My North Star Pt. 02

Feedback encouraged in the comments.

Trigger/Content Warning:

This story contains themes of religious guilt, emotional repression, family trauma, and queer yearning. It's a slow-burn gay romance with a dumbass himbo and a beautiful femboy. It also explores the internal struggle of growing desire, shame, and forbidden closeness between two best friends.

There are a few homophobic slurs used in specific moments and some veiled references to Domestic Violence.

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Somewhere West of Atlanta, Georgia, Spring, 2023.

Tuesday, February 14th

I feel like a newborn puppy on a leash being dragged behind a first-time dog mom. Stephen leads me through the early morning throng of students and into the lecture hall. He beats me to our seats, as I stop to collect myself. My normal seat is the second seat from the left, third row from the back. Creature of Habit. Stephen always sits next to me. Should that make me feel so nervous?

He waves hello to a few friends and pulls out his notebook. A trained eye could tell most of his notes look suspiciously like mine. But really, how could I say no to him?

"You know, if you actually put in some effort to pay attention to the professor, you would actually learn something."

I say it with as much calm as I can muster. My voice shakes beneath the surface, hiding a tension I can't name.

I wedge myself into the tiny chair, bumping him slightly. These seats aren't built for guys like me---6'2", about 260. I'm not some gym rat, but between day trading and doing physical labor at construction sites, I stay active. Stephen says I look like Hugh Jackman in Wolverine. I think I look more like a divorced trucker with three kids and bad knees.

He sniffs dramatically and coughs like he's been poisoned. His jaw tightens, and he glares at me with mock fury.

"If you insist on waking up at the ass crack of dawn, you could at least use the soap I ordered for you."

His smirk creeps in, that same curl at the corner of his lips that always starts our banter.

"Your soap smells like butterfly farts and coked-out sorority girls."

"Your ass smells like a truck stop roller dog."

"You dress like an emo girl obsessed with '90s grunge."

"I hope you stub your toe."

"I hope your pillow is warm tonight."

"Blow me."

"You wish."

People think Hollywood gets male friendship right. I don't know. Me and Stephen? We've always been different. I don't want us to be like anyone else. He's perfect like he is.

I glance over at his eyes---mischievous blue whirlpools---and smile. He scowls back playfully and scrolls on his phone as we wait for the professor.

The banter grounds me. Makes things feel normal. I shift in the too-small seat. Half our high school thought we were dating by sophomore year. My parents were sure we were screwing under the bleachers by junior year. My dad had... opinions. Loud ones. We ignored them.

Professor Linnell finally shows up, droning on about the environmental impact of highways. Riveting stuff at 8:05 a. m.

I resign myself to note-taking.

Bzzzt

Bzzzt Bzzzt

Bzzzt

"Stephen, silence your phone."

Who the fuck is blowing up his phone at this early hour? Most of our friend group is in this class. It's not like he has a boyfriend. Right? *Right?

It doesn't matter. I don't care anyways.

Bzzzt Bzzzt Bzzzt

Bzzzt Bzzzt

I clench my fist. The buzzing rattles across the desk like a mosquito in a bottle. Other students are starting to notice. I hate public attention.

"Can you please silence your phone."

The words hiss harsher than I expect from my mouth. My forked tongue lashing the air with an unknown emotion.

"Oh baby, you jealous that nobody texts you anymore?"

The faintest edge of a smirk can be seen from the side of his face, as he picks up his phone. He bumps his elbow into mine and looks up with those long lashes at me.

Cinnamon

Oh for fucks sake. Focus, Michael. The Environment. Pollution. Highways. Roundabouts. Fascinating. I should study this stuff forever. Make a name for myself. Michael James Worthington, PHD in environmental bullshit.

Bzzzt Bzzzt

A flash of... jealousy?... climbs in my body as I stare daggers into his phone. All of his attention is on that little phone of his, while his best friend is right next him.

I see him flick over to some other number that isn't saved. Maybe it's that little trashy art student from last week. The little fop threw his bargain bin hot topic self all over Stephen, while we were eating lunch together. He laughed at all of Stephen's jokes and basically begged for his discord. He might as well have just bent over and begged him to fuck him.

A rush of something ugly climbs into my chest. I sit straighter. I feel disgusted---but with myself. Why do I care?

Stephen is not my boyfriend.

He is just my best friend. Right?

Yeah. Yep. Uh huh.

Christ in Heaven, what is wrong with me?

Sweat beads on my forehead. Maybe I should get baptized again. Not for salvation---just to feel clean. I feel dirty. Tainted.

Bzzzt Bzzzt

I can't focus with all these distractions. This dumbass is about 30 seconds away from...

And now Stephen's chewing lightly on his pen, the smooth black cap brushing across his lips, glinting with moisture. It glides down his chin. Taps gently against his jawline.

I imagine---

Thwack.

He hits me in the head with the pen.

"So what do you think, dum-dum?" he whispers, eyes lit up from the group chat.

"Yeah. Absolutely."

I have no idea what the fuck he asked.

"You have no idea what I asked, do you?"

"Nope."

"I was asking if it's okay to keep Cindy in the friend group chat."

