Questions I Can't Answer - Sam

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared blankly at the darkened screen of my laptop, my heart pounding as if it were trying to escape my chest. The quiet hum of the room around me felt deafening, the faint glow of my desk lamp casting soft shadows across the walls, but the air was heavy—too heavy. I rubbed the back of my neck, my fingers tracing the tension building there, as my thoughts circled around one moment, refusing to let go.

The moment on the couch with Jay.

I'd pinned him down, laughing, teasing, my chest still heaving from the playful struggle. And then we'd frozen. His face was so close, his wide brown eyes locked on mine, and suddenly the laughter had drained from the room, replaced by something heavier, more intense. My pulse had quickened for a reason I didn't want to acknowledge at the time. All I could think about now was that split second, the way his breath hitched, the warmth radiating from his fur, and the way time itself seemed to slow. I'd wondered—no, I'd wanted to know—what it would feel like to kiss him.

I exhaled sharply, leaning back against the headboard as frustration bubbled up inside me. Why couldn't I stop replaying it? I wasn't supposed to think about things like this. Jay was a guy I wasn't supposed to feel like this about another guy, he was just a friend—a good friend. He was kind, funny, real. Someone who didn't fake things or try to impress people. But the more I thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the electricity in every accidental brush of our arms, the ease with which he made me laugh, the way I'd catch myself watching him when I thought he wasn't looking.

And now, this question—this damn question—gnawing at me relentlessly.

Am I gay?

The words echoed in my mind, unfamiliar and sharp, making my stomach twist. Admitting it, even in the quiet solitude of my room, felt dangerous, like stepping onto a cliff's edge and staring down into the unknown. But I couldn't shake it. I needed... something. Clarity. A sign. Anything to make sense of what I was feeling.

Before I could stop myself, I reached for my laptop, its screen glowing to life as I opened a browser. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my breath shallow. Then, in a burst of desperation, I typed: am I gay?

The search results flooded in—articles, forums, quizzes. The sheer volume of information felt overwhelming, but I clicked on the first link, my eyes scanning the page as my heart raced.

"Being attracted to someone of the same gender can happen gradually or all at once. It's okay to feel confused. What's important is being honest with yourself."

Honest with myself. Right. As if it were that simple. My eyes darted over the words, drinking them in while my chest tightened. I clicked through to another article, reading snippets of personal stories. Some sounded eerily familiar—confusion, fear, uncertainty—but none of them offered the clear answers I was so desperate to find.

I closed the laptop with a sharp snap, pressing the heels of my paws against my eyes. It didn't help. If anything, the articles only made me feel more tangled. My thoughts kept returning to Jay—his shy smile, the way he laughed when I teased him, the warmth of his presence that seemed to settle into my chest and stay there. And then that look we shared on the couch.

A surge of emotion swept over me, and I grabbed my phone without thinking. My fingers navigated to Instagram as if by instinct, and soon enough, I was scrolling through Jay's profile. Each photo felt like a window into his world—a world I'd only begun to know. There were pictures of him with his friends, snapshots with his sister, and short videos of him playing the piano. The way his fingers moved across the keys in one of the clips was mesmerizing, his concentration broken only by a sheepish grin at the camera when he messed up.

I lingered on one particular photo: Jay sitting on a couch with his friends, his hair messy, his eyes tired but sparkling with a quiet kind of happiness. The room looked cozy, blankets strewn across the floor like they'd just had a sleepover. Jay was in the middle of it all, his presence grounding yet effortless. He looked so real, so... himself. It was the kind of authenticity I couldn't stop thinking about.

And then, there it was again—the thought. It crept in, forbidden but undeniable. What would it feel like to kiss him?

Heat flushed my face, and I dropped my phone onto the bed as if it had burned me. My fingers curled into the blanket as the image lingered in my mind. I could almost feel it—the softness of his fur, the warmth of his breath, the weight of his gaze. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, each beat echoing the question I was too afraid to answer.

What would it feel like to kiss him? Would he kiss me back? Would it change everything?

I didn't know. And that not knowing—that fragile, terrifying possibility—was both exhilarating and overwhelming. It left me sitting there in the dim light of my room, staring at the ceiling as my thoughts spiraled further. What was wrong with me? Or maybe the better question was, what if nothing was wrong at all?

By the time Wednesday rolled around, my nerves were completely frayed. The last two days had been a whirlwind of confusion and restlessness. I'd spent every spare moment trying not to think about that night, trying to push the memory of Jay—his warm laugh, his fur brushing against mine, and the charged moment on the couch—out of my head. But it was impossible. Math class on Monday had only made it worse. Sitting beside him while he absentmindedly twirled a pencil, his focus on the equations in front of him, I'd felt my stomach flip every time he glanced my way. Every fleeting smile or quiet word from him had sent my mind spiralling back to that moment on the couch.

