A Night at the Movies - Jay

The theatre lobby buzzed with chaotic energy, a symphony of sound and motion that filled every corner of the space. Neon lights blinked and shifted overhead, throwing streaks of electric blue, pink, and green across the glossy tiled floor. The sharp ding of arcade machines competed with bursts of laughter, the hum of conversations blending into a cacophony. The smell of popcorn hung heavy in the air, rich and buttery, undercut by the sugary tang of spilled soda and the faint metallic tang from the coin machines at the far end of the room.

Being a deer, I couldn't escape the sheer intensity of it all. Every scent hit me in vivid detail—the sweetness of apple juice being poured at the concession bar, the sharp bite of nacho cheese somewhere nearby, and faint but unmistakable traces of Sam's aftershave lingering in the air. It was fresh and woodsy, and for some reason, it stood out more than anything else, making me acutely aware of just how close he had been earlier.

I stood awkwardly by the ticket counter, trying—and failing—to act like I belonged here. The lobby felt too bright, too loud, and I felt too visible under the shifting neon lights. My hoodie, a comfort in most situations, now felt suffocatingly warm, and I tugged at the sleeves for what had to be the third or fourth time. They clung stubbornly to my wrists, adding to the restless itch building in my legs.

I felt like a fraud, like I'd somehow stumbled into someone else's night out. The same nervous energy that gripped me when Sam first asked me to come still hadn't let go. I didn't even know why I'd said yes. Maybe a part of me had hoped it would be different, but now, as I waited, I braced myself for the inevitable awkwardness when Brad, Kyle, and Ben saw me.

Sam had gone to grab the tickets, leaving me here alone. He'd told me to wait, so I did, though my legs were practically begging me to move. Standing still only made me feel more out of place, like every second was drawing more attention to how much I didn't fit in. I could feel the occasional glance from strangers passing by, their gazes brushing against me before moving on. It wasn't hostile, but it still made my fur prickle.

When Sam finally reappeared, it was like the chaotic noise of the lobby dulled just a little. He had that effect, like he carried some invisible shield of confidence that parted crowds and muffled the world around him. His stride was easy, self-assured, cutting through the throng of people without hesitation. The harsh fluorescent lights seemed to highlight his ginger skin and fur, making him stand out even more. He looked brighter, like he belonged here in a way I never could.

"Got the tickets," he announced, holding them up with a casual grin. His sharp green eyes scanned my face, and the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth grew wider. "You look like you're about to bolt."

"I'm fine," I muttered, though the weak tremor in my voice betrayed me.

Sam tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "It's just a movie, Jay. Nothing to freak out about."

"Yeah. A movie with your friends," I shot back, unable to keep the edge of sarcasm from slipping into my tone. My hands buried themselves deeper into my hoodie pockets as I tried to make myself smaller. "I mean, I'm not exactly part of the football gang," I added. It sounded safer than admitting the truth—that I was bracing myself for the thinly veiled jokes and side glances I knew were coming.

Sam shrugged; his expression as easy-going as ever. "They're harmless. Loud maybe, but harmless. Trust me."

I nodded, though the knot in my stomach didn't ease. I still couldn't figure out how he managed to get me to agree to things like this, things that were so far outside my comfort zone. Maybe it was the way he said things so simply, like there was no reason to worry because he had it all figured out.

"Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the theatre entrance. Without waiting for me to respond, he turned and started weaving through the crowd. I hesitated for only a moment before following, my legs finally moving as I trailed behind him.

He navigated the busy lobby with ease, sidestepping clusters of people and dodging a kid with a precariously full tray of snacks. I stuck close, trying not to bump into anyone as I followed in his wake. My gaze flicked around the room, scanning the sea of faces.

Brad, Kyle, and Ben were standing near the arcade machines, their towering figures impossible to miss. Brad was gesturing animatedly, probably recounting some moment from a football match, his arms slicing through the air as if reenacting a play. Kyle leaned against one of the machines, his face twisted in his usual smirk, while Ben stood a little apart, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.

Even from this distance, I could feel their presence like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon. My steps faltered slightly, but Sam glanced back at me, his easy smile still in place. It was a silent reassurance, a quiet reminder that I wasn't alone in this.

