Izzy and the Right Answer

by R. Cooper

  Maybe Ronnie was too.

  “Izzy,” he lowered his voice even more. “It was a dream to fall asleep while you loved me, you know? And I didn’t want to wake up to it not being true. I mean,” he went on quickly when Iz startled, “all I could think was that if I left before you could wake up, it could go on for a while. Pathetic, right?”

  Iz shook his head to refute that idea, although he was confused about the rest. “You wanted it to go on?”

  Ronnie chuffed a laugh and returned to staring at the floor. “Anyway. You said you trusted me, and you needed time to think, so I gave you that. But if you aren’t sleeping, maybe you’ve had too much thinking.”

  “I am working on the problem.” Iz pronounced each word carefully. “People require space, even me. So that is happening. Space. A lot of it. Even in here.” He tapped his chest. “If you had stayed, I wouldn’t have had the sense to know that yet, much less tell you in a concise and clear fashion. It’s probably for the best that you didn’t. But—nothing went away, Ronnie. I know—I know—you don’t return these awkward feelings. But you should know they exist. Both of you. Because you both seem to think it’s impossible that anyone could, and yet here I am, pining. That’s the word. What a ridiculous word. A punishment no one deserves.”

  Ronnie exhaled harshly, then was silent. He clenched and unclenched his hands. “You talked to him?” he asked.

  It had never occurred to Iz that it would be terrible to say what was on his mind—in his heart—and then wait for a response that never came. Rocco had at least acknowledged it by denying it.

  Iz blinked away a sting but his eyes stayed dry. “Yes, I did.” His answer was delayed but Ronnie didn’t comment on that either. Iz cleared his throat to keep his voice from cracking again. “He is a fortress, as you said. He took some damage, but he’s still standing, or whatever metaphor applies to forts. It took a lot to get him to believe me.”

  “You told him again?” Ronnie demanded, loud enough to have someone glance their way.

  Iz nodded slowly. “Yes. I had to. How else is he ever going to believe it when someone else tells him that?”

  Ronnie looked at Iz without turning to face him. “What did he do?” He swept his gaze over Iz’s face. “Did he kiss you?”

  “Why would he?” Iz paused in total surprise. “He doesn’t like me. We’ve been over this, Ronnie. I wish you’d stop making me say it. Hearing the truth does not help with my feelings, it only makes them sharper.”

  “Sorry,” Ronnie whispered, although his tone was off. “But you told him. I don’t understand.”

  “I told him. I’ve told you.” Iz pushed at a cuticle then caught himself and stopped. “There’s nothing else to be done. For me, anyway. Not for you.”

  Ronnie jolted. His eyes flew up from Iz’s pursed lips. “What? Izzy—” He tossed his head. “You’re hinting at something.”

  Iz shifted to consider the arm of the couch that had been his pillow. “He likes you.” Iz pronounced this carefully too. “Rocco. He’s protective of you and a little possessive, I think, although he didn’t say so directly. It was more like… he places words around things. Makes voids. Maybe to keep the focus on him and not the thing he’s worried about. Have you ever watched him in a bout? It must be something. He does not like to show weakness. Anyway, he mentions the things you want, the people you could belong to. Voids, you see. Roughly Ronnie-shaped ones.”

  He couldn’t tell what Ronnie was doing, what face he made. “You talked to him about me? While telling him you love him?”

  Not seeing Ronnie was distracting. Iz turned back. “Of course I did,” he said, still quiet. Ronnie was frozen, eyes wide and liquid. Iz smiled. “Although, I said ‘like’ to Rocco. I’ve found that people react unpredictably to the word ‘love.’ But yes. I talked about you with him because I believe you—that you both have feelings for each other. Romantic ones, along with friendship. Which might make it all easier. You want each other, and you’re both stubborn and kind, and you can run together… actually, there are too many reasons why to list right now.”

  “Holy shit,” Ronnie said, not quietly. “Holy fucking shit.” He was shushed, and lowered his voice without looking around or apologizing. “To be clear. Just—to be clear—you announced your feelings for both of us. To him. And then… you left? You left him standing there?”

