Enough to Stay Out All Night

“Say my name. Tell me you love me.”

A soft laugh. “I thought I was the one who gets to make the demands.”

“Do it, please?”

There were a few moments of silence. His heart was racing in his chest, but not because of the physical activity. He may have been the one being paid for it, but he needed this just as much as they did. He heard plenty of stories of other boys who felt dirty and used afterward, but not him; he went home feeling loved.

It was a rush and it was never enough. He had to go back out again every night, not just to earn his living but to feel wanted. He asked the same of each one, and when they whispered in his ear he closed his eyes and didn't think of them.

“I love you, Chris.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The bus was nearly empty as it always was at this time of day. Most people were at work now, their children at school. Chris probably should have been at home, sleeping, but he ignored his fatigue for the chance at another rush, an indescribable rush better than any other. He quickly checked his cellphone – it was one-thirty.

Only a minute later the bus stopped and a man with a dark green cap got on. Chris knew him well, stared as the man sat down on the other side of the bus, taking in all the details he was already familiar with. He wasn't sure how long it would be before the man noticed him.

///////////////////////////////

There was a giant mirror in the middle of the room. With nothing better to do, Chris stood in front of it and examined his reflection.

He started down at his feet, his least favorite feature. He made sure to wear shoes as often as possible, and when he wasn't wearing shoes he wore thick socks so that he would never have to see his own feet. The skin was always dry and cracked and was not a fair representation of his beauty.

He liked his legs, though. They were long and slender, and even though his thighs could have been slimmer he thought they still looked appealing. His jeans hung low on his hips and his shirt rode up a bit if he held his shoulders square enough. The bit of skin the movement exposed was pale, but smooth, much better than the skin on his feet.

His stomach and chest were flat. He wasn't muscular at all, but at least he was lean. His arms were fairly thin, and his collarbone was prominent. He had a scar on his throat from a surgery he'd had as a child. He used to think it looked ugly, but in time he had grown accustomed to it and was able to appreciate it well enough. He liked to make up gruesome stories about it whenever one of them inquired, which always earned him a bit of their sympathy.

His eyes fell over his own visage. Despite the small gap in between his two front teeth, he had always thought he had a nice smile (it was a shame that he smiled too infrequently) and had been told so on several occasions. His hair was growing a bit too long for his liking, the ends starting to curl enough to form actual ringlets. He would have to get it cut soon.

His eyes were always the last thing he liked to see. Sure, they were a rather pretty blue and had earned him plenty of compliments in his lifetime, but there was just something unsettling about looking into his own eyes. He had heard once that blue eyes were supposedly equated with innocence – every time he thought about it now he bit back a laugh. He imagined that the bluer the eyes, the more innocent their owner, and so he would ask himself how he ever ended up with such a color. He never felt bad about what he did, but he knew he was far from virtuous.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Chris stared for approximately thirty seconds before Jonny noticed him. He had been in the middle of slipping an earphone over his right ear when he looked up and saw Chris. He smiled and waved with his free hand, saying, “Hi,” in that quiet voice of his.

Chris waved back and echoed, “Hi.” Jonny went back to sandwiching the hook of the earphone in between his earlobe and the thick fabric of his cap. While Jonny was distracted, Chris had taken the liberty of grabbing his bag and moving to the empty seat on Jonny's left. He watched Jonny for another few seconds, then nervously glanced around the rest of the bus.

///////////////////////////////

A pair of hands crept over his hips and up his sides, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt and slowly lifting the fabric. He was always relieved that he was not as ticklish as some of his other family members were, though he was sure that if he started giggling now it would only be welcomed. Instead, he stood with a blank face and an imagination that replaced almost all of the factual details of that moment:

He wasn't in another unfamiliar hotel room at midnight. He couldn't smell the stench of alcohol in the hot breath gliding across his neck. The hands that touched him weren't the hands of a stranger.

He was loved.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Abruptly, Jonny removed his left headphone and asked, “Are you doing anything Friday?”

Chris had no reason to doubt that Jonny was talking to him, because there was no one else on the bus except the driver. His heart beat a little faster. “I was thinking about going out,” he coolly replied with a casual shrug of his right shoulder. “Why?”

Jonny dug into his backpack and retrieved a slightly crumpled piece of paper, which he then handed to Chris. It was a neon green flyer.

“There's this open mic at the coffee shop Friday night,” Jonny told him. “I'm gonna play for a bit. You should come.”

Chris saw the excitement in Jonny's eyes. He knew how much Jonny loved performing, especially in front of his friends. “Maybe,” he said, looking down at the flyer and tilting his head to the side. “I'll have to think about it.”

///////////////////////////////

“What's your name?”

“John.”

Chris smirked. He always used his real name – he needed to use his real name – but he knew that no one else ever did. John was such a common name, such an easy choice. “Can I call you Jonny?”

The man hesitated at first, wondering if he was being serious, and then smiled back and winked at him. “You can do whatever you like.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Chris wrapped a piece of tape around his finger with the adhesive side facing out and stuck it to the back of the flyer. He did this another three times, one for each corner of the paper. Then he carefully held the flyer up to the wall and made sure it was parallel to the other papers he had taped up in the past. He pressed his hand firmly on the paper until he was certain that it would not fall.

He stood back and admired his work. He had at least twenty other flyers on his wall, all of which he had received from Jonny. There were also a few small slips of paper from the gigs Jonny had done which had not been important enough for an entire sheaf.

The wall was the same one that his bed was pushed up against. He stood on the mattress whenever he needed to add another flyer to the collection. After sticking the newest one up there, he looked down at his sock-covered feet and tried to avoid stepping on the guitar that he always kept on his bed.