Taking a steadying breath, I kept walking, the knot in my stomach tightening with every step closer.

Sam's friends were clustered near the arcade, gathered around a table where Brad—the football team's resident powerhouse—was in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with some poor fox. The fox, judging by the expression on his face, looked like he deeply regretted ever agreeing to this challenge. Brad's massive bull horns glinted under the harsh neon lights, his broad, muscular frame dwarfing the fox as his deep laugh boomed like distant thunder when he slammed the fox's hand down against the table.

"Dude, you don't stand a chance!" Brad crowed, his grin wide and triumphant, practically splitting his face in two as he leaned back, stretching his arms as if he hadn't just completely dominated the match. The fox's arm lay flat on the table, his face a mask of both embarrassment and exhaustion.

"Yeah, cause you're basically a walking brick wall," Kyle, the otter, snorted from his spot against an air hockey table a few feet away. His slick, dark fur gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and his cocky smirk radiated effortless confidence. His posture screamed "don't mess with me," and the glance he shot in my direction made my insides twist with wariness.

Ben, who seemed to always be in the background, sat on the edge of the table. His focus wasn't on Brad's display of strength, though; instead, he was casually flicking the table hockey puck from one side to the other, lost in his own world. He didn't look up when Sam and I approached, but I could feel the sharpness of his gaze as it slid over to me, assessing, almost like he was sizing me up in the same way someone might glance at a passing car. I could practically hear the thoughts running through his head: What the heck is Jay doing here?

"Sam!" Brad's voice boomed the moment he spotted us. He stood up with a smooth motion that only highlighted his sheer size and muscle. The change in his posture made him even more intimidating in motion, and he clapped Sam on the shoulder with the kind of force that made me wince a little. "About time you showed up!"

Sam grinned, not the least bit phased by Brad's imposing presence. "Wouldn't miss it," he said, slapping Brad's shoulder back, then turning slightly to acknowledge me.

Brad's gaze shifted to me, and for a moment, he seemed to pause, his expression flickering with curiosity, but it was hardly an unfriendly look. "Who's this?" he asked, his voice still booming but softer now.

"This is Jay," Sam said, stepping slightly to the side to give me room to join them.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their collective attention settle on me. I felt small, awkward, and totally out of place. Brad radiated brute strength and confidence, and Kyle oozed that cocky, effortless charm. And then there was me—quiet, self-conscious, and not exactly blending into this group. Just a deer who clearly didn't belong here.

Kyle was the first to speak, of course.

"Jay, huh?" His voice held that familiar taunting edge, and his smirk only deepened as he leaned forward a little, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he could figure me out just by staring me down. "Gay Jay, yeah, I know you! It's an action movie, you know that, right? We're not watching a musical."

My stomach churned, and a heavy weight settled in my chest as the words hit me. My ears burned with humiliation, the way they always did when someone made those kinds of jokes. I froze, unable to think of a response. Kyle's tone was dripping with condescension, as though he'd already decided I wasn't worth his time.

Brad let out a chuckle, but it was more of a low, dismissive sound than genuine amusement. Even Ben looked up from his table hockey, his eyes flickering toward me. His expression remained unreadable, but I could feel his attention on me.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Sam was faster.

"Kyle, knock it off," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip.

Kyle held up his paws, feigning innocence. "What? I'm just joking. Jay knows that," he said with a smirk. Then, without warning, he slung an arm around my shoulders and ruffled my hair with his knuckles. The gesture was meant to be playful, but it stung a little—he wasn't being gentle.

"Yeah, don't," Sam snapped, his tone even sharper this time. I could see the way his jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of irritation flashing in his green eyes. Kyle pulled his arm away immediately, but not without giving Sam a look I hadn't seen before. It was almost... defiant.

"Fine, okay," Kyle sighed dramatically, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He glanced at me with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "So, I hear you're good at Mario Kart," he said, clearly shifting gears. "Who's your favourite character?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling the nerves crawl up my spine. "Yoshi," I said, my voice a little too quiet. "He's underrated, and I think he just looks cool, I guess." Maybe I could find some common ground with him.