  “Your tone says I did something wrong.” Iz splayed one hand in a helpless gesture. “It’s tiring, sometimes. I am tired of never understanding what everyone else knows. Of not being normal.” He jabbed a fingernail beneath the layers of green polish and peeled away a flake of color. “If I felt things like other people, this would never have happened. And even if it still had, you and Rocco wouldn’t have to stop and worry about me. Your feelings should be your concern. I might be a robot, but I’m not a baby robot.”

  “Iz.” Ronnie’s hand landed on his.

  “You’re going to do it again right now.” Iz didn’t pull away, but he wanted to. “Don’t.”

  “Are you mad?” Ronnie leaned in, the question hesitant, although he tightened his grip to something solid and comforting.

  Iz liked the feel of Ronnie’s hand on his. He hadn’t realized how much until it was too late. So yes, he was angry.

  He met Ronnie’s eyes. “It occurred to me that there is an obvious reason for why this would never work that I overlooked. I am not your equal, or his.”

  Ronnie’s lips were soft as they fell open. His breath made the smallest sound, not even a word.

  Iz fumbled on, extremities cold, his face blazing hot, his stomach filled with frantic lepidopterans. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy being carried, by either of you. Or that I wouldn’t enjoy it again. But, for all that I am smart, and different, to you and to the others, I am weak. A nicer word would be fragile. But I don’t feel the need to be nice the way you do.”

  “You’re never nice to yourself,” Ronnie protested softly. Iz raised his eyebrows. Ronnie shut his mouth before speaking deliberately. “He said that too. We talked after the run. Not much. And you’re right—he does leave these holes of things he won’t say. But he mentioned you directly. Out of nowhere, he said he hadn’t realized before what your sweaters and loose clothes were about. He always thought you were spoiled. Or that’s the impression I got, whenever he would avoid you. Though I always thought your clothes and your slippers and your sheets were a sensory thing. Which maybe they are.”

  People did not usually look at Iz in the way he looked at them. But naturally, Ronnie and Rocco had.

  “What does he think they are?” Iz inched forward, wide-eyed.

  “That they are the only kind things you give yourself.” Ronnie took his hand from Iz’s to brush it against his scarf and the top of his unicorn-print sweater. “Soft and protective. I see it now.” He dragged another marveling touch over the fabric. “We aren’t babying you. At least, I’m not. I just have a strong dislike of seeing you upset. And you do get upset, whether you realize it or not. You’re not a fucking robot. You’re not a machine.”

  The earnest, bright gleam in Ronnie’s eyes drew Iz closer. “I cried while watching a murder show with Giselle,” he revealed. “Patricio said it wasn’t about the murder show.”

  “You cried?” Ronnie sounded horrified.

  “I’ve cried before, but never during a science show with crime reenactments.” It seemed like something Ronnie should know.

  “You cried because of this?” Ronnie clarified, no less troubled. “You cried over me?”

  Iz peered at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  Ronnie took his hand and held it tight. “You have literally broken my heart before,” he said, almost calmly, and then burst into laughter that got him a few dirty looks. Iz startled and stared at him, but Ronnie didn’t let him go. “Sorry,” he said, still cracking up about something so much he had to wipe his eyes. “He’s practically afraid of you and it’s so fucking funny. Rocco is a badass, but I’m the one sitting here getting shr
edded.” He pulled in a sharp breath and his laughter stopped. “Why would you cry over me?”

  “There is a certain amount of happiness and contentment I feel around you, or when I think of you, and that has been missing for almost two weeks. My brain has not recalibrated to life without you.” Iz huffed. “My brain is my heart, obviously. It controls it. And, on top of that, I made you sad, and I don’t like knowing you’re sad. It took me a while to think of ways to fix it. The solution has not restored anything, but I didn’t really expect it to. What it should do, if I am right, is help you.”

  “That’s a convoluted way to say you miss me.” Ronnie cleared his throat, wiped at his eyes again. “Why am I something to be fixed?”

  “Not you. The current problem of the damage I have inflicted.” Iz studied him in amazement. “If my language was convoluted, it’s because you didn’t want me to be in love with you. Am I allowed to say it now?”

