SEPTEMBER PASSES QUICKLY, AND Owen finds that they’re getting close. At least he thinks they’re getting closer. Sadness washes over him whenever he thinks about Park's eventual departure. Despite the opportunity of a budding friendship, all Owen is doing is pining in close proximity. 

There’s little he can do about Park’s disinterest in him. He’d always thought he had a normal higher than average luck but how lucky can he think he is when the person he’s crushing him doesn’t see him that way? And will be leaving before he can spell Mississippi.

“Oh, my God,” Laurel draws out, “Your sad face is killing me here. Just tell Parkinson you’re gay.”

At the start of lunch, it’s a rare change that only he and Laurel are the only two at the table. She’s rolling her eyes at him and mocking his pitiful expression, big blue eyes seeing right through him.

“What? No way.”

“Yes. How will he know you’re available if he doesn’t know you are? Tell him you’re gay and hey, you’ll be killing two birds with one stone if he’s, you know….” she shrugs

“Homophobic?” he completes grimly

“Yeah. I know you don’t want him to be but you have to know.”

Owen will definitely like to be kept in the dark if that’s the case. It will absolutely crush him. But hey, silver lining and all that: Park’s bigotry will make Owen get over him fast. Still. 

“There are some days you make sense.”

“I make sense every day,” Laurel preens. “Besides, what if Park isn’t gay?, You’ll know not to waste time.”

Owen groans. “Stop making sense.”

********

Park is dealing with his own set of problems. Distracted and nursing an upset stomach, he curse Oyin for giving him that third grape juice. To make matters worse, he just received an email from Honors Gate informing him of a mix-up with submission dates. His essay is now due on the 23rd, not the 28th as he’d previously thought.

“Great. Just great,” he mutters to himself. Another task to add to his already towering pile of essays, analyses, practicals, and a German journalistic report he has to translate. He doesn’t have time for an upset stomach.

Park speed-walks down the halls, intent on finding Owen to tell him they need to reduce their usual two-hour study session to one. As if summoned by his thoughts, Owen appears, waves and jogs down to meet him.

“Hey. How’s it going?” Owen greets, a hint of nervousness in his voice that Park fails to notice.

“Good.”

“Still not letting me give you a ride?” Owen offers.

“No. God no.” Park shuddrs at the thought of Owen’s jam-packed and possibly filthy car backseat —the last thing his sensitive stomach needs right now.

There’s a brief pause, the sounds only the squeaking of their shoes on the otherwise questionably dirty floor the janitors are impatiently waiting to clean that the lively students around them pretend not to notice. Lively and energetic frolicking to the after school activities they actually like and look forward to.

Good for them, Park scowls in jealousy. Bet they’re not battling a bad decision aftermath.

“Do you know I’m gay?”

Park falters, caught off guard by the non sequitur. What kind of conversation starter is that? he thinks, picking up the pace.

“I wanted to tell you but I don’t know if… Park.”

“What?” he snaps, harsher than he intends but his stomach is making him irritable.

“Can you slow down?”

“Can’t talk while you walk?”

“This is a pretty heavy topic.”

“How so?” he asks, half listening.

“I am gay.” Owen repeats, firmly this time.

“I heard you. Want me to give you a rainbow?” his sarcasm is automatic and unwelcome as his mind conjures the image of a rainbow smoothie: too much sugar, so much sweetness. Ew. His stomach churns. Oh, God. Does he need to take a dump?

Oblivious and quite frankly, healthy in Park’s opinion, Owen jumps in front of him forcing him to stop.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think about your gayness?” 

“Gay in general. You’re okay with it?”

 “I don’t care,” he states, more focused on controlling his rebellious digestive system than Owen’s revelation.

“Really?” Owen pressed, a tinge of relief and lingering uncertainty.

“Yes.” 

“But are you okay with it?” Owen persists for clarification, sliding next to Park so they resume walking. “With me liking boys?” 

“You could like a toad for all I care,” Park replies, his stomach gurgles in discomfort as if agreeing with him.

“Okay.” Finally satisfied, Owen lets it go.

They walk in comfortable silence, Park breathing through his mouth like a pregnant woman dealing with contracts. It turns out, mindful breathing is bullshit. Not at all what it’s cracked up to be.

Because as soon as the halls quietens, the students petering to a few numbers, noise behind shut doors, his body seizes the opportunity to release a loud, ten seconds, liquidy fart.

Mortification is an understatement. He wishes the ground to open up, swallow him and spit him out to three hours ago before he blindly accepted poison from his best friend.

He braves a look at Owen. The redhead is struggling to hold back his laugh. 

“I’ll wait for you in the car.” Owen says before walking away, his hearty laughter bursts, echoing down the hall.

Park’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. Either for his ill-timed gastric distress or the fact that it had completely overshadowed Owen coming out. His body has betrayed him in the worst possible moment possible, at a time that should’ve been Owen’s significant moment. Whoever said self-awareness is freeing hadn’t obviously meant his —ha!— comedic flatulence.

Taking a deep breath, Park heads for the nearest bathroom, leaving deep thoughtful reflections for a less…windy time. Whatever higher powers that be, thanks a bunch. What a wonderful humiliating day. 

At least on the bright side, his brain supplies, you aren’t thinking about homework deadlines anymore. Try not to kick a horse in its mouth.

Gee, thanks. What a pleasant alternative.