"Oh, I thought you'd be more of a Princess Peach kinda guy," Kyle laughed, and I could feel the weight of his words. There was a teasing edge, but also something underneath it. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but it didn't feel friendly.

That made Ben laugh too, though it sounded forced, like he was trying to fit in. Sam, however, shot Kyle a look that immediately shut him up.

"Chill, dude," Kyle said, shaking his head.

"Come on, let's just watch the movie." Sam said in a calming tone.

Kyle threw his hands up, exchanging a quiet laugh with Ben, Brad, on the other hand, pointed toward the bar with a grin. "I'm gonna get some snacks," he said, and without waiting for an answer, he led the way toward the snack counter.

The weight of their collective attention was suffocating, and I wanted nothing more than to disappear, to blend into the walls and fade into the background. But I couldn't. I stood there, feeling small, my paws shifting nervously against the tiles. The sound of them scuffing against the floor seemed impossibly loud, reminding me that I was still standing in the centre of it all.

"You okay?" Sam asked, his voice softer now, a hint of concern threading through it.

"It's fine," I mumbled, my voice barely audible. I wanted to say more, wanted to tell him I was a mess, that I didn't know how to handle being here, but I couldn't. Instead, I tugged at his sleeve, a silent plea to leave—to escape this moment. But I didn't want to look like I was backing out. I didn't want to seem weak.

"Let's just get some snacks and head on in," I said, forcing myself to sound casual, even if my heart was racing.

Sam hesitated, his jaw tight, but after a long moment, he nodded. "Yeah. Ok Let's go."

The theatre was quieter than I expected, but the silence didn't help. If anything, it only made the moment feel heavier, like the air had thickened and settled into my chest. Every sound, no matter how small, seemed amplified in the stillness. The plush seats were worn, their fabric faded in spots from years of use. The air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stifling warmth of the lobby that had clung to me. I chose a seat at the very end of the row, as far from the others as I could get, hoping that the extra space might somehow make me feel less exposed. Maybe if I were further away, I wouldn't have to feel like everyone was looking at me, even though I knew that was probably just in my head.

Sam, thankfully, sat beside me, but he didn't crowd me. His tall frame dominated the armrest between us, but at least he kept a respectful distance, not pressing too close. He glanced over at me, his green eyes soft but full of concern. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of the trailers starting.

"Yeah," I lied again, my voice barely above a whisper. I didn't think he believed me, and I knew I probably sounded like a broken record at this point, but I didn't know what else to say. The silence between us stretched for a moment before he set the box of popcorn into the holder in the armrest, his fingers brushing mine briefly. He placed his drink next to it, settling back in his seat.

I'd told Sam I didn't want any popcorn earlier in the lobby, but now, sitting here, I regretted the decision. It could have been a good distraction, something to focus on besides everything else swirling in my mind. The smell of the salty, buttery snack wafted into my nose, making my stomach rumble.

"You can share my popcorn if you change your mind," Sam offered, his voice kind but casual, as though he was trying to lighten the mood. I appreciated it, but I was a little particular about my snacks. Sam's choice of salted popcorn was bizarre to me, like who takes popcorn and just puts salt on it? It felt all wrong, but the thought of it at least made me smile a little, despite the nerves gnawing at my stomach.

As the trailers rolled, I tried to focus on the screen, to let myself get lost in the action unfolding before me. It was loud, flashy, and ridiculous in a way that almost felt comforting—like it didn't take itself too seriously, which was exactly what I needed. Action films were easy to ignore sometimes, just mindless fun with explosions and fast cars. But no matter how hard I tried to pay attention, my thoughts kept drifting back to Kyle's words. They echoed in my head like a broken record, replaying over and over again, each repetition twisting the knife a little deeper. Kyle didn't even know me, but he'd already decided what I was worth, what I deserved to be treated like.

For a while, the movie did manage to distract me. The chaos on the screen was almost enough to keep my mind from spiralling. But every so often, I heard whispers from further down the row, followed by muffled snickers. My chest tightened each time. My shoulders instinctively hunched, and I found myself trying to make myself smaller, to blend into the seat, like somehow, if I could just disappear, I wouldn't have to face whatever they were saying. I held my breath, hoping the worst of it would pass, but it didn't.

