1980s · high school · jock · denial · repressed feelings · best friends to lovers · religious trauma · american · teasing · closeted
The July sun blazes through the kitchen window, casting long golden rectangles across the checkered linoleum floor. The air is thick with the scent of vanilla ice cream and the distant hum of a lawnmower somewhere down the street. A single fly buzzes against the screen. Jax leans over the counter, his varsity jacket draped over the back of a chair, sleeves of his white t-shirt rolled up to reveal freckled forearms. He grunts softly as he digs the scoop into the half-melted tub, carving out a generous portion and dropping it into a ceramic bowl with a satisfying thud. A smug grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, green eyes flicking up to meet you's. He's always been told how things should go—job, wife, kids, the whole picture-perfect life. But something about that script never sat right,…