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If you’d asked Otabek a month ago where he thought he’d be two weeks into his time at Penn, this was about as far from what he could have possibly imagined. After all, he’d been a very good boy all through high school… and he’d certainly had no idea that a fake ID was this easy to fix.
But there he was: in the Gayborhood in Philly, with a group of gay and bi students from Penn’s LGBT club, watching a drag show.
It wasn’t as if Otabek would drink with a fake ID; absolutely not. But Ari (although not his type by far) was charming and charismatic and had already found a way of talking Otabek into things he was lukewarm about. If Otabek really thought about it, that could have catastrophic consequences… so he didn’t think about it if he could help it.
It wasn’t as if his fake ID could even buy him alcohol. He’d had it made so that it said he was exactly three years older than he was, and since he didn’t actually turn eighteen for another seven weeks, his fake ID said he was still twenty – which was enough to get him into the show. There wasn’t anything really racy by far, so as far as Otabek could figure, the only reason he had to be eighteen to get into the show anyway was because the venue was a club most nights, and it sold alcohol.
“This is fun, right?” Ari asked him with the same easy grin he’d worn when he’d talked Otabek into coming in the first place.
Otabek nodded. “Yeah.”
“You don’t look like you’re having fun. Is it because none of these drag queens have a nice Jewish girl persona?”
Otabek blushed and found himself regretting having told Ari about Yuri. “That’s one guy.”
“Yeah,” Ari said, “who you’ve been in love with for years.” He threw an arm around Otabek’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. My lips are sealed. So you have a type.”
Otabek thought back to his secret celebrity crushes. “Yeah. Blonds.”
Ari grinned. “Otabek, are you saying I’m not your type?”
Ari, tall, dark, charming, curly-haired, muscular, foreign, was decidedly not Otabek’s type. “I’m sure I’m not the only guy at Penn who’d date a Jewish guy.”
“But you are the only one from a devout Muslim family that would piss my grandparents off,” Ari said with a grin.
“I’m an atheist. Even if I were in Kazakhstan, I’m not even convinced I’d identify as Muslim.”
“But your parents.”
Otabek rolled his eyes. “I’m sure there are other Muslim guys who’d date an Israeli who never shuts the hell up.”
Ari grinned. “I’m trusting you on that, Altin. If I graduate without getting myself a hot Muslim piece of ass – irrespective of ethnicity – to piss my racist grandparents off, my time here will have been a failure.”
“Pissing grandparents off seems like a shitty reason to date someone, Ari.”
“It’s not like I’d marry someone for that.”
Otabek snorted. “Let’s actually watch the show we came here for.”
“You’re no fun, Altin,” Ari huffed, but he kept his arm strung around Otabek’s shoulders.
Otabek didn’t think much of it. He’d only known Ari for two weeks, but in those two weeks, he’d come to accept that Ari was very physically affectionate with both men and women. And, well, if the fact that a guy he wasn’t even into was physically clingy with him would piss his parents off… well, surely, that wasn’t even a factor.
They watched the show for another twenty minutes, Ari whispering mostly with Torie and Jess and Spencer, before someone tapped Otabek on the shoulder.
He turned around to see the very last person he’d have expected. No, not Yuri. So, okay, maybe Victor Nikiforov was the second-to-last person Otabek would have expected to run into, even though when he actually thought about it, it wasn’t that far-fetched.
“Otabek?”
Otabek froze for a split second, which was all the time Ari needed to look Victor over and ask, “Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Victor,” Victor said, as if Otabek couldn’t figure that one out. “I knew you were going to Penn, but it’s so weird running into you in the Gayborhood.”
“Don’t tell my parents,” Otabek said.
Victor looked confused for a split second, until his expression softened. “I wouldn’t tell your parents. I think the last time I talked to your parents was four years ago. Besides,” Victor leaned closer. “I’ve been where you are, and I would never, ever, ever out someone.”
Otabek let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding in. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Victor said. “Now… is this your boyfriend?”
Ari laughed, and Otabek blushed. “No! Just a friend!”
“Otabek couldn’t handle me,” Ari said with a wink, and, well, maybe that was true. He offered his free hand to Victor. “Ari Cohen.”
Victor, to Otabek’s eternal horror, took Ari’s obviously Jewish name as an invitation to introduce himself as Aharon ben Yaakov v’Shoshanna . “But you can call me Victor,” he added. “My grandfather married Otabek’s grandmother. The Jewish one.”
“You have a Jewish grandmother?” Ari asked.
Otabek wanted to die. Maybe that was dramatic, but he certainly didn’t want to be in that club in the Gayborhood with a fake ID on a Monday night caught between Victor and Ari.
“His paternal grandmother is Bukharan Jewish.”
“Can we just watch the show?” Otabek asked.
“Only if you promise to come over for dinner one night. I won’t tell anyone, but it’s my duty as your former step-cousin and a gay man who’s been out for over a decade to offer you support and guidance.”
“Uh,” Otabek said.
“Don’t worry,” Victor said. “It’s nothing creepy. I remember you when you were a baby.” It was an exaggeration, but it wasn’t that much of one. “But I’ve been where you are, and it helps to have someone to be there supporting you through it.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.”
Victor shoved his phone at Otabek. “Give me your number. And I’m sure Ded wants to have you over for dinner… but you don’t have to tell him by any means. My lips are sealed.”
“Okay.” Otabek put his number into Victor’s phone, because what else could he do.
“I’ll text you,” Victor said, “so you have my number. And we can make plans. But I’ll let you get back to the show now.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Of course!” Victor said. “And it was nice to meet you, Ari!” He said something in Hebrew which Otabek didn’t understand and then, tactfully, found somewhere else to be.
Otabek turned to Ari. “What did he say?”
Ari shrugged. “Have a nice night? He seems nice.”
“He is,” Otabek agreed, “but…”
“But it’s weird having someone from your family know? No, I get it,” Ari said. “Do you trust him when he says he won’t tell anyone?”
Otabek considered it. He couldn’t really imagine Victor intentionally breaking his word, and the man was definitely smarter than he seemed at first brush. He had to give him a little credit. “Yeah. I do.”
“Well, then,” Ari said. “We’ll enjoy the show – unless you want to go back – and you can text him later.”
“I’m good,” Otabek said. At least he thought he was.
“Good!” Ari said. “Because I feel like all this talking during a show is probably kind of rude.”