{"author":"aurora-vale","category":"femboy","content":"Tyler is my roommate. He\u0026rsquo;s also six feet of Black guy from Atlanta who wears his hair in twists, plays NBA 2K like it\u0026rsquo;s a second job, and has a laugh that you can hear from the floor below us.\nTyler is also, importantly, the most emotionally intelligent person I know. Which means he noticed before anyone else did.\nHe noticed the way I\u0026rsquo;d \u0026ldquo;accidentally\u0026rdquo; be in Marcus\u0026rsquo;s room every evening. He noticed the way Marcus — glasses, anime t-shirts, the kind of guy who apologizes to automatic doors — started standing up straighter. He noticed the way neither of us would look at each other in the kitchen when his friends came over.\nHe didn\u0026rsquo;t say anything for two weeks.\nThen one night, Marcus was in the shower, and Tyler and I were the only ones in the room. Tyler was on his bed scrolling his phone. I was at my desk pretending to do homework.\n\u0026ldquo;So,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said, without looking up.\n\u0026ldquo;So,\u0026rdquo; I said, also without looking up.\n\u0026ldquo;You and Marcus.\u0026rdquo;\nI froze. Not dramatically. Just\u0026hellip; a micro-freeze. The kind that says oh, here we go.\n\u0026ldquo;What about us?\u0026rdquo; I asked.\nTyler put his phone down. Turned to face me. And I want to be clear — Tyler has what I can only describe as \u0026ldquo;resting big brother energy.\u0026rdquo; Even when he\u0026rsquo;s sitting on his bed in sweatpants eating Takis, he looks like he\u0026rsquo;s about to give you the talk.\n\u0026ldquo;I see how you look at him,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said. \u0026ldquo;And I see how he looks at you. And I see how neither of you will look at each other when I\u0026rsquo;m in the room.\u0026rdquo;\nI said nothing.\n\u0026ldquo;And I need to know,\u0026rdquo; Tyler continued, \u0026ldquo;because I love Marcus like a brother, and if you\u0026rsquo;re playing with him —\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m not playing with him.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;—then what\u0026rsquo;s going on.\u0026rdquo;\nI turned in my desk chair to face him. He was looking at me with those big, serious eyes. The kind of eyes that said I will end you if you hurt him.\n\u0026ldquo;Tyler,\u0026rdquo; I said. \u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m not playing with him.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Then what is it.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;It\u0026rsquo;s\u0026hellip; complicated.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Try me.\u0026rdquo;\nI thought about it. Thought about what it actually was — me and Marcus, whatever we were doing, whatever we had. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t dating. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t a relationship. It wasn\u0026rsquo;t nothing.\n\u0026ldquo;We hook up,\u0026rdquo; I said.\nTyler blinked.\n\u0026ldquo;Regularly,\u0026rdquo; I added.\nTyler blinked again.\n\u0026ldquo;Consensually,\u0026rdquo; I said, because at this point I was just listing words.\n\u0026ldquo;Consensually,\u0026rdquo; Tyler repeated.\n\u0026ldquo;Yes.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;And he\u0026rsquo;s\u0026hellip; okay with that.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Tyler. He\u0026rsquo;s more than okay with that.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler leaned back on his bed. Crossed his arms. Processed. I could see the gears turning — the way he was rearranging every interaction he\u0026rsquo;d ever witnessed between me and Marcus into a new configuration that suddenly made a lot more sense.\n\u0026ldquo;So when he was \u0026lsquo;studying\u0026rsquo; for three hours last Tuesday—\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;We were not studying.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;And when you were \u0026lsquo;helping him pick out clothes\u0026rsquo; for an hour—\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;We were not picking out clothes.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;And when he came out of your room that one time and his glasses were crooked—\u0026rdquo;\nI smiled. \u0026ldquo;His glasses were crooked.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler covered his face with his hand. He was laughing. He was trying not to laugh. He was failing at trying not to laugh.\n\u0026ldquo;HOW LONG.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Two months.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;TWO MONTHS.\u0026rdquo; Tyler\u0026rsquo;s voice went up an octave. \u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;VE BEEN LIVING WITH THIS FOR TWO MONTHS.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;You didn\u0026rsquo;t ask.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I DIDN\u0026rsquo;T KNOW TO ASK.