"You're fine," I whispered to myself, the words shaky in my throat. "Just breathe."

But I wasn't fine. Not at all.

By the time the credits started rolling, I felt like I'd been holding my breath for hours. My legs ached from sitting so stiffly, and my throat was dry, too tight to swallow properly. I stood quickly, eager to escape, to get out of this suffocating room, but just as I turned to head for the door, Kyle wasn't done. Of course, he wasn't. He never was.

"So, Jay," Kyle said, sidling up beside me as we filed out into the lobby. His grin was sharp, his teeth showing like he knew exactly where to aim. I felt a sickening knot form in my stomach as he continued, "What's the deal? You fancy Sam or something? You know he's straight, right?"

The words hit like a punch, right in the gut. My chest tightened painfully, and my ears flattened instinctively, like I was trying to make myself smaller, like I could somehow hide. I opened my mouth to respond, to defend myself, but nothing came out. My throat was too tight, my thoughts too scattered to form anything coherent.

"Kyle, shut up," Sam said sharply, his voice suddenly low, firm, and cold enough to make even Brad hesitate. I watched as Sam stepped in between us, his body language demanding the attention, his posture solid and protective.

Kyle held up his hands, still grinning, trying to feign innocence. "What? I'm just asking a question," he said, but his words carried a weight of malice that made my stomach churn.

I couldn't take it anymore. The weight of the stares, the tension hanging in the air, the humiliation—it was all too much. I felt like I was suffocating, like the walls were closing in on me. "I have to go," I said, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

"Jay—" Sam started, his voice soft but desperate, but I couldn't bear to hear it. I cut him off, my words quick and sharp. "Thanks for inviting me," I said, forcing a weak smile, even though I knew it probably didn't reach my eyes. I didn't wait for a response; I turned and walked away, my paws clicking against the tiles as I pushed through the doors and into the cool night air.

I had to fight to keep it together as I walked through the lobby, past the crowd of people milling around, chatting, laughing, seemingly oblivious to the storm inside my head. It took everything I had not to break down right there in front of them. My friends had warned me yesterday at Alex's film night that this was a big mistake. And as much as I hated to admit it, they were right.

I should never have said yes. There was just a part of me that had wanted to fit in, to be seen as part of the group. I'd been so stupid, thinking maybe if they just talked to me, maybe if they just knew me, the bullying would stop. But who was I kidding? It wasn't that easy. I wasn't the kind of guy they wanted to be friends with. I was different, and it seemed like that difference would always be something they couldn't look past.

Everyone said the same thing about Alex when I came out, as if just because I was gay, I fancied every single guy out there. Sure, Sam was good-looking. He was a hot guy, yes, and sure, I could appreciate that. But that didn't mean I was hanging out with him because I wanted something more. Alex was good-looking too, and I could acknowledge that without it meaning anything. We were just friends. And that was enough. But maybe, just maybe, I was the only one who could see that.

Back home in my room, the silence was deafening, a heavy weight that pressed in from all sides. The hum of the world outside seemed a lifetime away as I sat on my bed, surrounded by nothing but my own thoughts. The only light in the room came from my phone, its screen glowing softly in my lap, a tiny lifeline to the outside world.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Sam: Hey. Are you okay?

I stared at the message for what felt like forever, my thumb frozen above the keys. The weight of the night, the lingering tension from the cinema, pressed down on me, suffocating me with every passing second. I had barely gotten a chance to process everything that had happened, and now here Sam was, reaching out, as if everything could just go back to normal.

Finally, I typed back, my fingers stiff and unsteady.

Jay: Yeah. Just needed to leave, sorry.

I hit send and immediately regretted it. My words felt like a lie, a simple brush-off to something far bigger than I was willing to admit. The seconds dragged on. I didn't want him to think I was okay, but I didn't want to unload on him either. What was I supposed to say? That Kyle had ruined everything? That I felt smaller with every passing minute in that theatre? That I was still reeling from the way the world seemed to revolve around one stupid rumour? No, I couldn't say that.

