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God made me gay...

That sentence, written in shaky, rapid, desperate handwriting, on the dusty blackboard in room 303 left us all in a complete stupor.

Some covered their mouths with their hands as if they were witnessing blasphemy; another their eyes were wide open. Barely audible whispers and some low, nervous, mocking laughter covered the atmosphere that rainy morning.

I felt like I couldn't take my eyes off Mew. But I was not able to move. I saw him angrily throw the piece of chalk aside and dash down the hall full of students in free hour.

Looking at his backpack next to me I wondered if I had really knoen that young man since he was four years old or if everything we had lived together was been a mirage.

I felt the urge to go after him, I needed him to tell me something, anything. But someone clung to my arm and mocking laughter came over me.

–Hey, Gulf! Did you seriously not know that your best friend is a fagot?

Hearing the word fagot was the trigger.

I don't know how I was able to make my way through the tables, I think I literally jumped them, and by the time I realized my hands were choking someone and I was pressing him against the back wall of the room amidst hysterical screams and cheers.

It was true that at that point I didn't know who Mew really was. But it was also true that the still couldn't stand someone messing with him.

I didn't have to rationalize it further. I just knew...

I didn't care what Mew's true face was. I only cared that my unconditional relationship with him was still intact. I smirked as I loosened a hand from that neck and smashed his nose open.

Nothing mattered anymore...

I did not believe in God. But if Mew believed taht God had made him gay, then I could believe with all my heart that it had been that same God who had put him in my path, that distant rainy morning like that in which my four-year-old self was crying inconsolably because I would never see my mother again...

And under a rain, which now seemed like a deluge, I went looking for him...