He jumped down to the floor, but almost immediately went back to the mattress, this time lying down and slipping under the blanket. He reached his hand out and placed it gently on the neck of the guitar. The strings always made a weird, scratchy sound when he ran his fingers over them, never actually strumming. He didn't know the first thing about playing the guitar, but it had never been his intention to use the instrument the way it was meant to be used.

///////////////////////////////

“I've been trying to sell my one guitar for the past month,” Jonny was telling him as they sat in the coffee shop one rainy afternoon, “but it seems like no one wants to buy it.”

“How much do you want for it?” Chris asked. He absentmindedly swirled the coffee stirrer around in his cup. Jonny threw him an intrigued look.

“Why, are you gonna buy it?”

“That depends. How much do you want for it?” Chris repeated with slight emphasis. He could tell that Jonny was unsure of his reaction to what was probably just an attempt at making conversation, not money.

After the pause, Jonny answered, “A hundred.”

Chris smiled and held out his hand. “Deal.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The song was halfway finished when Chris walked into the coffee shop. At first he was afraid that it was Jonny up on stage and that he had arrived late, but he looked and was relieved to find that a woman actually stood in front of the crowd. He spotted Jonny off to the side of the stage, but did not wave; Jonny wasn't even looking at anyone in the shop, his attention focused on the guitar in his hands. He bent over and fiddled with the tuning pegs, then gently strummed a few of the strings. Chris took a seat somewhere in the middle of the audience.

He liked to sit in the middle, because it showed that he was supportive without seeming too supportive. He often thought about purposely coming into a performance of Jonny's a bit late just to act like it wasn't the only thing he thought of the entire day, not even close – but it really was the only thing his mind could focus on and he didn't want to miss even a second of seeing Jonny play. So, he settled for sitting a few tables back from the stage.

Jonny was an instrumentalist and not a lyricist or singer, but his songs always felt complete regardless, like a few vocals here and there would add almost nothing to the experience. Chris liked to watch Jonny concentrate while he played – his eyebrows drawn but the rest of his face appearing relaxed – but the music itself put him in some sort of trance. Chris was almost jealous of how easy it was to admire Jonny's talent, his art.

///////////////////////////////

Chris stood in the doorway while he waited for Jonny to fetch his guitar. He looked around, but was far too nervous to actually walk into the room – Jonny's room. He was standing in the doorway of Jonny's room, something he had only dreamed about for ages. There were many little posters taped to the walls of people who Chris guessed were musicians. All the pictures had the glossy look that meant they had been torn from various magazines.

There was little else in the room. Jonny had a small desk next to the window which had no drapes or blinds. Chris wondered if the light pouring in ever bothered Jonny.

Jonny's bed was against the wall opposite the window. Jonny was off to the side of it now, digging in his closet for the guitar case. The guitar itself rested on Jonny's bed; Chris stared at the guitar, but didn't see it, too busy taking in the image of that bed – the sheets ruffled just a bit – and committing it to memory for the next time he had a client. If only the memory could be more than just an image...

Chris pulled himself back to the present and tried to subside the longing he felt deep in his chest as Jonny gently set the guitar down in its case. He very briefly thought about bustling across the room, dragging Jonny down onto the bed and learning the feel of those sheets (and why not? He couldn't be sure if he would ever be this close to the room again), but he didn't, because it couldn't happen like that.

While Jonny closed the guitar case and traveled across the room, Chris pulled out his wallet and extracted a wad of bills. He and Jonny traded, case for money, and Chris held the handle of the case with both hands and watched as Jonny looked at the bills with some confusion. Jonny had counted what was there, his fingers stuck in the middle of the pile.

Jonny lifted his eyes to Chris. “I thought we agreed on a hundred.”

“Well,” Chris began, realizing that the guitar and case were far heavier than he had assumed they would be, “we did...”

“You gave me two hundred,” Jonny blankly said.

Chris refrained from blinking. “It's worth two.”

“Actually, I only bought it for-”

“It's worth two,” Chris said again. Jonny stared at him for a while with a dumbfounded look, then seemed to give up the fight and pocketed the money.

“Thanks,” Jonny told him in a quiet voice.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

“Are you planning on watching the rest of these people or do you want to get out of here?” Jonny softly asked. His voice had come out of nowhere and startled Chris, nearly forcing him to spill the cup of coffee in his hand.

After recovering from his near heart attack, Chris turned to find Jonny standing only a foot away and leaning his elbow on the table. Chris quickly looked back at the stage before answering. “Well, I'm sure the other people would appreciate the attention, but,” he glanced at Jonny, “I suppose there are better things to do with my ti-”

“Good. Come on,” Jonny interjected, firmly grasping Chris's arm and yanking him out of his seat. Chris was surprised by Jonny's strength, as he was sure that Jonny was surprised by Chris's fragility. He let himself be dragged across the shop to the outside world and decided that in the darkness it was all right to let out a quick smile.

///////////////////////////////

He remembered the first time it had happened more clearly than he could remember any other time, which made sense, at least to him, since that first time was extremely significant. It was what started everything, what caused him to live his life the way he did now.

He had been sitting at the bar, just waiting for someone to come up to him. He had heard that this was how that sort of thing was done and he felt that his source was reliable enough to actually listen to. He waited for quite a long time, but eventually a man did start talking to him.

“You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?” The man rested his hand on Chris's arm as Chris glanced up at him. The man looked startlingly young, yet he still managed to have a creepy air about him. Chris didn't really care what he looked like, though. “I'll bet you do all sorts of stuff.”

“Anything you want.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred an hour.”

The man gave him a knowing smirk. “You're new at this, aren't you?”

Chris stood up and tried to make himself look superior. “Do I look like I'm new at this?”

