One night, after a particularly exhausting party where someone had called his identity a "phase," Leo sat on my kitchen counter, picking at the label of a beer.
"So, you’re saying the spectrum is looking pretty good from where you’re sitting?" I asked. My Boy Is So Bi
The first time Leo mentioned it, we were sitting on his fire escape, the city humming like a low-voltage wire beneath our dangling feet. He didn’t make a grand announcement. He just pointed at a vintage poster of David Bowie and said, "I think I’ve finally stopped trying to decide which half of that energy I’m supposed to like more." One night, after a particularly exhausting party where
I watched him go through the "Bisexual Erasure" gauntlet. I saw him date Maya, and heard the whispers that he’d "picked a side." Then I saw him fall for Julian, and heard the same voices say, "See? We knew he was gay all along." He didn’t make a grand announcement
He’s still "my boy"—my best friend, the guy who cries at Pixar movies and builds custom PCs. But now, he’s a version of himself that doesn't hold his breath. He moves through the world with a dual-citizenship of the heart, proving that the most beautiful thing you can be is "both/and" in a world that insists on "either/or."