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Dalton Anderson-Hummel never believed in stereotypes.
In the family he has grown up in, there is no room for stereotypes — from his dads to his entire menagerie of vastly different aunts and uncles, nearly every single person has stereotypes attached to them that are simply untrue.
Maybe that’s why Dalton likes Sawyer so much. Sawyer Montrose has been his best friend since the first day of middle school just over four years ago, when Dalton sat down next to him in the auditorium just minutes after walking into the building, dead-set on making friends and choosing the fluffy-haired blond boy in a soccer jersey.
In hindsight, 12-year-old Dalton’s method for making friends maybe wasn’t the best — it involved randomly subjecting Sawyer to his overly-detailed idea for a Star Wars musical — but his dads told him to be himself and that’s exactly what he did.
But Sawyer, bless him, listened to every word, then telling Dalton about his own love for Star Wars despite his lack of knowledge about musical theater. Sawyer knows a lot more about musicals now.
That being said, Sawyer never, ever let any stereotypes attach themselves to him. Dalton knows that some stereotypes have an element of truth to them — he lives in a family of six theater kids (two of them being his dads). But Sawyer always seemed to go left when everyone expected him to go right.
Sawyer’s played soccer for as long as Dalton’s known him (and well before that as well). He’s incredibly good at it, and could easily get an athletic scholarship for college. Dalton makes a point to go to nearly all of his games, especially since his twin brother, Finn, also plays on the team.
Unfortunately, there’s a stereotype that soccer boys are, to put it simply, douchebags. Dalton knows a fair few of them, with his brother and best friend being on the team, but neither of them conform to that. Thankfully.
Sawyer also dresses like a “prep.” Dalton’s also a self-admitted preppy dresser, but both of them are far from the snooty, stuck up nature of the actual preps that think they run the school.
Finally, Sawyer’s best and worst kept secret is his insane artistic talent. He’s probably the best artist that Dalton’s ever seen, painting and drawing photorealistic portraits of people, plants, and anything that catches his eye.
Needless to say, Sawyer’s pretty much the best person ever, and Dalton’s beyond thankful to have such an awesome best friend.
Who has such a beautiful smile. And an amazing laugh. And, in a totally platonic comparison, a great body. Not that any of that matters. Sawyer would still be his best friend even if he had the most obnoxious laugh in New York City.
(But his laugh really is amazing. It never fails to make Dalton feel warm all over.)
Now it’s lunch, and thankfully, Sawyer and Dalton managed to get the same lunch block this semester with some of their mutual friends, including Finn, Dalton’s twin. Sawyer always buys his lunch, while Dalton packs — he doesn’t know how Sawyer can stomach the food the school feeds them, but to each his own.
Sawyer seems doubly excited to his usual enthusiastic self as he plops himself down across from Dalton in his typical spot, nearly spilling his tomato soup in his haste.
“Good god, Sawyer,” Dalton chuckles, stabbing a piece of strawberry out of his fruit salad. “What’s got you so excited?”
“We just got back our final assignment instructions for Painting 3,” Sawyer beams, ripping off a piece of grilled cheese and dunking it into his soup. “It’s photorealism portraits!”
“That’s great!” Dalton exclaims, knowing that Sawyer must be over the moon about the news. Photorealism is his favorite, especially portraits. “Are you going to do a self-portrait?”
“No,” Sawyer says with a full mouth, causing Dalton to cringe a little. “We’re supposed to paint another person. Which is why...” he looks to Dalton with a barely-suppressed beam as he swallows the food that is in his mouth. “...I was going to ask you to be my model!”
“Me?” Dalton’s jaw drops. “I mean, I’m flattered, but why me?”
Sawyer shrugs. “You’re my best friend. I’ve stared at your face so much that I know I can paint it. I could probably do it without even having you in front of me.”
“Do you just need a picture? Or do you need me to model in person?” Dalton asks, eating a piece of pineapple.
“Preferably in person. Just after school a couple of afternoons, probably. So you’ll do it?” Sawyer replies, a giddy grin stretching across his face.