The man thought for a few moments, considering the question. He looked far less certain than he had ten seconds ago. “I guess not.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

There was a tree in the park so huge that both he and Jonny could lean up against it side by side, still leaving just enough room for a third person. The distance between them now was approximately one human body, but that was just because Jonny had his guitar out, and if Chris sat too close he would get hit by the neck.

Jonny had just started playing out of nowhere several minutes prior. There was no real lighting around them, but Chris still watched him anyway, and could still clearly see the meticulous expression he wore. He didn't even care that the bark of the tree was scraping against and digging into his back; Jonny and his guitar were beautiful and that was all that mattered.

///////////////////////////////

He closed his eyes, because he didn't think it made much of a difference whether or not he was really in the moment. The room was pitch-black anyway, and he was sure the other man wouldn't mind too terribly.

There was a shift of the other body and then hot air was being quickly exhaled around his ear. Chris kept his eyes shut tight and wondered what wouldn't be weird for him to think of (this being the first time, and he had been working for several months before he had known the dark green cap), because if he didn't think of something else then he may as well have had his eyes open.

Then there came a whisper in his ear, deep and wanting. “God, you really are beautiful.”

And something in the back of his mind lit up.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

“Jonny, how much do you like me?” Chris asked while simultaneously trying to prevent his slightly melted ice cream from dripping down the cone and onto his hand. If he hadn't been so tired, he would not have asked the question; alas, the sun was rising over the horizon and Chris couldn't remember the last time he had slept for more than three hours in a row.

Jonny sounded just as tired as he did. “Enough to stay out all night,” he answered with a slight, fatigued slur in his speech.

“How much is that?”

Chris turned to Jonny. Jonny was doing the same thing he had been doing, trying to keep his hands free of ice cream, except that Jonny looked a lot better than he must have. Chris caught glimpses of Jonny's, tongue every few seconds and in his tiredness thought that he himself felt quite like melted ice cream.

Jonny stopped to look up at Chris. Chris could see that, as with most things he did, he had caused Jonny a bit of confusion. “A rather generous amount. You know... We're really good friends.”

Even though Jonny was clearly greatly affected by fatigue, Chris still believed what he said – after all, it wasn't as if Jonny was drunk or anything along those lines. They just were both in desperate need of some shut-eye.

“Well,” Chris began, importantly, looking out once more at the sunrise, “I'm really good friends with a lot of people.”

“Ah. Then I guess I don't feel so special anymore.”

Like with everything else, Chris didn't show it, but at that moment he felt like he'd lost a battle.

Birthday Candles

It was my mother who first told me about wishing on candles.

“Close your eyes and make a wish,” she said, “then blow out the candles. But don't tell anyone what you wished for, or it won't come true.”

Of course, I was only two years old at the time, and thus I hardly understood her words. She repeated the information every year that followed, though, so that as she brought the cake out to me on my eighth birthday, I knew exactly what to do.

I closed my eyes and wished for...

It's a silly tradition, really. Candles have no power to grant you anything, other than maybe a burn or two if you stick your hand into the flame. Not one of my requests has ever been answered. And telling your child not to let anyone else know about that one thing that they really, really want just seems like bad parenting to me. Kids must grow up keeping everything bottled inside because of it.

Yet, I can't bring myself to tell anyone any of the things I've ever wished for; maybe it's just that tiny voice in the back of head that says, “No, these things could still come true. You can't tell anyone or it won't come true.” But even my first wish, made twenty-six years ago now, is still lost somewhere among the birthday wishes, waiting to be granted. Why cling to false hope?

I made that first wish when I was eight years old. As a child, my wishes changed from year to year. Sometimes I would even plan half-way through the year what I would wish for, but by the time my birthday rolled around, it was once again different. The wishes gradually transformed from desire for material items to desire for intangible items, mere, possibly man-made, ideas...

In my first semester of college I took a dance class. I had always loved dancing, and I was not afraid to admit it; however, until that point, I had no means to study dance, as my parents were keen on forcing me to learn subjects which they felt were more boyish – for example, I spent every single afternoon from the age of fourteen to the age of sixteen practicing rugby, football, and cricket. As soon as I saw that there was an open dance class, I jumped on the chance to participate.

I had expected for the class to be filled with girls. I was wrong – so wrong, in fact, that there were too many boys, and when the teacher split us into groups of two for the first dance routine, the last group consisted of two boys, because we had completely run out of girls.

“You two don't mind partnering up, do you?” the teacher asked myself and this tawny-haired boy. I turned to get a look at him as he shook his head. I faced the teacher again.

“It's fine by me.”

“Good,” she said. Then she looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “You can be the girl.”

She walked away. I found myself laughing at her bluntness, and a few seconds later I heard another voice join mine. But when I turned, it stopped, and the tawny-haired boy gave me an embarrassed look.

“I guess I'll be the girl, then.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. His voice was soft and he sounded guilty.

“Yeah, it's fine. I've spent too much of my life being forced to be a boy, anyway.” And then it was my turn to look embarrassed. “So to speak, of course. My parents made me do all sorts of sporty things, but dancing is sort of a passion for me.”

The boy nodded, not in an awkward way, as if he didn't know how else to react, but in an understanding way.

“I'm Chris, by the way.”

“Jonny,” he said with a smile.

The teacher called one group up to the front of the room to demonstrate the first few positions of the routine. Then we all gave it a try. The girls (and myself) had to start with their backs to their partners. The boys were supposed to walk up and turn them around by placing their hands on the girls' sides.

When Jonny's hands first touched me, I let out a terribly loud gasp and immediately hated myself for it. He quickly pulled his hands back.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No, no, it's fine.” It was more than fine, actually, which was probably what shocked me in the first place. His touch seemed to contain some inexplicable bit of magic. “I just wasn't paying attention, that's all. You caught me off-guard.”

