Brendan and Chad were a walking cliché, two lifelong best friends who bonded over cheap beer, bad action movies, and a mutual, unspoken pact to never, ever discuss their feelings. They were as straight as the long, flat roads of their native Indiana. Or so they thought.

It started innocently enough at the annual Fort Wayne Corn Festival. Chad, a man whose fashion sense peaked with a graphic tee featuring a wolf howling at the moon, was attempting to win a giant stuffed banana for his niece. His throws were comically, tragically bad.

"Dude," Brendan said, laughing so hard he almost dropped his fried Twinkie. "You're throwing it like a sad, deflated sack of potatoes."

Chad glared at him. "At least I'm not wearing a fanny pack."

"It's practical!" Brendan protested, patting the neon green pouch.

Suddenly, a rogue gust of wind whipped up, sending a rogue funnel cake wrapper flying directly into Brendan's face. He stumbled back, right into Chad's arms. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated slapstick. Brendan's fried Twinkie landed with a splat on the ground, and Chad, in a heroic effort to catch him, dropped his last ring-toss ring.

They stood there for a beat, tangled up, the sweet smell of corn and fried dough in the air. Their eyes met. The laughter died down, replaced by a profound, awkward silence.

"My funnel cake wrapper," Brendan mumbled, trying to break the tension.

"It's on your face," Chad said softly, and then, without thinking, he reached up and gently pulled it off. His fingers brushed Brendan's cheek.

Brendan felt a jolt. Not of disgust, but… something else. Something warm and fluttery. He felt his face flush. Chad's did too.

They untangled themselves, fumbling with their hands. "So… the banana," Chad said, clearing his throat. "I’ll get you another fried Twinkie."

"I... I think I'm good on fried Twinkies," Brendan said, a small smile on his face. "But maybe… maybe we could split a giant stuffed banana?"

And that's how it started. Not with a dramatic, movie-worthy confession, but with the quiet understanding that a giant stuffed banana was best shared with the person who'd just pulled a funnel cake wrapper off your face. And that maybe, just maybe, being "straight" in Indiana wasn't as simple as they once thought.

Brendan and Chad were a walking cliché, two lifelong best friends who bonded over cheap beer, bad action movies, and a mutual, unspoken pact to never, ever discuss their feelings. They were as straight as the long, flat roads of their native Indiana. Or so they thought.

It started innocently enough at the annual Fort Wayne Corn Festival. Chad, a man whose fashion sense peaked with a graphic tee featuring a wolf howling at the moon, was attempting to win a giant stuffed banana for his niece. His throws were comically, tragically bad.

"Dude," Brendan said, laughing so hard he almost dropped his fried Twinkie. "You're throwing it like a sad, deflated sack of potatoes."

Chad glared at him. "At least I'm not wearing a fanny pack."

"It's practical!" Brendan protested, patting the neon green pouch.

Suddenly, a rogue gust of wind whipped up, sending a rogue funnel cake wrapper flying directly into Brendan's face. He stumbled back, right into Chad's arms. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated slapstick. Brendan's fried Twinkie landed with a splat on the ground, and Chad, in a heroic effort to catch him, dropped his last ring-toss ring.

They stood there for a beat, tangled up, the sweet smell of corn and fried dough in the air. Their eyes met. The laughter died down, replaced by a profound, awkward silence.

"My funnel cake wrapper," Brendan mumbled, trying to break the tension.

"It's on your face," Chad said softly, and then, without thinking, he reached up and gently pulled it off. His fingers brushed Brendan's cheek.

Brendan felt a jolt. Not of disgust, but… something else. Something warm and fluttery. He felt his face flush. Chad's did too.

They untangled themselves, fumbling with their hands. "So… the banana," Chad said, clearing his throat. "I’ll get you another fried Twinkie."

"I... I think I'm good on fried Twinkies," Brendan said, a small smile on his face. "But maybe… maybe we could split a giant stuffed banana?"

And that's how it started. Not with a dramatic, movie-worthy confession, but with the quiet understanding that a giant stuffed banana was best shared with the person who'd just pulled a funnel cake wrapper off your face. And that maybe, just maybe, being "straight" in Indiana wasn't as simple as they once thought.