Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Just to confirm, you are heterosexual, right?”

I hear Jan-Olof, and know the answer. There’s really only one correct answer to this question.

“Yes,” I respond. “Only girls,” I add after a pause.

It shouldn’t be a lie, but it feels like one.

I end the call, and lie back down with Sara. She shifts closer to me, like she belongs there. She does. Or she’s supposed to.

I try to focus on her. It’s not like I’m not into girls. I am. I always was. But now something feels different. I almost want to take back the words “only girls,” but there’s nothing to replace them with. Nothing safe.

If it wasn’t a lie, why do I feel like it’s swallowing me whole?

I need to think about something else. Anything else. I need to fill the silence. I need to be in control.

“Do you want to go to the ball with me,” I ask.

The words feel awkward, too sudden, like a line I didn’t rehearse enough. I sound like somebody asking a favor, not a date. She blinks, hesitates, then smiles.

“What?” she responds, confusion evident in her voice.

I’m already regretting the words, but it’s too late.

“Go with me, to the masquerade,” I reply. I need her to say yes, to go with me.

“Okay,” she says, smiling.

I smile back at her, a reflex more than any actual feeling. “Okay,” I echo. She laughs, and it’s too easy to play the part. It's too easy to be perfect.

Time passes. Faster than expected, or maybe I’m just not paying enough attention.

I go through the usual steps, shower, cologne, and get dressed, but it doesn’t feel like me. As if my mind was a million miles away, and something else was in control of my hands.

I text Sara, “When are you coming?”

I light the candles, and set out two empty wine glasses with a bottle of wine. I should feel excited; setting everything up for Sara, but instead I feel empty.

My phone buzzes and I smile as I reach for it. I can see her walking through the door, laughing. She put her arms around me and we’ll kiss. I look to see what she wrote.

“I can’t come with you, I’m going with the girls. Sorry.” I stare at the words. I’m waiting for a follow up, for her to say she’s kidding. Nothing.

First, it’s the rush of heat. Anger. How could she say yes and back out? How could she lie to me, would one night with me really be so bad?

And then all I feel is hurt. I thought I meant more than this. I thought she’d chosen me.

But a tiny feeling, so small, so pushed down and bottled up, flows through me. Relief.

Relief that I don’t have to go to the ball and hold her hand. Relief that I don’t have to keep pretending I know exactly who I am.

I go anyway. Alone.

Not because I want to, I’d rather do anything else, but because not going would mean I’d let her control my night. So I go.

The ball is exactly what I expected. It’s perfect. Everyone looks polished, dressed in the most beautiful clothes. And then I see him.

Vincent.

He looks… good. Effortlessly good. He looks relaxed, and his clothes fit like they were sewn on. Vincent turns to his left, and smiles at something somebody said.

His smile makes me want to go up to him. Say something casual, tell him he looks good.

Not in a weird way. Just in a way that would let me breathe again. But I don’t. Because I’m not supposed to think that. I’m not allowed to want that.

I see his arm around a girl. She looks amazing, and she’s leaning into him like it’s nothing. Like it’s easy.

I almost want to be her. The thought burns, because I know it’ll never happen.

I clench my fists before I realize I’m doing it. It’s ugly. This jealously, this yearning. My stomach twists because I know it’s wrong.

And the worst part is how oblivious he is. He’s laughing with his friends, and he won't see me. He’ll never see me.

I turn away from him, before I look at him again, before I say something, or think something, or want something I can’t.

I need to get out. I leave the ballroom, my steps getting frantic as soon as I turn the corner. I get to my dorm, and the second I’m alone I rip off my wig.

I throw it somewhere in the room and sit on my bed. I’m breathing like I sprinted a marathon. I don’t scream. I don’t cry.

I just sit there, wishing I wasn’t me.

Chapter Text

I avoid Vincent. Not because I want to, but because every time I look at him, I feel sick to my stomach with a feeling I can’t control. And the only way to bring back control is to stay away. Because only then will whatever this is will fade.

But it’s not that easy.

It’s not easy to walk past him in the hallway, pretending I don’t what him call my name. Its not easy to keep my head down when he laughs nearby, pretending his voice doesn’t twist something inside of me. It’s not easy because deep down, I know this isn’t control. It’s fear.

I know this, and I do it anyway. It’s not like he’ll notice my absence. He never noticed when I was there.

Except he does.

The first time he calls my name, I pretend I don’t hear him, walking faster. When I finally look back, he’s just standing there, confused.

The next day, he sits next to me at lunch. “You’re quiet lately,” he says. I just shrug and stare at my plate. He sighs and picks up his plate, moving to sit with somebody else.

I’m talking to my friends, about nothing really, when Vincent walks over. “Hey August,” he greets me, but I can’t reply. I just look down and wait for him to move on. And he does. He starts talking with Nils about some test, like I’m not even here.

Still, I feel him looking back at me. Like he’s waiting for me to join in, to do something. But I don’t.

And I keep ignoring him, for a whole week. I don’t look at him in class when he answers a question. I don’t congratulate him when he scores a point. I don’t talk to him at lunch.

It must be obvious what I’m doing, but I can’t face him. I’ll just be reminded that there’s no chance for me.

I’m surprised by him when I open the door to my dorm. He’s leaning against the wall, waiting. I try to walk past him, but his voice stops me in my tracks..

“August, please,” he says, almost begging. “What did I do?” I don’t know how to answer that. You didn’t do anything, I just saw you at the ball and spiraled and now I can’t look at you? But I can’t say that so I just stare back at him. A pause.

“You… didn’t do anything,” I finally reply, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I know he doesn’t believe me.

“No, seriously, August,” he says, his voice soft. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry.” He sounds almost desperate, and I know I have to fix this. I need to change tactics. I walk backwards into my room and he follows, leaving the door open.

“Look, it’s not you,” I start off, the words sound steadier than I expected. “I’ve just been… going through some stuff.”

“I’m here for you, August.” God, I just want to tell him everything and have him understand and tell me it’s okay. But I can’t. I have to control myself.

“You don’t mean that.” I sound bitter, I know I do, but I can’t help myself.

“No, really. I’m here for you,” he replies. He really doesn’t get it, does he? He’s not here for me because he can’t be here for me, not the way I need him to. Something deep in me burns.

“No, you’re not!” My voice is too loud, too desperate. The cry of an animal, cornered.

Vincent almost jumps, startled. He doesn’t get what I’m saying. He thinks I’m calling him a bad friend.

“What are you talking about? I promise I’m here for you no matter what. Seriously, we can talk-“

I can’t take it anymore. I’m so angry because I’ll never be his, and so sad because he’ll never be mine.

I yell before I can think better of it, “You’re not here for me the way I want you to be!” I hear my voice crack, but I don’t even care.

I wonder what he’ll do when it finally clicks. Maybe he’ll run off, and never talk to me again. Or yell at me, and call me a freak. Or punch me in the face and tell everyone how I feel for them to laugh at me.

But he just stands there, frozen, while I want to cry.