“Well, should we try again?”

“Yeah. This time I'll make sure to focus.” I let out a nervous laugh and prepared myself. Since I knew what was coming, I would be able to better control my actions the next time around (though something told me I wouldn't get my heart rate to slow down any time soon).

Jonny laid his hands on my sides again. He easily turned me around, though he didn't appear to be exerting much force at all. From there, I was supposed to grab his left hand with my right and spin off to the side.

The feeling of magic only intensified as his skin touched mine. His hands were soft like his voice, his grip far looser than my own. I felt the beginnings of sweat in the palm of my hand and hoped that I was just imagining it.

After I spun, we stood still for a while. It seemed as though neither of us could remember the next step.

“Is it your move next or mine?” he asked. “I can't remember.”

“I can't remember, either,” I told him, laughing a little and wishing I hadn't. “Maybe we're both supposed to move.”

“Maybe.” He glanced around at the other groups, which proved to be not much help at all. The other boys and girls in the room were having just as much difficulty with the beginning step as Jonny and I had had at first. “I think... I think it was... something like this...”

Jonny pulled his arm back slightly, tugging me along. I walked around back of him as he maneuvered his arm over his head. Then I was in front of him again, our hands still clasped, but now we were even closer than before.

His eyes were green, a soft green. We stopped there, because those were the only moves we had been taught thus far. I let go of his hand – my palms were growing far too wet – but neither of us moved otherwise.

That magic was still flowing even though we had broken contact. I could feel it in my veins, tingling through my blood. My heart pumped the sensation rapidly through my system and my stomach tried to join forces with it.

Well, I thought, this certainly explains all those girlfriends I never had.

Of course stereotypical me would make such a discovery during the first day of dance class. I could have asked myself a thousand questions in that moment – Why had I never realized this before? Did I always feel like this, or did my parents pushing me into masculine activities cause it? Could it be caused by that, even? – but I found that it was much easier to just stare at Jonny and save my reflexive interrogation for later.

We spent a lot of time practicing the routine outside of class – well, we spent a lot of time practicing the routine inside of class as well, but that's not much of a surprise. There was a small studio near where the classroom was which was empty most of the time. Jonny and I went there to practice.

We basically nailed the routine every time, but I would suggest afterward that we continue practicing anyway. You know, just to make sure we really had it down. Jonny didn't seem to mind.

When it came time to perform the routine in front of the class, I felt really confident. I had seen some of the other groups practicing, and they had nothing on us. Even the teacher said after class that we had been the best she'd seen in a while.

Actually, we could have been better. Perhaps the teacher's focus had been drifting, but towards the very end I nearly fell. Luckily, Jonny was supposed to “catch” me then anyway. I could see that he struggled a bit, because he really was catching me, but apparently we were convincing enough to fool everyone else.

“Are you OK?” he whispered to me as our classmates began to clap. I took a step back and he let his hands fall to his sides.

“Yeah, I'm... fantastic.” I was relieved to be able to stand in the back of the classroom after that, because I could feel my cheeks turning red. I wasn't embarrassed, just flustered. I could still vividly imagine the way Jonny's arms had wrapped around me. I longed to be that close to him again, even though that moment had only passed mere minutes before.

Jonny was very shy and I quickly became infatuated with him; therefore, we remained partners for the rest of the class. Whenever we were told to split up, Jonny and I would go right to each other. I wondered for a long time what it meant that he always wanted to be with me; could he also feel that magic? I thought a lot of times about asking him, but I never actually gathered up enough courage to do it.

I was extremely surprised, as well as pleased, to find that even after the semester was over, Jonny and I still kept in touch. In fact, the day I first received a call from Jonny, who asked if I wanted to hang out that evening, was one of the most exciting days of my life. We spent almost the entire night in his dorm, just sitting and talking. We really got to know each other.

Over time we became best friends, and I fell in love with him. He was just basically the greatest person I ever met, kind and funny and smart and all of those other cheesy, cliched adjectives. I could never tell him, though, or do anything about it at all. So, I lived my life. I dated some other guys. He might not have ever known about that, either. I never really told anyone (though obviously any of my boyfriends could have guessed).

We met Guy and Will later on in the first year of our friendship. I never would have guessed back then that we would end up becoming world-renowned musicians; in fact, I never would have guessed that I would have become any type of musician. I had liked music as a child, as I had liked dance, but I never got the chance to practice it. I could play some guitar and piano, but nothing too spectacular. Somehow, though, the four of us came to form a band, and from there everything changed.

Today is my birthday and it's raining. But it's always raining in England. Rain rain rain. Rain everywhere. Rain in the sky and on the ground and in my shoes. My socks are so wet right now. It's like I walked through a million puddles or something. Oh wait, I think I did. I can't remember. There was so much rain, it was like I had to swim across an ocean to get here. Wait, did I swim?

Um, rain depresses me. And depression depresses me. I feel really depressed. No, I did feel depressed. Right now I just feel wasted and it might have something to do with all that liquor I drank before I came here. I was sitting at home and drinking and listening to the rain and being depressed and drinking more and listening to the rain and I got tired of staring at the rain running down the window so I got up and swam to the studio. Now my socks are wet.

I want to play some piano, so I walk into the room where the piano is and I turn on the light. But my heart is racing, because there seem to be other gentlemen in this room already even though the lights were off. Who would be in here while the lights are off? They're yelling something at me, surmise or something. Wait, they look familiar...

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Ohhhhhh!

Ha ha. Ha!

Oh, it's just Guy and Will and Jonny and Guy and Will and Jonny. I don't remember there being six of them, but they're all here!

“Hey, guys, I'm so glad you could all... six of you... make it!”

They're looking at me funny, like I said something weird or something. Maybe they know I swam here.

