I'm not obsessing.

     I swear, I'm not. I told Dres I wasn't going to and I meant it. I'm not going to freak out, overthink, analyze, or take apart the date at all.

     I am going with the flow. I'm chilling. I am going to sleep and I'm going to just be fine.

     Except when I wake up, I start replaying everything that happened yesterday. Because, let's just reiterate here, Dres and I went on a second date. It went really well and we made out. A lot. And I liked it. A lot. And after all the kissing and touching and closeness, we went to a diner and shared a plate of fries (which I mostly ate because Dres has a thing about any food that tastes good) and talked.

     It was so easy and normal, like there was never a time where Dres and I didn't know each other. I got to know Dres, like if he does eat fries it's with hot sauce, not ketchup. How weird is that? Also, he plays soccer like for fun, sometimes even joins a pickup game at a field near his house. And he actually watches Game of Thrones. That's the most surprising of them all.

     But I'm not freaking out. Cause I promised Dres I wouldn't. Nope, I am remaining calm. Even though the last thing he said to me while we were both standing outside my front door and he was turning to leave was, "Decide what you want to do this Sunday and let me know."

     I am not focusing on the fact we have another date lined up for Sunday (or that Sundays are basically our days) and I'm definitely not obsessing over what the actual hell I'm supposed to have us do.

     I am the picture of calm. I got this.

      "You're alarmingly quiet this morning," my mom says, stepping out of the bathroom to look at me. I'm staring intensely into my bowl of cereal and telling myself to stop freaking the fuck out. I swear though my lips are still swollen and yet I somehow can't stop thinking about the next time I'll be able to get Dres alone.

     "No more silent than any other morning," I say still focused on my food and the process of eating and the clock on the microwave, too, because all this pensive staring and lack of moving is going to make me late.

     "How was yesterday? You went right to your room when you got home..."

     I've hurt her that I can tell immediately. Not intentionally and not even that noticeably but I know there is the smallest bit of sadness because I didn't climb into bed with her while she watched Real Housewives and delve into all of the details of my date.

     I want to dive into every minuscule detail, and analyze the shit out of it. But I'm trying not to drive myself crazy and if I hash out any of it to my mom I will absolutely start going crazy.

     "It was good, fine, you know," I say with a shrug.

     She raises an eyebrow, her arms stretched above her head as she curls her hair. I still, to this day, do not understand why she does that when she always comes home with it in a bun.

     "Uh huh," she says. "That's all you're gonna give me?" I nod because yeah, pretty much. "What did you guys do?"

     "Hike."

     "And?"

     "And?" I repeat.

     She makes a face before pressing further. "I'm asking for some details, Calvin."

     I think about Dres's nipples, namely his piercings, and the sound he made when I twisted them. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and I feel the faintest tingling in my groin.

     I clear my throat, averting my gaze so I don't (ever) associate hot Dres make-outs with my mom. "There really isn't much to say. We hiked and we talked. It was a second date, no huge milestones took place." I take a deep breath and then go, "I will absolutely tell you when, if, a milestone takes place, okay?"

     "Okay," she says stepping back plaintively.

     "Okay," I say with huff, going to set my bowl in the sink. I rectify myself quickly, rinsing it before putting it in the dishwasher.

      Not a moment later my mom says, "You're strung very tight for someone who had a good, fine, date."

      I groan. "Mommmmmmm." She really needs to drop this.

     "I'm just saying," she says.

     "Don't just say." I grab my bags and head her way through the hallway. She's in my path so I can't get by. I stand and wait for her final remarks.

     But then I decide to conclude with, "Look, I'm trying not to do the thing where I freak out over every minute detail. And, unfortunately, I apparently only live in extremes so either I tell you nothing or I burst into a critical analysis of everything."

      She laughs and goes, "A critical analysis?"

     "Yes, mom. I'm going to start right at the beginning, too and figure out every single move I made that lead to me earning a date with Dres."

     Something I say doesn't bode well with her and her face drops slightly. She reaches over and touches my arm softly. "Calvin," she says with a sigh. "Earned a date? You didn't have to earn it. Don't sell yourself short."

     "You're supposed to say that, you're my mom," I say with a grin. "You're a biased opinion."

     "I really mean it. You deserve someone who'll give you the world, okay? You deserve that much."

     I almost say something stupid like 'Dres is my world, I don't need him to give it to me' but that is too much of an admission this early in the morning. Instead, I opt for, "Thanks mom."

     She lets me go with a look that tells me I'll be hearing more of this at another time. Moms are like that. They pick a thing and then they have to hammer it in as if once isn't going to get their point across.

     Even though I hate my team (and they hate me) swim is exactly what I need to help ground me. It relaxes me and relieves most of my anxious tension. Swimming is a constant in my life where everything else seems to be changing. Unfortunately, part of that consistency extends to my teammates, who remain homophobic douches, and my coach, who is still painfully oblivious to it all.

     It's not all that unusual that they give me shit in the locker rooms after practice. Nor is it surprising that as we're leaving school they slam the door while I'm behind them and clock me in the face with it, hard. Because they are douches, and these are douchey things to do.

     I think the only thing I don't expect in this situation is for my nose to bleed as much as it does. And I don't even have time to go back inside the school and assess the damage or I'll be late for work. So I tip my head back and rush for my car.

     When I get there, have the door unlocked and am buckling myself in, I've got blood dripping all down my face into the neckline of my shirt. I'm not even prone to nosebleeds that's what makes this so unusual. The only thing I can think is this has to do with my having my nose broken just a week ago.