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Well now you know.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler sat up. Looked at me. Really looked at me. And I could see something shifting in his expression — the big-brother protectiveness softening into something else. Something like\u0026hellip; curiosity.\n\u0026ldquo;So,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said slowly. \u0026ldquo;What do you see in him.\u0026rdquo;\nI tilted my head. \u0026ldquo;What do you mean.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Marcus is\u0026hellip; Marcus. He\u0026rsquo;s great. He\u0026rsquo;s my boy. But he\u0026rsquo;s not— I mean, you\u0026rsquo;re— you\u0026rsquo;re you. You could have anyone. Why him.\u0026rdquo;\nIt was a fair question. And the answer was simpler than Tyler expected.\n\u0026ldquo;Because he\u0026rsquo;s the only one who looks at me like I\u0026rsquo;m exactly what he wants,\u0026rdquo; I said. \u0026ldquo;No pressure. No expectations. No \u0026lsquo;what are we\u0026rsquo; conversations at 2 AM. Just\u0026hellip; want. Pure want. He wants me. I want him. That\u0026rsquo;s it.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler processed this. Nodded slowly.\n\u0026ldquo;And he\u0026rsquo;s okay with that? No feelings? No—?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Tyler. We talked about it. We\u0026rsquo;re both on the same page. It\u0026rsquo;s physical. It\u0026rsquo;s fun. It\u0026rsquo;s good. Neither of us wants more.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Neither of you,\u0026rdquo; Tyler repeated.\n\u0026ldquo;Neither of us.\u0026rdquo;\nA pause. Tyler looked at the door to the bathroom, where Marcus was still showering. Looked back at me.\n\u0026ldquo;Huh,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said.\n\u0026ldquo;Huh,\u0026rdquo; I agreed.\nAnother pause. Tyler picked up his phone. Opened NBA 2K. Resumed his game.\n\u0026ldquo;Okay,\u0026rdquo; he said.\n\u0026ldquo;Okay?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Yeah. Okay.\u0026rdquo; He didn\u0026rsquo;t look up from his screen. \u0026ldquo;Just\u0026hellip; be cool about it. Don\u0026rsquo;t make it weird.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I\u0026rsquo;m never weird.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re ALWAYS weird.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;That\u0026rsquo;s not true.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re literally sitting in a soccer jersey and knee-high socks at midnight doing homework you\u0026rsquo;re not actually doing.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;That\u0026rsquo;s called a uniform, Tyler.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;That\u0026rsquo;s called a lifestyle.\u0026rdquo;\nI laughed. Tyler laughed. The bathroom door opened and Marcus walked out, towel around his neck, glasses fogged from the steam, looking like the most lovable dork on the planet.\n\u0026ldquo;Hey,\u0026rdquo; Marcus said.\n\u0026ldquo;Hey,\u0026rdquo; Tyler and I said at the same time.\nMarcus looked between us. \u0026ldquo;Why do you both look like that.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Like what,\u0026rdquo; I said.\n\u0026ldquo;Like you\u0026rsquo;re sharing a secret.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler looked at me. I looked at Tyler.\n\u0026ldquo;We are,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said. He looked back at Marcus. \u0026ldquo;Your glasses were crooked that one time.\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus went pale.\n\u0026ldquo;TYLER.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;What. It\u0026rsquo;s relevant information now.\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus looked at me. I gave him my best I\u0026rsquo;m sorry not sorry smile.\n\u0026ldquo;I hate both of you,\u0026rdquo; Marcus said, and walked to his room.\n\u0026ldquo;No you don\u0026rsquo;t,\u0026rdquo; Tyler called after him.\n\u0026ldquo;I DO.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;You literally don\u0026rsquo;t.\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus\u0026rsquo;s door closed. Tyler looked at me. I looked at Tyler.\n\u0026ldquo;He\u0026rsquo;s gonna be embarrassed for three days,\u0026rdquo; Tyler said.\n\u0026ldquo;Probably four.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Want me to leave for a bit?\u0026rdquo;\nI smiled. \u0026ldquo;That would be great.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler grabbed his controller. Stood up. Paused at the door.\n\u0026ldquo;Hey,\u0026rdquo; he said.\n\u0026ldquo;Yeah.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;He\u0026rsquo;s a good dude, man. Treat him right.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I always do.\u0026rdquo;\nTyler nodded. Walked out. Closed the door behind him.\nAnd approximately thirty seconds later, Marcus\u0026rsquo;s door opened just a crack.\n\u0026ldquo;He\u0026rsquo;s gone?