This pathetic display… this desperate attempt at mimicry… it dredges up an incongruous memory. Raphael. His unwavering certainty about his own… orientation. "I'm gay," he would state. A self-definition he embraced without question.

But… I am not so certain about myself. The concepts of sexuality and gender have always seemed… superfluous to my existence. A biological imperative for the masses, perhaps, another layer of their messy emotional landscape. I have never felt the need to categorize myself in such a way. It simply never seemed… necessary. A logical consequence, perhaps, of that deficit in my moral compass – a lack of inherent societal programming regarding such matters.

Cassiel… once posited the idea of fluidity. That these self-imposed categories are not fixed, but shifting currents. I… do not know. The logic of it is sound, perhaps. If emotions are merely chemical responses, then surely attraction and identity are equally malleable. Yet, the internal experience… or rather, the lack thereof… remains a void. Raphael evokes a… response. A desire for his presence. But is that attraction? Affection? Or merely a strategic imperative? The labels feel inadequate, ill-fitting. Perhaps, like morality, sexuality and gender are simply another set of human constructs that hold little inherent meaning for a mind wired differently.

The empirical data is limited. Raphael is the sole man with whom I have engaged in sexual activity. The last instance with a woman… years ago. Purely transactional. Their attraction was a tool, a means to an end – the acquisition of information. There was no… intrinsic pull on my part.

But Raphael… that is different. I cannot deny the… response he elicits. A distinct… interest. But to label it "attraction"? Does my experience align with their definitions of "gay" or "bisexual"? These categories, so readily applied by others, feel… foreign. Restrictive.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Or is this yet another aspect of my being that defies their neat classifications? Another area where the standard human operating manual offers no guidance? Why are there no clear directives for individuals like me? Those whose internal landscape deviates so significantly from the norm?

I pose these questions to myself, dissecting the sensations, the memories, the logical inconsistencies. But each answer only seems to spawn further inquiries, leading me down a rabbit hole of unfamiliar and unsettling possibilities. Am I gay? Bisexual? Or something… else entirely? Something that exists outside the confines of their established lexicon? The uncertainty is… surprisingly disquieting.

Raphael… he would possess that infuriatingly patient empathy. He wouldn't dismiss my confusion as illogical or irrelevant. He would approach it with that gentle curiosity that always seemed to see past my defenses.

"Take your time," he would say, his voice calm and reassuring. "There's no rush to figure it all out, Levi. No right or wrong way to feel." He would likely frown at the very notion of labels causing me distress. "Don't let boxes define you if they don't fit. They're just words people use to try and understand themselves and each other. It doesn't mean you have to use them."

And then, with that characteristic blend of earnestness and slight awkwardness, he might even enlist the help of his friends. "Hey, guys," I can almost hear him saying, a slight tremor of vulnerability in his tone, "Levi's… trying to understand a few things about sexuality. Would any of you mind… sharing your experiences?" He would create a safe space, a forum for exploration, without judgment or pressure.

His friends, with their open hearts and diverse experiences, would likely offer their perspectives, their own journeys of self-discovery. And Raphael would simply sit beside me, a silent reassurance that I wasn't alone in this perplexing exploration.

He wouldn't offer easy answers, but he would offer understanding, acceptance, and the freedom to simply… be. I miss that guiding light. I miss him.