And now tonight was Tara's birthday. Jay had invited me along to meet his friends—a thought that both excited and terrified me. Would they like me? Would they know? My friends sure hadn't made the best impression on Jay. What if I didn't measure up to the people who already knew him so well?

I stood in front of my mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I'd gone through three different outfits before landing on something simple: jeans and a clean white tee. Casual but not too casual. I wanted to look good, but not like I was trying too hard. The reflection staring back at me didn't look as confident as I hoped. I ran a hand through my hair one last time and grabbed my keys before heading out the door.

The bowling alley was alive with energy when I arrived. Neon lights flickered against the polished floors, reflecting off the rows of colourful bowling balls. The sound of pins crashing mingled with bursts of laughter, and the faint smell of pizza filled the air. It was chaotic but oddly comforting, a buzzing hive of people enjoying themselves.

I spotted Jay almost immediately. He was standing near a set of booths with a small group of people, his laugh ringing out above the noise. When he noticed me, he waved me over, his smile bright and genuine. For a moment, the tension in my chest eased.

"Sam! You made it," he called out, his voice warm and welcoming.

"Course I did" I replied, trying to match his enthusiasm as I approached.

Jay introduced me to his friends one by one. There was Alex, a loud and confident tiger whose grin was as sharp as his humour; Morgan, a quiet but observant wolf who seemed to watch everything with calm, knowing eyes; Eli, a sleek cheetah with an easy-going vibe; and Tara, the birthday hawk, whose energy was infectious.

"Happy birthday," I said to Tara, offering her a small smile.

"Thanks!" she said cheerfully. "Glad you could join us. Jay's been hyping you up."

Jay groaned, rolling his eyes. "I have not been hyping him up."

Alex leaned closer with a teasing smirk. "Oh, you totally have. 'Sam this, Sam that.' You'd think you were best friends already."

"Alex," Morgan said in a low, scolding tone, though there was no edge to it.

"What?" Alex shrugged. "Just making conversation."

Jay's ears turned a little red, and I found myself smiling despite the awkwardness.

"He's been beating me at Mario Kart, if that counts," I offered, trying to ease the tension.

Alex burst out laughing. "Oh, he's good at that. You don't stand a chance."

As the others joined in, trading playful jabs and stories about Jay, I found myself relaxing. They weren't like my friends at all. Their teasing was light, filled with affection rather than malice, and every story they shared painted a vivid picture of who Jay was to them. Watching them interact, I realized how much they truly cared about him. It wasn't just friendship—it was something deeper, something closer to family.

We grabbed burgers and fries and ate at one of the booths, the conversation flowing naturally. I was surprised by how easy it was to talk with them. Alex was the loudest, firing off questions about me, my interests, and—awkwardly—about my friends Kyle and Ben.

"So," Alex said, his grin widening as he leaned over the table. "What's the deal with them? They always that charming, or was the cinema a special occasion?"

I froze for a second, the memory of that night flashing back. I wasn't proud to call Kyle and Ben my friends, not after how they'd treated Jay. My stomach tightened, but before I could respond, Alex seemed to sense my discomfort and quickly shifted gears.

"Anyway, what's it like being a football and swim star? I bet you've got all kinds of cool stories," Alex said, clearly trying to steer the conversation somewhere lighter.

I shot him a grateful look before answering, but the shame lingered. These people were so different from my own friends. They welcomed me into their group without hesitation, without judgment. Meanwhile, Kyle and Ben hadn't even tried to get to know Jay before making fun of him.

I shared some of the silly stories from football, they didn't feel as close as anything Jays friends had but the group still erupted into laughter, but even as I laughed along, a strange pang settled in my chest. Admiration? Jealousy? I wasn't sure.

These people knew Jay inside and out. They accepted him completely, loved him for exactly who he was. It was hard not to compare them to my own friends, whose thoughtless teasing still made my stomach churn. The shame crept back in as I realized how much I wanted to be part of Jay's world—and how far my own felt from it.

After dinner, we moved to the lanes, putting our names into the console and deciding which order we should play in, "Think you can beat me?" Jay teased, nudging me with his shoulder as we set up the game.

"Obviously," I shot back, matching his grin.

