Page 9 of Unbound
I thought about the look on his face in the bathroom—panic, yes, but something else too. Curiosity? Longing? Whatever it was, it wasn't disgust. Not really.
Dawn was breaking by the time I pulled up the pre-law course registry. We were in the same year, which meant we likely shared classes. I scrolled through the junior requirements—Constitutional Law with Professor Okonkwo, Monday and Thursday mornings. Criminal Law with Bautista Tuesday afternoons. Ethics and Judicial Process with Williams on Wednesdays.
I checked my own schedule. Bingo. We shared Okonkwo's class.
I closed my laptop and stretched, a plan forming. Jesse Miller thought he had his life figured out. Jesse Miller thought he knew exactly who he was and what was right. Jesse Miller was about to get the rudest awakening of his sheltered life.
Morning came too quickly. I dragged myself out of bed after two hours of fitful sleep, pulled on a grey Henley and my leather jacket, and headed to the kitchen. Phoenix was already there, hair sticking up in purple spikes, drinking coffee straight from the pot. Elijah sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open, probably working on a psychology paper, square glasses reflecting the screen's glow.
"That's disgusting," I said to Phoenix, grabbing a mug from the drying rack.
"Says the man who looks like he got hit by a truck." Phoenix handed me the pot. "Late night?"
"Research."
"On our little church mouse?" They grinned. "Find anything juicy?"
"His name's Jesse Miller. Pre-law student. Member of Sigma Alpha."
Phoenix whistled. "Sigma? Those guys are practically a cult. All tradition and secret handshakes and 'upholding masculine virtues' or whatever horseshit they're peddling these days."
"Perfect fit for our repressed and closeted friend," I said, pouring coffee into my mug. "We share Constitutional Law this morning."
"Moving fast, aren't we? You've got a month."
"I like to be thorough." I took a long sip, letting the caffeine hit my bloodstream. "Besides, this isn't just about the bet anymore."
Phoenix raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I'm curious," I admitted. "He's living a complete contradiction. Standing outside our bar with hateful signs, then sneaking in to use our bathroom. Being part of a church that thinks we're abominations, but looking at me like..."
"Like he wants to climb you like a tree?"
I laughed. "Not quite that obvious. But something's there, I'm sure of it."
Elijah looked up from his laptop, his expression serious. "Adrian. You know what it's like to live as someone you're not, right?"
The question hit differently coming from him. "This isn't the same thing, Eli."
"Isn't it?" He closed his laptop with a quiet snap. "This kid's been programmed from birth to hate himself. You're treating his identity crisis like it's a game."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Elijah's gaze was steady, unflinching. "What happens when you realize this isn't aboutwinning a bet anymore? What happens to him when you figure out you actually care?"
Phoenix looked between us, their usual chaos energy dampened by the sudden tension. "Shit just got real."
I grabbed my messenger bag from the counter, suddenly eager to escape Elijah's knowing eyes. "I'm going to be late for class."
But his question followed me out the door.
3
JESSE
The weekend passed in a haze of penance and prayer. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him: the easy confidence, the dark knowing eyes, the hint of a smile that was not mocking, but curious. The memory was a sickness in my gut, a forbidden warmth that shame could not entirely extinguish. By Monday morning, I was exhausted.
My alarm went off at six o’clock. I rose and began my routine. My armour against the chaos.