“Of course I will,” Dalton rolls his eyes. “There’s no way I wouldn’t agree! Although, you’d better do me justice.”
Sawyer catches the teasing behind Dalton’s voice. “Oh, of course. You and your perfect AnderHummel genes need to be captured accurately. Seriously, Dalton, centuries’ worth of artists would kill to paint someone like you.”
Dalton blushes in spite of himself, suddenly unable to meet Sawyer’s eyes. “That may be a stretch, but thank you.”
“It’s not a stretch. You’re hot, dude,” Sawyer says nonchalantly, eating another bite of his grilled cheese.
“I second that,” Brice St. James comments, suddenly joining their conversation. “Though I kind of have to agree to that. He’s basically my cousin, and you know, body positivity.”
“Yeah, seriously! Why is it okay for girls to say that their friends are hot and guys can’t?” Houston Evans, another extended “family” member and part of their friend group, adds. “Toxic masculinity, I swear.”
“Yeah! We should start a trend,” Mason, an unrelated friend, decides. “Finn, your eyes are gorgeous and you always look like a million bucks.”
Finn grins. “Thanks, man. Your hair always looks great. I’m actually kind of jealous of it.”
Amidst the sudden complements, growing increasingly over-the-top (“Brice, your chin is perfectly chin-shaped. Not too pointy and not too round.”), Sawyer raises his eyebrows and shrugs in Dalton’s direction, laughing a bit. “I don’t really know what I just started, but I’m not mad at it. Meet me in the art room after school today for the first session?”
Dalton nods, laughing along with him. “Sure. Part of me wants to invite the peanut gallery along as my hype-people.”
Sawyer grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll hype you up so much, you won’t even miss them.”
******
The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, and Dalton practically sprints to the painting classroom, finding it empty aside from Sawyer, who’s setting up his painting supplies at an art table.
“Hey,” Dalton greets, slinging his backpack next to Sawyer’s along a nearby wall.
“Hey yourself,” Sawyer smiles. “Ready to become Sawyer’s next top model?”
“I was born ready,” Dalton laughs, sitting down in the stool Sawyer pulled up for him.
“Perfect. Just relax your face; I’m painting an even expression. That way you won’t get tired smiling for so long, and the expression has a lesser chance of changing.”
“Okay,” Dalton forced himself to release the tension in his face, looking to Sawyer for approval.
“That’s great, Dalton. Just like that.”
It only takes a minute of silence while Sawyer does some basic line sketches before Dalton breaks. “So no talking?”
Sawyer chuckles. “For the most part, no. It’s going to be a lot of me staring at you very intently while you try not to die of boredom. Sorry.”
Dalton grins. “Don’t be. I like watching you paint; you’re so focused.”
“Well, it makes it easier when you have such a great subject.”
The following silence gives Dalton an unnecessarily long time to dwell on the borderline-flirtatious comments he and Sawyer have been trading recently. At first, Dalton just clocked it up to their dynamic — they have always teased each other good-naturedly and supported each other endlessly. They were never afraid to complement each other, but recently, Dalton can’t help but take Sawyer’s words to heart a little bit more.
Dalton knows he’s bi. Really, he should’ve told people by now, he thinks. Everyone he loved would be accepting, he’s sure of it, but there may be a little more to why he hasn’t just come out and said it yet.
Dalton realized that he’s bi because he realized he‘s falling for his best friend.
It all happened randomly. He and Sawyer were just having a normal conversation about homework and bam, Dalton looked into his eyes as he smiled his bright, toothy grin, and that was it. Dalton’s heart skipped a beat as it hit him like a ton of bricks.
It’s not just falling for Sawyer that made Dalton realize that he’s bi, though it was the trigger. After that moment of self-awareness, he suddenly understood that the double-takes at attractive men weren’t him just appreciating the male form on a surface-level comparison to his own body.
And it kind of explains his enjoyment of sports events, though they never really were his favorite thing.
Dalton’s been wrestling with this hidden part of himself for months now, all because of the nagging voice in the back of his head saying that Sawyer would suddenly act weird around him if he knew that he was bi.
