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He’d never spoken to Dustin about it before, but he must have known the situation by now. Bren had been gone almost four months.

A.J. tapped Dustin’s drum kit with the back of his hand, scrolling through the list for their next song. He got as far as ruling out a repeat performance of Radiohead’s Creep when Dustin cleared his throat.

“So, do you know who you’re taking to grad then?”

A.J. didn’t want to pay attention to the knife in his heart at the reminder that he’d gone from matching suits with Bren to the supremely platonic three Musketeers. “Why? Is this your way of asking me to go with you?”

At least Bren could be here in spirit if nothing else.

“Hey, bro, you’d be lucky to have me,” Dustin said, tapping the drum kit so the next song started and he had to rush to pause it.

“I’m guessing you’ve got a date lined up?”

Given the slew of girlfriends that had clung to Dustin’s arm over the last four years, A.J. didn’t have a clue which one of them might get the honor.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, glancing at the drumstick he was still fidgeting with. “I actually wanted your advice on that.”

Maybe he’d been pulling off the whole Bren imitation better than he’d thought if Dustin was coming to him with something like this. “You’ve seen me around people, right?”

“You landed Bren, didn’t you?”

The truth of the matter had always felt like they’d crashed into each other and Bren had decided that the wreckage was something he wanted to hang on to. A.J. flopped onto the couch like he was settling in for a story. “What’s up?”

Dustin did a passable impression of a goldfish, then got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head like it was his first day having them.

“So, I know who I wanna ask but they’re—” It looked like he’d noticed his weird yoga demonstration and let his arms fall to his side with a laugh. “They’re from Central and—I dunno. I guess I’m worried people are gonna talk and stuff.”

A slew of memories surfaced: Dustin showing off in front of his Central friends, always in that theatrical way that could be written off as just messing around if anyone accused him of actual flirtation. He didn’t know if there was a word for it, but he thought Schrödinger would approve.

“And you’re worried Brooke is going to break your heart like back in grade five?” A.J. asked when it became apparent Dustin was done.

Dustin laughed and made to stretch his arms again but caught himself, shifting his weight around on his legs instead. “She’s out of my league, bro.”

“Alright, help me out. You’ve dated a lot of people I barely know.”

Dustin’s laughter was strained and his hand balled at his side. “Yeah, so, it’s, uh, actually someone you know.”

Their eyes met long enough for A.J. to catch the flicker of something he knew so well it was practically an old friend.

Dustin paced the limited space in the basement with his shoulders hunched and his head down. A.J. had never been in a locker room before the big game, but it was possible this is what jocks did to psych themselves up. Revving up their engines.

He should get up and put a hand on his shoulder or something. That was a thing people did in situations like this, right? Share the nerves? But maybe he needed space. What could a touch and a few awkward words accomplish in the end?

Their stalemate solidified as the seconds stretched into minutes, Dustin pacing in his jerky, disjointed way, and A.J. frozen to the couch while he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say.

“Dustin, it’s OK if you don’t—”

“Suveer!” Dustin blurted, his feet planted against the ground like he thought he was about to be tackled. “It’s fucking Suveer. I like—I mean—” He took a long, rattling breath that seemed to travel through his shoulders and out through the tips of his fingers. “I’m gay.” It came out rushed like it would be less offensive if there wasn’t space between the words. Then he laughed, clipped and frantic as his hand came to grind against the left side of his face like he was trying to slough it off.

“Dustin, it’s—”

“I’m fucking gay, bro!” Dustin laughed again, less choked but distinctly more manic now as he shook with the force of his own revelation.

Sitting down didn’t seem like an option anymore as Dustin rubbed at his eye and laughed like the Joker. A.J. unstuck his feet and before he had a chance to second-guess whether it was the right call, he wrapped his arms around Dustin.

He bristled from head to toe, then went rigid in A.J.’s arms, save for his heaving chest. Then, right as A.J. had convinced himself he was the biggest creep on the planet, Dustin’s arms wrapped around him.

“This is p-pretty gay, bro,” Dustin said, the catch in his voice unmistakable despite the laugh.