An Unplanned Romantic Subplot

20260618

Prompt from “pridemonthprompts” 2025 list.

When Becky declared I was the only one she felt comfortable catching her during the climatic swoon, I was actually hurt. I thought it meant she didn’t see me as a guy.
I should’ve said something at the time. Well, not right then, in front of everyone, but next time we were alone. Asked if that’s what she meant. Um. Once I’d figured out a way to not sound accusatory.
Ok it’s no wonder I just stewed in silence.
Put my best face on - and hey, I’ve always loved drama for helping me fit into roles better. Funny that it also let me figure out which roles didn’t fit at all. Maybe that’s another reason I assumed Becky still thought of me as ‘one of the girls’. History together. So I smiled and took what I thought was an unthinking jab as gracefully as I could, and I was assigned being the minion who caught the drugged heroine.
That was a little annoying, because I’d been hoping to try out for the comical sidekick role, but honestly I didn’t have a chance - everyone knew it was going to be Dick and Tom. They have that dynamic down to an art already, nobody else could compete. So playing a faceless minion was what I’d resigned myself to anyway. At least I got a speaking role, albeit one line.
And then, during break partway through dress rehearsal, Becky offhandedly complains to me “I wish you were playing lead. The big kiss would be sooo much less awkward.”
My brain short-circuits, and what falls out of my mouth is a bemused “You’re a lesbian?”
“What??” Becky stares at me like I’d suddenly declared an ardent love of football. “I thought you’re a guy.”
“I - w-well, yeah, but…”
My brain had kicked back into gear, but rather than pitching in to help me salvage this conversation it was speeding back over every interaction me and Becky had over the past few months. I was on my own.
Unable to scrape words together, I helplessly wave at my waist and stammer “I don’t have a…”
Becky tilts her head, expression quizzical. “So, what, being willing to scissor a guy makes me a lesbian?”
“I…”
We stare blankly at each other.
Finally I manage “I don’t know. Maybe?”
Becky shrugs. “Well, if it does, then I guess I’m a lesbian. But, like, only for guys.”
It was sinking in, with the painful speed of an Olympian swimmer trapped in chilled caramel, that Becky not only saw me as a guy, I was a guy she wanted to kiss??
This revelation was not making it easier to think straight.
Never in a million years would I have thought that the cutest girl in school, the designated leading lady, my longstanding crush long before I slowly realised that I was in fact straight, would in any way be implying she wanted to kiss me. In front of people!!
That titbit brought my brain back from holiday. Becky was talking about stage kissing. “Would be less awkward” could mean many things. I shouldn’t assume-
Oh god she’s smirking at me. Meaningfully.
I really shouldn’t assume yet I know there’s no way I’m going to dare ask. Right now I can’t even think of a coherent way to ask.
Then I hear Mr Edwards calling curtain. Break’s over. I have two scenes to get some semblance of stage presence on.
An endeavour made even harder by how Becky winks at me and says “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the next play will have an adorkable, cutesy lead who’s a perfect gentleman. Then you’d be a shoo-in.”
My brain is gone again. I need you, traitor!!
“I mean, I know you have, like, an unfair advantage when it comes to getting what behaviours girls really hate, but not being weird at us is still very attractive.”
She’s walking out of the room. I can’t let this conversation go unacknowledged! I need to say something!!
“Y-you too!”
Oh god why did I say that?? That is even worse than just standing here dumbstruck! And I said it too loud!!
I bury my face in my hands, unable to look at her, and rush to my place in the wings. Praying nobody asks me what’s wrong.
Thank goodness it’s just dress rehearsal. Thank goodness I only have one, throwaway line.
Because while I’d always been acutely aware of the warmth of Becky slumped against me, head on my shoulder, secure in my arms, it’d never made me blush before. But now, with that conversation looping in my head…
Weeks of daily practice lets my “Got ‘er, m’lord” slip out smooth and brusque and uncaring, exactly as it should, exactly as it has a dozen times before, and the scene moves right along. If anyone noticed my blush they didn’t think it worth mentioning.
I “carry” Becky off-stage. Next scene is the hero finding out what happened to his beloved and setting off in hot pursuit. Then we’re back on for the scene where the villain monologues to his captive. I’m only holding her wrists behind her for that one, I should be able to keep my cool.
Standing next to each other, in the dark hush of the wings, Becky’s fingers gently intertwine with mine.
My heart stops. That’s the only explanation I have for why I can feel her pulse so clearly. It’s rapid. Anxious?
I slowly, gently squeeze her fingers, so we’re properly holding hands, and I hear her softly exhale. What, was she worried I might reject her?
That thought is intolerable, so I shift until I’m almost leaning against her - and she closes the gap so we’re comfortably pressed together. I’m sure I’m only imagining being able to feel her warmth through her puffy dress and my flowing cult robe. But it’s wonderful regardless.
Oops, that’s the cue for next scene, and I haven’t got my stage face on at all. And right now, I can’t even care.

Prompt was “Faint”.

[Just in case you’re now confused, no, a woman being attracted to a trans guy doesn’t make her a lesbian. Being a woman who’s attracted to other women makes you a lesbian. Being attracted specifically to vulvas makes you a gynephile. There IS a certain fuzzy queerness to being a cis woman attracted to a trans man, because the relationship falls outside strict cishet norms, but fundamentally it’s still a heterosexual relationship.
However it felt natural for these two teens to be unsure about such nuances.]