Or, more realistically, that once Dalton told Sawyer he was bi, he wouldn’t be able to hold in the fact that he’s in love with him, and then Sawyer wouldn’t even want to be his friend anymore.
And honestly, Sawyer would probably still be his friend even if he knew Dalton’s true feelings for him. Pops and Uncle Sam occasionally joke about the short-lived crush Pops had on Uncle Sam during one of his and Dad’s breaks, and Dalton likes to think that Sawyer would handle the situation like Uncle Sam did all those years ago.
But now, staring at Sawyer as he paints with the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips in his classic focused expression and trying not to think about kissing said lips is making things really difficult.
Dalton barely realizes any time has passed when Sawyer sets down his paintbrush and wipes his hands on his smock. “I think that’s enough for today. You okay?”
Shaking his head slightly, Dalton snaps out of his stupor. “Yeah, yeah! How long was that?”
Sawyer glances at his phone. “Just about two hours. I think I’ve got a good base going, and I should be able to start adding more details soon.”
“Can I see it?” Dalton asks excitedly, and Sawyer smiles, motioning him over.
“Sure. It doesn’t look like much yet, but it’s getting there.”
The unfinished portrait is already stunning. Sawyer’s already managed to paint an incredible likeness to Dalton, the colors mixed to match the exact hues of his features.
“Sawyer, this is incredible,” Dalton gasps. “You’re so talented, oh my god.”
“Thank you,” Sawyer replies, chuckling a bit. “Uh, Dalton?”
“Yeah?”
Sawyer looks down at Dalton’s hand. “Um, your hand is in the paint.”
Sure enough, Dalton follows Sawyer’s gaze to discover that he had unknowingly leaned against the table and stuck his hand right into Sawyer’s paint palette.
“Oh my god,” Dalton groans. “I am so sorry!”
“No big deal, I was done anyway,” Sawyer tries to suppress his laughter. “And hey, it’s just like when you were a kid! Finger painting, right?”
All Dalton can do is watch, frozen in time, as Sawyer drags his finger through the paint and lifts his hand to swipe the paint down the side of Dalton’s cheek.
“Oops,” Sawyer grins, looking not at all sorry. “You have some paint on your face.”
Dalton doesn’t know how he can form words after that display, but he trains his lips into a dangerous smirk and outstretches his paint-covered hand. “Sawyer Henry Montrose, you have no idea what you just did.”
Dalton lunges for his best friend, careful to avoid the painting, and Sawyer squeals, jerking away from him and scrambling off of his stool. “No! This is a new sweater, Dalton!”
“You started it!” Dalton calls as he continues to chase after him, dodging between tables in the art room. “This is only payback!”
Sawyer darts back in the direction of his supplies, sticking his entire hand into the paint as he runs by. “Fine. Two can play at that game.”
Suddenly, the tables are turned, and Dalton’s the one being chased, Sawyer wielding his colorful hand out in front of him like a weapon.
Dalton’s in good shape from dance and swimming, but he’s no Sawyer, so it’s no surprise that he feels the back of his shirt being grabbed in just a few more laps around the table.
“Did you get me with your paint hand?” Dalton cries, ready to slap Sawyer’s sweater with his own paint when he’s suddenly spun around, the hand that was holding him by the shirt now grabbing the wrist of his painted hand, effectively stopping him.
“Not yet,” Sawyer smirks, then before Dalton can stop it, plants his paint hand right on Dalton’s non-painted cheek.
And he keeps it there.
“Uh...” Dalton gapes up at Sawyer’s who’s got a few inches on him, although he didn’t really notice how much taller he is until right now. Maybe Pops’ short genes aren’t such a curse, because honestly, Dalton could get used to this.
“Can I?” Sawyer murmurs, glancing between Dalton’s lips and eyes, searching for permission.
“Yeah,” Dalton breathes, and just like that, paint hands be damned, he’s kissing his best friend. And his best friend is kissing him back.
In fact, his best friend started the kiss. Huh.
It feels like both a second and an eternity later when they break apart, neither sure what to say as they collect their breath.
“I got paint on your face,” Dalton remarks after a moment, mentally face-palming at his choice in post-kiss banter.
