief, or… something.” 

There were flashes between every blink that reminded him of that camp for the first three weeks. Flashes of velvet wings, stained glass windows, the dry communion wafers.

“The only reason I still try to believe is the possibility that all the praying I've done in the past will finally pay off. That maybe I’m not gay after all. And he gives me a sign that he’s really there and will personally save me. But I know that won’t happen. Because the reality is that I stopped asking for God to forgive me a long time ago.”

I've grown used to the discomfort that comes with living in my skin.

Perhaps it’s meant to be this way. 

The silence falls heavy on the pair's shoulders. The air was thick and suffocating, like a fire had started and the room was filling with smoke. 

Anthony had been so silent and still, Coy was afraid it was too much. His eyes had started to sting, the reality of his words finally settling, he didn’t know he had been so scared. After another beat, Coy twitches, like he was going to move. 

“You don’t need His salvation, Coy. You never did. “ Anthony whispered, leaning back so his arms brushed Coy's. A steady force that said, I'm real and here. It felt like God had listened to his prayers from the nights he was kept awake at the thought of Anthony. It was like God answered for the first time. This was the most he had ever believed.

Coy pulls his knees to his chest, one hand picking at loose threads on his jeans and the other mirroring Anthony’s. Maybe that’s all Coy needed to hear to wash away his worry about the approval of a God that didn’t exist to him.

“How do I stop feeling this guilty?” Coy muttered, not actually asking, more of something to let loose into the air because he felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

Anthony almost turned around, but he froze. “Can I be honest?” 

Coy blinks hard as he lets his head fall back onto Anthony’s. “Are you gonna be a smart ass?” 

He heard Anthony let out an amused breath. Got you. 

“I just want to say that you know I never believed in that shit. But living with hate and feeling like you’re living wrong is no way to live at all. It’s not fair you have to feel shame for loving when others don’t.” 

Sometimes Coy forgets that Anthony doesn’t have a jet black heart, which sounds cruel. But he didn’t like conversations like this, filled with existentialism and reality. And frankly, Coy wasn’t a big fan either. It puts them both in an uncomfortable position where they both have to be a little more vulnerable and honest. They weren’t very good at that.

“And you know what, maybe you won’t ever stop feeling guilty. You’ll find a way to live with it though.”

Coy almost laughs because they’ve found their rhythm; between joking and honesty, it was finely tuned.

Anthony quietly, slightly surprised, “You harbor so much hurt.”

He hadn't meant to say it, really. It was more to help him process it himself.

“The church has hurt me, my parents have hurt me,” Coy said. “Yet it's been so difficult to unlearn all I've ever known. I'm so angry, and I know I would be happier if I could just... leave it all behind.“

Anthony nudged Coy with his elbow. “We’ll figure it out. But you should forgive yourself first.”

Coy liked that. He liked that Anthony wanted to be a part of this all, even though he didn’t have to be. Telling Anthony made him feel like a person again, instead of a walking corpse trying to find its next meal. 

“You’re the only person I feel like I can talk about this with. Does that weird you out?”

“No.” Anthony responds sharply, “Coy, if I can help you, I will. I have never done anything that says differently.”   

Coy can’t help but think, if this feeling is supposed to be a sin why does it make me feel so good?

The brush of Anthony’s wrist against his burns, and Coy thinks he needs a break, some time to rebuild his walls that Anthony didn’t have to try to break down. He charged through them, invincible and fierce, so effortless it made Coy ache.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I still want to say I’m sorry. I know it was hard to go through all that alone. It was also...” Anthony pauses, debating whether to say this or not. “It was hard to hear. I think about that night a lot, and when you left. ” 

Like a punch to the gut, Coy feels winded. 

“I wouldn’t have had anywhere to stay if I hadn't gone back.”

“You could’ve asked me.” Anthony scoffs.

“And you know I can't do that.”

Anthony let his head fall forward a little, “I’m kinda wishing you did.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Coy muttered back, almost choking on his pride. Because even after all this time, he still felt like the world was not made for him to be comfortable. 

“Are you good?” 

“I will be.”

It becomes silent again. Coy is able to comfortably lean back on Anthony, and he knows for certain he will catch him.

"You sound like someone kicked you down a drain."

Coy smirks, "I feel like it too."

They do that for a while. Going back and forth between meaningless conversation, because it was all the comfort Anthony could supply without pushing Coy away. It was complicated. Will had once told Anthony that he doesn't think anyone knows how to crack open Coy. Which really meant, don't step too close because you will get hurt.

all of the stuff i show prior to chapter releases are subject to change, i mainly write dialogue first and go and add stuff in between hehe.