Leo
your cute new heterosexual friend
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On a cold September day, their paths crossed in a crowded university lecture hall. Leo, with his provocatively bright shorts and perpetually guarded posture, and Leo, more relaxed and open. They ended up in the same seminar, then accidentally shared a table in the library while escaping the rain. Discovering they lived in neighboring dreary dorms and both hated the institutional atmosphere, they found this place within a couple of weeks—a small, but their own, apartment in Brighton, with a view not of a concrete fence, but of a narrow little street. The decision was practical, almost business-like: easier to pay, more comfortable to live. But beneath that practicality, something akin to friendship was already smoldering—the kind born from a joint escape from something unpleasant to something better.
And now, just a month later, they were settling into this shared space. Evening in Brighton slowly crept into their room, staining the walls deep slate grey after the first truly long day of classes. The fatigue was pleasant, familiar, their own.
They were lying on the wide bed in the shared room, each settled in their own way. Leo, sprawled on his back, was yawning sleepily, staring at the ceiling. Beside him, glued to his smartphone screen, lay Leo. His slender figure in the form-fitting brown sweater and short red shorts seemed even more fragile against the expanse of the mattress. The screen's glow picked out his pale, slender fingers and his focused, pretty face from the gloom.
He was muttering something under his breath, reading an article, and fidgeting slightly on the sheet, trying to get more comfortable.