11 | TISSUE PAPER
My Ex-Crush is Bisexual and My Current One Kisses Me On My Knuckle. (All I Have To Do Now Is Wake Up.)

Ivan's POV

I'm still in the bathroom with my back pressed against the wall, still soggy from that whole flashback session I just had. After giving one last look at the plethora of marks on my entire upper body, I slip back into my t-shirt.

I step out of the stall and spot Hayden with his back towards me. Hayden is the (super cute) nerd I used to have a crush on all the way from sophomore year through junior year. He used to be in a PDA filled relationship with a cheerleader. I wouldn't stop staring at them every time they decided to show their affection to each other. That was the beginning of the rumor regarding me having a crush on the cheerleader (Zoe). No one knew how wrong they were.

"Hey?" I call tentatively. "-den?"

Hayden flips around on hearing his name. He exhales in what I think is relief. "Thank heavens it's you. Thought it was Luca again."

"Luca Guerra?" I ask, surprised. Guerra is the linebacker in the school's football team. Luca Guerra and I don't meet eyes for various reasons, one being the fact that the basketball team's more successful than the football one.

Hayden nods. "He's made my school day literal hell. I'm the obvious target for a straight white jock because I'm black, bisexual and a nerd."

My eyes widen. Hayden's bisexual? "You're—?"

He shrugs. "Thought everyone knew already. But I'm not going to do all that coming out in front of the entire school bullshit. I'm just gonna tell some people and let the news pass."

I nod. "And how many people have you told so far?"

He tilts his head upward and pretends to do some extensive math calculation. "If I'm not wrong, I think I've told exactly... one person till now."

I chuckle. "And that's me?"

Hayden grins. "Well... You don't have a problem with it, do you?"

I had a crush on you throughout junior year, I want to holler., "Not at all, mate. Doesn't Guerra know as well?"

He smiles. "I'm sure he suspects. Sometimes I think my notebook suspects. I mean, I hate people like him but I may or may not have made out with him when we were drunk."

My jaw drops.

Hayden laughs at my expression. "I didn't force him!" He defends himself. "He was the one who was all over me! Besides, I don't even like sportspeople. All they do is sweat and cuss all the time."

I raise my brows, suspicious. I try not to

"Okay okay." He raises his hands in surrender. "I did flirt with him, but he had his hands all over my hair. I mean, how did he know I find pulling people's hair really really hot? I'm telling you, he enjoyed it as much as I did. He just doesn't want to admit it."

I shake with laughter. "Good luck for spreading your word, then."

"I'm counting on you, mate." Then he takes a few steps forward, so that his shoes are only inches away from mine. He smells of citrus and the pages of an old library book. "You know..." he falters. He regains his breath and then looks me in the eye. "You know you can talk to me anytime you want, right?"

I bite my lip. Does he know? "I thought you hated sportspeople who sweat and cuss all the time?" I tease.

He exhales and I can feel his breath on my neck. "You're different."

I avert my gaze. Hayden's the kindest person in the whole school. And he's good-looking too. He's as tall as me, lean and broad at the same time, and when he smiles...

He takes my breath away. Everyone's breath away. Which is why I liked him since the end of sophomore and throughout junior year. And then I got over him - I had to. He was dating Zoey. They were the school's black power couple. They were amazing together.

I was jealous of her, their relationship, everything. And then they broke up. And Hayden's bisexual. The spot is up for grabs. And I have a genuine chance.

But—

I don't like him anymore, and actually being with him would mean the entire school (give or take) knowing about my sexuality, which will not only reduce my chance of getting a scholarship to college, but also ruin even the smallest possibility of getting scouted for any of the leagues, and hence destroying my career even before it begins.

"Any time, alright?" he says.

"Any time, mate," I agree, like we've been friends forever and this is how we say goodbye. He squeezes my shoulder and then exits the bathroom. I stare at the bathroom mirror after he's gone.. I wash my face. After all of this, there's only one person I want to talk to right now.

Alexander Hope.

xxx

I leave the Auto Repair Store which I work in earlier than usual. I normally spend the entire evening there, completing homework and then return to the Hopes' place after dark. I have dinner after everyone else and help Mrs Hope - Emelia - do the dishes voluntarily.