     I pinch my shirt, and hold it up to my nose while I drive but that proves to be extremely ineffective and by the time I'm parked outside Private Weston, I look like an extra for the Red Wedding.

     Luckily for me, Dres and Dolores are nowhere in sight when I go inside. I rush for the bathrooms hoping to pass unnoticed but Dolores is stepping out of her office just as I get there.

     She smiles at me, a greeting coming past her lips but I duck my head, saying, "Sorry Dolores, can't talk!" as I slip inside the bathroom. I can taste the blood in my mouth and one glance in the mirror confirms that I am a mess. I turn the tap on, pull my shirt over my head, and throw it into the sink.

     My nose is still bleeding so I grab a wad of paper towels, press them to my face, and tip my head back in hopes of controlling this shit.

     "This is so dumb," I mumble after a moment as I check to see that I am – yep, still bleeding. I am a sight, with dried blood all down my neck and chest. I apply pressure to my nose thinking come on, come on, stop bleeding because Dolores is going to tell Dres she saw me and he is going to start to wonder why I'm not on shift soon.

     The bathroom door swings open, much like the way the one that hit me earlier did, and I'm thinking why didn't I lock that as I say, "Hey! It's occupied."

     But it's Dres who walks in, looks at me for nothing longer than a second, before he crowds my space, warm hands tipping my head up to look at him. He gets so close that I'm sandwiched between the sink and him and now all I can think about is kissing him.

     Which I'm not going to do because I've got blood all over my face, and also he looks like he's ready to rip someone apart with, like, his teeth.

     I rest my hand on his forearm saying, quickly, "I'm fine, it's fine, I'm fine."

     He doesn't move, and his expression doesn't change. It's like he's not hearing me at all. I lift the towels off my face, try not to be disgusted with how saturated they are, and say, "Look, it's not even bleeding anymore. I'm fine."

     "Calvin," is all he says, so serious and tight.

     "It's not what you're thinking," I say. He clenches his jaw. "Okay, it might be sort of what you're thinking? Look they didn't punch me in the face, okay? It was the door. And, honestly, if I'd been paying attention it never would've hit me."

     "Don't make excuses for them."

     I know Dres is serious about this, like really serious, like my mom level serious so I don't try to damage control the situation. "You're right," I say. "I'm sorry."

     "This is getting out of hand," he says next, finally letting go of my face to drop his hands to his sides. He kind of does it like he forgot his hands were apart of him, or that my face between them wasn't.

     "It's not that bad. And that's not me making excuses. It really is just a bloody nose. No broken bones."

     "No broken bones this time."

     "Oh, come on, they're not that dangerous."

     "You don't know that."

      I sigh. "There's really nothing I can do about it, Dres. If I go to our principal, she'll call my mom about it. And my mom will pull me out of school. I can't transfer to another school if I'm going to have any chance of getting a swim scholarship for next year."

     There's nothing but silence, and Dres staring at me. That combination is killer because I definitely can't focus on the silence but I can focus on Dres staring at me, and I do.

     Dres moves unexpectedly, reaching for some paper towels from the dispenser. Then he's back in my space, stepping close enough to reach around me and put the towels under the running sink. I swallow, and try to ignore how close my bare chest is to his clothed one.

     When they're sufficiently wet, he leans back and tips my chin upwards. "You don't –," I start to say but he's already dabbing at my face and this is too fucking much for me. I don't stop him, though, because I'm a masochist first.

     I focus on my mantra instead. I will not freak out. I will not lose my mind.

     "Why don't you hit them back?" Dres asks quietly. I shrug, because I can't explain this to Dres. Not now, maybe not ever. "I'm not...encouraging violence, but you should defend yourself. You can defend yourself."

     "They outnumber me," I tell him honestly.

     "If they didn't?" he asks, pausing in his bathing of my face to really look at me. I shake my head slowly, because he knows that I wouldn't. Somehow, he's figured this out about me. He doesn't know why, though. And that's what matters most.

     "Let me talk to them," he says quickly.

     I shake my head again. "No, no I don't want you to do that."

     "You said so yourself, there's nothing you can do about it. But I can do something. Let me."

     I play that scenario in my head. Dres showing up after my meet tonight, confronting all of them, how that conversation would go. It doesn't really matter what he'd say to them, no I'm more concerned what they'd tell him. About the things I did, about who I was before. And I can't have that.

     "No, Dres. No. Just, god, leave it alone, okay?"

     He's stunned at first, staring at me like I am suddenly someone unrecognizable, and then he goes, "What aren't you telling me?

     I hate that he knows me this well, that he can read me the way he does. I turn away from him, grabbing my shirt out of the sink and wringing it out. I've still got blood all over me,.

     Dres finds my gaze in the mirror. "You can tell me," he says softly. "Whatever it is."

     I turn the tap back on, and cup a handful of water before bringing it to my face, and rinsing the rest of the blood off. I make a shoddy attempt at wiping down my neck and part of my chest. "Can you drop this? Otherwise, I'm going to walk out and start my shift."

     Dres really gives nothing away most of the time. Most of the time like right now, as he stares at me, and we feel more like strangers than we have in a long time. "Fine," I say brushing past him. I go to grab another work shirt from the employee room, and then I clock in. Dres is in the kitchen for the whole of my shift, and Dolores doesn't say anything but I know she can tell something is up.

     The rest of my day is a sulk fest and I draft several apology texts to Dres but send none of them.