  Ronnie’s eyes dipped, then came back up. “Do you even know how you’re looking at me?” He didn’t seem surprised when Iz slowly shook his head. “Like you always do, I guess, now that I’m not talking myself out of seeing it. I know you didn’t mean to do it, but do you know what a mindfuck that was? To have you touch me all the time, and tell me I’m wonderful, and listen to me, and look at me as though you can’t look away? Do you realize how many times I thought you—and then I’d remind myself you didn’t want me.” Ronnie shook his head. “Except you did. It was real the whole time.”

  Patricio had listened to Iz tell the entire story and then nodded, surprised, but not that surprised. Quietly all over each other, he had said, after all. But Iz cuddled with a lot of people and had never thought about how Ronnie kissed him, or how easy it was to find Ronnie anywhere and take his hand. Not only because they were friends, but because being near Ronnie specifically could change his mood, make his heart trip into a thrilling new rhythm.

  “It was,” Iz admitted quietly.

  “But you don’t want to date me.” Ronnie pulled away, straightening up and clasping his hands in front of him.

  Iz wanted to reach for him. “I never said I didn’t want to. But this proves that I shouldn’t. I know stories and lines of poems, but I don’t know what romance is, and I likely wouldn’t even if you told me, which you shouldn’t have to do. That’s not the kind of boyfriend you should have. In addition, you like sex, and I—don’t know.” Hearing himself say it was uncomfortable, but he did his best not to squirm, and to keep looking at Ronnie when Ronnie stiffened. “If I’m not around, this triangle loses a point and you and Rocco get a clear path. This way makes the most people happy, and that’s how it should be. That sounds selfless, but it’s not. It’s logical. He finds me attractive but he has feelings for you. You like him so much you accepted the inevitability of never having him in order to protect yourself.” He hadn’t meant to make Ronnie flinch, but Iz was good at accidentally hurting his friends. “And you care for me but you don’t want me like you did before. So, you can see how I’m unnecessary and easily removed from the situation.”

  “What if I did want you?” Ronnie asked, so soft that Iz could barely hear him from a foot away. Ronnie stared down at his hands and swallowed. “What if I lied before and I never got over you?”

  It was easy to lie to Iz. Ronnie would have known that, even from the beginning.

  The knowledge stung, an immediate, physical sign of anger that was startling in itself. Ronnie had lied. Ronnie, with the clearest gaze and the warmest smile, lying because he knew Iz would never guess.

  “You had a crush on me,” Iz corrected, or thought he did. “A crush. And you were just coming out and I was an obvious focus.” That’s what people had said, what Ronnie had implied. “You backed off and apologized for almost kissing me, and then returned and never tried it again. You went after other boys. You told me about them. You liked Rahim.”

  “I did. But not as much as I like you, and he knew it. Which was sort of cruel, and he said so,” Ronnie explained simply.

  “You lied by implication and everyone around us let you. To shelter me.” Iz had a strange urge to hide his face. Shame again. “Because all of you think I’m a child. Or delicate.”

  “No!” Ronnie turned to him. “No! Because I wanted to be near you. And it wasn’t a lie at first. It was a crush until I knew you better. Then it was real.”

  “Why?” Iz wondered helplessly. “Rocco is the better choice.” Ronnie echoed his why in confused shock but Iz didn’t waste time with the question of why anyone would love him. “You glow around him. He laughs for you. You two are beautiful together. I could have been dating you for two years and I didn’t even notice. That is not a formula for happiness.”

  He didn’t know how to interpret Ronnie’s silence, or the edge in his voice when Ronnie finally responded. “The Great and Powerful Iz has spoken?”

  At that moment, more than anything, Iz wanted to slip his hand back into Ronnie’s and pull him close. He considered that, and what sort of pain he might cause before he even realized why he wanted to.

  “It will probably help if I keep myself out of the picture.” Iz’s marred fingernail polish was something to focus on. “I’ve been thinking of adding a minor. It’s too late for a double major. But I could add a few more classes. Hopefully, it will look good when I apply for jobs, and I’ll need to be busy. That’s how Patricio got through his heartbreak, so obviously, it must work. Patricio, by the way, doesn’t approve of this plan but didn’t recommend a better one. Only that I talk with both of you, which I have done. I haven’t told anyone else, though Giselle has guessed some of it. I don’t know about the others. I’ll miss you. I already miss you.” The lump in his throat was apparently the threat of tears. Iz swallowed them down. “Rocco says new couples don’t want others around anyway, and from what I’ve seen, that’s true.”

