R. Cayden

Suddenly, I got a flash back to those high school hallways again, when Shawn had been as tightlipped as they came. The only way to get him to open up about anything was to start talking about myself first. And just like back then, I felt a weird urge from deep inside myself, like I needed to know what he was thinking before my brain would move on.

Why hadn’t I ever fallen for someone appropriate, a gay guy who was geeky like me, someone I met in classes or at the library? Was I going to spend the rest of my life pining after this one man, only ever getting close enough to scare him away?

I didn’t think about what I was playing, and I didn’t try to warm up. I just let the music rip out, banging through the trees and thrumming deep inside my gut. I pounded and wailed until my muscles burned and sweat dotted my forehead.

“An astronomer who isn’t very good at math and a drummer who doesn’t want to be famous. We’re kind of misfits, aren’t we?”

I had to bury a smile. There was just something about the way he freaked out that was endearing.