“Chris, are you drunk?” the Guys ask Chris, which is me. I should answer them. Stay cool.

“What?” I don't remember my voice being that high before. They're totally fooled, though. They totally think I'm so sober right now. Staying cool. “What? Nooo, no, of course not... man. Guy. Ha ha ha ha ha.”

The Guys turn to the other four. “He's drunk. So much for the party.”

A party? A party? They threw a party for me? “Party? Did you guys throw a party for me?”

“Yeah,” the Jonnys say, “since it's your birthday and all, we thought we'd set it up for you. And we figured you would end up here at some point during the day. I guess we weren't wrong.”

“Aww, you're all so nice! I just swam here to play piano, but I didn't know you guys were throwing a party for me!” Oops, did I just say that I swam here? Well, I did, so... but I didn't mean to say it.

The Wills are speaking now. “We have some cake and presents in the other room. Maybe we should get this done and over with and leave you to play piano, Chris. Since you swam all the way here.”

“Oh, good.” The Wills start to walk out of the room, then the Guys. The Jonnys are looking at me, so I look back at them. The Jonnys are nice to look at. I wonder if the Jonnys think I'm nice to look at.

“You'll like the cake. It's chocolate with chocolate icing.” The Jonnys don't seem sure of what else to say. They look confused. It makes me feel confused, too. But they said something about cake and chocolate. Chocolate cake. I grab one of the Jonnys' wrists and I seem to have grown another arm which also grabbed another of the Jonnys' wrists. That confuses me even more – but chocolate cake!

“C'mon, Jonny, chocolate cake!” I pull him along and realize that I forgot to acknowledge the other Jonny. I feel bad, but then I almost fall over and the Jonnys grab me and I hold onto the doorway that goes into the kitchen area thing we have in the studio. That must be where the cake is.

“Should we even bother lighting the candles?” I hear the Wills ask. “I don't know if it's a good idea to let him anywhere near fire in this state.”

“Candles, yes, candles!” I tell him. The Wills look over at the doorway, where I am still, then at the Jonnys next to me and at the Guys on the other side of the room. The Wills don't look like they want to light the candles. But they have to light the candles, they have to! “Candles, yes.”

“I'm just afraid that you'll fall into the cake and set your hair on fire or something.”

“No, I won't set my hair on fire. We have to have candles. We have to. We need the candles. We need them.”

The Wills sigh and strike a match. “All right, quit your whining. If it means so much to you, I'll light the candles.”

I want to frown, because I didn't know I was whining and I hate being whiny and the thought of it depresses me, but I can't do anything but smile, because the Jonnys are still holding on to me and the Wills are lighting the candles! It's important.

The Jonnys help me over to where the cake and the Wills are. Now I'm afraid that they were right, and that I'll fall and catch on fire before I can make my wish. So, I just have to make my wish really, really fast.

“Aren't you going to sing to me?” I ask. How can I make a wish if no one sings? I have to make the wish after the singing is done and no other time than that. I can hear someone groan, and it sounds like the Guys. The Guys don't like to sing, even though they do have a lovely voice. Lovely voices. All of my six friends have lovely voices. I wish every day was my birthday so I could hear them sing. Especially the Jonnys. The Jonnys have the nicest voices, but they don't like to sing either. It's not like with the Guys, though, the Jonnys are just embarrassed to sing. It's cute.

Oh, wait, hearing them sing isn't my wish. It's not my wish! It doesn't count! Everyone has stopped singing. When did they stop singing?

“Come on, Chris,” the Guys moan, “blow out the fucking candles already.”

“I have to make a wish first.”

“A wish? What are you, five?”

What? Don't the Guys know that today is my birthday? Don't they know that I'm 34 today? And the way they said it makes it sound like this is stupid. But it's not stupid. How can I have a birthday without wishing on birthday candles? I know not everyone wishes on birthday candles, but I do. He makes it sound like it's not important.

“It's important.”

Anyway, this is my wish (now that the singing is done):

Jonnyjonnyjonnyjonnyjonnyjonnyjonny.

I said it really fast in my head so that I could make it before I fall over and catch on fire, which is why it's all one word, and I can't tell anyone what my wish is so I just used Jonny instead of every word except the fourth word, which was actually Jonny. That doesn't count as telling.

I blow out all of the candles in one go, because I am just that full of air. Wait, that sounds like a bad thing.

Now that that's all done, it's time to eat cake. It looks delicious. I can feel the Jonnys' hands on me again, trying to pull me away so that the Wills can get in and cut up the cake with these two huge knives.

“Why don't we go in the other room, Chris?” the Jonnys say to me. “Will and Guy can handle the cake, I think. We'll go in the other room and you can eat and open your presents in there. All right?”

“Yes, that sounds good.” The Jonnys help me walk into the other room again. We sit on one of the nice, comfortable sofas that are in there. I remember when we bought those sofas. That was a good time. I think I picked out the one that the Jonnys and I are sitting on now. It's blue and nice and comfortable.

When the Jonnys and I sat down, I leaned my head against the back of the sofa. The Jonnys are looking at me again with concern. I like that look on them.

“So, what did you wish for?” the Jonnys ask. What did I wish for? I can't tell anyone that! Don't the Jonnys know that you can't tell anyone what you wish for or it won't come true?

“I can't tell you that! I can't tell anyone or it won't come true!”

“You really believe that?” I nod. “Do your wishes come true, then?”

“I want my wishes to come true. I can't tell you. They haven't come true, even though I've been wishing for the same thing every year, since I met you, but it hasn't come true. But it could, so I can't tell you. So, I won't tell you, so it can come true. All right?”

The Jonnys seem to understand, though they are still looking at me with concern. And maybe some confusion. Should I not have told them that I wish the same thing every year?

