Heaviness weighed down on my chest, making my shoulders sag forward. What am I doing? (Who Knows). Logan had come out of his appointment with a therapist, face neutral as he made his way over to me. I had told him, finally, the truth of what happened that night.

It was eating me alive.

Despite us moving forward in our relationship, despite us making (both emotional and physical) progress in terms of comfort. I simply couldn't keep it to myself. And now, now I ruined it all. Because why would Logan forgive me?

It was terrible, horrible, repul-

"You ready?" My eyes snap up to see Logan leaning against the doorframe. God, he's beautiful. Even just wearing a simple beige turtleneck with green cuffs and collar, and tight black jeans with rips in them. For some reason, fashion wasn't really something we cared about until we moved out of highschool. I look down at myself, grunting in disappointment at my lack of clothing. Right, we were supposed to be going somewhere.

In a second, Logan is standing in front of me, grabbing the black sweater I was holding and scrunching it in his hand. He lifts his chin, I recognize the gesture, quickly ducking my head and lifting my arms so he can pull it over me.

"You look pretty," I compliment (I can't help it! God took his time making Logan).

Logan snorts, "I doubt God cares much about my sense of style, but thank you babe."

Damn, did I- "Yes, you said it outloud. Up." I straighten immediately, watching as the bottom of his sweater lifts to show his belly button and the navel muscles around it. Without thinking (really, when do I ever think?), I reach forward, placing one of my hands on his torso and marvelling at how thin it is.

Too thin, almost.

Logan doesn't seem to mind, continuing to comb back my curls until my vision is cleared. My fingers dig into his side and I reflexively pull back when he shifts beneath me. "Sorr-"

Logan giggles, pulling me out of my trance and convincing me that I (in fact) did not hurt him, just tickled him. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I meet his gaze. And there is no contempt- or hate, or disgust in his emerald eyes. Instead, he smiles at me, bright and large and it makes my knees quake. I lean forward enough for the tips of our noses to touch, and all over again I find myself falling into his chest (knowing he would catch me). Logan coos and hums, wrapping his arms around my frame and hugging me to him.

"I know." He soothes firmly. Briefly, his knuckles brush against my jaw, and it's enough for me to look up at him. "I need you to know that your confession doesn't change the way I feel about you. I still very much like you as more than a best friend." He studies me, eyes flickering to all parts of my face (when did our roles switch?). "Do you still want to see if it works out?"

I surge forward once more, pressing close-lipped kisses across his face. The corner of his lips, "Yes." His high cheekbones, "-" He giggles as I press another kiss to his forehead. "Yes, please."

We stare at each other, and his nose calls for me, so without further hesitation I press another kiss to the bridge of his nose, smiling as Logan's eyes fill with light. But. . .I lean back, there was still—

"There's something else I need to come clean about." I murmur (stupid! stupid!). Logan's eyebrows draw together but he smiles, thumbs smoothing my skin, brushing the growing stubble on my jaw.

"Okay," He nods, as if knowing that I'm not exactly ready to tell him right now. "You can tell me whenever you're ready, and we'll talk about it." I nod, he smiles softly, "Great, now come on I want to take you somewhere."

Take me somewhere?

✩

A stumble through the city's back alleys, a bus ride and a stop to a convenience store later and I find myself still having no clue where we are. We walk through a park, our hands still tightly wrapped around the other's, swinging between us. I look over towards Logan, leaning further down to try and look into the plastic bag in his grasp. He lets out a tut, swinging the bag behind his back and sending me a teasing glare. "Naughty naughty, no peeking, it's a surprise."

And God, if that didn't make me taste my heart.

Ever since I had told him about our (his) drunken adventure the day before our road trip, he had continued to reassure me. Running his hands through my hair, massaging my shoulders and neck, and pressing his lips against my skin at any given opportunity. Which is a lot considering it's only been a day (half a day, theoretically)!

We suddenly come to a stop, a question hangs in my throat - un-asked as Logan whips his head around quickly and proceeds to (roughly) shove me into meter-tall bushes. I curse, stumbling forward.

"What the-" I stop, taking in the view. "Woah."