But it seems to work for Sawyer, because he just breaks out into a peal of laughter. “I did too — oh my god, you should see your face!”
Dalton grabs his phone out of his back pocket with his clean hand, swiping the camera open and bringing the two of them into frame so they can both laugh at themselves.
They do look absolutely ridiculous, faces covered in paint and lips still red and swollen from the kiss, but Dalton shamelessly snaps a picture anyway.
“We’re oblivious idiots, aren’t we,” Sawyer says, gazing at Dalton with such an obviously lovestruck look that it makes Dalton’s breath catch in his throat. “I mean, considering that you wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you. You did, right?”
Dalton grins. “I did. For way too long.”
“God, me too,” Sawyer sighs, nodding his head in the direction of the sink. “Here, let’s get cleaned up, and then I want to show you something.”
After a few minutes of washing the paint off of their hands and carefully taking wet paper towels to each other’s faces (which was a much more intimate act than Dalton ever could have prepared for), Sawyer leads Dalton back to his setup and grabs his backpack.
“I was going to show you eventually and have some, like, big coming out moment or whatever, but I guess it all kind of went out of order,” Sawyer explains, pulling a folder out of his backpack. “Take a look.”
Dalton opens the portfolio, finding a plethora of beautiful works of art, all of them alluding to pride or sexuality.
There’s a self-portrait that’s all in black and white, except for a pride flag painted on Sawyer’s cheek. Dalton also finds a gorgeous drawing of two men embracing, a pride flag wrapped around them. One of the men is dark-haired and wearing a bow tie, and the other lighter-haired man has familiar bright blue eyes.
“Did you draw my dads?” Dalton half-laughs, half-gasps.
“Maybe. Is that weird?” Sawyer asks sheepishly, looking somewhat embarrassed. “They were honestly just such a huge inspiration to me, you know, to have people I know be such big advocates and great influences. And to just be a gay couple who literally accomplished everything they set their minds to.”
Dalton smiles. “No, it’s not weird at all. In fact, I think they’d be flattered to hear that. They’d probably want a copy of this to hang up, to be honest.”
Sawyer rubs at the back of his neck, chuckling a bit. “Well, I don’t really know if I’m ready to tell anyone else yet. I’ve been working up the courage to tell you for weeks now, but I was so worried that it was going to come out wrong or that I was just going to flat-out tell you that I like you.”
“Me too,” Dalton agrees. “And not that it really matters all that much in this situation, but I’m bi, not gay. But that doesn’t mean that I like you any less. Because I like you so, so, much Sawyer.”
Sawyer beams. “I like you too. A lot. And it’s cool that you’re bi, just like it’s cool that I’m gay. I think the elephant in the room is just us, now.”
“Is it moving too fast to ask if you’d be my boyfriend?” Dalton says carefully. “I mean, we’re way past the ‘getting to know you’ stage, aren’t we?”
Sawyer laughs. “Way past it. So no, it’s not too fast. I’d happily be your boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Dalton murmurs, finally allowing himself to realize that this is all happening. For real. “Okay! We’re really doing this, okay.”
“But can we wait a little to tell our friends?” Sawyer asks. “Again, I’m just not entirely ready to come out to my friends and family yet, even though I’m positive it will go over well.”
Dalton nods. “Of course. Me too. But we’ll keep it to just as for as long as we need to, okay?”
Sawyer grins. “Absolutely.”
In a rush of overwhelming affection, Dalton places his hands on either of Sawyer’s arms, planting him in place. Sawyer looks simultaneously confused and amused as he watches Dalton take a step back, just slightly, and then raise himself up on his tiptoes.
Dalton’s lips just barely brush his before he falls back down, having to still stretch up to meet Sawyer’s mouth while on his tiptoes. “Dang it. Thought I could reach.”
Resting a hand on Dalton’s back, Sawyer tugs him close and leans down to connect their lips again, pulling him into a sweet embrace.
“I think it’s cute,” Sawyer murmurs against his best friend-turned-boyfriend’s mouth, feeling him smile into the third real kiss that he then guides them into.
Sawyer Montrose really is the best person ever.