I close my eyes, because suddenly I feel really tired...

I can feel Jonny's hand on me again. I open my eyes and see that there's only one of him now. I wonder where the other one went.

“Jonny?” I ask.

“It's time to open your presents, Chris. We let you sleep for a while, but Guy and Will are really itching to leave.”

“Presents?”

I sit up. I don't feel so tired anymore. Guy and Will seem to be only one person each now, too.

“Yeah. This one is from Will.” Jonny hands me a nice box wrapped in orange paper. There's a card on top of it with just a plain decoration on the front. Inside, it says:

Chris,

Happy 34^th! Hopefully you'll like the gift.

Love,

Will

I set the card down and rip the paper off. The box is for a tea set. I have a tea set already, but it's old and I really needed a new one. Will must have remembered me mentioning it the other day. What a nice guy.

Oh, hey, Guy! Ha ha. Jonny hands me Guy's gift next. It's also wrapped in orange paper. They must have shared. That's cool. It makes me feel like we're just a big family, sharing wrapping paper.

Guy didn't write me a card, but he bought me an iPod and so I think that evens it out. Cards are nice, but iPods are nicer. I thank him and then Jonny hands me the last present. It has blue wrapping paper, blue like the sofa. I wonder if Jonny bought the wrapping paper just for me. Imagine that – a whole thing of wrapping paper, just for me! Just for my tiny present from Jonny.

Jonny gave me a card. On the front it has a cartoon guy who looks strong and muscular and it says Happy Birthday to YOU, with an arrow pointing from YOU to the muscular guy, so I guess I'm a muscular guy, then. But on the inside there's another picture from the back of the muscular guy, and you can see that it's really just some skinny guy standing behind one of those things where you put your head through a hole and you look like you're a muscular guy. It's funny.

Guy tells me to stop laughing and to hurry up and open the damn present already. I put Jonny's card with Will's and open the box with the blue wrapping paper.

It's a small box, so I didn't expect anything big, but what Jonny got me is more than big. It's huge! Well, it's not huge, it's actually small and a necklace, so it's not huge, but what I mean is that it's important. He got me a necklace! It's not girly, like Guy suggested when I first pulled it out of the box, it's actually really nice. Things can be girly and nice, of course, but it's not girly, it's just nice.

I look at the necklace, even though I know exactly what it looks like anyway, even with my eyes closed. It's the same kind of necklace that I used to wear all the time, but I lost it a few months ago and I was really sad when I lost it, because it was my favorite necklace ever. It has a purple dragonfly with blue wings. It's really simple, but I always loved that necklace and now I have it again! Now I can wear it again thanks to Jonny. Jonny bought me a new necklace.

I hug Jonny without saying anything else, because I want to thank him, but I think that if I talk I might start to cry and I don't want to cry around Jonny and I don't want to cry around Guy, because he'll call me girly again. Jonny hugs me back and I can tell that he knows that I am really glad he bought me a new necklace. It was my favorite necklace. And now this one is my favorite necklace, from my favorite person in the whole world.

“Jonny, you're my favorite person in the whole world.” I can hear Jonny laugh and I can feel him laugh, too.

“Because he bought you a necklace?” Guy asks. He sounds jealous. I should tell him that he's one of my favorite people, too, just not as favorite as Jonny.

“Guy, you are one of my favorite people, too. And Will. You guys are awesome!” I pull back from Jonny and hold the necklace up. “Jonny, can you help me put this on?”

Jonny takes the necklace out of my hands and wraps the chain around my neck so that he can clasp it from the front. I watch him while he does it. His fingers keep brushing against my skin and it tingles. After a few moments, he moves the chain so that the clasp is in the back and the dragonfly is resting on my collarbone. I smile at him.

“Thank you, Jonny.”

“Well, if we're done, then I'm leaving,” Will says. “I've got to get back home and help my wife put the kids to bed.” Will walks towards me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Have a good one, Chris. I hope you enjoyed your birthday.”

“Um, it was good.”

“I'm gonna go, too,” Guy adds. He also wishes me a happy birthday and they both leave. I turn to Jonny.

“Are you going home, Jonny?”

Jonny shrugs. “I could go home, if you want to be here by yourself. I know you were going to play piano earlier–”

“No, I don't want you to leave. I would rather be with you than play piano.” Jonny kinda smiles at me, and I realize that I might be saying more than I should say around him. I don't want to say too much.

I seem to have started playing with the dragonfly pendant on the necklace. I don't know when I started doing that. I should thank Jonny again, because I love him and I want him to know that I love him. Wait, I mean I want him to know that I love his gift.

Oh, God, what if I tell him? We're all alone and I'm wasted and what if I tell him on accident when I want to say that I love his gift? I'll just have to be careful with my words.

“Jonny...” That's a good start. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. “I... want... you...” No, no, no, that's not good! There's supposed to be a thank you there before that! Be careful! Be more careful. “...to... know... that... I really... really... really... really...”

Well, I saved myself, but I forgot what I wanted to say now. Being careful is tiring. But Jonny always understands anyway.

“You're welcome,” he says. “I know you loved that necklace, so I thought you would love to have it again.”

“I do! It's beautiful.”

“I saw it in a shop one day and I knew I just had to get it for you. Hey, do you want some of that cake? Will cut a huge slice for you, but since you fell asleep, he just left it in the kitchen.”

“No, I don't want cake right now. I feel kinda tired again.”

For, like, the millionth time tonight, Jonny is staring at me. “Are you OK?”

I don't know what to answer. Am I OK? What does OK even mean, really? I feel wasted and tired and depressed and I can still hear the rain pounding on the roof. I'm not sure what OK means.

“Chris, why did you get drunk?”