Logan laughs behind me, hands wrapping around my waist to stabilize me. "You like?" He asks, breath tickling the back of my neck, he leans closer and I feel his lips press into the side of my neck.

"I love." I sigh, taking in the view that the side of the cliff provides into an isolated town. Small buildings and houses scattered, greenery far more present than in the city, and the beginnings of the sunset making the sky swirl with pastel colors in the horizon. "How did you find this place?"

"Not my best moment," Logan begins, pushing me forward until I get the hint and sit on a patch of grass. "Remember all those times I would go to the dorm late?"

I nod and it clicks as he sits next to me. This is where he would come all those evenings. A sigh escapes him, I don't blame him (never did), this place is beautiful. Rustling drags me out of my thoughts and I see Logan finally digging into the plastic bag, taking out mini-tubs of ice cream. It has a grin spreading across my face because it was a familiar act. High school came with a lot, but we still managed to go into a nearby ice-cream parlor every week.

"Mint or Neo-pol-Neopo-"

"Neapolitan." I supply with a smile, making him huff.

"I hate that word."

"You hate strawberry ice cream too, baby. Give me that one."

Logan grins, I look at him quizzically (not that I didn't like seeing him smile, just without a reason it's kind of creepy), taking the tub of ice cream. "You haven't called me that all day. I missed it."

Ah, why does that make my stomach tighten in the bad way? "I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable after I told you about that night."

"Do you feel uncomfortable calling me that?"

"Not at all-"

"Then don't stop," Logan leans forward, turning my face in his direction. "Please."

And that makes it seem like the world is back on the right track, even if just for a moment.

꒰꒱꒰

We spend the remainder of the evening on the edge of the cliff, enjoying the breeze and the swirls of the sky. Now, we were lying on our backs, shoulders brushing and hands hooked over my abdomen. Stargazing is something we've done since we've met. Aside from it being calming, it provided an easy escape that didn't require physical exhaustion.

Logan lets out a wheeze, rolling onto my chest as he tries to recount a story. "And-! And! Can you believe that I-"

"I'm gay Logan." Wow. . . that was ( easier than I thought) completely uncalled for.

He looks up from my chest, his golden locks framing his face perfectly (angelically). "Yeah? I'm pretty sure that is a component of being bisexual- definetly. But I'm pretty sure it's different for everyone."

"No, I mean." I huff out a laugh as I sit up (because he definitely has a point about it being different for everyone). Logan stumbles back, sitting on his knees. "I mean- I've always only been gay, no attraction towards girls whatsoever."

"But," God, here it comes. The hate and the judgement all because I was a coward when it came to coming out. Logan let out a small noise of confusion, eyebrows drawn together as he looks down at me. "Explain please."

And it happens once more, the regurgitation of words, stringing out sentences of a confession that had slowly formed a rope around my neck. Like a noose. Logan listens patiently, once more, never interrupting me and never letting his expressions get the best of him. The words spill, confessing how I've always liked him, how I knew that I was (am) attracted to other guys since the age of 7, and how even though I knew I was (am) gay I still found it easier to date girls. Because even when my mom and dad accept(ed) me, even when there was really no reason for me to feel un-accepted - I did.

It was all just mindless fear.

"Babe," Logan whispers, cupping my cheeks. When did I start crying? "Tripp," He coo's, hugging me close, resting my head on his shoulder and I notice how his legs are shaking from kneeling too long. But he doesn't care, and continues to hold me. And how could I not feel anymore accepted than at this moment?

"You're okay. It's okay. . .I'm so sorry you ever felt like that."

"Why aren't you mad at me?" I sniffle, leaning back to look at him, wiping my nose with my sleeves.

Logan looks confused, "Why would I be mad at you? I'm not going to judge you on your feelings. It's okay to be scared, there's nothing wrong with that. And I have no place to talk when it comes to feelings and sexuality. It took me forever to figure out how I felt about you, and even longer for me to act on those feelings."

"But I lied to you!"

He remained calm, "Then stop." With a dab of his sweater, he wiped away the tears from my cheeks. "From now on, let's stop lying to each other. Yeah?"

I nod, it's the only thing I can do as hope refills me.