\u0026rdquo; Marcus whispered.\n\u0026ldquo;He\u0026rsquo;s gone.\u0026rdquo;\nThe door opened wider. Marcus stepped out. His glasses were clean now. His hair was damp. He was wearing that oversized anime t-shirt that I loved, the one that hung off one shoulder just enough to—\n\u0026ldquo;You told him,\u0026rdquo; Marcus said.\n\u0026ldquo;I told him.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;And he\u0026rsquo;s\u0026hellip; okay?\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;He\u0026rsquo;s more than okay. He asked me what I see in you.\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus\u0026rsquo;s eyes went wide. \u0026ldquo;What did you say.\u0026rdquo;\nI stood up. Walked over to him. Put my hands on his chest, right over his heart, right where I could feel it beating a little faster than normal.\n\u0026ldquo;I told him you\u0026rsquo;re the only one who looks at me like I\u0026rsquo;m exactly what you want,\u0026rdquo; I said.\nMarcus swallowed. His hands came up to rest on my waist.\n\u0026ldquo;And?\u0026rdquo; he asked.\n\u0026ldquo;And I told him the truth.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Which is.\u0026rdquo;\nI pulled him close. Felt his breath on my face.\n\u0026ldquo;You\u0026rsquo;re it for me, Marcus. Not forever. Not in a \u0026lsquo;relationship\u0026rsquo; way. But right now. Tonight. Every night this week. You\u0026rsquo;re it.\u0026rdquo;\nHis grip tightened.\n\u0026ldquo;Tyler\u0026rsquo;s at the library,\u0026rdquo; Marcus said. His voice was lower now. Different.\n\u0026ldquo;I know.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;He won\u0026rsquo;t be back for three hours.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I know that too.\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;Then—\u0026rdquo;\n\u0026ldquo;I know.\u0026rdquo;\nI kissed him. He kissed back. His glasses were still slightly fogged and I could feel the frames pressing against my face and I didn\u0026rsquo;t care.\nLater — much later — Marcus\u0026rsquo;s glasses were on the nightstand. His anime t-shirt was on the floor. And Tyler\u0026rsquo;s empty side of the room was, for the moment, the most blessedly quiet space on the planet.\nWhen Tyler came back, he took one look at the closed door to Marcus\u0026rsquo;s room, shook his head, and went to his own bed.\nHe didn\u0026rsquo;t say anything.\nHe didn\u0026rsquo;t need to.\nThe next morning, there was a Post-it note on my desk. In Tyler\u0026rsquo;s handwriting, it said:\n\u0026ldquo;glad you two figured it out. also: buy earplugs. - T\u0026rdquo;\nI smiled. Marcus, who was making coffee in the kitchen, yelled: \u0026ldquo;Tyler says we need earplugs!\u0026rdquo;\nTyler, from his bed: \u0026ldquo;I ALREADY BOUGHT THEM.\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus laughed. I laughed. Tyler groaned.\nIt was a good morning.\nThe next morning, the Post-it said: \u0026ldquo;glad you two figured it out. also: buy earplugs. - T\u0026rdquo;\nMarcus found it. He smiled. He didn\u0026rsquo;t say anything.\nBut that night, Tyler didn\u0026rsquo;t go to the library.\nHe stayed in his bed. Headphones on. I could see the glow of his phone screen from where I lay in Marcus\u0026rsquo;s bed, the door cracked just enough to see.\nHe wasn\u0026rsquo;t playing NBA 2K.\nHe was typing.\nTo someone.\nFor twenty minutes straight.\nTyler doesn\u0026rsquo;t text for twenty minutes. Tyler texts in bursts. Tyler texts in chaos. Tyler sends \u0026ldquo;yo\u0026rdquo; followed by seventeen more messages explaining why he said yo. Tyler does not sit in the dark for twenty minutes composing a single careful paragraph to someone on his phone.\nI watched the light from his screen flicker across the ceiling.\nI didn\u0026rsquo;t ask who it was.\nBut I knew.\nThe next morning, Tyler looked at me over his coffee and said nothing. And I knew that too.\nHis phone was on the table. Screen up. And there, in his open messages, was a conversation I wasn\u0026rsquo;t supposed to see.\nThe contact name wasn\u0026rsquo;t a name.\nIt was an emoji. A single heart.\nAnd the last message — sent at 3:47 AM, long after Tyler thought everyone was asleep — said:\n\u0026ldquo;i think i like him. like really like him. and i don\u0026rsquo;t know what to do with that.\u0026rdquo;\nI looked at Tyler.\nTyler looked at his coffee.\nTyler knew I\u0026rsquo;d seen it.\nAnd for the first time since I\u0026rsquo;d known him, Tyler didn\u0026rsquo;t have anything to say.\nCaption: \u0026ldquo;Tyler wanted answers. I didn\u0026rsquo;t use words.\u0026rdquo;\n","date":"2026-08-31","excerpt":"Tyler is my roommate. He's also six feet of Black guy from Atlanta who wears his hair in twists, plays NBA 2K like it's a second job, and has a laugh that...","heat":3,"intensity":3,"kink":[],"orientation":"femboy","readingTime":9,"tags":["femboy"],"title":"Tyler Wanted Answers. I Didn't Use Words.","url":"https://traps-arent.gay/stories/tyler-wanted-answers-i-didnt-use-words/","wordCount":1695}