I can feel my lips falling into a frown. “It's raining.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, “it's been raining all day. That's not really an answer, though, is it?”

“Yes, it is! I hate rain.”

“Did you get drunk because it's raining?”

“Well... when you say it like that it sounds stupid.” It is stupid, isn't it? Everything is stupid. Stupid rain. Stupid depressing rain and stupid fruitless birthday wishes.

“I'm just worried. You don't usually drink at all, let alone enough to get pissed.”

Aw, Jonny's worried about me? He's such a sweet man. He's right, though. I don't actually remember why I started drinking, but now I wish I had stopped. I keep thinking all these things and saying them without realizing it.

“I don't know why I got drunk. I just started drinking for some reason and then I kept going, because I didn't want to stop. It just kept raining constantly. But now I'm drunk and I don't like being drunk either, because I keep thinking all these things and then I keep saying all these things that I'm thinking and I don't want to say too much, because I don't know what you'd think about what I think about and I don't want you to think that what I think about is bad, because if you think it's bad then it'll make me really sad, and I don't want to be sad. That's why I got drunk in the first place.”

“Well, that's quite a lot to take in. Uh, you were sad? Why were you sad?”

“I don't know. Lots of reasons. It's raining. Rain makes me sad. Being sad makes me sad. And then I was sad and I thought about my birthday and wishing on birthday candles and it made me even sadder.”

Jonny looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. He puts his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way. How am I supposed to not tell him when he does something like this?

“Jonny, I shouldn't have gotten drunk. When I get drunk, I lose control.”

“Most people do.”

“That's why people want to get drunk, isn't it? But I hate losing control. I always think all these things and when I'm drunk I can't stop myself from saying them.”

“If you're really that afraid of saying too much, then I can leave. You said you were tired, anyway. Maybe you should go home and get some rest.”

“No! Jonny, I want you to stay with me. We can have some cake. Will you stay with me and eat cake?”

“I already had some earlier. But I'll stay and watch you eat cake, how about that?”

“Yeah.” I smile at Jonny, and he smiles back. He gets up and walks into the kitchen area thing and then comes back a minute later with a slice of cake on a paper plate.

It's really good cake. Really good. I wish every day was my birthday so I could eat really good chocolate cake.

“This cake is really good. I like it.”

“I can tell,” Jonny says, laughing. “You've eaten almost all of it in less than two minutes.”

Jonny has a really nice laugh. And a really nice smile. And really nice eyes. It's like looking into a green lake or something, even though if a lake was really green it probably wouldn't be that appealing. But Jonny's eyes are very appealing, at least to me. I wonder if he thinks my eyes are like lakes, too.

“Your eyes are like green lakes, Jonny.” That's not being careful at all! Jonny is not going to approve of this at all.

“Well, thanks.” He sounds uncertain. I would sound uncertain, too, I guess, if suddenly my friend told me that my eyes were like lakes. Unless Jonny told me that my eyes were like lakes. Then I would just be really happy, probably.

There are still a few bites left of the cake on my plate, but I don't think I feel like finishing it. Chocolate is good and all, especially in cake form, but I have a bad feeling that it's going to be coming back up later on.

I put the plate down on the floor by the boxes and cards and look back at Jonny. I should tell him. Wait, why should I tell him?

“Jonny.” My voice sounds really hoarse right now. Maybe it's because of the cake and lack of beverage to go with it. “I think I should tell you something, because I have no control over what I'm saying right now and I'll end up saying it anyway, probably, at some point, and so why not just say it now and get it over with?”

“You don't have to say it. Really.”

“I want to say it. I mean, I don't want to say it, but I'm going to.”

Why does Jonny look so nervous? Does he know what I'm going to say? Can he tell? Why don't I feel afraid of saying it anymore? Maybe it's the alcohol.

“Why do you look nervous, Jonny?”

“I just think that maybe you should go home now. I can walk you home, if you like. It's just that I have a feeling that if you say whatever it is you're planning on saying, you're going to really hate yourself in the morning for it, and I don't want that to happen.”

“No – I mean, yes, I probably will hate myself, but I've kept this a secret for sooooo long, Jonny. How did I keep it a secret for so long?”

“I don't know, but if you've really kept it a secret for that long, then obviously you don't want anyone else to find out about it.”

Jonny and I stare at each other for a long time in complete silence. It sounds like the rain may have actually stopped for once. It could be a sign. Jonny still looks worried and nervous and concerned. If only he knew. Wait, he will know. I'm going to tell him.

“I love you.”

Oh, God, I think I've been shot in the head. Or possibly someone might have taken a hammer to my skull. Either way, my brain is pounding right now. I'm afraid to open my eyes, just in case I really have been shot or hammered. I don't want to wake up in a pool of my own blood.

I won't open my eyes just yet, but I raise a hand to my forehead and let out a groan. If I didn't get shot, I'd hate to think what getting shot actually feels like. It's hard to believe that anything could be worse than this.

“Chris? Are you OK?”

That voice sounds familiar. And pleasant. Really, I say it sounds familiar, but I knew as soon as I heard it that it could only belong to the beautiful Jonny. Yet, something feels off... I can feel my mattress underneath me, which means that I'm at home. Why would Jonny be here?

“Jonny?”

“Yeah, mate. How's the hangover?”

Oh, so it's a hangover. That would make sense. I do have a vague recollection of emptying several bottles of liquor yesterday afternoon.

“Terrible.” I open my eyes, figuring that it won't do much harm, now that I know I'm not lying in a pool of blood. But I'm wrong, so, so wrong. The light is blinding, which is really saying a lot, because my curtains are all closed and the overhead light isn't on. Jonny's sitting on the edge of the bed beside me with a wet washcloth in his hand.

“Here, you'll probably want this. It might help with the headache.”

