I have a cardboard tray sitting on my lap. Two Tim Horton's cups sit in the holes, steam pouring out from the pinholes on the covers. I got myself a double-double with a flavour shot. I got Gabriel tea because I imagine he doesn't want to drink his calories. I sit perched on a bench across from a photography studio, and I have little desire to go in.

I slide the lock button on my phone and re-read the most recent message: 'I'm running a bit late. You can come in if u want.'

October is coming to a close and I shiver as my back presses against the chilled metal bench. The sky is clear but the wind is present, billowing the steam of my Tim Horton's into my face.

Today is Thursday, and more than just Thursday, today is 'someday'. When I asked Jenna and Eddie when I should come out, they said 'someday', and I decided today is 'someday.'

So as such I'm sitting here, on a bench, with the temperature steadily decreasing both in the air and within the cardboard cups on my lap, unwilling to make the simple move of waltzing into that building before me, finding my youngest brother, and telling him: 'I'm gay.'

I tap on the cover of my cup. I'm not nervous, per se, but a bit apprehensive. However, I need to put all feelings of fear beside me. This mission is like a game of sorts, and Gabriel is round one. Gabriel is like playing on easy mode.

There's a very strategic reason I decided to pick Gabriel as my first confidante among my siblings, and it is unrelated to his close proximity in age. As I was born with the gift of intellect (if I do say so myself), Gabriel was given the gift of beauty. Gabriel is sharp-boned, taller than most of us, lithe, and creamy-skinned. Gabriel was given a name of an angel, and the appearance to match. To be fair, Michael also shares his name with a biblical arch-angel, but his gifts and talents remain decidedly less practical or readily visible than beauty or intellect.

Gabriel models. He doesn't strut down the catwalk or anything equally gay, but his handsome face has gotten enough attention to appear in ads, in the paper, on billboards, and throughout catalogues in the area. It baffles my family how he was born so beautiful, because other than my mother's dignity, my father's faded youth, and our family-wide 'exotic Khosla nose', we're mostly plain-looking. Gabriel just got lucky with his DNA.

To cut a long story short, the reason Gabriel's modeling career makes him a good person to come out to is that he's the most likely out of my eight siblings to have constant contact with gay people. I won't pretend for a moment that his hairstylist isn't gay, or that some of his photographers have been. In fact, there might have even been a few lesbians tossed into the mix, in the form of clothing stylists with short and unusual hairstyles. Any homophobia he may have had in him must by now be erased by his constant casual interaction with homosexual people – and if Gabriel can survive in this sea of stereotypes, he can surely relate to me.

My coffee and tea are cooling down and I take this as an indication that I really need to go inside now. Gabriel will be almost done, and with any luck, his power queer-team won't even notice me sliding in.

I silently glide down the dark hallway, passing a few empty rooms before finding a spacious room with umbrella-lights set up in the corners. Standing against a plain white backdrop, dressed in simple business attire, is my brother.

Watching Gabriel, I'm reminded of Justin, and it suddenly becomes clear to me why I hated Justin so much. Well, there were a few reasons – he was vain, unintelligent, ineffective, unkind, but mostly, people fawned over his appearance when I frankly found him alien-looking, and not in a pleasant way. Gabriel is like the light side of Justin, the pure side. Justin is corrupt and egocentric, Gabe is friendly and warm, despite his profession.

I lean against the doorway. He keeps his gaze trained towards the camera, eyes intense but expression relaxed enough to create an inviting, commercial image. After a few minutes, I hear the photographer say 'that's a wrap' or something equally cliché, as Gabriel loosens his tight posture as he simultaneously loosens his tight necktie. Finally regaining his casual composure, he turns to me, doing a double take.

"Oh hey!"

I shrug and smile as I step towards him. He's suddenly masked behind a changing screen, removing his suit and returning to his street-clothes. "How are you?" he says from behind the screen.

"I've been worse." I say. "I brought you something to drink, please don't fire me if I got it wrong."

He twists out from behind the screen door and grabs the cup from my tray. "Awesome, thanks."

"Chai with one pack of sugar and no milk, is that alright?"

"Perfect."

"Not like I would have done anything had you said no…"

He smiles quickly before popping open the cover's tab and taking a sip. He nods and bids farewell to the photographer, and pulls on a sweater. "So where did you want to go?" he says, as he zips it up.

"Here is fine for now."

"You want to hang out inside a studio's empty lobby?"

I scoff. "Well we can go someplace fancier, I forgot you've found a love of designer suits."

"Dude, that was an ad for Tip Top Tailors. Hardly designer."

He smiles radiantly, his teeth a straight line of marble. Somewhere in the environs of his dark eyes and thick, groomed eyebrows, a small resemblance to myself can be seen, but his eyes are livelier. His hair is lighter than mine and frames around his face gentle, natural waves, contrasting my severe and geeky haircut. His entire appearance has been engineered for public display, yet he gives off an air of not being overly-controlled.

We sit down on the bench that I'd been sitting on earlier. It's a bit past five and the sky is still fully light.

"So I met another male model at 'camp'." I say, utilizing air quotes. "He's a major douchebag."

"I watched some of the show, I never heard him talk even once. How do you know he's a douche."

