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Kimi Antonelli is currently two inches away from the bathroom mirror, glaring at his own reflection with the intensity of a man trying to solve a murder mystery. Or a body dysmorphia. Eyes dysmorphia?
He leans closer, his nose nearly brushing the glass. He widens his eyes. Then, he squints them. He tilts his chin up, trying to look down his nose in a way that he hopes screams commanding, authoritative, and deeply intimidating.
Instead, he just looks like a very grumpy woodland creature.
He lets out a frustrated groan, dropping his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror.
"Bottom eyes," Kimi mutters to the empty bathroom.
He can't stop thinking about it. He had just been hanging out at the student centre with Bia and a few of her friends between seminars.
Kimi knew he should've gone to the library and take a quick nap instead.
They were complaining about their respective reading lists when the topic of dating profiles and gaydars came up. One of Bia’s friends, a guy named Marcus who Kimi has spoken to exactly three times, had looked at Kimi, waved a pen in his direction, and very offhandedly said, “Well, Kimi obviously doesn't have to worry about getting swiped right. He’s got bottom eyes.”
And everyone had just nodded. Even Bia. She just took a sip from her oversized water bottle and said, “Yeah, lethal.”
End of discussion, if it was even a discussion. It was the killing of his character in a broad daylight, unprompted.
Bottom eyes.
Kimi pushes off the mirror, turning his head to examine his profile. He doesn't have whatever that is. He has very normal, masculine Italian eyes. He does not have eyes that communicate a submissive sexual preference to strangers in the middle of a Thursday afternoon.
The sound of the front door unlocking breaks him out of his spiral.
"Baby, I'm home," Ollie’s voice booms through the flat, followed by the heavy thud of his gym bag hitting the floorboards and the rustle of paper grocery bags. "I got the good sourdough! And they had those little strawberry tarts you like-"
Kimi abandons the bathroom immediately. He marches down the short hallway, turning the corner into the kitchen like a barn dog.
Ollie is standing by the kitchen counter, shrugging off a heavy varsity jacket. His curls are a windblown mess, his cheeks slightly pink from the wind outside. He looks up, a wide, easy smile already forming on his face at the sight of his boyfriend.
"Hey, love, how was your-"
"Look at my face," Kimi demands, closing the distance between them. He points two rigid index fingers at his own eyes. "Look at it. Closely."
Ollie freezes, one arm still halfway out of his jacket sleeve. He blinks, clearly taken aback by the ambush, but his obedience kicks in. Kimi knows damn well he had trained Ollie well.
Ollie leans down slightly, his dark eyes scanning Kimi's face with deep concern.
"I'm looking," Ollie says softly, his brow furrowing. He reaches out a large hand to gently cup Kimi's jaw. "Are you having an allergic reaction? Is it pink eye? Kimi, I told you not to rub your eyes after riding the Tube."
"It's not pink eye, you idiot," Kimi swats Ollie's hand away. He steps even closer, tilting his face up into the kitchen lighting. "What vibe are my eyes giving off? First thing that comes to your mind."
Ollie stares at him. The silence stretches for five agonizing seconds.
"Um," Ollie starts, looking incredibly stressed by the pop quiz. "Brown? Beautiful? A little bit manic currently, if I'm being honest?"
"No! Not the color!" Kimi groans, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "The energy, Ollie! Do I have bottom eyes?"
Ollie blinks, eyes full of concern over Kimi's sanity, "The what?"
Kimi groans, "You know like on TikTok. People got like siren eyes, cat eyes, do I radiate submissive to you? From my eyes?"
Ollie blinks again, eyes darting from left to right like if he moves wrong Kimi would jump him (he would), "Is there a right answer to this?"
"Well I don't have them!" Kimi insists, pacing a tight circle. "It doesn't even make sense! I don't even look that gay! I have a very neutral straight-passing aesthetic."
Ollie pauses from trying to unpack the grocery, "Straight-passing?"
"Well yeah!" Kimi gestures wildly to his own outfit, an AC Milan jersey and basketball shorts. "I’m not one of those obvious gays. I don't watch RuPaul's Drag Race- or or wear makeup. I am painfully normal."