“Thanks.” I take the washcloth and throw it over my forehead. “Jonny, do you think you could do me a favor and get the aspirin from my medicine cabinet?”

“Already done.” Jonny points to my nightstand, upon which sits a tiny bottle of aspirin and a large glass of water. God, I love that man.

Wait... I just got a terrible feeling, and I don't mean the hangover. I mean that I have a feeling I did something awful last night, presumably while I was drunk.

“What happened last night?” I ask. Jonny stops looking worried and caring and just looks regretful. I knew it. “I told you, didn't I?”

“Yeah. You did,” Jonny quietly says. Shit.

“But... considering that you're here right now...”

“Well, I figured that I shouldn't make any rash decisions until you were sober.” I close my eyes again, because I both feel like an idiot and am completely blinded by this light. This is why I never get drunk. “How come you never told any of us that you're gay? I mean, in retrospect, I guess it makes sense, but... I never thought about it before.”

“I don't know. I didn't figure it out myself until I met you and I guess I didn't want to say, because I thought it would... scare you away or something. And then it was a while later that we met Will and Guy. By then it just seemed irrelevant. It's not really a big part of my life, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Jonny looks down at his hands, which are tracing the slight pattern in my blanket. “How much of last night can you remember?”

“Nothing, really. I just had a feeling that I did something stupid.”

“I tried to stop you. I told you that you'd hate yourself for it in the morning, but you didn't want to listen. You said that you were probably going to end up slipping up at some point anyway, so it was best to just get it over with.”

“Well, I guess that sounds like drunk me.” Jonny laughs and looks up at me. I'm glad he's here right now. I would have expected him to run away the moment I told him. But that's not really what Jonny's like, is it? “So... you don't think it's weird that I... you know...”

“That you love me?” Hearing it put so bluntly like that is strange. I nod and realize almost immediately after that I should not have moved my head at all. This hangover is killing me. Jonny shrugs. “It makes sense. Not to sound big-headed or anything.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, well, we're best friends, aren't we? Stuff like this happens. A lot of people seem to think that it's weird to fall in love with your best friend, but I think it's probably one of the least weird things in the world. A best friend is someone you spend a lot of time with, and you know them better than anyone else and they know you better than anyone else. It makes sense.”

“That's a good point.” I'm not sure what to say now. Jonny seems to be fine with my confession, but I don't know how he feels about me. I'm not sure I want to know how he feels about me. Then again, not knowing might be worse, and there really is no other path for this conversation to head down. “Did you, uh... did you say all that last night, too, after I told you?”

“No,” Jonny says with a slight laugh, “I thought it might be too many words for you to handle in that state. But you want to know what my reaction was. I don't hate you, Chris.”

“But you don't love me, either.”

“No, I do. It's just that love is actually a rather broad term and I sort of think of you – and Will and Guy, too, of course – as, like... family. You know, like we're all brothers or something.” Jonny sighs and he looks distressed. “I'm sorry. I feel really bad about it.”

“You shouldn't feel bad about it. I never really expected you to feel the same. If you did, I probably wouldn't have been able to keep it a secret for so long.”

Jonny stares at me with a ponderous look. I can just tell that he's going to say something smart. He always does. “Why is it that you never expected me to feel the same?” I'm not sure exactly how to answer, but luckily Jonny does it for me. “It's not because you figured I'm not into guys, is it? I guess that could have been part of it. But you just thought that you weren't good enough, right?”

“I think that might have had something to do with it.”

“You never think you're good enough. Don't get me wrong, it's not as bad as thinking you're all that and a bag of crisps, but you've got to give yourself more credit. Even I'll admit that you are a handsome fellow, Chris. You definitely have your looks going for you. And you really are a genuinely nice person. I think any guy out there would be lucky to have you. So, you know, forget about the ones who aren't interested,” he points a finger at himself and looks, once again, a bit regretful, “and go out and find someone who will love you back. You deserve it.”

Jonny is right. He's almost always right, and he almost always says something smart. It's a shame that he's not interested... but at least I still have him in my life.

“See? This is why I love you. Because you're really smart and you know what to say to make me feel better.”

“Well, I do care about you, Chris. But you're also physically attracted to me, aren't you? And that's the difference.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Jonny really is a miracle worker. I haven't taken any of that aspirin yet, but somehow my headache as lessened. It's still there, believe me, and I'm still really, really, really regretting getting so drunk, but it's not as bad anymore. Now there's only one more thing left to worry about. “This doesn't change anything between us, does it?”

“No, I don't think so. I do, however, think that you should tell Will and Guy, because if we are some sort of family, then they deserve to know. I mean, at least about, you know, your homosexuality.” The ridiculous emphasis he put on the last word makes me laugh. He smiles back at me. “It may not be a big part of your life, as you say, but it is a part of it nonetheless. And they won't hate you either. We're a family, remember?”

“You're right. I'll tell them later today or something. After my body stops punishing itself.”

At this, Jonny hands me the bottle of aspirin and the glass of water. He stays for a few minutes longer and we keep talking, not really about anything in particular. Then he says that he needs to go home and shower and that I should get some more rest.

After he leaves, I can't help thinking of what he said, that I deserve to find someone who will love me back. And also that I have my looks going for me. He was right, wasn't he? I don't always feel so attractive, but judging by the reactions certain fans have given us, have given me, I must not be completely repulsive.

And, well, I'm pretty sure that when I went to the story the other day that one cashier was checking me out...

Forget wishes. Forget birthday candles. Forget keeping secrets. For well over a decade I kept wishing the exact same thing every year: I kept wishing that Jonny would love me. Well, he does and he said so himself. And he was right. Love is such a broad term.

It's just made me think that maybe I should have been more specific with all of my other wishes, too.