This time, however, I haven't been able to get Hope out of my head. I skip my homework altogether and practically fly as I cycle my way back to the Falcon's territory, where I now live. I only stop at some sort of Skeleton Clique meeting happening at the side of the road. I slip one of the ski caps that are on sale into my pocket and continue flying.

When I reach my destination, I leave my bike in its usual spot against a tree behind the house, and climb up the grill until I reach the terrace on which Hope's room is situated. The sun has set, it's half past eight.

I see his convertible parked in front of the house, meaning he is in fact in the house. Friday night. I can only imagine what he'll be doing. I slip into the Twenty One Pilots ski cap and climb into the large window of Hope's - no, our room.

As expected, Hope is on the bed without his shirt. His legs are tucked into the blanket so I don't know if they're clothed or not. And he's not alone.

The girl freaks out when I practically walk in on them. Hope just gives me a frustrated look. "What the fuck?" he says/shouts.

I look directly at the girl, who's now covering herself up with the duvet, ignoring Hope. "You should probably leave now. Don't know if this asshole is hiding a camera here or not."

Hope's mouth drops. "I don't- what!"

The girl just stares at him. "You said no one was there in the house," she hisses.

Hope begins to say something but I interrupt. "Aight, enough both of you. Get out of here," I tell the girl, kicking the dress that's lying on the floor in her direction. I turn around so that I'm facing the wall. "Don't worry, I won't look."

I hear shuffling, and a few hushed arguments between Hope and his girl. Neither of them are happy. I turn back around only when I hear the click of the door.

Before the girl leaves, she looks at me and says, "Who are you anyways?"

I shrug. "Jake Peralta."

She doesn't seem to get the reference and walks away. Hope slips into his shirt. I don't think he removed his pants at all. What the heck was he doing all this while? Serenading her?

He gets off the bed and walks up to me, slipping my ski cap off my head. "What the fuck?" he repeats, softer this time. His voice is lower, darker. Maybe it's because I'm this close to him.

I look up at him. "Your mum said it's my room as much as it's yours. Which means I can come here whenever I want to. "

"So?" he practically yells. "You're going to break into the house and invade my privacy?"

I sigh. "That's not what I meant." I walk towards his closet so that there's more space between us. I can't stand his scent mixed with the girl's perfume.

His eyebrows furrow. He doesn't move though. Thank God.

"I just wanted to set some... rules between us." I don't sound as confident as I'd like to. At this point, I guess it's a big deal I'm even saying these words, instead of burying them all inside.

"Rules?" he asks, eyebrows still furrowed.

"Rules," I agree. "Like, one, no sleeping with anyone in this room. You can go to their house if you want, but you're not bringing anyone home for things like this."

"What? But why?" he protests.

I shrug. "It isn't very pleasant, y'know. I..." My voice cracks. There's a rock in my throat.

Hope's eyes are still furrowed up - this time with worry and not frustration. "What is it?"

I swallow. "I don't like the way you treat some people- girls, especially."

"I didn't do anything," he protests.

My eyes are closed now. I'm pinching the skin between my index finger and thumb. "Women are everything to me. They've always treated me right. My mom, my sister. Your mom, my teachers, classmates..." my voice trails. I think of every girl/woman I've met. I like Jessica better than my dad - and I barely know her.

"And men are just douches. Fucking douches who treat me like dirt," I continue. "My father, Donovan and his... minions, yo- No, not you. You're better now. But you're still an asshole." I can see him stiffen with the corner of my eye.

I exhale. " I respect women, I really do. And I don't like the way you look at girls like they're tissue paper. Use and throw." I find the courage to open my eyes and look at Hope's. They're gray now. Almost completely. "It's not very nice at all, you know."

He nods, running his fingers through his hair and looks down like he's embarrassed. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than usual, like he actually values my words. "What else?"

"Second rule," I go on. "I don't want anyone to know that I'm living at your place or that I'm..." I don't say the word. I haven't been able to say it aloud since forever.

Hope nods. "I haven't told anyone."

"You don't understand," I say. "If anyone - anyone at all - knows, it'll be the end of everything. I won't go to college, won't play for a team, won't be recruited... everything. I won't - I really want to get out of here. This town, this whole..." I shake my head. "And I can't afford to risk anything."