Ollie looks at him for a long, quiet moment and then comes the observant look he gets when he is actually analyzing something.
"Darling," Ollie says softly, leaning his hips against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I say this with my whole chest, and because I love you immensely, but you're being a little homophobic right now."
Kimi stops pacing so abruptly his socks nearly slip on the linoleum. He stares at Ollie, utterly appalled.
"What?" Kimi gasps, pressing a hand flat against his chest. "I am literally gay! I am a homosexual! I gave you head last night! How can I be homophobic?"
"Yes, gay and homophobic," Ollie nods, his tone remarkably calm, always comes out when Kimi's being difficult (which he isn't now, mind you). Ollie holds a finger up, "It's called internalized homophobia. I took that Gender Studies elective last semester, remember?"
Kimi’s jaw drops. "You're weaponizing your three-credit elective against me?"
"I'm just applying my education to real-world scenarios," Ollie says reasonably. He pushes off the counter, taking two long strides to close the space between them. He reaches out, wrapping his large hands gently around Kimi's waist, anchoring him in place.
"Look," Ollie continues, his voice dropping into that low, soothing register that always makes the hairs on the back of Kimi's neck stand up. "You're stereotyping. You're equating being gay with watching Drag Race and wearing makeup, and you're treating those things like they're a bad. You're against femininity in men because you see it as inferior. That's internalized homophobia, baby."
Kimi opens his mouth to argue, and then closes it.
He hates it when Ollie is right has literature he can refer to. It is so infuriatingly attractive.
"I..." Kimi stammers, his massive ego suddenly deflating like a sad balloon. He looks down at Ollie’s chest, tracing the seam of his t-shirt. "I just don't like people looking at me and making assumptions about my... you know. My role in a relationship based on my face. It feels invasive."
"I get that," Ollie hums, pressing a kiss to Kimi's temple. "But you don't have to throw other gay guys under the bus just to prove you're tough."
Kimi lets out a long, heavy sigh, resting his forehead against Ollie's shoulder. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll apologize to the LGBTQ+ community in my prayers tonight."
Ollie chuckles, the sound vibrating warm and solid against Kimi's cheek. "Apology accepted on behalf of the community."
"But I still don't have bottom eyes," Kimi mumbles stubbornly into the cotton of Ollie's shirt. "Marcus is projecting."
Ollie is quiet for a second. His hands slide up Kimi's back, a slow, comforting weight.
"Well," Ollie says slowly, a distinct smile creeping back into his voice. "For one, I know for an absolute, undeniable fact that you are a bottom."
Kimi’s face flushes violently. He tries to pull back, but Ollie's grip on his waist is immovable. "Oliver!"
"And," Ollie continues, completely ignoring the protest. He uses one hand to gently tilt Kimi's chin up, forcing Kimi to meet his gaze again. Ollie's dark eyes are crinkled with sheer, unadulterated fondness as he looks down at Kimi's flustered face. "You do kind of have them."
"I do not!" Kimi squeaks, his attempt at a scowl failing miserably.
"You do," Ollie whispers, his thumb brushing a soft rhythm over Kimi's cheekbone. "You have these huge, wide, glazed bambi eyes. Whenever you want something, or whenever you get a little bit whiny, they get so big and dark. It makes people want to give you things. It makes me want to give you things."
Kimi stares up at him, entirely trapped. He can feel the heat radiating off Ollie's skin. The way Ollie is looking at him, like Kimi is the most precious thing he has ever seen in his entire life, is making Kimi's heart hammer aggressively against his ribs. Disgusting. Straight to corny jail.
So Kimi does what he does best.
"I have the exact same eyes with my father. Are you calling a happily married man a bottom?"
Oliver freezes, eyes still locked onto his. Something flashes before those eyes. The mental image of Kimi's balding father, probably. Ollie squeezes his eyes shut.
Ah. The taste of victory. The sappiness had been counter-balanced.
Ollie shove Kimi's head by the forehead, going back to the grocery bags. "Sometimes I wished you were normal about compliments."