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Gilfoyle's affection was a fleeting thing, doled out by the drop. Dinesh couldn't count on it, but he couldn't go long without it, either. They spent time together, talking sometimes, content in silence other times. Dinesh enjoyed it and wished Gilfoyle would give some sign that he did, too, that he didn't just happen to be killing time three feet away by accident.
"You claim not to care about Five Seconds of Summer, and yet the six dedicated playlists on your Spotify suggest otherwise," Gilfoyle was saying, standing behind his workstation.
Gilfoyle's tongue was slippery. It poked into all the false places in Dinesh with words of truth. The things about Dinesh that were different: the feminine side, the vanity, the awkwardness, Gilfoyle could see them all. And he didn't seem to mind. He just wanted Dinesh to know that he knew.
"At least I don't listen to goddamn Rammstein," Dinesh retorted.
What Dinesh really craved was Gilfoyle's hands on him. And not the accidental touches of a roommate in close quarters reaching for the coffee pot at the same time, or the playful shoves of a vague friend. In the language of the body there was truth that the lips could not provide. Dinesh needed solid physical proof that he was cared for, and end to all the games, and the knowledge that he would never get it was driving him mad. Enough to do something crazy.
Gilfoyle didn't love Dinesh. Why would he? Dinesh was half a man.
Maybe Gilfoyle would love him if he were better. The problem was, he couldn't pretend to be cool in front of Gilfoyle because Gilfoyle always knew. But then he had an epiphany. What if Gilfoyle didn't want someone more like himself? What if Dinesh trying to act cool was the whole problem?
He'd heard about the whole Radical Candor movement going around the valley lately. Surely more honesty would mean a better relationship with Gilfoyle. They could actually connect properly. Wasn't Gilfoyle always making fun of him for pretending to be somebody he wasn't? He would definitely be impressed by the change.
The next time they were out at a bar, Dinesh ordered an appletini.
"What are you, the missing Hilton heir?" Gilfoyle quipped.
Dinesh smiled and drank his sweet cocktail. "This is delicious," he said firmly. "I don't care if rich white ladies like it, too. Maybe the rich white ladies are right."
Gilfoyle's eyes widened in surprise. He didn't say anything.
"What do you like about foreign beer?" Dinesh asked politely.
"The complex flavors, I guess," Gilfoyle said uncertainly.
Dinesh nodded. "That's cool."
A week later, Dinesh was watching House Hunters in the living room.
"Really?" Gilfoyle asked, indicating the show. "House Hunters?"
House Hunters was barely even a guilty pleasure. "It's relaxing," said Dinesh. "I like nice houses. I look forward to getting my own place one day and decorating."
Gilfoyle snorted derisively, either at the unmanly subject matter or the materialism. Dinesh's instinct was to say something to cover his embarrassment, but he took a breath and stood by his own words.
"This one's got a nice pastel color scheme. Good location, too," he observed.
Gilfoyle sat down next to him on the couch. He didn't say much, but Dinesh knew he was watching. It felt sort of good to share parts of himself honestly with his friend.
The next time Dinesh was turned down by a woman, he was honest about that, too.
"I'm having no luck at all on OkCupid, but I still don't want to do an arranged marriage. The more I put myself out there, the more I feel like a loser. I'd better do some work on myself before I try any of these sites again," he said.
"I'd work on myself too, if I were you," Gilfoyle tried.
That one hurt, but Dinesh tried to take it in stride. "You're right," he agreed. "I'm not ready to date yet. Thanks for supporting my decision."
Gilfoyle stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
It was when he mentioned selling his Tesla that he finally got a reaction.
"I like it a lot, but it's not practical," Dinesh said as they sat by the pool one night. "The upkeep's too expensive. I think I just bought it to show off."
"Look, what's going on with you lately?" Gilfoyle exclaimed. "I know you aren't really this mature."
"I know, it's great, right?" Dinesh said. "Radical Candor."
"There's the old smug Dinesh," Gilfoyle said. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to retire at messing with you."
Dinesh frowned. Was he right? Was all this just another phony self improvement kick designed to draw attention to himself? Then he remembered his original goal: Gilfoyle's hands on him. Bravery and honesty. But did Gilfoyle even want him to be braver or more honest? He seemed almost disappointed with Dinesh lately.
"You're right," Radically Candid Dinesh admitted. "It's not a permanent change, not yet. I've just been trying to impress you."
Gilfoyle did an actual double take. "Why do you want to impress me?"
This was to be the first real test of Dinesh's Candor. He steeled himself.
"Because I'm in love with you," he said.
Gilfoyle looked like he wasn't sure if he should laugh.
"You're so cool," Dinesh continued earnestly. "You've always been your own person. I thought maybe if I were brave like you, you might see me as an equal."
"Just to be clear, you mean you're romantically in love with me?" Gilfoyle asked. "Like, physically attracted. To me."
"Yes," Dinesh sighed, resigned to a week's worth of backed up teasing. It felt good to be getting it out. "You're very handsome, and I like to be near you, and smell you, and I want ... I want you to touch me. But you don't have to, obviously."
He felt like he was about to faint. But he'd done it.
Gilfoyle got up and sat down next to Dinesh on the cheap pool lounge chair.
"Dinesh, for the record, you were always my equal," he said. "If it makes you feel better to lie, then do it. But if you want to be honest with me, you can. There's something I haven't been honest about, too."
"What is it?" Dinesh squeaked.
Gilfoyle smirked. "How much I've always wanted to do this."
And he leaned in, one hand on Dinesh's shoulder, the other on his chin, and he kissed him.
Dinesh grabbed Gilfoyle's hair and pulled like he'd been waiting years for this, which he had.
They wrapped their arms around each other hungrily, and kissed, and kissed. Finally, their lips broke apart, but they were still holding one another.
"How are you feeling?" Gilfoyle asked, stroking his hair. "Any weird gay panic setting in?"
"No, this feels wonderful," Dinesh breathed. And it was the truth.