  “Iz.” Ronnie made a broken sound, then let out a long, hitching breath. “What’s up with your hair today? It’s a mess. Come here.” The demand was almost playful. Iz glanced at him, with whatever was always on his face when he looked at Ronnie. The line between Ronnie’s eyes suggested pain. Iz turned his head before scooting closer to him. Ronnie’s fingers were gentle as he pulled Iz’s hair ties loose and combed out Iz’s lazy bun. He arranged the thick mass into a wispy ponytail and left a few strands around Iz’s ears. “I always did love your hair.”

  Iz had to swallow again and yet could barely speak. “Did you?”

  “Yeah. And kissing you, even your cheek.” Ronnie did not kiss him, despite the words. His hands went still, then fell away. “This sucks, Iz. It sucks and you don’t even know if you’re right. I don’t think you are.”

  Iz was usually right, with one obvious, glaring exception. But he didn’t believe he was mistaken this time. Ronnie and Rocco made sense. Iz never had.

  “What if I am?” He posed the question softly, without turning. “What if he loves you? How would you feel if you knew that for sure? Ask him. Don’t worry about me. If this has proved anything, it’s that you can love more than one person at a time. And he is the very best choice. Ronnie—” Iz had no hands to hold though he could feel Ronnie’s heat along his back “—kiss him like you kissed me. If he allows it. Kiss him just like that.”

  “It was that good?” Ronnie whispered, a tickle at Iz’s neck.

  Iz shivered. “I’ve enjoyed two kisses in my life,” he confessed, “and they both happened on the same night.”

  Ronnie’s voice was suddenly rough. “Iz—”

  Iz jumped to his feet, reaching blindly for his bag. “I have to go now, Ronnie. Please don’t be angry. Please believe me.” The tears were more than a threat. Love was awful. Ronnie was impossible to look at. “I have to go now.”

  He was down the stairs in moments and outside in the cold seconds after that.

  He’d left his coat behind, but Ronnie didn’t follow him out. Iz hadn’t truly expected him to.

  Chapter Eight

  The following week was
wet and miserable, nothing but the sort of icy, driving rain that destroyed umbrellas and bounced off the pavement to soak into jeans. It gave Iz the perfect opportunity to stay in his apartment and not leave except for the classes he was not allowed to miss. He spoke with his mother, and then to his dad, who talked about Doctor Who for twenty minutes, as usual. It was the only subject they ever talked about, and the fact that Iz didn’t contribute much this time made his dad go on for longer, leaving his sentences unfinished as if he wanted Iz to fill the silence.

  He may have. The Doctor was their one shared interest. His dad might have been worried. Iz resolved to email him soon, although he didn’t think his father wanted to hear what was honestly on his mind.

  Patricio came over to study with him for everything but math, and didn’t object when Iz curled up beside him and napped fitfully.

  He brought Iz’s coat with him, said nothing about it as he draped it over a chair. If—when—Ronnie approached Rocco, Iz had no doubt that Patricio would tell him. He was only a little sad that he wouldn’t be around to see it himself, but he probably wouldn’t have been anyway. Rocco had never been comfortable around him.

  In the meantime, Iz ate chocolate, which Giselle and several romantic comedies assured him helped with love withdrawal, and drank coffee, and sat bundled up on his bed with the window cracked to listen to the rain. His stomach hurt, but chocolate had never agreed with him.

  After the first day, there were no tears. Except for his insomnia, and the weight on his chest, and the hollow feeling that chocolate did not fill, Iz was almost calm. With enough time and isolation, he might be himself again, a thought that should have reassured him but mostly made him feel crushed and small.

  He picked off all of the Sherwood Forest Green and didn’t replace it. He did his work, and then someone else’s work, and then tried to get more sleep.

  Giselle made him tea, which he did not like. He finished all the chocolate and ventured out to get some rather than ask someone, but first sat, frozen, on the edge of his bed while debating what to wear. Darker colors, with no details or frills, would mean less chance of attention. But his usual clothes made him feel him better. Soft and protective, he recalled, and wound up going to the store in his manliest, safest flannel shirt and a pink umbrella. Leftover Valentine’s Day chocolates were still on sale.