The game wasn't particularly competitive—no one was keeping score in the traditional sense—but it was easily the most fun I'd had in ages. Jay had this effortless way of turning anything into a joke, his playful streak impossible to resist. Someone suggested we scrap the regular scoring system and create a new one, awarding points for "style." Before long, the group decided that every bowler had to perform a silly walk on their approach to the lane.

Morgan went first, doing a slow, exaggerated tiptoe like she was sneaking up on the pins. She missed completely, but the group's laughter filled the space, echoing off the walls. Tara followed with an elaborate flapping motion, almost like she was about to take flight. She managed to hit two pins, which earned her a round of cheers.

When it was Jay's turn, he strutted up the lane like a runway model, tossing an overdramatic wink back at the group before releasing the ball. Somehow, it ended up being a perfect strike. He turned to us with a triumphant smirk, his eyes sparkling under the neon lights.

"Pure skill," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal, around his friends Jay was this confident deer full of life, a complete contrast to the shy deer wanting the ground to swallow him up in college.

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're unbelievable."

"Your turn, shark boy," he teased, gesturing for me to take my shot.

I tried to come up with something funny—an awkward robot walk—and while it didn't earn me a strike, the group's laughter felt like its own kind of victory. It was strange, being able to let loose like this. Around my usual friends, I was always careful about how I acted, never wanting to seem too weird or too different. But here, with Jay and his friends, none of that mattered.

By the second round, I felt more at ease, even daring to try a dramatic moonwalk. It felt ridiculous, but the roar of laughter that followed made the slight embarrassment worth it. Jay clapped me on the back as I returned to the group, his smile wide and genuine.

The night continued into the arcade. The bowling alleys neon lights carried over, bathing the room in electric blues, greens, and pinks. The hum of old machines filled the air, punctuated by bursts of sound effects and the occasional shout of victory from nearby players. The lighting was dim and atmospheric, making the arcade feel almost otherworldly—a place where time didn't matter.

Jay and I naturally drifted away from the others, who had gravitated toward the air hockey tables and pool games. As we wandered through the maze of machines, Jay's attention was caught by a claw machine filled with plush toys.

"Think we could win that?" he asked, pointing to a plush orca trapped under a mountain of colourful animals, "I've been trying every time we come here but I've so far been unsuccessful" he smiles

"These things are rigged, you know." I said, smirking.

"Sure they are, but one day I might get lucky I guess".

Jay put in a coin which gave him two goes, the grabber made contact both times its fingers aligning with the soft toy perfectly but each time it released it from the claws grip teasing us.

undeterred, I slipped some of my own coins into the machine, setting myself a limit of £5. The first attempt was a disaster—the claw barely grazed the orca before clamping down on empty air. Jay laughed, leaning close to the glass as he gave me tips.

"You've gotta go a little to the left. No, your other left," he teased.

"You want to try?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Not a chance. This is way more fun to watch."

It took a few tries—and more concentration than I cared to admit—but I eventually managed to hook the claw around the orca. The claw trembled as it lifted the toy, holding it precariously. Both Jay and I held our breaths as it made its slow, suspenseful journey toward the prize chute.

"Come on, come on," Jay murmured, his voice rising with excitement, I was expecting the orca to fall back into the machine at any moment, I'd never won on one of these machines ever

When the orca finally dropped into the chute, we both erupted in cheers, laughing so hard I nearly tripped over myself trying to retrieve the prize.

"Here," I said, holding it out to him with a mock-serious expression. But just as he reached for it, I pulled it back.

"Hey!" he protested, laughing as he lunged for it.

We ended up in a playful tug-of-war, the plush toy caught between us. It was all fun and games until we stumbled against the glass of the claw machine, our laughter fading as we realized just how close we were.

It was like the moment on the couch all over again. My heart pounded as we froze, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. Jay's expression softened, his eyes searching mine, and before I could think or second-guess, our lips touched in a kiss.

It happened so quickly I couldn't tell who moved first. His lips were warm and soft, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world disappeared. There were no sounds, no neon lights—just him. My heart raced, the sensation overwhelming but perfect. I kissed him back, feeling everything I hadn't let myself feel before, every unspoken thought and buried emotion rushing to the surface.

But then the weight of it hit me. The reality. The consequences.

I pulled back abruptly, stepping away like I'd been burned. "I—I have to go," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush.

"Sam—" Jay started, his voice full of concern, but I couldn't look at him.

"Sorry," I mumbled, turning and weaving through the arcade before he could stop me.

The cool night air outside hit me like a slap, sharp and sobering, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in my head. My pulse was still racing, my lips still tingling from the kiss. I didn't know what I was feeling—elation, terror, confusion—but one thing was clear: that kiss was everything I had wanted.

And that terrified me.