Then, the reply came, almost instantly, breaking through the fog of my mind.

Sam: I'm sorry about Kyle. He's an idiot. He latches onto a rumour, and it becomes his thing.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it almost impossible to breathe. I read his words over and over, letting the sympathy sink in, and for a brief moment, I felt a sliver of relief. But it was fleeting, swallowed by the overwhelming fear of being misunderstood. I had no idea how to explain what I was feeling. I had no idea how to explain me.

My paws trembled as I typed, fighting the instinct to delete my words, to make them perfect, to make them sound less pathetic.

Jay: It's not your fault. I'm used to it.

As soon as I sent it, I regretted it. The weight of those words—"I'm used to it"—felt like a lifetime of hurt, a lifetime of swallowing down pain, of hiding from what I couldn't change. I was tired of being used to it, of pretending that the cruel comments, the snide whispers, the constant judgment didn't get to me. But what was the alternative? To make a scene? To let them see how much it hurt? I couldn't do that.

The dots appeared again, blinking on the screen, and I felt my heart race, the fear of what Sam would say next making my chest tighten. I held my breath, hoping for the right words.

Sam: You shouldn't have to be used to it.

My breath hitched, and I couldn't help it. The words hit me like a punch, but in a good way, in a way that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, things didn't have to be this way forever. Sam's response was simple, but it was enough to make the knot in my stomach loosen a little.

But then I remembered. I remembered the thing I'd been avoiding all night, id not really told Sam had I, I'd not been fully honest with him. I closed my eyes and braced myself, knowing I had to do it. There was no escaping it. Not anymore.

Jay: But I am gay, its not just a rumour.

The dots appeared instantly. My heart was pounding in my chest, my palms clammy as I waited for Sam's response. It felt like an eternity, like I was standing on the edge of something huge, waiting for the world to either come crashing down or offer me a hand. I didn't know which one it would be, but I was afraid of both, why was telling someone you were gay so darn difficult.

Finally, his reply came.

Sam: Okay.

I blinked, unsure if I had read it right. The word was so simple, so nonchalant, and yet it felt like a hundred different things all at once. My chest tightened, the anxiety rising again as I wondered if I had somehow misunderstood. Was that it? Was that all he was going to say? Okay. Like it was no big deal. But why didn't that feel like a relief? Why didn't it feel like I thought it would?

Jay: That's it?

I don't even know why I typed that. It wasn't like I expected fireworks or some grand declaration, but Sam's response had thrown me off. I couldn't tell if I was relieved or disappointed, if I wanted him to make more of it or if I was secretly glad he didn't.

Sam: What do you want me to say? It doesn't change anything. You're still you. And you're still my friend.

I read those words over and over, trying to process them, trying to find the right meaning, but they just hung there in front of me, simple and true. And that's when I realized it. It wasn't about making a big deal out of it. Sam wasn't treating me any differently, and that was the point. He didn't need to say anything else. He didn't need to make it some huge thing. Because to him, I was still just me. The same person he'd been hanging out with. The same person he cared about.

I bit my lip, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I typed a few different versions of a "thanks," but none of them felt right. They all felt awkward, too formal, too stiff. I couldn't get the words to match the way I was feeling. Instead, I curled up on my bed and hugged my blahaj tightly, the familiar comfort of it grounding me in the moment.

I still wasn't sure why it was so difficult to tell someone I was gay. When I came out, I thought that would be it. I thought I would finally be free, that the weight of the secret would disappear and I could just live my life. But instead, it felt like every time I met someone new, I had to say those same words over and over again, afraid of what the other person might say or think about me. It was exhausting, and it made me question myself every time.

Maybe I was just still in shock from Sam's nonchalant response. Maybe it was because I didn't want anyone to make a big deal out of it, but here Sam was, not making anything out of it at all. Maybe that was okay. Maybe it was more than okay. Maybe it was the first real thing I'd felt all night.

By the time I realized this, it was nearly midnight. The night had slipped away, and I knew Sam would most likely be asleep soon. The thought of texting him again, of trying to find the right words when he'd already given me so much to think about, felt strange. So, instead of replying, I decided that was enough for today. Tomorrow would be a new day.