"I understand," he says sincerely.

No, you don't, I want to shout. But I say nothing.

"I really do," he says, reading my mind. I look up at him. I don't know what he's talking about. I guess a part of me doesn't want to know..

A few minutes pass in complete silence. Hope sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall as if he's recalling - and maybe even regretting - some of his life's decisions. Did my speech affect him that much?

"You okay?" I whisper, barely hearing myself.

He nods, getting up. He looks at me and his lips curve into a wry smile. "I hate it when you talk all emotional to me." He's acting like it's a casual thing, but his eyes are a gateway to his true feelings. There's an entire storm in them. I can see right through him.

His eyes are fluid. The green and the gray are swiveling around each other like a painter's palette. The colors are in motion. I can see the green overpowering the gray. And then the gray overshadows the green. It's like they're battling each other. I haven't seen his eyes - or anyone's eyes, for that matter - like this before.

He's feeling a thousand emotions all at once. Joy, regret, fear, shame, anger, anticipation, surprise, awe, craving, anger, sadness, sadness, sadness. He looks vulnerable. This is the first time I've seen him like this. Behind that huge block of asshole that covers his skin, there's actually a human who feels just like anybody else. Who's nice, even.

He clears his throat. "It's dinnertime. The whole family must be home by now."

Sebastian and his parents must've come while I was giving one of my two long speeches today. I don't usually speak so much at one stretch. Alexander Hope makes me do a lot of things I don't usually do.

I nod and walk along with him down the stairs. Sebastian, Richard and Emelia are seated around the dining table. They greet us with smiles as we take our place on the table next to each other.

"Let's say grace," Emelia says. This isn't something we do often but the whole family's here on time.

We link our hands as she begins saying the blessing. Sebastian's one side of me, and Hope is on the other. The dinner table is the only place we'll hold hands, Hope and I. He grips my hand tightly, like he doesn't want to let go. But after the prayer is done, he withdraws his hand almost immediately.

We're still enemies, I remember. And enemies don't hold hands.

Even on the dining table.

After our meal, I help Emelia with the dishes as usual. She isn't retaliating anymore now that it's become a daily thing for me. Dr Richard Hope asks me about how practice is going. And then we have a full fledged conversation about Green Day's most recent album, Father of All Motherfuckers.

Once I'm done, I head upstairs. Hope's watching highlights of the previous NBA season on TV downstairs. I brush my teeth and then tuck myself in the air mattress. The blanket is thick, so usually, it's easy to fall asleep.

Only, this time I don't. The entire day has been emotional, in one word. First, I almost break down in the bathroom, thinking about Kellin. Then, I give an emotional feministic ted talk to my enemy. And then he gets emotional.

But I still don't know why or what happened to him after I gave him that talk. My intuition tells me it's something to do with his past. I make a mental note to talk to him about it later.

After some time, Hope enters the room and goes directly to shower. He returns soon, shirtless. I pretend to be asleep. He must've seen my lying next to his bed because he flicks a shirt from his closet and slips it on.

And then, he does the last thing I expect him to do.

He crouches by my mattress, and takes my hand. He squeezes it softly, and holds on to it for maybe forever.

My eyes are shut. I can't tell if I'm dreaming or not.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. His voice is so soft, I don't know if his words are real or just a figment of my imagination.

He's still holding my hand. My heart is racing. I only pray he doesn't realize I'm awake. That would ruin everything.

"And you're right." He speaks slowly, like even he can't believe this is really happening. "About everything. But that tissue paper statement, that hit hard. I really am an asshole, aren't I?"

I almost wince. I wish I could open my mouth and tell that he's a better person than I've ever given him credit for, but I don't dare to do something so stupid. I'm too scared I'll ruin the moment, even if it's a part of my dream.

"But I'm going to be a better person, okay?" I can feel his breath on my skin. Thisisnotrealthisisnotrealthisisnotreal. He presses the back of my palm to his forehead. I go limp. He holds it there for a while, and then presses his lips against my knuckles before going to his bed.

Oh God.

I'm really not dreaming, am I?

xxx

A/N 

Thoughts?