These words came out sweeter and his soft cerulean eyes turn to face me completely as his hand rests on my forearm.

"I was talking to Brittany. We just wanted to check in. I know it didn't... end well."

His fingers brush mine. Our sleeves shift. The bracelet slides into view---silver, clean, with two charms. One for each of our names.

My fingers brush the charm. And suddenly, I'm not in the lecture hall anymore---

---

It's summer. Cindy's birthday. Our one-year anniversary.

We were the perfect couple on paper. She was beautiful, god-fearing, polite. My dad's dream girl. We rarely fought. We had chemistry. She hated Stephen. He didn't try to like her either.

That always hurt.

Every time they interacted was like two alley cats fighting over a spilled trash bag.

That night, I tried to make it special. I brought gifts. A stuffed bear. A bottle of wine. A swimsuit. She blushed, smiled. I was proud.

The final gift was serious. A silver bracelet from the mall. Stephen had helped me pick it out---he had the better eye for that stuff. It had standard charms, and room for her to add more later.

My mother had taught me a lot about how to be the perfect gentleman, and I wanted Cindy to be happy. I even considered having sex with her that night. Nothing had ever really escalated between us besides wandering hands. I never felt... ready? Ironic.

She held it up like it was radioactive.

"What the fuck is this, Michael?"

The venom in her voice froze me.

"What's the problem, sweetheart?" My voice cracked.

"Why would you give me the same jewelry you already gave your boyfriend?"

I panicked.

"I don't have a boyfriend, Cindy! You're my girlfriend! I love you!"

She shoved her phone at me. A photo. Me placing a similar bracelet on Stephen's wrist. He was smiling---softly. Warmly. One of her friends had saw us and sent Cindy the photo.

The sorrow that displayed from her eyes was deep. I felt like the three brothers in the furnace and sent up unanswered prayers for forgiveness.

As has become a habit for me at this point, I continued to labor under a delusion that I could resist the truth in front of me.

"Look... There was a 2 for one sale at Jared's for these silver bracelets. Stephen was just helping me pick out a gift for you! He's got... slender wrists like yours."

I sputter words out as I back up towards the door with my hands up.

"I was going to get an extra one anyway, so I gave it to him as a marker of our friendship."

It's almost funny how absolutely fucked I was, and I didn't even realize it.

"Why is your name on his bracelet?"

"Why did you put his on gently and just toss me mine?"

"Why didn't you get the warranty on mine?"

"Why would you experiment with me when you've already met your soulmate?"

And finally---

"Why even hold my heart if you were always going to break it?" "I loved you, Michael. I wanted to go on with this forever Michael. I wanted to walk down the..."

Her choking sob cuts her off, as her imprisoned tears rain down. I didn't even reach out a hand to comfort her. I sat and stared at this beautiful girl as she crumbled into a million pieces.

I was too much a coward to admit my mistake. I walked out. She texted me goodbye later that night.

When the bracelet showed up in a box a week later, I put it back in the bag and left it on my desk.

It's still there.

---

Back to the present

God Never seemed to hear my prayers.

I pray anyways for something I don't deserve.

I could feel the buzzing return as melancholy's familiar presence threatened to pull me in.

Cinnamon

"Mikey,"

Stephen's voice cuts through the spiral like morning sunlight through the blinds. The light threatens to expose me.

"You good, hero?"

The nickname drags me back to Earth. I blink. Cindy's face fades into memory. Stephen watches me, concerned. His hand is on mine. In a million lifetimes, I wouldn't deserve him.

He taps the screen and points to our group chat.

"Jamie's throwing a party Friday. Bonfire by the river. You coming with me, or should I take that dork from last week?"

That little slut could stay home and masturbate for all I care.

Stephen's already RSVP'd for two.

Cindy will be there.

Of course she will.

"I told them we were bringing drinks."

"Of course we are"

He grins, bumping his leg against mine. His hand lingered on mine a moment longer than necessary. The bracelet glints.

I try to breathe. I try to focus. Everything blurs. I free my hand from his and try to return to the lesson. My notes are a mess, and my hand can barely write without misspelling every other word.

Stephen notices.

He closes his book. Puts away his phone. Places his hand gently over mine.

I dare not look to the questions hidden in those blue eyes. I can't bear to know the answer. I am not a good man. I don't deserve forgiveness.

"Mikey, are you okay?"

His voice is soft. Vulnerable.

He leans closer.

He would see my guilt and dismiss it. See my shame and wash it away.

And I can't let him.

"Can you just leave me alone!" I snap.

Stephen freezes. Heads turn.

His eyes---once bright---darken with fear. I see memories he didn't ask to relive. My stomach drops.

I don't look back. I walk out. I drive home. I drive too fast.

I know he'll come after me.

He always does.

He'd beat the devil with a clawhammer and drag me back to life---just to beat me himself.

But I don't deserve him.

I don't deserve forgiveness.

I saw an angel and threw a stone in shame for my ugliness.

My mother would despise what I am.

Who the hell have I become?

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Thanks for reading. : D There will be the next part posted soon.

Text your best friend tonight.

-YearningStories <3