“Hi, honey!How’s school?”
“Hey, Mom.”
Her voice is bright and familiar, and I can hear pots clinking in the background—she’s cooking.My dad’s voice filters faintly through, probably watching the morning news from the table like always.
“It’s fine,” I say, dodging the truth.“Busy.But good.How are you guys?”
“We’re good,” she replies, cheerful.“Your father says hi.”
“Hey, Cam!”Dad’s voice gets louder.“How’s the roommate situation?”
I sigh, glancing up at the sky like it holds the answers.
What am I supposed to say?
That my roommate’s an incredibly attractive, emotionally unavailable jerk who probably thinks queer people are contagious?That I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours and I already feel like I need therapy?
“He’s… fine,” I say carefully.“Keeps to himself.”
“He doesn’t bring home strange girls, does he?”Mom asks, her voice turning suspiciously sharp.“Or throw parties?”
I hesitate.
Honestly, I have no idea what he does when I’m not there—but judging by his vibe?Yeah, hetotallyseems like the type.
“Not yet,” I answer.“But it’s only been a day.”
“Is he…” my dad starts, and I already feel the cringe crawling up my spine, “…homo?”
“Jesus, Dad,” I mutter.“You can’t say that.”
“Say what?”His voice is louder now, indignant, likehe’sthe victim here.
I grit my teeth.“He’s not gay if that’s what you’re asking.He’s a homophobe who made that crystal clear, actually.”
There’s a pause.And then:
“Well, good.That’s a relief,” Dad says, like we’re talking about a dangerous allergy I narrowly avoided.“I can tolerate anything from your roommate—but notthat.You hear me, Cameron?You’re in college now.New chapter.Leave those bad decisions in the past.I don’t want you hanging out with any of those weird kids or going to parties—especially frat parties.Focus on school and make smart choices.No more—”
“I gotta go, Dad,” I cut in, voice flat.“Running late.”
He starts to respond, but I’m already hitting End.
The silence that follows is both a blessing and a curse.My ears are still ringing, not from the call—but from the anger boiling quietly beneath the surface.
“Jesus,” I whisper, stuffing my phone back into my pocket.“Why do I have parents like that?”
They love me.I know that.
But their love feels conditional.Shaped by rules and boundaries I never agreed to.
And the worst part?
Fox Wilder might be rude, reckless, and impossible—but evenhedoesn’t feel as suffocating as they do.
I walk into my first class and am glad I’m early.The professor hasn’t arrived, and neither have many other students.I find a seat near the front and sit down.To avoid talking to anyone and looking awkward, I tap a song on my playlist and pull out my notepad.I hum along as I flip through my textbook.
Someone taps my shoulder, and I look up to see a guy.The first thing I notice is his rainbow earrings and a tight black shirt underneath a black denim jacket.I pull out one earphone.
