As the years passed, Leo stopped explaining. He started wearing his identity like a second skin—not a shield, but a light. He taught me that his bisexuality wasn't about being 50/50; it was about being 100% capable of seeing beauty without the borders of gender.
"Because people are afraid of what they can’t categorize, Leo," I told him. "You’re a glitch in their matrix." My Boy Is So Bi
"They want me to be a finished book," he said, his voice thick. "They want to flip to the last page and see a label. But I’m a series. I’m a whole library. Why is my capacity to love more people seen as a lack of commitment to myself?" As the years passed, Leo stopped explaining
"So, you’re saying the spectrum is looking pretty good from where you’re sitting?" I asked. "Because people are afraid of what they can’t
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."
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."