"I dunno, I just hate him. He represents most of the things I hate: undeserved egotism, ignorance, no sense of humour, uses one personal trait as a crutch for his popularity…"

"You do a lot of those things." My brother chuckles.

"Who said my egotism is un-deserves? Justin is like the anti-me. Like a mirror image."

"You're just jealous nobody wanted to see you take your shirt off." He snickers.

"Yeah, that's another thing, I don't even get his appeal, he wasn't even hot. Like, at all, everyone fawned over him and he was just…freaky-looking! It's like that episode of Spongebob when Squidward gets handsome."

"You still watch Spongebob?"

"After what I've been through in the past few months, I really feel for Squidward."

We exchange a restrained laugh. "Maybe it's a girl thing." Gabriel says.

"Maybe girls think he's gorgeous and boys don't because they see him as competition."

"Ah, I don't think so." I wonder if this would be a good time to bring up the issue I've been meaning to discuss. "There are a few guys…mostly Owen…who seem to go gaga over that Polynesian God as well. Of course, that's just 'cause they haven't met you." I add exaggeratedly.

I sit in silence for a moment, pondering my course of action. I take a little gulp. "And, ah, another reason he's an asshole is that he manipulates people's attraction to him to get them to do stuff for him. I mean, I'm a jerk to people on a regular basis but at least I'm very clear about it instead of trying to wrap them around my finger. I know I've got the brain to outwit most people, but I choose not to because I'm not a total dick."

The look on his face is a tiny bit unbelieving. He thinks I'm being a hypocrite, I think. Maybe I am, but I'm doing it to move the dialogue along. "Maybe I'm not the best example." I resume. "So…do you have anyone at your feet because of your good looks and status? 'Cause I'm dying to find more reasons I like him less than you."

"Well, knowing me since the moment you were born should kind of be the first reason." He smirks. "But of course, I have patsies bringing me tea and coffee every day."

I look down at the empty Tim's tray in my lap, and grimace. "I may as well get good at delivering lattés, then."

"I don't mean you." He laughs. "I mean random people who want to get into my good graces. It was worse last year when I was still in high school! You know how many guys tried to date me because they assumed that my knowledge of fashion essentials made me gay by default?" He chuckles again.

"Some people have all the luck!" I shrug. His gaze freezes on me, his laughter fades out. His mouth curls into a taut, aware smile. My hint was intentional, and my hint hit home. I fiddle with the rim of my now-empty cup and look at him silently for an instant. "Guys don't really look to the arrogant bookworm."

His little smile splits further, once again revealing his pearly whites. "So it wasn't the recluse, the art student, or the model, but it was the bookworm?"

I shift in my seat but my posture loosens at his welcome acceptance of my revelation. "That's why I wanted to speak to you today. Well, not only cause of that, I guess, cause you're my brother, or something, but because I figured your field of work is crawling with gays and you'd know better than any of the others how to deal with it?"

"You haven't told any of our other siblings? Or Mom and Dad?" I shake my head at both. "If somebody were taking bets on who the gay Khosla was, I don't think they'd have picked you."

"Have you ever seen me run?" I shout. "Whoever was taking these hypothetical bets must have done it in like 2001!"

"You do look pretty gay when you run." He says with a nod.

"And have you ever heard me scream?" I add.

"You do sound pretty gay when you scream."

"You should come back to the house for supper." I say. "I'm freezing my ass off out here, I just didn't want to make my little confession at home."

We peel off the metal bench and I toss my cups into a nearby bin. Gabriel stands on the sidewalk, hands in his pocket, awaiting me.

When I rejoin him, he asks: "What made you decide to tell everyone, all the sudden?"

"Honestly," I start "All my friends from school have known for a while. I just didn't want to handle the family awkwardness. It's statistically probably that someone's going to want to disown me, and I really hope it's not Mom or Dad because I still need their money seeing as I didn't win Total Drama."

"So why the change?"

"Ugh, did you see me on the show? I had gay written all over me. I never knew I was that obvious about it. I actually said 'what-everr'" I try to make my best catty intonation on the word.

"Well I saw you kiss a guy."

My fists clench in exasperation. "Why won't anyone just give that a rest? I was asleep! Owen sleepwalked and dove off a cliff and got naked, and no one bats an eye, and I spoon someone and everyone freaks right out."

"You're pretty defensive about it…" he says, a bit surprised.

"Well, Cody is a great guy and we became friends afterwards, I really think it would be for the best if my epic gay didn't drag him down with me."

"That's surprisingly noble."

"Plus I just don't want to talk about it. The kiss, I mean."

I parked the car in a nearby lot. It's a miracle I even got my license – I got my learner's permit about a month after my 16th birthday and didn't get my fulls until May, about a month before I left for the show. Had I failed for the first time, I'd probably have needed to go through the entire driver's license ordeal a second time around because my original permit expires on November 9th.

Also, in a moment of humbleness, I'll admit I'm a fairly shitty driver, which is why it took me seven months to get my license in the first place.

Gabriel sits in the passenger seat as I do up my seatbelt.

"This place is putrid." He says.

"Don't remind me. Isaiah had to repair Mark's car, and Mark took this one for a week. One week. Who eats this much in a car?"

I turn the key and drive off towards home. One down, ten to go, and I haven't been lynched yet.